tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6825315595208278562024-03-06T00:15:58.941+00:00I Hate Graceful PeopleEmilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.comBlogger297125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-38117608122272949902012-01-07T18:58:00.002+00:002012-01-07T19:08:31.194+00:00Warning: When I Am Old I Shall Wear Purple<span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">On Monday I start my first assessed teaching placement...ARGH. Real life is hitting me hard. I knew this course was going to be difficult, but I did not realise how much work goes into planning a lesson! When I taught in Italy, you basically played games with the kids all day...how I wish the English scholastic system would allow for that. I am launching into teaching my year 4/5 class first thing with a maths lesson on factors, place value and rounding numbers. Sounds simple enough, yes? Not so much.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">In other news, this has been strange couple of weeks. I feel a bit like I have been kicked in the heart. But I suppose it is about time someone was cruel to me, instead of always being the other way around. Karma, and all that.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">Wish me luck with the teaching...it's terrifying to think that everything I do now actually <em>matters</em>.</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-59165232135364948412011-12-08T11:12:00.003+00:002011-12-08T11:31:43.857+00:00Where, oh where, oh where is Emily?<span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">So go the cries that I have been hearing in the blogging world...not so much. But I will explain. I think I mentioned in my last post that somehow Google has become inaccesible on my laptop...I can't log in to blogger or youtube, because they both run through Google. I can't explain it. I can't change it. So it's very difficult for me to find time on another computer to write on here. But here I am, in the library, meant to be doing work...you understand.</span> <br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">Well, what have I been doing? Of course, the biggest change in my life has been starting my PGCE in Primary Teaching, which is amazing and surprising and frustrating and the hardest work I have ever done in my life, but also - so far - the most rewarding. During the first two weeks in November I undertook my first placement teaching Year 1 children (I had the most amazing class), and it went really, really well. The feeling you get at the end of a lesson when children have actually undersootd you, had fun and learned something...it's inexplicable. There is so much surrounding teaching that makes it difficult and, at times, feel completely pointless, but when you're there, actually doing it, it is fantastic and I love it. In January I start my first assessed placement teaching a mixed Year 4/5 class at a school in Hull. It's all exciting stuff.</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">Another marvellous thing that happened was that I finally graduated! For some odd reason, York St John wait until November to have their graduation ceremonies. It was one of my favourite ever days. Because I hadn't seen anyone since before I went away to Italy (IN JUNE) it was an absolutely magic reunion. The ceremony itself was beautiful, my parents looked very proud, and I swished around like Harry Potter in my robes. In the evening things got a bit messy with the old group (Hayley, Steph and Ruth) and I woke up with a horrific hangover. At the weekend after my graduation, my family had a big party for me. Epic times all round.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683718142608770178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHh48jtAlYUmFO7dhAQPpCrH1l1On3xW-PNwfwshhPHQihOFJ9s85yRuy4cFJ1cp-iveJKQFe1K3lUwp6wdGpKCGCBN6lANhaluFhSz8_-XXNooE8sR5uK_LZXWXSYrrIfYcRBgLaTJOA/s400/386732_10150414591277340_845747339_8483735_1119481868_n.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683718144029112338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlT1jnEBUGhkf4eX81cqPcakn_eaKURPfMYavd_5gob6Q-ZSl59Haol3Ip2tZJ4mQGkOZCQ_QuJ7Y3SbbxQ3oet6pbtQcTXo7cUh6z-rAaPF1IhhLfynv26DebLLNhwtCFOKh12p01iaU/s400/376107_10150414619622340_845747339_8484149_536893577_n.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 394px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683718160306286098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qglkLC0yqezpBkEzsQgqLDkjqArY8boKryEUk-PU5NVCp9j79msXb5zLn9O66l2PcpmIAdS9yVG2nshWdWN0GKRoGYAvuZEc3MEeqJ9iPfj6Avfxf3a1L2jyez50Oy9Bn4gVOT7W4eY/s400/me+and+hayley.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683718144988281938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvkI0WwZMTaGBbPnFYFxfF5bnq1CgAS_UfpJKUiC5mqF8-Z6dV3aMW8KuPxhUii9VOdBeelE63KLLPEW7uZwoqtbxj2QBxh9AcntBfZkpIJVknAQgkU3c-g6EgQzvuyW6-smlmDcusJ_c/s400/391811_10150414599997340_845747339_8483875_1168805880_n.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683718170480928594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBpKB1mlv6EnnAPJ-9hQsatuQ5PlWldYXGXDf4Ua5bmLA-KfP9PjMW8yHzSoB9n7rEfikPWAQh8lIFlennbA3KppVDQoOyZDL_KQpsYADEmR72cNvC5K6AsrHb15dIQhh9jxk0YRX4zo/s400/375466_10150414626887340_845747339_8484249_1934746868_n.jpg" /></span></div></div></div></div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-1831655851301421832011-08-26T10:59:00.000+01:002011-08-26T10:59:21.154+01:00“You may have the universe, if I may have Italy” – Giuseppe Verdi (PART 1/2)<div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">I apologise that it has taken me this long to do this post - for some inexplicable reason blogger has decided that it will not load on my laptop, so this is the first chance I have had to get on another computer and write about my adventures in Italy this summer. I suppose I should start off with a quick summary: I recently spent six weeks in Italy, during four of which I was a tutor, teaching English to Italian children aged 7-13. It was without a doubt the most inspiring, life-changing experience of my entire life. Not only did I have the chance to teach my own class (good practice for when I start my PGCE in a couple of weeks), but I also travelled across a lot of Northern Italy and had the opportunity to live with Italian families, an experience that simply being a tourist in Italy just does not provide. I came home just over three weeks ago feeling a completely new person, and since then I have been doing nothing but pining for a country that I felt more at home in than my own. Here is the first half of the (what I'm afraid will be rather long) story of my June 16th-July31st 2011. It will likely make no sense to anyone but myself and those mentioned, but my attempt to keep a travel diary while I was there failed dramatically, and this is my way of getting some of my memories put in order.
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<br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Nice-Cannes-Monaco-Monte-Carlo, France (16-19th June)</strong> </span></span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">I began my travels by flying to Nice, where I spent three nights in a suprisingly lovely hostel, accustoming myself to the heat (didn't want to be passing out during my orientation/training week because my fragile English body was melting) and travelling around the French Riviera. Nice is, as the name suggests, very nice. I loved the old town, which had an almost Venetian feel about it; it was all tiny little streets and sunshine-yellow buildings, huge churches tucked away down alleys and beautiful little art galleries and shoe shops. Around my hostel was very lovely, too, but the beaches and seafront I can take or leave. It seemed to be either for very old, retired people getting overwhelmingly brown and wrinkled, or very young, tanned people spending their parent's money. As I am entirely disinterested in getting brown or wrinkled, I didn't spend much time there. The sea was beautiful, though.</span></div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644765293533862322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj77uGA2pD80N2GfSGE1fN-ID_rvnUv-P7iBLdOJ2h1Tr9Hsguxf8LOKt9zpdSuOcb-E7UZR0ipoHw_q0ZfPTNGZEfOhwG5f_aeFrBuR_Sq6nuZ1xzfhPF383UYDDYFc602KilknptbahM/s400/ITALY+750.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644764610499523074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFB9zEtbSwLbXgPO8W0WmXGARIJzVvlPsrmNobAbip48sjk0JU1Dk-a1E8Hm7GWESSl4ku2RAb5fNhavA4aPwX1dUrgsgss0QK7RNiEwIsvKCaBfSjDJcXJQRDSPHI4lR1BUWbHtSRg7s/s400/ITALY+713.JPG" border="0" /></span>
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<br /><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Nice felt a little like a sundrenched, overpriced Blackpool, but Cannes...Cannes stole my heart. It was a little bit of heaven, it truly was. Have you ever arrived somewhere and just known, completely known, that you could spend the rest of your life there and be totally happy? I felt like that in Cannes. The designer shops along the seafront (sunshine, sea and Chanel? More, please), the sweeping promenades, the glitering ocean. God, it was perfect. I explored everywhere, including the beautiful, winding old town and also got a boat trip to Ile St Margherite, where the Man in the Iron Mask was imprisoned. It was such an amazing place. I wandered around for ages and had my lunch on a deserted beach, paddling my feet in the Mediteranean. There's not much that beats that.</span></span></p><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644765306378611170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-a-LkIZbwxPaDW9aQxjnLAP_86VvEBMOFyBBtDvSCduNLDR_JXAm69gX5eJOQSTto4KEBoA4IMYdD9Ylhrb7qVPWBYehPEJ8Ru03KLQ6KbDFiXm4-oF8jw-_FK5YBGrW2WS__sEgHMX0/s400/ITALY+883.JPG" border="0" /></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644764624934137362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQtmUXZ7ftGszGwEeTK_FCVFnnk-I5CRliqzU1SpFSfoubbJEBcNwUkAIG0Q4bjzsct-6E3lWQLjbnKvoQTIVf6LgYnqVvqqqsGxzv_U6B6QjJ5jWA6MPSXehVFUXgdl4v2OdMZe8d9M/s400/ITALY+916.JPG" border="0" /></span>
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<br /><p align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">On the genuine red carpet.</span></p><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644764619949118562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixVy6RrrCDPw9BRTDR0B0a4aKVeT9sPPDsB73AvgN2jBWu-V63T9Vv9sdpHL01yTU36qNhns1dv9r8-ZvxdMer1aus4-Vsi2Tf7TzrZyyLERcEsA4Z6MFdVuTaSQ6iZEGfstIBBdOLLXU/s400/ITALY+903.JPG" border="0" />
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<br /><p align="center">On my first Saturday I caught the train the opposite way up the coast from Cannes to Monaco/Monte-Carlo with a couple of girls from my hostel room. It's almost comical how pretentious Monte-Carlo is. I mean, it's absolutely stunning - the architecture is gorgeous and the views are mindblowing, but please. Yes, we see your Ferrari/Bentley/Porsche. Get over it. Also, I was stuned by how <em>tiny </em>the place is. I mean, it is literally a bay, maybe a mile across, with Monte-Carlo on one side and Monaco on the other. I did fall quite in love with Monaco, though. There was flags everywhere for the marriage of the prince (how very Gossip Girl) which was a couple of weeks after I was there, and the palace was beautiful. I went inside and it was fabulous. The tiny town of Monaco is stunning too. I walked around all the little streets and went in the church where Princess Grace and all the other (less famous) princes and princes are buried. It was all very grand and beautiful, but if I had millions to spend on real estate, I think there are a hundred places I'd prefer to live (such as Cannes).</span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644764631197762466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl633aolAasKsMfRyl4Ao4PI-gmw70l3k3IIcyhbuk8uWgUhLmQLfD0bQ5IXvFQnliHuPahEg0_uA9e7qNktrXio9YO7pPLwXy-BKtBOreELTjKlZImTsRF81YFHQSjGliC73uOg7aUaU/s400/ITALY+1255.JPG" border="0" />
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<br /><p align="center">The most millionaires per square foot, or something like that. Looking from Monaco to Monte-Carlo.
<br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644765300136174626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcqvFtXfFGkZJUCwrAmwBv0ILnblI217iv2mVzHYN_FmdhnWSfTixbnHf4LtezBXOQiN_EkazL4IXpLu9_-zqaeSgScHIz5mR2i1f1entJye4_ZfOrTboRRmHZnMnkU8iPgYJVjjGDXxQ/s400/ITALY+1270.JPG" border="0" />
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<br /><p align="center">The palace in Monaco.
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<br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>San Remo, Italy (19-25th June)</strong> </span></span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">On the Sunday I caught the train along the coast into Italy (woo!) and San Remo, a gorgeous town on the coast just over the border. Here I spent a week playing games, learning songs, putting on ridiculous shows, building my confidence and basically learning how to interact, teach and deal with Italian children. It was one of the most invaluable weeks of my life, not just because of the skills and lesson content that it taught me in preperation for actually having my own class, but simply in how confidence boosting it was. There were a hundred and fifty or so of us there, and on our first morning we were put into two huge circles and had to do a bunch of ridiculous chants and songs, and I literally thought <em>what the fuck am I doing here? </em>By the Friday I was playing a doctor in a show about monkeys, and the Monday after I was leading a group of kids singing a song involving the lyrics 'get loose, get funky, get down to the beat'. I also met some really fantastic people, most notably Anna (from Manchester, with an accent that made me feel close to home), Shafferon and Paulina. One of the most surreal things about the trip was how quickly you become so close to people, but there'll be more about that later. The whole orientation week about building your confidence and getting you talking to new people. A surprising amount of people went with their girlfriends, boyfriends or friends, so being on your own was a little daunting, but it ended up being epic. We had dinner on the beach a few times, went dancing in the tiniest club I have ever been in in my life, and watched a bunch of amazingly talented people play live music in a fabulously cramped little bar. On the Thursday I found out where my first teaching destination was...</span></div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644765308577995778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhycmnIQ227mp40WcM-1a49gdTzQ85WkPcR-8GQ1TU-JHtJqdbroSmNf70xFkW-e2Br1I-99Jv3Kgjv3LFHc93v1vDa2NZ-Df4Zyz8UuWlTvpQtZ_ZpJ8i0KETKdzU9P5D1IdDWepr3NRY/s400/ITALY+1337.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644765314893355026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUa-j5xF9fiji_zGup3Mvgu35DHjcdPpmCVAaFknewS9-U79a4eNKZc136Fer5Bpro7PJiXdtDLhSK56eKr-vM40Kf3Zwafi0_v4PW-SJaoOKVRSgNZB5iaX9Mx1BWGwEDxpIzdd7PNE/s400/ITALY+1359.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644765682859369122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisPebRztKH0lllqS-hDnLSs-QYenAOHquR-xDSvxoH4TpTayR_aMi0ZCYTSJJFKbzUUO0Mvk8QOujYkSdMx51ilG4MvFjkSXNgRkq4hBDjnqKaghVTw-Nx_OBO2_rFWqwOIlLxtQD5-wk/s400/ITALY+1402.JPG" border="0" />
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<br /><div align="left"><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">Milan (25th June-2nd July)</span></strong></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">Some people got sent to English Camps in little villages nobody could pronounce the names of. Some got sent off into the mountains, or across the country the the other coast. I got sent to central Milan. YES. CENTRAL MILAN. The fashion capital of the world. As in, I lived in Milan, 12 minutes walk from the Duomo and shops and the Galleria. Oh God, it was perfect. I still can't get over how lucky I was, both in location and who I lived with. I spent my first night with Vittoria, one of the camp directors and then I met my first Italian host family: Irene, Giovanni, Tatiana and Galia Longhi. It is impossible to describe how wonderful Italian people are. The warm-heartedness and generosity of the families that I lived with was the most beautiful and touching thing. They really opened up their lives to you and made you - a complete stranger - feel a real part of the family. With the Longhi family I instantly felt at home; I got on so well with both the parents and Tatiana and Galia (the daughters, 14 and 13 years old respectively. Galia was my student at the camp) and we always had a great time and a good laugh together. I thought it would be incredibly weird, stepping into someone's life like that, but by Tuesday it genuinely felt like I'd known them forever. I loved them so much and shed a few tears when I left Milan.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644796194528999298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJovHWI0VeI-OdsmRGzC0_gCc2WXLRA0BR5LRiR16ZZ8mCxaN87TLwKgFIIMbDrqnsWySIrpsZqPAf4jCnhk4v2V9F0aFWM1gZI7vrncCh4hltpx5U5WyBwyo6C3TLVLUHsOPchqjj5oA/s400/ITALY+1533.JPG" border="0" /></span></div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644796191127447730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmFjL4OoXUjop6LmMrQUF4V9fv68CH0GNeZy7PW9Y5WFVGAdSUuy-9aUj5vTixodE7qB5ylu5dBgBLiW_RZogYPQnOUazs0EvYlbwegAnpjjb5r2lDudrIoIulVdfHnIvxnr4PIGyGSFQ/s400/ITALY+1633.JPG" border="0" />
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<br /><p align="center">L-R, Tatiana, Me, Galia</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644796986138943682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHrSnukeR0VZz2eQ3DdRYA0Yu8ChcLKy2UIH2cc9f8XxpVV7fbdeNMDHZkgFvAACRlbHza29BBDlDeUuF59w-hfTegNhWF30QWiSogXm9RLe0BCud6DscOAOuVc8JR4vs_wE7LZBjZFBA/s400/italy+1800+%252836%2529.JPG" border="0" />
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<br /><p align="center">Just outside my apartment.
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">The other magic thing about Milan was meeting the other tutors. A great thing about ACLE is that they have tutors coming in literally from all over the world, so you're being introduced not just to the Italian culture but are also working with people who are completely different to you, with wholly different backgrounds. I arrived in Milan with a lass called Jodie from my orientation (a fellow Brit) and met some of the most epic people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing: Ozzie, from Canada, and Cherie, Sarah and Angeline, from the USA. I ended up teaching and travelling for just over four weeks with Ozzie and Cherie, and three weeks with Sarah. The perfect thing about Milan was that we all lived really close together and we met up pretty much every night, along with our two lovely camp helpers, Luca and Gabrielle. On the Tuesday we had our camp meal, where ACLE basically pays for everyone to go out, and ended up getting so hammered that not only did I black portions of the night out, but I had the world's most painfully nasty hangover the next day. I almost died, it was so horrible. Trying to teach and play games with and communicate with teenagers who don't understand a word you're saying whilst attempting not to throw up on them is not an experience I ever want to relive.</span></div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644796197899258706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXaq3ozhaxjSCj7VCgBEOViUgASEw-1hQUPWqraebO3VmKXhYl3YtUvcVuM5qwGyZ0H3QXeFTrB2QeQQGDzri4eU5twlAj15vHwHs_UafYeGtisxpy6Gz8psBJHQDWReRhhkqr682ppsE/s400/ITALY+1643.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644796210706988482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwr94c0J1dJ_KBambDpMyHo5y4otdUTfMVmYclcilXPjBVoXPsbhm46IjNXQAjApwfbmh4a1ZlOdXNkQahnlLjAhFmgXofFAv7HvpBzdh0KnxPwtbp2JH0_eRp7Rc2anJ2Q60xQNTuLuU/s400/ITALY+1709.JPG" border="0" />
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<br /><p align="center">L-R Sarah, Ozzie, Cherie, Angeline, Me, Gabrielle
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">And so to the actual teaching, because, believe it or not, I wasn't just in Italy to sample the Limoncello. Since I'm doing my PGCE in primary education, I was hoping to get some experience working with younger kids, but being the laidback lass I am, when we had our first meeting with the camp directors I was offered blue book level kids (my class being aged 12-13) and I said <em>yeah, of course, why not?</em> What I didn't realise was that my class was entirely seperate from the rest of the school, being a whole tiny camp all by itself. So I was kind of dropped into it, with no experience, and nobody to help out if things turned into a bit of a disaster. However, for me that kind of worked because it forced me to up my game, to plan a hundred different projects a day that we could do, and to kind of let go of all my inhibitions without worrying about messing up in front of the other tutors. Despite being one of the most difficult, exhausting things I have ever had to do, teaching this class of thirteen 13 year-olds (seven boys and six girls) was life-changing. I've never worked so hard or had to think so quickly. The Italian scholastic system is very strict and lessons are almost exclusively classroom based, so letting them loose outside to play games or to shout chants at the top of their lungs kind of sends them a bit wild. And working with teenagers is SO DIFFICULT. Some of them were stubborn, rude, and basically incredibly teenagery, but some of them...oh man, I had some kids in that class who were just so lovely and funny and intelligent. Like all children, their imaginations are astounding. At the end of each teaching week, you put on a final show for the parents to come and watch, and my class did two shows - girls and boys. The girls did Sleeping Beauty and the boys did a hilariously twisted show that they composed themselves called Rambo Balboa and the Six Dwarves, involving one kid who was Rocky AND Rambo, and the other six boys playing dwarves. It was FANTASTIC. And they wrote it themselves. There were times when I couldn't stand to be in the same room as them, but those moments, like when they excitedly showed me the script for the show, or when they all shouted 'thank you, Emily!' at the end of the week, or when a kid who can't speak a word of English can sort of hold a conversation with you at the end...I cannot imagine anything more rewarding. And because I was seperate from the rest of the school, I was constantly with my class so I felt like I really got to know them. It was a huge learning experience for me, and one of the most satisfying weeks I spent in Italy.</span></div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644796973825653746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_gHDILpvGk27F2y0GizX2kKUqwkmCWzeWjVnjLxEN6CJFGjI_GsGqOvQOEdK-AA4bgITttS2MdSvP8eUdfTxsGOglYl4XimK3SQGLUCmx9XwWTs43P8I7NS1qaGQpnVJ5jfS4cbBgd_8/s400/italy+1800+%252810%2529.JPG" border="0" />
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<br /><p align="center">I forgot to teach them how to spell 'bye'.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644796980105931186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS66TzmpwIJQQNsvx-wXuYKyOJYy7zqCcroQfGvUcwgi1Qqe1dKTHjpuOG20kei9Px9zEucBAU6EOYaRE1CIhuJ2n_UmBti8WW7vAvGtfax9qpHOrSLqQRAhyJ7LFhj7kItq606x4IcKM/s400/italy+1800+%252811%2529.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644797203507483010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1SgOMusGqIz7cZFaAF3hkP0M9CAI5w4CPKHuTuOICCrRGs_UKcziX16sr5O5ais6d9FGWYjdMCE8_-AlroMSoRkmxa04Ni8jU6LLaMVMnuwFGtHpLkSefLRZcAlAXu5NJwZZ7M2RhKBQ/s400/italy+1800+%252812%2529.JPG" border="0" />
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<br /><p align="center">Come si dice...</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644796993163682066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGmf9JMWSKLguJwcMAl9c8c06eZfm12nwtyTSB8HB_rhmggOqmuxWd7yeUlFMZZ8izmOGOAYZyaP0fOSx_dFfExV7knCOFnzrvRnPXf1u8dX7ZN_qlxiNg80qjeZl8rnMhm_zchxcwIAs/s400/italy+1800+%25283%2529.JPG" border="0" />
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<br /><p align="center">Rambo Balboa and some dead dwarves
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<br /><div align="left"><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">Turin (2-8th July)</span></strong></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">From Milan, Cherie, Ozzie, Sarah and I moved to Turin, home of Fiat and the Turin Shroud. This time we were on the outskirts of the city, about a 30 minute drive from the city centre. We were joined there by two more tutors, two of my favourite people ever, Ellen and Sean. Turin (or Torino) was a two-week camp, and for the first week I lived with an amazing woman called Chiara, and her lovely son Mattia. I think I should mention at this point the spider bite. So, I was basically eaten alive by the insects of Italy, most notably by Italy's spiders. Either, they were poisonous or I was allergic to them, but I got bitten by something on three seperate occasions, the first time in a park in Milan. My ankle swelled up and turned black - it was disgusting. The first thing poor Chiara had to do was take me to a chemist to get some stuff for my poinsoned leg. I had to wear a bandage so that I didn't get a spider bite scar from the sunlight and basically it was very painful and very uncool. This drastic event reoccured at the end of my time in Turin also, but more on that later.</span></div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644811199406293410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKkBzN44CjeyKL4vzMIt1n7oga3ZlVpsrAqc76LzNi0JgC1FWCE8jRJ7MjgKZZSV9MZcB7PPkSPNLpbnPvMhAfzGg2wnRrlgAaxS2C0HOeeyHzGgzoubYWJmql9Y3i75BHQ_YAZ6t3SEo/s400/ITALY+553.JPG" border="0" />
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<br /><p align="center">Me in Turin</span></p>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">Anyway, on my first weekend in Turin, bandaged up and ready to roll, Chiara and Mattia took me north to the mountains, where I did the most physcal exercise I have done in about five years. Basically, I climbed a mountain. It was painful. It was also one of the most breathtakingly beautiful places I have ever been in my entire life. Literaly I found myself looking around, thinking <em>what did I do to deserve to see this?</em> It was stunning; absolutely mindblowingly gorgeous. I wish there was a way that I could eloquently describe what it felt like to be surrounded by something so beautiful, because photographs really don't do it justice. I just felt completely peaceful, and in my hectic mind that was an amazing thing in itself. Chiara also took me to visit some of her friends who lived in and about that area. The fact that people actually live there...I found a new life ambition. It was a fantastic day.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644811185899941138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUj7Fh4oYocu3iZwn4g0yx7KXev-UuUUDy41PfpM638td8nERpQu6xOgRo8McKcl_A0c8lql93jq4H4Jq23of86vE3T-yyedHJ_fzWsgL71sVx354HcR_SVqi260UMQwqtq6JYSEw7jms/s400/ITALY+456.JPG" border="0" /></span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644811187639890930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzFA7b5zZhuBcdU53XgnDYN876Pt6mrtahDObJ5XYuiSpxvl5BLOH8Y-ODU4HhShpOvt1Tl5aCmLM2YfBiuZgjohsdAktpFDR6BCjT0XwYukNoewVtkmnrJOtOXHWOAXFR-M2ApVjRqV8/s400/ITALY+479.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644811195558589890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkTHqS09L5A_EUigPrbxRlWI7b3CsBdkqzfkCeKolNH7pbrs_Uln2pduuhWqazD_Q0GGqeYqqbicVlilaV966cMlT6UVFAxXA-9Fa7G85MaBRWQdhhRxTZ8vpeUdfOtkFAJF78qTck_wo/s400/ITALY+510.JPG" border="0" />
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">At the camp in Turin I was lucky enough to get the youngest class, with students aged 7-10. The first week I had some difficult kids, but working with that class was brilliant. They were so competetive and excited and a little bit wild that it made every game so much more fun. They were kind of hard to handle and really difficult to please, but when we got our final show together, I was so proud of them. They did a sweet dance to Lady Gaga's Poker Face, with three of them dressed as Lady Gaga and the rest of them dressed as playing cards and poker chips (think Alice in Wonderland). It was EPIC. I think now is the time to give an honorary mention to my olympic team during that week. In the afternoons, all the classes came together to do team games. The age groups were all split up and each tutor had their own 'olympic team'. I kind of struck gold with the students I got. The Super Super Super Stars (yeah, we were THAT super) were so enthusiastic and so lovely and so hilarious; I missed them when the teams were disbanded on the Friday. Not all of the children stayed for both weeks of camp, so at the end of the week half of my class left and half of them stayed on. I also got five more children in my class, creating - in my opinion - an absolutely magical group. But that was week 2. First, I went on holiday.</span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644810688851457778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEwsCRlmoFD1V-e68nSfXSbEdWG9gj5y7vWUiKgZqTO7fypzqzYRaJfMVC7hpXt1lseG7-UbjqjDaL-4qbdRogXAzOGEpVOeY6yEXnbbNsmcIMCBGsG9DUT7eT6Ojg7hnfrkYV7V5my4c/s400/DSC_0002.JPG" border="0" /></span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">Knicker Squad Six (Note my dramatically bandaged ankle).</span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"></span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644810675971867346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBHAr8wye52dtAy330ccioxZsfG2xsDAR5xJUP-mu2bFaXhhKIB-ZCK1wCraEts0DneA7-dgskEUhltTjwUkeX6KLcuGjb02y-qkfYZ75FY6aN_VkyNfrFZt9_2EPj0PemBGv6e1SmAC0/s400/DSC_0059.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644810678376852338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNmL38U-sN_Hr9XqqhHhc-nCPz-IOdlpk1T_3Vdrfn2x7pKL1rQkYGgK9d_wO1TBmbl9K0gFD2QBQZL7nREae_gzS4zhX7qJahJp2YmaQQbGKLthVAcIcn3_393BpJb_q2CfAGBEO66nY/s400/DSC_0101.JPG" border="0" />Me dancing with one of my students.
<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644810683202980450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizMdbAUfntxKHc8m1VLSw0-2LKAIC4G_VnZClo-Ma_MSgyh6Bqdr_UE7iigKWNzH4OjINhWEkqBvyYXMIT_hQ3ZbYtj67YfTcgecCoXnEmZC6JxymRN5lY4ru8VHMgotEJKfvimSXs-DM/s400/DSC_0181.JPG" border="0" />The Super Super Super Stars
<br /></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644810691920577090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg01oIOFb8-TssiQ7v3JId3fVcfjiDGuMvMdMEpbylP_8_bogqP39Xnq5rPukkYtWbHjqzX3eS5zBrwk7jfyJGvgmdh1o2ZhdhHj-_feRQC8DRekoLNCMWMX7IcEuMV20k_W91uHzLS_Yc/s400/DSC_0208.JPG" border="0" /></span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">Water games</span></div>
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<br /><div align="left"><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"></span></strong></div>
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<br /><div align="left"><strong><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">La Spezia/Cinque Terre (9-10th July)</span></strong></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">All week we, the tutors, had been trying to organise a weekend trip somewhere to have a bit of a break. The good thing about a two-week camp is that you didn't have to travel on the Saturday to your next camp, so you can basically do what you want. By Friday night, we still hadn't got anything planned, so we decided to just wing it. We caught the train at about 5am from Turin to La Spezia, arrived mid-morning and booked into the first hotel we found. I think the aim was to go to Cinque Terre, but we missed one of the boats from La Spezia and it was too late to hang around for the next one, so Ellen and I bought some classy cartons of wine, and we got a boat to one of the little islands off La Spezia.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644811201846026258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHHGNBWPe8hKMyUZ8FGf8fScKU9fiEh16Zp6aZZl4cGovAU4_jTYfSstW1-aoxOWlkbjvYzlEi6kLB7UT4fKKnKSl0HIe8Sr4ngVil_uj0VuslFuVUYlfAAkcugjIFPUd2I6q2OewpZF4/s400/ITALY+602.JPG" border="0" /></span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">It's never too early for biscuits.</span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644811813376049650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU1SkArg9IeUNP3jqw2Z52MAHw0O7F0Krhlec5X8isiQhfE0oIDl8oCfE8KjPgb_nMtJN7ec0JJFPgWgWI7wbEmhiB569Nk4amFRNUmNNbXuEqiWQUT754IOaXz2-LK_LPBBHOVpXgdWo/s400/ITALY+645.JPG" border="0" /></span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644811793097073922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1MimYZ3pSw4BxEYZ6EKszRbruE6gdDVmKaYx1VEXXSa7nVMCSM4pE6u3jd-OnN1L8a4x9ndEyaML4PgMqJ6d-ceFwvZxXqrXDvI0hdfdvtXfR9Y8uBQpC80mjA_5JGf3O57o8fwog9fU/s400/ITALY+624.JPG" border="0" /></span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">It was such a lovely, chilled out day. The six of us went swimming, two of us went on another cheeky boat ride, we had some warm wine, we sunbathed, I fell asleep...it was grand. We caught an evening boat back to La Spezia, had something to eat, showered, and then went out for a drink. I was so knackered by this point though that I was basically falling asleep into my Malibu and Coke, so we went back to the hotel.</span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644811806360000882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQtW91KkHpuw0gLWPi7g92SjNybE4nzo4j_yaFNXjQfMJAhGh3F9DT72vID2TN22TU3MYIvzsF9r0UnIoe00HC7kIbSBaA_ctsdoelrgO-siv3xHwA3XRXT5ZtOl6MUJYpIGmdf-uVvqs/s400/ITALY+639.JPG" border="0" /></span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">On Sunday we caught the train down to Monterosso, one of the five villages of Cinque Terre. We didn't stay for long - only long enough for photos and a drink and an argument with a barkeeper - before we had to catch the train back to Turin. It was so, so pretty, and so hot, but I was dead tired and actually glad to get on the train and fall asleep, ready for Turin week 2.</span></div>
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644811801669349282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8GCASSEFTzTkZQbi-AnbeVoNPqZd_pTtlI3sSr-2j2Xj4jCschYdoy_dVvW_98InTcmH4IPgLulCZa62cUvi_5e6MMvtOXwQg9m_doIqUl9zsvq3lYrusIoECeRYXLApdduuSJSlhxe0/s400/ITALY+1713.JPG" border="0" />
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<br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">Next Time on Emily's Adventures in Italy: more Turin, a perfect class, Stresa, spider bite-induced hospital visits, the worst class on the planet, being punched by a 12-year old, Florence, Pisa, climbing the leaning tower at night, and more Milan.</span></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-557913435325930172011-07-26T18:43:00.002+01:002011-07-26T18:49:27.841+01:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrs2E-y7TB9KK04JCQbvLRE6kAjwJslVX2tgO538925C6_jsjd_CShUl1sYCRVoTkFC4EVL3iQmf9EnjMlL63SBbfvOOQpWYvNCmgRaDjt7VTFM6kczRDa-IjnFZKlmKbF3RPEIjfMVz4/s1600/ben"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633719565769328338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrs2E-y7TB9KK04JCQbvLRE6kAjwJslVX2tgO538925C6_jsjd_CShUl1sYCRVoTkFC4EVL3iQmf9EnjMlL63SBbfvOOQpWYvNCmgRaDjt7VTFM6kczRDa-IjnFZKlmKbF3RPEIjfMVz4/s400/ben" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">My stay in Italy has been pretty much destroyed by the news that my dog, Ben, passed away last Saturday. Ben was the kindest, sweetest, most loving soul on the planet and the best friend anyone could want. RIP Benji</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-37719576549001811512011-07-12T22:54:00.002+01:002011-07-12T23:15:36.110+01:00I'm on the Edge of Glory<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">It's genuinely impossible for me to explain how astounding these past almost-four weeks have been. I know I said I would try and update, but I have had almost no free time whatsoever; I am exhausted, but I have probably never been so happy. As cliched as it sounds, this experience has been entirely life-changing. I feel like a completely new person, in the most positive way imaginable.</span></div><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">I started off with three nights in Nice, during which I also visited Cannes (perfection) and Monaco-Monte-Carlo. Then I went to San Remo in Italy for an orientation week in preperation for teaching English to Italian children - it was intense and tiring and the most fun I have had in a long time. Then...then then then...I went to Milan. Central Milan. I lived in the centre of Milan with the most fabulous host family you can imagine. It was one of the best weeks of my life. After a week in Milan I came to Turin; I am now halfway through my second week here. Teaching Italian children is difficult, frustrating and at times feels almost impossible, but it is also the most rewarding, hilarious, fantastic thing I have ever done. I'm too tired to go into details about anything now, so until later...ciao.</span></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-73228589710574855542011-06-16T06:37:00.000+01:002011-06-16T06:40:47.256+01:00ciaoI'm about to board a flight to Nice, where I will stay for three nights (Cannes here I come!) before getting train across the border to Italy. There I will begin what will hopefully be a whole summer of teaching. Wish me luck! More updates as soon as I can get on the internet. BYE BYE.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-32792544807195423902011-06-06T23:40:00.002+01:002011-06-06T23:45:58.971+01:00"The eyes of the world are upon you."<span style="font-size:85%;">Today is the 67<sup>th</sup> anniversary of D-Day.<o:p></o:p></span><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">The older I get and the more I read and watch and learn about World War 2, the more I understand – and if not understand, then at least begin to comprehend – the immeasurable bravery of the men who fought, not for themselves, but for their families and friends and children and grandchildren and country. So that we can grow up and go to school and say what we want and choose who we want to be. Both my granddads were there in Normandy on D-Day; they both landed on Juno Beach.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9BvZRbJqN4yAX9s_NA-TQR7RjQc-F8LmxOxJJWooh1YgsdiDBffotlDj5q0hHV5iExsbJLRjZ_Oh2WEpUm24ZnAxD6ZH6uVGTzFn3Iw9PlgPhTWMre1zAFOU1dwuSbYFZIbqo-HlLOgA/s1600/eisenhw.ower.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9BvZRbJqN4yAX9s_NA-TQR7RjQc-F8LmxOxJJWooh1YgsdiDBffotlDj5q0hHV5iExsbJLRjZ_Oh2WEpUm24ZnAxD6ZH6uVGTzFn3Iw9PlgPhTWMre1zAFOU1dwuSbYFZIbqo-HlLOgA/s400/eisenhw.ower.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615241280378648914" border="0" /></a><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-family: times new roman; text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Thinking about it makes me want to be a better person; it makes me want to earn what thousands of men fought – and thousands of men died – for. It makes me want to prove, in their memory, that we were worth it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Forever remember and appreciate what they did for us. To those who died, RIP, and to all of them: thank you.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn1K1FXU8KdhHvedEQLuXi0Lq7FX0Qma9uPButgpvH_rOMzZE_iNDMmsoxUU-LLZUFjmRTfE0nkRi2y3YSxoJE0vASyYKFjaot5hqeUnNBrpjeqAth_hCaLZLeTJ7_Led6wCHQUIYZDGg/s1600/courage1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn1K1FXU8KdhHvedEQLuXi0Lq7FX0Qma9uPButgpvH_rOMzZE_iNDMmsoxUU-LLZUFjmRTfE0nkRi2y3YSxoJE0vASyYKFjaot5hqeUnNBrpjeqAth_hCaLZLeTJ7_Led6wCHQUIYZDGg/s400/courage1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615241283953914578" border="0" /></a></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Some more fascinating photos <a href="http://awk-wardo.tumblr.com/post/6249844667">here</a>.</span></span><br /><o:p></o:p></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-45578406122534368362011-06-03T09:47:00.000+01:002011-06-03T09:47:48.201+01:00peace was never an option<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I have a thing for superheroes. And I have always had a thing for James McAvoy. So when I found out that they were making a Professor X/Magneto based prequel to the X-Men films, and that lovely James was going to be in it, I freaked out.</span></span><br /><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613911854949174674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ChMXZ1tfp5JyA5B6PBR_m7FLPerB_LX86_9jdy0nZNlu-O8V-o36lrjvHQxZvpDLUlI73vlc9dhWDtpc-FBoiwmOPpVxraq4kBroV3s55MFxd4ggkjJctCQZU93ZlQltIp0xPKoO_BU/s400/jamesm.jpg" border="0" /> <br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">On Wednesday night I went to see X-Men: First Class. I have loved all of the X-Men films and I still think they're some of the best comic book adaptations out there, so I was, in an admittedly very sad and forever-alone kind of way, properly excited for First Class. And it was <em>amazing</em>. James McAvoy was <em>perfect</em> as Professor X; literally he was made for that role. Such swagger. And Michael Fassbender as Magneto was brilliant casting too. I genuinely think it's the best of all the X-Men films and I'm definitely going to see it again. The cheeky cameo appearance they slipped in there as well as the Professor X hair loss jokes quite made my day.</span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613911839807751122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVLwmCYDOpKZA-cmnmFHzn7eiGP38m1c9l5eMQoDjGUJ3FM91xrXKYPebJyVdGVXmqUS9xejsuGeYBm6RzY-087AO6bHrCVIysDE4O69g7yvriE_xsX3zgoItnGf6qvchy6-OAyGXtOyU/s400/james-mcavoy-and-michael-fassbinder-x-men-first-class.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;">Also, last week I went to see The Hangover 2 and just, I can't even. Just go and see it. I think my body is damaged I laughed so much. It's nearly as good as the first one, and that's quite an achievement in itself. Bradley Cooper makes my eyes hurt he's so attractive.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613911846879824690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 167px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7CTe6AtiTK2l7_NBVYLcIJXpGKsFcQOM7S7VDYr0rDZi-bROs5Ymv6L8OYrIfbVJAk-SmLevIs6oBEML5f624jdBdlXoQYFrPgqVIrZS4Wft5xVXfrQx7_hcUPFKiBQoQraoYshkpKB8/s400/the-hangover-2.jpg" border="0" /></span></div></div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-66083150023397644562011-05-25T10:29:00.002+01:002011-05-26T20:04:38.233+01:00the end of an era<div align="justify"><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;" >Yesterday I submitted my final essay as part of my English Literature degree. Third year, and thus my course, is now over.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;" >Perhaps it's because I'm knackered but I thought I'd feel, I don't know, <em>different </em>to how I do now that it's all over. I'll feel sad, obviously, when all my friends move out and back home (luckily I'm going to be away when this happens so I don't have to say goodbye to an empty house on Brownlow Street), but sad about the course being over? Not as much as I thought I'd be.</span><br /></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;" >Ok, so obviously I <em>am</em> quite gutted that it's finished. I have loved my course. I love being a literature student. I love the fact that my education involved sitting around and reading Jack Kerouac. It's what I do in my spare time anyway, so why not get a degree in it? And as little as six weeks ago I was completely dreading this moment. But recently...I don't know. I've kind of realised that things just need to move on. And I've also realised how excited I am about my future.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;" >All my life I have had this crippling phobia of time passing and growing up and getting old. To a certain degree, I still do. It's why I hate New Year's Eve and why I don't like talking about anything beyond two weeks from now. But that's shifted a bit now. Now I really want to just get stuck in. If you read this regularly then you'll know that in September I am starting my PGCE course to teach 7-11 year olds. Well at the moment I do work experience in a primary school and a few weeks ago I was there and it was like I had an epiphany. I was sat there with some kids - the class I'm in is the most epic group of children I've ever met - and I just thought, wow. This is perfect. This is genuinely what I want to do for the rest of my life. Teaching is...well, it's what I should be doing. I'm good at it. I <em>love </em>it. I almost started crying because it was such a revelatory moment. And ever since then I've been so excited about starting this new course in September instead of freaking out over my current one ending. They say that university is a time for growth and change, and if that isn't change then I don't know what is.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;" >This idea of how we've changed over the course of university has come up a lot between my friends and I over the past couple of weeks. Thinking back on myself in 2008 and comparing it with myself now is quite an odd thing. I don't remember how I <em>felt </em>back then because as my feelings on life and love and people change, those new feelings just become <em>me</em>. I guess the biggest thing - and this is, I think, the case for most people when they go to university - is confidence. In first year I hardly spoke to anyone. I hated university. I hated the way the course was structured and I hated the modules they forced you to take and I hated being there when I could be getting drunk in Sheffield with my old college mates (which, incidentally, is how I spent most of my weekends). I loved college so much and I really wanted to go back to that, hanging out in the refectory with my pals, history classes with Alan Brown...it was all good times. Uni was a massive shock for me, and because I stayed at home I was never forced into meeting anyone. So I just...didn't. Then towards the end of first year I started hanging out with Kristine, an American exchange student who I still miss very, very much. And then I met Stephanie Parkin. Our mutual love of Twilight (ahh, 2008) brought us together, and through her I met the people I spend most of my time with now. In second year, not only did I get to choose the modules I wanted to take - thus increasing the enjoyment factor by 3000% - I also now knew a couple of people in my classes. It is insane how much of a confidence boost that is. It's all very well being the elusive, silent figure in the background, but having someone you know there makes talking in seminars so much easier. Weird, I know. And especially this past year I've become...more free, I suppose. I've stopped considering how other people view me, stopped caring what anyone else might see or think about me and just enjoyed myself. I used to hate myself. Now, I'm really happy.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;" >I think that's the biggest thing I've learned at university. How to be yourself. What a fucking cliche, I know, but it's true. There isn't much that I've studied over the past three years that I wasn't already aware of. As a course, English Literature doesn't exactly <em>teach</em> you. And maybe if I could start over again, I'd choose something different. History, or something with some real facts behind it. But there is no way that I'd miss the experience of going to university. And I stayed at home so I know there are people who think that I didn't 'have the real experience', but whatever. Staying at home meant that I had the money to go travelling last summer. I've been to six festivals, an innumerable amount of gigs and seen almost every single one of my favourite bands. I've been to London and met my favourite author. I went to Manchester and had my arm around Professor Brian Cox. I've had the best times of my <em>life</em> and there is no way I could have afforded that if I had moved out, so I don't regret that one bit. Well, maybe a little - I would quite like to have lived closer than an hours bus ride away from my uni.</span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;" >I started writing this post to mark the end of my course and somehow it has turned into...I don't even know what this is. I think my point is, I'm happy. I've met some of the best people I have ever known and done things that I think about every single day and probably will for the rest of my life (malibu and coke, anyone?). I've completed a fucking degree man - that's a big deal. The end of this course is heartbreaking because I know I'm going to lose people. There are people who you just know you're never going to see again. It happened after high school, it happened after college. I think you just have to trust that the people who matter will stick around. But studying English Literature was just a self-indulgent thing. Now my real life is starting. Now I get to go on and do something that I have been working towards since I met Mrs Spencer, my Year 2 teacher, and realised that I wanted to be her. The future starts here. Let's crack on.</span></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-77323875642622650682011-05-16T11:19:00.007+01:002011-05-16T11:50:09.729+01:00Inspire #24 - Spice Girls, Travel and Kennedy Brock<div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607263526135966466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 270px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiQ5McdgsSv5fn2M5ayMjulgK7iLDXVHsfOuXYVsG8OfKaeOhPORexXDYT2qbcWRzvw0Mkw9YlsUE6PahmtBEze6Q3ijTZ5bFajTmvY8Eq-7LQN7K9AO9zxGxYDqnFxF0ODAWRt9KHbbY/s400/tumblr_ljpfbyX8h01qbnzmro1_500.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607263524250993154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 297px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQCyVNg4mkLAb5ik9WUOxdXEKpwxYig8MQxFh8xfD3hs2zeAsk7hsqpD5lRGhBR6n3yp2dEP_wRALhue8al8Fdl7CD3yr7AjT8xch5Ft7DpUluTG9c4w5QqIQFu2g3FGB7uFSo1onXo24/s400/people.JPG" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607262741259635394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuwFU8oJQ-olae5747NGhmWTpIk7G6bB9HQlzmaCCEdNZ_q0yVmTtUZ8TXA8wbKfjmfsBakD71GvUTrEm1NXuRE9gTc3dBoyYwxyEw-au4H6h5zXWprOsyVjpPui3xdNFqvexFzXU8SzI/s400/spice_girls_3.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607262735321380946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 272px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmqxyrMlc9MaNulKs2hLXzUEmTB7gVd1cvNAM24jaX-n5wPl2_-9GbnbY3_H7aB74a6CvAI7C3VLdbaNh8K_6HaVOi5Zm6fjuv8NaTIlEdGVQ0De7v0MyGQ04H44_OYsqt0yubRdicKM/s400/tumblr_lkr1s4u3zY1qc6xjbo1_500.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607262736935322370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 259px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmFEz7aH8ofOfRsGy0vfaQTfo5w0Cbn2LrQ07CxKdYrri7aFdMPFW4xMbz9fa5NP-GAPDkGBVSHDOS86mIAwan1X03hBsjtUwLRpTpxH1ykKXmX4EdPW0tPRku3bD9VZIm30UJnX7BvKQ/s400/tumblr_ll0adwl52h1qbyk3yo1_500.png" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607262729390152498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjksgPr4pRUQEHGGSmBNexRqWQbH1xExSy7-7oZ4te6oKh4jKM61KPVrlb6sru0c6STJ68MHIbKdyo-lTW2CRV-_QY50we14HHA2iw26-4CB-jDI3VlRqvvQ7o1_X2GH_bwIJimBgzKyFY/s400/tumblr_ljufojXpUI1qiqiufo1_500.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607262729263614738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 281px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBGff9zsZoe_iEoNkC9DxVTJ9mocczovfM3KzcImK_k5VFZN4fAexTzn8UlA52qvC14LgddnieVMNyXIV5ErD9hB8myyNp5z_g4s4BlN-ELL6uSJsQxxrYtWbNa2T2dINFpXdE_GAOuM/s400/tumblr_ljllnrEyGJ1qfglfro1_500.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607261260746499810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl_DOqLHzB-lK1FsSJE9MYMVR7LHE2tIf-7iMpcla48nOcBRd7cH_F0XsQNySgcOYRJ-Ta0AYHojiAHvWQizn-LBRiuM9YBeZooLWOyo67JXD-Qk-2CS2bd_JKIgIuBxoNW_DL1tw-YV0/s400/tumblr_ljfdw7gGOK1qbovywo1_500.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607261254294592546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 261px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1SRcxiEvVYdtinQIoAjjkajv3RHMtXPWANpYITf5jjd5gNAZ-JtXB_RyohPnQim-pm7WcH1LB2My-HQ4mUq-tnhDZkZlHX8hCnLjVyknCASPzgO5Uqtb2Zc5GC0PnJZiQpdhL7XFDJok/s400/tumblr_l9dgjlubeW1qbdw4ro1_500.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607261246272642194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 282px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXb0WakNKLrYVkvdSqAsP_NpEVyKBa6UXf2eTBncC95cgeq_s34sbMY6p9CJTcEpM6wPu83uCuD10pahA2HlsSrjpZ0BuhqH3XGWNf5XESlYoS2eW2LswO8NoDOpkWu-4gODnlGVIPMog/s400/tumblr_lhq0zuxExi1qzszyho1_500.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607261244533187106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheULSvfTxw-uEtWWyBLvIWSLXFB9HQWQSqizI0Fq1mQW1fCTeIdY63jETYEbBVZF4oKw7qYsBoxcT4ozlpK88U8aYOhyphenhyphen-nSvdBcMyXBH1fZWw90uF-42nHqTm7Zi12Fo1Dx1GfhRkKQFg/s400/Photo_on_2010-06-18_at_22_55.jpg" border="0" /> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">Thanks for these Tumblr.</span></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-44488596158865545982011-05-11T23:35:00.000+01:002011-05-13T21:46:52.646+01:00"I go to seek a Great Perhaps"<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;">"...for we are engaged here in the most important pursuit in history: the search for meaning. What is the nature of being a person? What is the best way to go about being a person? How did we come to be, and what will become of us when we are no longer? In short: what are the rules of this game and how might we best play it?"<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIr-t3eQOume7PJCUtjLklJ73BZ39wkbfxolUqlE2akZpqY36SY4PadmiCjzSZ7ha0gGBlzOmRfBgpsEOJ6OgiX53zlc0Qntm8YTJegcbfA9O1I5eNuNsw-MxpRvkyYATHZuhNlSsVRA/s1600/Picture0008.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIr-t3eQOume7PJCUtjLklJ73BZ39wkbfxolUqlE2akZpqY36SY4PadmiCjzSZ7ha0gGBlzOmRfBgpsEOJ6OgiX53zlc0Qntm8YTJegcbfA9O1I5eNuNsw-MxpRvkyYATHZuhNlSsVRA/s400/Picture0008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605595905176386562" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Through the epicness that was researching, writing and completing my dissertation, I didn't get much chance to read anything just for pleasure. I felt too guilty about reading something that couldn't be used in my essay, so I have only just gotten around to reading a book that I have wanted to get my hands on for aaages: John Green's <span style="font-style: italic;">Looking For Alaska.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><span>Without a doubt it is one of the most stunning books I have ever read. The characters are fabulous and hilarious and <span style="font-style: italic;">real</span> (despite being slightly Doulgas-Coupland-ish a couple of times in their speech) and the ideas that the novel offer on life and love and death are beautiful. It's intelligent and funny and tragic and so special. I don't want to explain the plot or anything because it spoils it, kind of, but this book is my recommendation for this month. Truly fabulous.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span></span></span></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-13884337782532814422011-05-08T23:44:00.005+01:002011-05-09T09:59:49.589+01:00"And now please welcome to the stage the pretty boy of physics...Professor Brian Cox"<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify;font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe." So said Carl Sagan, cosmologist and astrophysicist superhero in his 1980 book </span><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic;font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;" >Cosmos</span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">, and so quoted Robin Ince, presenter and comedian, at the Uncaged Monkeys show at Manchester Apollo on Friday night.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">It doesn't sound like a barrel of laughs, does it, going to see seven clever people talk about the universe and mathematics and the failings of the Daily Mail, but it was truly one of the funniest things I have ever experienced in my entire life. I'm not sure how long the tour is going on for, but if you can get tickets to a show near you, seriously, just go. I was crying with laughter the whole way through, whilst at the same time fascinated by the things they were saying. But whilst I would modestly consider myself a person of dramatically above average intelligence and indeed the kind of person who would appreciate a show involving a man on stage performing an experiment involving a ruler and a thin beam of light, I am also an astonishingly shallow person. So the only the reason that I went all the way to Manchester on Friday night was because Professor Brian Cox was there.</span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFAOR-8UXDF-HbrSr6n20TnoygeAmAlQWWwzvpVX9Sb87BLVbRsPQ8tHPhgmCL-0AnarRYOON6HwSSWvDN6UCmXYsJTGjjFNgxfmTm1ha57OWCb2TxZqF1UDqAjdhyphenhyphenEbV1Et3qdYQFMlY/s1600/BRIAN+COX+003.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604493946235997842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFAOR-8UXDF-HbrSr6n20TnoygeAmAlQWWwzvpVX9Sb87BLVbRsPQ8tHPhgmCL-0AnarRYOON6HwSSWvDN6UCmXYsJTGjjFNgxfmTm1ha57OWCb2TxZqF1UDqAjdhyphenhyphenEbV1Et3qdYQFMlY/s400/BRIAN+COX+003.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Yes. Professor Brian Cox, particle physicist, Wonders of the Solar Systen </span><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic;font-family:times new roman;" >and</span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"> Universe connoisseur, and my hero. He is adorable and witty and impossibly intelligent and he gets as charmingly excited talking about space as I do talking about him. He is also well fit. People who do not like Brian Cox are probably the kind of people who do not like puppies or sex or chocolate milkshakes...you know, the kind of people you really just don't want to be friends with. Well, he was there. In Manchester. In the same room that I was. And he was </span><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic;font-family:times new roman;" >magnificent</span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">. When he came out on stage, I almost had a breakdown. When he started talking about the Hubble Deep Field image, tears actually welled up in my eyes. That is the level of love and respect I have for him. Actually hearing that distinctive Oldham accent in person after I have bascially spent the past 18 months doing nothing but watching his programmes and reading his books was a wonderful and emotional thing for me. And he was just as marvelously charismatic and fabulous in person as he is on tv.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_Hg3wOH_UsyYVk49Ix7t0MBhSodNFoPOjUFVPe0paifzdMyx_WlM91AhzevdPuWT6vyw6h2EVXo1ajrj21oGNidTofcwej0lZIUJIaOx07nbuqQjkkUjbObG02_cPHa1TzHjecpN-7Y/s1600/BRIAN+COX+004.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604493953737999970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_Hg3wOH_UsyYVk49Ix7t0MBhSodNFoPOjUFVPe0paifzdMyx_WlM91AhzevdPuWT6vyw6h2EVXo1ajrj21oGNidTofcwej0lZIUJIaOx07nbuqQjkkUjbObG02_cPHa1TzHjecpN-7Y/s400/BRIAN+COX+004.JPG" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span>And that would have been enough. Just seeing him would have been enough. But then this happened:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJljF2wQ4LQaTzENJt4OS_oKy31pHFlRFb6UQuCN3hCEuoMYQy04aUijSSTvfRRh-8z_Et8ejg5Wwcv_WLhuPMnZoTjyS9NU2b1W2UXkGS6PlqGcpJqOtq3dJNUHffyCAV8QAEVbxh24/s1600/BRIAN+COX+008.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604493966969276738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 290px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJljF2wQ4LQaTzENJt4OS_oKy31pHFlRFb6UQuCN3hCEuoMYQy04aUijSSTvfRRh-8z_Et8ejg5Wwcv_WLhuPMnZoTjyS9NU2b1W2UXkGS6PlqGcpJqOtq3dJNUHffyCAV8QAEVbxh24/s400/BRIAN+COX+008.JPG" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span>Holy shit! It was absolutely pouring it down so only a few people hung around afterwards (there's only one back entrance to Manchester Apollo, fellow creeps, if you ever want to meet anyone). We were probably there maybe 20, 25 minutes when suddenly Brian just walked out, on his own, saying that someone had told him there were a few people out here so he came to meet us. Well, I was very uncool about the whole thing. I actually think my brain short-circuited a bit. He signed my book for me, which I had brought along just in case, and then I had a photo with him, and then I may or may not have burst out with "you are my favourite man!" Clue: I did. Luckily everyone laughed and he laughed and said awww thank you, but I'm still fairly mortified by my lack of control. But whatever. Professor Brian Cox is one of my ultimate heroes, and he is one of the sweetest, loveliest, most gracious people I have ever met. And you know what? He really is my favourite man.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuMXKopjyG84AITPHyVvyBbF94dEB8Uh5EtLyWPBA2TX5uyOv-I2REzIH5EA69Znj-FJA3A0MQSBbBcN1vIQl8JTEHiWxt1BxDHta3Bfx-lQM6yHzveoQ0enjVUfrQR3kLkWfIFfWvpes/s1600/BRIAN+COX+012.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604493970543175858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuMXKopjyG84AITPHyVvyBbF94dEB8Uh5EtLyWPBA2TX5uyOv-I2REzIH5EA69Znj-FJA3A0MQSBbBcN1vIQl8JTEHiWxt1BxDHta3Bfx-lQM6yHzveoQ0enjVUfrQR3kLkWfIFfWvpes/s400/BRIAN+COX+012.JPG" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDCEdCYODUVbLhFZuceRGwo64ra8d8W4hbSZm3vdowG7L110Iq147R5wfTOhXEuSYVNBOrz3_npMwXEmcuD3h0vVj0ko1D4N9gsaV2xqDmH2NunDYEkHx-7bQTa6GH_LczpBM36h7oX0/s1600/BRIAN+COX+011.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604493978355477490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDCEdCYODUVbLhFZuceRGwo64ra8d8W4hbSZm3vdowG7L110Iq147R5wfTOhXEuSYVNBOrz3_npMwXEmcuD3h0vVj0ko1D4N9gsaV2xqDmH2NunDYEkHx-7bQTa6GH_LczpBM36h7oX0/s400/BRIAN+COX+011.JPG" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-72597130540041458462011-05-05T23:16:00.002+01:002011-05-05T23:39:40.892+01:00THIS IS NOT AN EXIT<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Today I handed my dissertation in:</span></span><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 200%;font-family:times new roman;" align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><b style=""><span style="line-height: 200%;font-size:12pt;" >‘THIS IS NOT AN EXIT’<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 200%;font-family:times new roman;" align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><b style=""><span style="line-height: 200%;font-size:12pt;" >An exploration of the themes of gender, alienation and consumer culture in Blank Fiction texts <i style="">American Psycho, Fight Club </i>and <i style="">Generation X.<o:p></o:p></i></span></b><i style=""><span style="line-height: 200%;font-size:12pt;" ><o:p><br /></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 200%;font-family:times new roman;" align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;font-size:12pt;" ><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:100%;" >A Research Project presented as part of the requirement for the degree of B.A. (Hons) English Literature (Specialist).</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">For the past few weeks, almost my entire life has existed around that essay. Around American Psycho and Fight Club and Generation X and gender and consumerism and alienation. Knowing that I will never again have to flip through Generation X attempting to find a fitting quote as to why the novel promotes the idea of escape from a consumerist society is the most major relief. But whilst actually having the 51-page essay bound and handed in was terrifying - it signifies a very near end to my course and also a huge chunk of my final mark so if I did poorly it's going to really pull my mark down - it was also one of the most gratifying things I have ever experienced. To have laboured over something and thought about something for so long and to finally have it there, finished, in front of you, was an oddly touching moment for me. Kind of pathetic, I know, but the topic I wrote on was something I really cared for and felt strongly about so it meant a lot to me. Fingers crossed now that the pain and (literally) sleepless nights and unpaid days from work and back ache from carrying sacks of books to and from the library and possible soul-poisoning from staring at my laptop for so many hours on end will all be worth it (and gets me at least a 2:1).</span></span><br /></div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-82982767961924845212011-04-30T12:31:00.003+01:002011-05-01T11:53:13.969+01:00Ho intenzione di avere un buon tempo<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">I mentioned a couple of posts ago that I might have some exciting news about my plans for summer...well, they have been confirmed now so I can actually talk about them without worrying about jinxing it! Basically, I have been offered a place to go and teach English to Italian kids in summer camps all over Italy. How epic is that? You get to live with actual Italian families and they cover everything for you, food, living costs, travel etc whilst you're in Italy. Plus you get weekends off for sightseeing AND you get paid for doing it. I applied for it at the beginning of April and the application process has been really hard; I had to come up with some extensive lesson plans, brush up on my grammar to answer some questions and research songs suitable for Italain children to sing that teaches them English, but I have a place!<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivoC3yRNAqu2PAOIG4IwN-waoB1ns1s4aGGLNVWQOUepSLckM_NHLUmOzia_odf_Y7uDUXcAXO_b_9ZeZp-bF0hWb4uBwve77O0anjzlVpnjCwC8bh_HwiflD20p8_9h8nf9oYo67faew/s1600/Tuscany.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivoC3yRNAqu2PAOIG4IwN-waoB1ns1s4aGGLNVWQOUepSLckM_NHLUmOzia_odf_Y7uDUXcAXO_b_9ZeZp-bF0hWb4uBwve77O0anjzlVpnjCwC8bh_HwiflD20p8_9h8nf9oYo67faew/s400/Tuscany.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601698556975213010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I'm so excited I can barely handle it. Obviously how long I get to stay out there depends on how well I do with the teaching and how many students apply for the camps, but hopefully I'll be there from the middle of June for about eight or ten weeks, with one or two weeks off for travelling. Pretty cool, right?<br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiftyUXT4SMbj5_gE5aKIJ9oxHRZsPgNbqW4WHzV3WQJ9gSegH3sKMLGljQAD-Xdexxv79VxPTL9knElyXi2iBFz4x-CsuGLDHWSj0vF4Fj4Im8YCD_N0tZDiRdSl83V9MZqyYbBxvbWNA/s1600/romehotels.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiftyUXT4SMbj5_gE5aKIJ9oxHRZsPgNbqW4WHzV3WQJ9gSegH3sKMLGljQAD-Xdexxv79VxPTL9knElyXi2iBFz4x-CsuGLDHWSj0vF4Fj4Im8YCD_N0tZDiRdSl83V9MZqyYbBxvbWNA/s400/romehotels.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601698553581518594" border="0" /></a></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPZSICYUWO25pYxlzCaFOdn3cXvbCW8dISiAQUQGQ9fLqI07gL6UXL4Q4dI7LAu5XLrCVFGR7e19X3oDaPi1ah_zfh1U5jwXJNLvXxUJ6seYeezUaB4mkVoO7hJTgyaAgBjg5XR6w7WZY/s1600/san-remo-ligure-italy_11296.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPZSICYUWO25pYxlzCaFOdn3cXvbCW8dISiAQUQGQ9fLqI07gL6UXL4Q4dI7LAu5XLrCVFGR7e19X3oDaPi1ah_zfh1U5jwXJNLvXxUJ6seYeezUaB4mkVoO7hJTgyaAgBjg5XR6w7WZY/s400/san-remo-ligure-italy_11296.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601698550902505442" border="0" /></a></span></span></span><span style="font-family: times new roman;">San Remo, where the training course for teaching at the camps is held.</span></span><br /></div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-72118542757835350272011-04-25T17:51:00.004+01:002011-04-25T18:26:49.078+01:00"And for the first time, I can call this home"<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I took a trip to Bolton Abbey yesterday with my folks. It was beautiful and wonderful and so, so warm. I am <span style="font-style: italic;">loving</span> this weather! We went on this long walk down both sides of the river and I melted. The last mile or so was more like an endurance test for me (I used to be really fit and won athletics competitions and all sorts of things, but I'm skinny-fat now, and completely lazy) but it was a grand day nonetheless.</span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJFDvgDYhXtBIhGSx1S-KToaWBhi1Wf2JSnyXwZzADI1sxC27umIDmAz-xTLFwlgG482v2_QhzQqBE5INvnxZ862PQEYRLUoDwFhdwKG7EVSz0KtTIbWKmPXep_8LB5awp0ZG3r0R9ryI/s1600/bolton+abbey+012.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJFDvgDYhXtBIhGSx1S-KToaWBhi1Wf2JSnyXwZzADI1sxC27umIDmAz-xTLFwlgG482v2_QhzQqBE5INvnxZ862PQEYRLUoDwFhdwKG7EVSz0KtTIbWKmPXep_8LB5awp0ZG3r0R9ryI/s400/bolton+abbey+012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599572641184783090" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_AoKDVdoS-pz9AzsKHAkHIV52dBzTN0fR4jB7T0KU30pBnX88bIXYQHcS7jZr7LC9-Mby0eCMn392p8uGXcpF3f_XPFYO45LVTQIAALbc5WnxoSJDf4d8M9XSK64J55lt_VKiWV19vG0/s1600/bolton+abbey+029.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_AoKDVdoS-pz9AzsKHAkHIV52dBzTN0fR4jB7T0KU30pBnX88bIXYQHcS7jZr7LC9-Mby0eCMn392p8uGXcpF3f_XPFYO45LVTQIAALbc5WnxoSJDf4d8M9XSK64J55lt_VKiWV19vG0/s400/bolton+abbey+029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599572637770729906" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqx4FcskS9WCiuQbm1PaA8mIlRo6BIc0HBELcyDajQsoqtICIvgtzNeNiKbCKwzS12138tSTfa9qzd43jFS8a8TK2INm420WqkX5p_nwuCO5oagL8ixo8ZApTUqF8tzcpXgTWcpcwwUQA/s1600/bolton+abbey+018.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqx4FcskS9WCiuQbm1PaA8mIlRo6BIc0HBELcyDajQsoqtICIvgtzNeNiKbCKwzS12138tSTfa9qzd43jFS8a8TK2INm420WqkX5p_nwuCO5oagL8ixo8ZApTUqF8tzcpXgTWcpcwwUQA/s400/bolton+abbey+018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599569720317846882" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHiSvA_rXGhWT7P99hGlAXjylaKTBcMTedHtCvL9xDA7aNJ9eQONc51ygceQEYSBcVP3WPcpXFfY9FsT2uulZ1FOXo4J9Km6-t7NTqaWtLt0prNq2mUOLoQhkxA-WItMjxfW1ghapiZ0/s1600/bolton+abbey+059.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHiSvA_rXGhWT7P99hGlAXjylaKTBcMTedHtCvL9xDA7aNJ9eQONc51ygceQEYSBcVP3WPcpXFfY9FsT2uulZ1FOXo4J9Km6-t7NTqaWtLt0prNq2mUOLoQhkxA-WItMjxfW1ghapiZ0/s400/bolton+abbey+059.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599569718278402498" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhynryqYWnPogT4s_OSEICYdmhn0hzQLIoe87RcJnZY-wzNZKGC3seVyZ3vAeKqubsRgtHxOh4L3Hd3H5iwVaHN_Mzi8nceEpcVCHl2Q1m1HoG3Khtdw7XAIQVa_pupjGwKGmcaPd7l0NA/s1600/bolton+abbey+069.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhynryqYWnPogT4s_OSEICYdmhn0hzQLIoe87RcJnZY-wzNZKGC3seVyZ3vAeKqubsRgtHxOh4L3Hd3H5iwVaHN_Mzi8nceEpcVCHl2Q1m1HoG3Khtdw7XAIQVa_pupjGwKGmcaPd7l0NA/s400/bolton+abbey+069.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599569712547357362" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbchoyZtoPHZv8ymaeGQzLAJSRXJ8e4miGmQv9qIeX_rgcXSO2tHloTZP0jaSWfKD_mofgSoScKNGGhpwsfQ_0mwcy5aB-p9YuIA6PaXyPTdljH4fQRMwJ7VriEB_JuNQ8yRg0vLXbhdE/s1600/bolton+abbey+076.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbchoyZtoPHZv8ymaeGQzLAJSRXJ8e4miGmQv9qIeX_rgcXSO2tHloTZP0jaSWfKD_mofgSoScKNGGhpwsfQ_0mwcy5aB-p9YuIA6PaXyPTdljH4fQRMwJ7VriEB_JuNQ8yRg0vLXbhdE/s400/bolton+abbey+076.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599569702560040098" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXmEgScUFGAKRHaEMdfXIdpQMMOzax_rYg3fAEgbZnQ0n0JkToWADMZ6cszn2TiprOkgx95De6ktTrWdD1Rq6rD9gR9y_8YMQwkseo_K2LAfBeD9Kcc87XKoLNKndV0ZzbExEdgPt8nwA/s1600/bolton+abbey+090.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXmEgScUFGAKRHaEMdfXIdpQMMOzax_rYg3fAEgbZnQ0n0JkToWADMZ6cszn2TiprOkgx95De6ktTrWdD1Rq6rD9gR9y_8YMQwkseo_K2LAfBeD9Kcc87XKoLNKndV0ZzbExEdgPt8nwA/s400/bolton+abbey+090.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599569699137313202" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">In hindsight, double denim was a bad choice. It <span style="font-style: italic;">was </span>cold when we set off...<br /></span></span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-44157436224351948252011-04-22T16:34:00.005+01:002011-04-22T17:18:11.698+01:00M.I.A<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I wish I could say that my recent absence has been because my life is so filled with fun and exciting activities that I simply haven't had time to blog, but I would be lying. Literally my entire life at the moment revolves around these two things:</span></span><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjj2PJ-UM_fczUkztsqSVilaxWnbL6tIX6KwLvXGRuhR2wKg-_Lpm5il5oD7AmCwkv06HYTmE-kiiQ0IxxwXKhDtT3uGVGfTT43tuDSOEl2Bg2Cuj_U-PtfEKBZcZ3uooCGq1rkamtE58/s1600/tumblr_lk1hyiLXEe1qcwiduo1_500.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 289px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjj2PJ-UM_fczUkztsqSVilaxWnbL6tIX6KwLvXGRuhR2wKg-_Lpm5il5oD7AmCwkv06HYTmE-kiiQ0IxxwXKhDtT3uGVGfTT43tuDSOEl2Bg2Cuj_U-PtfEKBZcZ3uooCGq1rkamtE58/s400/tumblr_lk1hyiLXEe1qcwiduo1_500.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598440013373843234" border="0" /></a></span></span>The Maine.<br />You know when you start listening to a band and from the very first line in the very first song you can tell that they are going to entirely consume your life? Yes. Well. It happened with me and The Maine, which is ridiculous because their audience is primarly 15 year old girls who wear fluorescent coloured hoodies and poorly applied eyeliner, but, you know, you can't fight the calling of music. Also, I'm fairly certain that the singer, John O'Callaghan, is my soul mate. Just a feeling.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnsY7xabh0Eq9EFDQOg0LPJYXBxoBEfPCentHv15cb_cf0AD8JayNPiyJi79PpAXlS8Z_jwCPrMKvu6lGUDMXfBusqSUUm7uCZlDcE5LfTbQI5Vg0orBSq1-me0yBcKux1qeLDLZBSls/s1600/Picture0006.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnsY7xabh0Eq9EFDQOg0LPJYXBxoBEfPCentHv15cb_cf0AD8JayNPiyJi79PpAXlS8Z_jwCPrMKvu6lGUDMXfBusqSUUm7uCZlDcE5LfTbQI5Vg0orBSq1-me0yBcKux1qeLDLZBSls/s400/Picture0006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598440013935874082" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span>My dissertation.<br />What an absolute joke this is turning out to be. I JUST CANNOT DO IT. My brain won't form sentences. I read pages and pages of research but I cannot retain any of it. I'm starting to panic a little bit now.<br /><br />But I am still alive! And hopefully, <span style="font-style: italic;">hopefully</span>, I will have some exciting news soon about summer, but I don't want to jinx it by mentioning just yet. Fingers crossed.<br /><br />I hope everyone has a lovely easter. I gave up chocolate for lent so I'm pretty psyched about that being over on Sunday. As soon as I get this 10,000 word long essay done I'll be able to catch up on everyone's blogs again, but until then and until I can be bothered to write something again, adieu!<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6hZXp5E_xmeO_rZmA5VD9V8uNeT_S7vW0iPIfk3ge9N3S7dcOL3M6BskDVHD3ltBqCP710scdjS3XTiJ514IWSLz9CYmeluzMSjSi8Sk2d5Ps6Dg2u_jnMp1t5en-PPVff4nBaf8ZDk/s1600/Picture0001.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6hZXp5E_xmeO_rZmA5VD9V8uNeT_S7vW0iPIfk3ge9N3S7dcOL3M6BskDVHD3ltBqCP710scdjS3XTiJ514IWSLz9CYmeluzMSjSi8Sk2d5Ps6Dg2u_jnMp1t5en-PPVff4nBaf8ZDk/s400/Picture0001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598440017759390178" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-33648965409861887322011-04-06T15:14:00.004+01:002011-04-06T15:29:05.495+01:00Five Bottles of Shampoo<span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">She pushed in before me, in the supermarket queue<BR>pretended not to see me, in that way women do.<BR>She put on the counter some bread and milk too<BR>and then she pulled out five different bottles of shampoo.<BR>And I thought to myself, 'I will never understand women.'<BR>And I hear some of you saying, 'Yeah but all men are all the same!<BR>They all think they're so cool and are ruled by their dicks.'<BR>That might be true of me, but it ain't true of all of us<BR>so don't point that finger so quick.<BR><BR>I do see some of the blokes though,<BR>In the clubs, pinching girls arses, trying to be intimidating<BR>Making obscene passes. Man, she's a goddess, you can tell by the way she dances.<BR>But you call her a slag when she don't accept your advances.<BR>You just show you got no respect for yourself, show you ain't got the balls<BR>to just talk to a girl.<BR>So when she chats to me, you spit at her and shout 'Whore!'<BR>Well it is written, in the art of war, to fight only the battles you can win.<BR>But I will defend your honour til they kick my face in.<BR>If you have to scrape me broken boned, bruised, bloodied, and battered up off the floor..<BR>Well FUCK IT. Integrity is what black eyes were invented for.<BR><BR>So down with the dick-tatorship, that is so cock-sure,<BR>they use rape as a weapon of war.<BR>FUCK the man who thinks it's ok to give his wife a punch,<BR>FUCK the judge who says it weren't rape cause she was drunk.<BR>And if you're pro-life. I mean if you're PRO .. LIFE,<BR>then become a doctor, or foster a kid.<BR>Make it possible for people who are alive to live.<BR>But don't you dare tell women what they can and can't do,<BR>when it was a woman that gave life to you.<BR><BR>Yes, I'm a man, a fairly stereotypical one,<BR>but I ain't afraid to say I think all women are beautiful and strong.<BR>Too fat, too thin, that's just media spin,<BR>you look best when you're comfortable in your own skin.<BR>So I'm sorry, if we've made you feel undue,<BR>the truth be known...I'm in awe of you.<BR>You're a giver of life and warrior too.<BR>So do you really need FIVE bottles of shampoo<br /><BR><BR>-The King Blues<BR><BR><BR><BR><strong><br />I went to see The King Blues last night (I'll post photos when I get home) and it was EPIC. Itch came out on his own near the end and read out this poem - it was one of the most powerful things I have ever experienced. What a hero.</span></strong>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-59633928917827186802011-03-24T21:22:00.003+00:002011-03-24T21:44:06.952+00:00taken for a fool<span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" >It seems like the only time I ever post anymore is when I have an essay due the next day. Case in point: 2300 more words to do for tomorrow morning. Classic Emily. But I can't put this off any longer. I have to talk about The Strokes new album.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5r4cFEEta8HnX33n2T3mXGIr5ofgYVlbDQkOlkG1lmAme-55hBIWyPM4gVp5AoxIDSNG6NvFjxaqdFH6AszMoROfzL1YwMQCuZvaM50aVENnPKrYXzm_itQN5tCRRnDSTFBa4NSmOEU0/s1600/angles.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5r4cFEEta8HnX33n2T3mXGIr5ofgYVlbDQkOlkG1lmAme-55hBIWyPM4gVp5AoxIDSNG6NvFjxaqdFH6AszMoROfzL1YwMQCuZvaM50aVENnPKrYXzm_itQN5tCRRnDSTFBa4NSmOEU0/s400/angles.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587764650987617218" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-style: italic;">How amazing is it?! </span>Has everyone listened to 'Angles' yet? I've been psyched for this album since the beginning of last year or whenever, when they announced that it was going to happaen. The Strokes were one of the seminal bands of my early teenage years; they were the band who really got me into indie music, and in turn I started listening to The Libertines, which really changed everything about music for me.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmJAq1bm_7stCBbYvmuoq9i6OL3sgKcALbjudPBJQVjgvIzB5YlzVUdsSUjlQA5WIWcxr6r1sB20PTQAxUs2eCRZk25tDLcTOqqhAfcEu2sun6Ye2mBIFhEmMl2ybQ9qmMr_D9ztLW0b8/s1600/the+strokes.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 325px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmJAq1bm_7stCBbYvmuoq9i6OL3sgKcALbjudPBJQVjgvIzB5YlzVUdsSUjlQA5WIWcxr6r1sB20PTQAxUs2eCRZk25tDLcTOqqhAfcEu2sun6Ye2mBIFhEmMl2ybQ9qmMr_D9ztLW0b8/s400/the+strokes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587764655432738402" border="0" /></a></span></span>'Angles' is kind of the most beautiful album I own. It's quite different to the traditional Strokes stuff, but it is still so obviously them. My favourite tracks are You're So Right, which has this creepy, almost ethereal feel to it that I adore; Metabolism, because it has this insane twangy bit in the middle that I can't get over, and Under Cover of Darkness, the first single from the album and probably the most Strokes-y song on there. I've been listening to the album almost non-stop since Monday and I still can't properly deal with it. Completely epic.<br /><br />Speaking of epic, how stunning is the Leeds Fest line up this year? I freaked out when I saw it; it is PERFECT. I'm finally going to see Julian Casablancas in person. And Jarvis Cocker. And loads of my other faves are there, too. Literally cannot wait.<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Just a cheeky bit of Julian's delicious face to finish with:<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3QQ135pSls-kq8_Evh8cE_FO2sYNpnbmQYEEJ4mIxPQmQthHYqJwaPcaGVi_hES4mUAMUFkE_cM24QBf5bZWW4dCjLeph-exxw78CxIVv9olteDgOnzNWyRFkf6JuKlXaA9nFBSNPn2E/s1600/julian.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3QQ135pSls-kq8_Evh8cE_FO2sYNpnbmQYEEJ4mIxPQmQthHYqJwaPcaGVi_hES4mUAMUFkE_cM24QBf5bZWW4dCjLeph-exxw78CxIVv9olteDgOnzNWyRFkf6JuKlXaA9nFBSNPn2E/s400/julian.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587764658741226690" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-40803014410141521432011-03-20T23:38:00.004+00:002011-03-21T00:02:12.547+00:00"He's like a prancing deer."<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" >At the moment, my time is fairly evenly divided between working, sleeping and sticking coloured marker labels in library books pertaining to what essay I am writing. As part of this final push at uni (I finish in May, woah), I have been reading and researching (but sadly, at the moment, not getting so far with the writing) in almost every spare hour I get. For example, today I spent seven hours reading and making notes on 'How experimental is the poetry and prose of the Beat Generation, in particular at Allen Ginsburg’s ‘Howl’ and Jack Kerouac’s </span><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style="font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Big Sur?'</span></i><span style="font-family: times new roman;"> How epic.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">But yesterday me and </span><a style="font-family: times new roman;" href="http://theyhadmadeamovieaboutus.blogspot.com/">Hayley</a><span style="font-family: times new roman;"> had a well-earned break from library time and went to have lunch in York's museum gardens. We sat on some of the old ruins and people-watched for a while (I say 'people-watched', but I actually mean 'laughed at everyone who walked past'), whilst enjoying a few brief moments of sunshine. It was nice just to be outside for once - I get cold really easily, and I </span></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" >hate</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;"> <span style="font-family: times new roman;">being cold, so I tend to stay inside as much as possible between October and April.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_M0OBjpIwHOF4Yrhx6QN_A2BS6Z5qRjw7OZ1f1xiEDU2jMwNwh9uzKpQJkZ7XNBtljUwSV1_HhZto9kaFApsnkd5OgVE5NAWIYH5kLH5Bfux8IeB4ud_z0L5CbIb6Kzr4T8vvQJ2l7H8/s1600/museum+gardens+014.JPG"><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xz7amP39SR1ByX6iT9dzOeXsxFQDYenJw-rcthfOqeD-cVA7Ld9zymAOD6-dmIcrPIWqe9WGV6UydD3elb4wYNmP9gFQbzRstxGALpQpACdGIWglt_Ba1PWkIUydAdJg7HS_1zM3S8o/s1600/museum+gardens+015.JPG"><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ></span></span></a><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSeDnO2N4Sm1-dWYXaA3Pygt2xE1YyQvi08apwRMWJ6lhKjtmnC3omVBIQGnF4a93eYmSjl3sVu_Hfmwt2sM_yuysY7SxU0Cp3O9BKCBzHXJKlD28O2f4M0BX67P28NdostmZv4myo-SM/s1600/museum+gardens+009.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSeDnO2N4Sm1-dWYXaA3Pygt2xE1YyQvi08apwRMWJ6lhKjtmnC3omVBIQGnF4a93eYmSjl3sVu_Hfmwt2sM_yuysY7SxU0Cp3O9BKCBzHXJKlD28O2f4M0BX67P28NdostmZv4myo-SM/s400/museum+gardens+009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586315782231357186" border="0" /><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ></span></span></a><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2wVMQjMIx1_oh7ZFvWHkJc91Cp5HyCHZ_ZnKNMsHy59WNXRI78leIBLKL-7WqDFJUEsi3M-jOGhAdLwmqBp8mPHdv7ymeZSbQrU_z7hGvkVVqpomlz57DtOgjIcTpJ_FZK2Inlii1gho/s1600/museum+gardens+012.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2wVMQjMIx1_oh7ZFvWHkJc91Cp5HyCHZ_ZnKNMsHy59WNXRI78leIBLKL-7WqDFJUEsi3M-jOGhAdLwmqBp8mPHdv7ymeZSbQrU_z7hGvkVVqpomlz57DtOgjIcTpJ_FZK2Inlii1gho/s400/museum+gardens+012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586315788826722002" border="0" /></a></span></span><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_M0OBjpIwHOF4Yrhx6QN_A2BS6Z5qRjw7OZ1f1xiEDU2jMwNwh9uzKpQJkZ7XNBtljUwSV1_HhZto9kaFApsnkd5OgVE5NAWIYH5kLH5Bfux8IeB4ud_z0L5CbIb6Kzr4T8vvQJ2l7H8/s1600/museum+gardens+014.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_M0OBjpIwHOF4Yrhx6QN_A2BS6Z5qRjw7OZ1f1xiEDU2jMwNwh9uzKpQJkZ7XNBtljUwSV1_HhZto9kaFApsnkd5OgVE5NAWIYH5kLH5Bfux8IeB4ud_z0L5CbIb6Kzr4T8vvQJ2l7H8/s400/museum+gardens+014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586315792069981122" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" >We also went into York Art Gallery and had a look at David Hockney's 'Bigger Trees Near Warter' which is currently there. If you're ever about in York, do go and have a look. It is breathtakingly impressive.<span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDhmv8SQ8QWGOfNuHLsDEDYaUKnn2kL2BSpDihEzlHhTmKzMFdQJU-XERphbZXWMICS7a3dQMYO5iF_-aMOfZUSiXfNQoApUnhRwo5KC52xL99jsOuSDzVSIUzdnkkggnOKigbacz-iMo/s1600/museum+gardens+017.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDhmv8SQ8QWGOfNuHLsDEDYaUKnn2kL2BSpDihEzlHhTmKzMFdQJU-XERphbZXWMICS7a3dQMYO5iF_-aMOfZUSiXfNQoApUnhRwo5KC52xL99jsOuSDzVSIUzdnkkggnOKigbacz-iMo/s400/museum+gardens+017.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586316355570352194" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcFT-nKKTO764GnNuG3oUuXq17dHvHPbaPNez5KaMkJsggyMST4av17mZN_J6CwiL1Z4WTBRAdwPBCa1KjrT4FMjPPlzgnSlHbf2DyauSGnh10Tc3VPEqy4Q20DU9yxq_yOA_yCu4ahPU/s1600/museum+gardens+020.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcFT-nKKTO764GnNuG3oUuXq17dHvHPbaPNez5KaMkJsggyMST4av17mZN_J6CwiL1Z4WTBRAdwPBCa1KjrT4FMjPPlzgnSlHbf2DyauSGnh10Tc3VPEqy4Q20DU9yxq_yOA_yCu4ahPU/s400/museum+gardens+020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586315798947694850" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span> </div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-88544042549123880192011-03-14T14:12:00.003+00:002011-03-14T14:26:37.624+00:00Help Japan (for free)<div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;"><a href="http://viasquaredd.tumblr.com/post/3797893351/1000-reblogs-10-10000-reblogs-100-and-so">If you have tumblr, click here, then like and reblog that post as many times as you can. For every like and reblog they get, the company will doante $0.01 to the Red Cross, which in turn will go towards aid for Japan after the horrific earthquake and tsunami that happened last week, as well as other emergencies that are still occurring there, such as the explosions at the nuclear powerplants. It seems like a tiny amount, but if enough people do it it will build up to a substantial amount of money. The Red Cross is a truly amazing organisation which I donate monthly to, but just taking a couple of seconds to like or reblog that post could make a difference to someone's life. If you don't have tumblr, it only takes about 1.7 minutes to join, so do it.</a></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"><BR>Also, check out <a href="http://freerice.com/">freerice.com</a>, where you can help out the World Food Programme simply by answering general knowledge questions. Not only are you helping someone, somewhere, but you're also proving how excellent and clever you are by showing off your general knowledge.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;"></span></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-63744752389056141362011-03-14T13:04:00.000+00:002011-03-14T13:06:38.200+00:00you have the rest of your life to live<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEJ1LKJBK1CxmJuxumaVlKRf28i2J865bL6lEoV5V-wu8b4uGaMNiE88KDxY9_0YX7tyPkrxANt7A-2leivxzpQByylDlgB5tbuu3BAY_DBslCOdBEJ08el0fRIWdJY_Iot74DxuptDo4/s1600/perfect.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583921100722431362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 297px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEJ1LKJBK1CxmJuxumaVlKRf28i2J865bL6lEoV5V-wu8b4uGaMNiE88KDxY9_0YX7tyPkrxANt7A-2leivxzpQByylDlgB5tbuu3BAY_DBslCOdBEJ08el0fRIWdJY_Iot74DxuptDo4/s400/perfect.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-45123806927329465832011-03-13T16:47:00.006+00:002011-03-13T23:56:31.243+00:00I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">When I was 16 or 17, I read Jack Kerouac's </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;" >On The Road</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"> for the first time.<br /><br />Shamefully, I have to admit that I read it entirely because it was the 'cool' thing to do. Yes, I was that kind of teenager. I read it because to be able to sit on the train to Leeds reading Kerouac's classic American novel seemed like pretty much the most excellent thing I could do with my time. Yes, I may have been wearing clear lens wayfarer glasses whilst I did it. I may or may not have owned a straw trilby that year. I was a little (read: a lot) obsessed with Pete Doherty. Can you see why I would think that reading Beatnik literature was one step closer to eternal coolness?</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZ-uaZSCT-6fLd5spNJRdsj6Y62rYArfHs62rvJjWrGUR3Fm2jvanjV18GvjgjkvfEIjTv5ZxkaO7D6LsBXi0iGXrjEfSM8yO9Sz4-7CGzaNpI1yJRtsEFpp2IW5Az9_p1Znilrw6uJM/s1600/jack.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiZ-uaZSCT-6fLd5spNJRdsj6Y62rYArfHs62rvJjWrGUR3Fm2jvanjV18GvjgjkvfEIjTv5ZxkaO7D6LsBXi0iGXrjEfSM8yO9Sz4-7CGzaNpI1yJRtsEFpp2IW5Az9_p1Znilrw6uJM/s400/jack.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583716644182856882" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">The thing is...I kind of fell in love.<br /><br />It was Dean Moriarty's fault. </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;" >On The Road</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">'s adventure catalyst, Moriarty was everything that I wanted to be. He didn't give fuck about anything, or, it seemed, any</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;" >one</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">. He had as much fun as he wanted, whenever he wanted to. He was the embodiment of going with the flow. He was perfect.</span></span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Realising that I had stumbled across something quite special, I started inhaling Kerouac books at the rate that Doherty was then inhaling cocaine. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Subterraneans, Desolation Angels, The Darma Bums. </span>And they all fitted together. They were all <span style="font-style: italic;">about </span>Kerouac. It was gorgeous.That is how I discovered the Beat Generation.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDguryJCIwGxv6x72-34pfeaI9kynT88OkA_yn_nxX1CJbeLVtIAY7GaRX1xBcgjs68xVJdtI5KpfZPa46dwsQ5ZbqTgiiJgYN4ScJMWqtQFHfjoIdThAQgFwqe7aEZJmJe5lMtEy5UsY/s1600/ja.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDguryJCIwGxv6x72-34pfeaI9kynT88OkA_yn_nxX1CJbeLVtIAY7GaRX1xBcgjs68xVJdtI5KpfZPa46dwsQ5ZbqTgiiJgYN4ScJMWqtQFHfjoIdThAQgFwqe7aEZJmJe5lMtEy5UsY/s400/ja.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583713552038492402" border="0" /></a></span></span>I'd heard of it, of course, because I am an educated human. I had just never looked into it. Allen Ginsberg, naturally, came next. I was never as big a Ginsberg fan as I was a Kerouac fan, but then again, I was never as big a poetry fan as I am prose. I read <span style="font-style: italic;">Howl and Other Poems</span> and loved it, but I never really focused on it the way that I did with <span style="font-style: italic;">On The Road.</span> Until now.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmgj7qr5aXsDVL5qRn7xhkKk30syPwN_UMjW_RS1mxg57aPTvFMv5LHj29tmTP5u5xRNw1hkVQ6oif6aWb_vCLtGvIpm6xDjJW0rzd5zS1BqHU9TsuKsdxJEUz28gvyBa9NZll2UdWJLI/s1600/JamesFrancoHowl2_gallery_primary.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmgj7qr5aXsDVL5qRn7xhkKk30syPwN_UMjW_RS1mxg57aPTvFMv5LHj29tmTP5u5xRNw1hkVQ6oif6aWb_vCLtGvIpm6xDjJW0rzd5zS1BqHU9TsuKsdxJEUz28gvyBa9NZll2UdWJLI/s400/JamesFrancoHowl2_gallery_primary.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583713547039547490" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span>For my final semester at univeristy, one of the modules I chose is Post-WW2 American Literature. During our seminar last Thursday, we studied Ginsberg's <span style="font-style: italic;">Howl </span>and Kerouac's <span style="font-style: italic;">Big Sur</span> in depth. In preperation, I went back and really focused on <span style="font-style: italic;">Howl</span>. It kind of blew me away. It is such an intensely painful and obviously very personal poem to Ginsberg, so it is amazing really that he had it published. It is also stunning. The imagery, the phrases that he creates, the mindset he must have been in to write something so inherently bleak (drugs, drugs, drugs). Until, of course, you get to the footnote of the poem (which shockingly they didn't actually publish in our uni anthologies, so I'm certain that half the people on my course don't even know that it exists) where the entire tone and meaning of the poem switches to something tentatively bordering on hope. It is beautiful.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVnknjiH3iy1GR2TSAI_oVAFkJAnyGbgmK0jYeqy_Y76QFU9AtN3P4lmy0KPSBD94K0tb6g8sPZpBUMS6cyOfeqxBN2yjHXuY_QElQ1r7t-4XyFFunc2r12p6wM8CycUjgf81olfUhK5A/s1600/Howl-James+Franco.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVnknjiH3iy1GR2TSAI_oVAFkJAnyGbgmK0jYeqy_Y76QFU9AtN3P4lmy0KPSBD94K0tb6g8sPZpBUMS6cyOfeqxBN2yjHXuY_QElQ1r7t-4XyFFunc2r12p6wM8CycUjgf81olfUhK5A/s400/Howl-James+Franco.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583713543131215858" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>I understand that not everyone will have read <a href="http://www.wussu.com/poems/agh.htm">this poem</a>. And it wasn't really the poem that I wanted to write about. It was actually the new James Franco film that I wanted to talk about.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><iframe title="YouTube video player" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ytEORri27xE" allowfullscreen="" width="426" frameborder="0" height="260"></iframe></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br />James Franco plays Allen Ginsberg. Have you ever seen a sentence that is so full of good things? The film <span style="font-style: italic;">Howl</span> is four small stories rolled into one, the first being the story of how and, crucially, <span style="font-style: italic;">why</span> Ginsberg wrote <span style="font-style: italic;">Howl</span>. The second is Ginsberg performing the poem for the first time in front of his friends and contempories. The third is a court hearing on whether the book should be banned for being obscene, and the fourth Ginsberg being interviewed around the time of the court case.<br /><br />Because I am a bonafide geek, I have watched many, many videos of Allen Ginsberg performing his poetry on youtube, so when James Franco started talking in <span style="font-style: italic;">Howl</span>, I <span style="font-style: italic;">freaked out</span>. He sounds EXACTLY like him. It's eerie, it really is. And also absolutely astonishing.<br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/tIZeJmGpKeg" allowfullscreen="" width="426" frameborder="0" height="260"></iframe></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br />If you can find a cinema that is showing this film, GO AND SEE IT. If not, try and see it some other way. It's magnificent.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinyZ8JLWsArGAagRCH5k5_mGxcgwqed1pjVrppRhrL-1qxxXtQEGjB6Ym2ttBKDjsBb_s7lZqcNP6u0hp1jEm6pmD0Yg2V2lPkfGIRgmKBnPBjfEaW7gWA4o9qrRK6n-1l9yv_kUnAVXE/s1600/ho.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinyZ8JLWsArGAagRCH5k5_mGxcgwqed1pjVrppRhrL-1qxxXtQEGjB6Ym2ttBKDjsBb_s7lZqcNP6u0hp1jEm6pmD0Yg2V2lPkfGIRgmKBnPBjfEaW7gWA4o9qrRK6n-1l9yv_kUnAVXE/s400/ho.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583713060407960786" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Aaron Tveit and James Franco<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1xaNhuVkHvp5y6ZNzEWJGwbEnrzIUz1eqgMcIF6YHz2bKZSxPZ34mW8uCIcAoMVLZaUNe_n-msf0u15fFHqZ0RmEY1RA2AJpRh_OaGYmY6joMpn4wsTCLXrHdzi8NicV6DjeX5b3kFr8/s1600/ho2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1xaNhuVkHvp5y6ZNzEWJGwbEnrzIUz1eqgMcIF6YHz2bKZSxPZ34mW8uCIcAoMVLZaUNe_n-msf0u15fFHqZ0RmEY1RA2AJpRh_OaGYmY6joMpn4wsTCLXrHdzi8NicV6DjeX5b3kFr8/s400/ho2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583713064289731170" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Peter Orlovsky and Allen Ginsburg.<br /><br />On the subject of films, they are also currently finishing off a film adaptation of Kerouac's <span style="font-style: italic;">On The Road. </span>That in itself is a beautiful thing, but the fact that is stars Sam Riley, Kristen Stewart and (I die a little bit with joy every time I think this) Garrett Hedlund, is an absolute dream. And Garrett Hedlund is playing Dean Moriarty.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG1_gg3dnP2qx9WXifpNaMOysO__JV5vt33-4sd8gG_ozTXgc29wpH-iyMBLSwiwa1Wo3tB8sg642ALocuBgResdk2FKDwlUyfBPJWjQ6yQwxE5V5FrloJdsqJHiv8LZYhYocajc3jsyM/s1600/on+the+road.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG1_gg3dnP2qx9WXifpNaMOysO__JV5vt33-4sd8gG_ozTXgc29wpH-iyMBLSwiwa1Wo3tB8sg642ALocuBgResdk2FKDwlUyfBPJWjQ6yQwxE5V5FrloJdsqJHiv8LZYhYocajc3jsyM/s400/on+the+road.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583713049597465826" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> Congratulations to whoever cast him. I suspect that they snuck into my brain at some point and stole all my (slightly perverse and literature themed) dreams. I don't know when it's due to be released (possibly November?) but I can almost guarentee that it will be my new favourite film.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2wPy8Szhm25tlVumJ6pVUG_yn-4vaneqw5z7vcDH16VKp7W28TMkt1yW8v-R4wIj7DRS_VQ6Hidg0zUvYZjrbu8Xy2AITGC3lYdylKlNDso1mJIstvdYBYiCjD50lqSQSDN8rK83vwQ/s1600/otr.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2wPy8Szhm25tlVumJ6pVUG_yn-4vaneqw5z7vcDH16VKp7W28TMkt1yW8v-R4wIj7DRS_VQ6Hidg0zUvYZjrbu8Xy2AITGC3lYdylKlNDso1mJIstvdYBYiCjD50lqSQSDN8rK83vwQ/s400/otr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583713056220254818" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhORLBYWuXOQVtn9GtTIS6MyYJVnnutyBB5_EW14ETywFSMu7TvfyOv2jruJCaTA003PtzYs96aU2CunhOJuHXayOJDuCMbBYYcu1KLFBu1nTNXG2SfcR4wmqoUwaS_SXDlrJ2cXa2n_Mg/s1600/on-the-road-02-550x364.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhORLBYWuXOQVtn9GtTIS6MyYJVnnutyBB5_EW14ETywFSMu7TvfyOv2jruJCaTA003PtzYs96aU2CunhOJuHXayOJDuCMbBYYcu1KLFBu1nTNXG2SfcR4wmqoUwaS_SXDlrJ2cXa2n_Mg/s400/on-the-road-02-550x364.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583713056343109074" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-5816647883288128502011-03-07T23:30:00.005+00:002011-03-08T00:07:57.897+00:00Brideshead Visited<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Bloody hell, it was cold today. Walking from the car to work this morning I was shivering so hard that I've made my shoulders ache. It's drastically different to yesterday, when I went out with only a hoodie and jacket, not my usual 12 layers of arctic-weather clothing. Why isn't it summer yet? How inconsiderate the seasons are.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">On Saturday night I watched Brideshead Revisited (the new, Matthew Goode/Ben Whishaw version) for the first time. What a sad, sad story. I mean, I loved it, but it was so sad. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it because I'm not normally one for any type of cotume drama. Then again, I do tend to be attracted to tales of heartbreak and loneliness, so that might explain it.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">The film inspired my family and I to take a trip to Castle Howard, where both the old and the new version of Brideshead Revisited were filmed. I think the house is closed during winter so we just went round the grounds and gardens, but it is such a stunning place. The really epic thing though is that the Howard family actually still live there. A family actually still owns it and lives in one side of it (the private side, where the public can't go. But they do use the public areas as well when everyone leaves, or so I've read). It would be insanely cool to live in a stately home. It's a small (and of course achievable) dream of mine to one day live in a place like Castle Howard.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Another grand day out in Yorkshire with my family. And more sunshine please?</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><a style="font-family: times new roman;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRLwtH6iAk_GYrsf0KpJUjFzlwuMP-5PLIqVPtyTFKwg0s83s4gDCKT1V5fzuKWG8SEVI7Ed2GoCQLc4KG4_6bKCOKavYPYmVRpHiwGINT6n9_MrrfIiW6O5oc4bbyDkI9inXk0e4JLc/s1600/Ress%2527+birthday+weekend+015.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRLwtH6iAk_GYrsf0KpJUjFzlwuMP-5PLIqVPtyTFKwg0s83s4gDCKT1V5fzuKWG8SEVI7Ed2GoCQLc4KG4_6bKCOKavYPYmVRpHiwGINT6n9_MrrfIiW6O5oc4bbyDkI9inXk0e4JLc/s400/Ress%2527+birthday+weekend+015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581493609583486130" border="0" /></a></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM82Zb7h52Ctfl7qwVCbcE3pA8Dd8KdBNKC-RSsC0_Ef1DfEDLOZ2P5Hf_RhNycuTnse5QJzlERIvmsMpgx1HHiyJZUsIXvZ3dJYCqx0Ijc6q83dDONXTeEEFjXpFKdtit2UfyOeWMTUw/s1600/Ress%2527+birthday+weekend+020.JPG"><img style="display: block; 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margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi1UjMmQL7JYOlLeLyjzqK9NlVlXhJrcWxqUBOV8-5gUO3ALgEGKZY8knybNPBmcPX4k-aWRxD-OfP3S-4rMecmLn7SHNlXBh20E59xIe0G54gJ9Fvnxtl34ztvUF01pBNTYX2mzhHCdQ/s400/Ress%2527+birthday+weekend+092.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581490258072349890" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1WTCCGjSgD9UuLuHnYe_bCY9J3lt-dqSB39PK1srSLflScqbGSKrbZLiMZInsKoYuUioFTQx3D0mdh0Y7o_RhvZfM1W5vrmMwsuwHjWgouBi8HdyuqBlQnh-laPmq-V_2T8WtxJfZYX8/s1600/Ress%2527+birthday+weekend+097.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1WTCCGjSgD9UuLuHnYe_bCY9J3lt-dqSB39PK1srSLflScqbGSKrbZLiMZInsKoYuUioFTQx3D0mdh0Y7o_RhvZfM1W5vrmMwsuwHjWgouBi8HdyuqBlQnh-laPmq-V_2T8WtxJfZYX8/s400/Ress%2527+birthday+weekend+097.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581490251129209010" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_77bfAeLdJ0zOOzAYTzkw8lhoobWf8eZNK5IV3wvHrSNuIF8y1nPFjW19FDX5ZqYnxX7wDf-E9vDRr-BNYTfCObU8f2_eymvsUgVtTVOAKFroluG5CTcNHIwgW3wH3mohcFTleym87Uo/s1600/Ress%2527+birthday+weekend+105.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_77bfAeLdJ0zOOzAYTzkw8lhoobWf8eZNK5IV3wvHrSNuIF8y1nPFjW19FDX5ZqYnxX7wDf-E9vDRr-BNYTfCObU8f2_eymvsUgVtTVOAKFroluG5CTcNHIwgW3wH3mohcFTleym87Uo/s400/Ress%2527+birthday+weekend+105.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581490245859310882" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:85%;" >It's my brother's 20th birthday today! HAPPY BIRTHDAY REES!<br /></span></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-45290719819707301122011-03-05T23:12:00.006+00:002011-03-06T00:33:39.947+00:00World Book Night 2011 -the recipients and the winners<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">So, after seemingly weeks on my part of banging on about it, tonight was World Book Night.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Myself and 19,999 other givers handed out one million books as part of the event, which was created to inspire people to turn back to books and to start reading again in a society that is focused on so many other things nowadays. My book choice was Fingersmith by Sarah Waters, which I read years ago and utterly adored.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I was helped tonight by my mum and dad, my brother and my pal Katie. Because I didn't want to just throw books to strangers at random only for them to end up in a bin or left at the bus stop (the book, not the stranger), we decided to go the York Theatre Royal and hand them out before the evening performance. The idea was that people who go to the theatre would be the sort of people who would appreciate being given an incredible book to read. It went really, really well. People tend to be quite suspicious when you try and give them something - as if they can't quite believe that you aren't trying to sell them something - but everyone who received a copy seemed to be really pleased, and if that's you, do say hello and let me know what you think of the book. I promise you it is more excellent than it might at first seem.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I took a few photos over the evening and I want to say thank you to anyone who let me take their picture. Also a big thank you to my parents, my brother and Katie, because there is no way that I could have carried 48 books into York and distributed them without their help. Finally, a HUGE thanks to World Book Night for letting me be a small, but I like to think vital, part of the event.</span></span><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie9SaB0Hsdtfg1mvMt3F4jeXlExWrELzQXejwfTveXrIW6VQ5RQqDVZ7O7EMer4afuJHcwviFaP7Z9MSm8oD8Pod3XJGyy1NALJzHJJNpXwghVL42TPGwpeajqnTa-9haTevlMJEPDQp4/s1600/world+book+night+005.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie9SaB0Hsdtfg1mvMt3F4jeXlExWrELzQXejwfTveXrIW6VQ5RQqDVZ7O7EMer4afuJHcwviFaP7Z9MSm8oD8Pod3XJGyy1NALJzHJJNpXwghVL42TPGwpeajqnTa-9haTevlMJEPDQp4/s400/world+book+night+005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580758087724856210" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2OAv6rZfIFhJ0pcJLHuxAp5CpYaeaYfCFFH_wqtqE0Tm-vZfclaRp1Z1V_B9BV90MWa47coBNbmllaQA_JnrLo_gmOehlsc-K9hgmrzspY3O-E9w44ExxRx6thqAitRhmAgps1JkdLA/s1600/world+book+night+006.JPG"><img style="display: block; 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margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVnqLaStdWVCCc3oP8sXu3GqHVc-u9QPB2mQ7uWnhXlWJr6zqFDVA_Q_fsnozlDR6eP0UH_JYaa-qkJ4i9qKdtAqoC3Z2-N4DHs2d-eZ2coII11bpwbf9Wflx46pgNDp_WM8qYDAgJF0s/s400/world+book+night+020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580757041857835522" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh77DJAi9x-umgb6TQQx8J0WT-VK4X4qT8RcPjKg3MAdswbzwDr4B0_wqoB9edtfNHdoA9fsh0VHa5SArOBLYvG4w9YipHxHJ8abdvdIA4WZqKxEz9CBcbI_WmRPkIUKweLPgBmVjLK_Ds/s1600/world+book+night+023.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh77DJAi9x-umgb6TQQx8J0WT-VK4X4qT8RcPjKg3MAdswbzwDr4B0_wqoB9edtfNHdoA9fsh0VHa5SArOBLYvG4w9YipHxHJ8abdvdIA4WZqKxEz9CBcbI_WmRPkIUKweLPgBmVjLK_Ds/s400/world+book+night+023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580757035948598930" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9slucSn_ZcJUZq31UfXMs9fj8OgwrDt3ud6kBICmuZyyNTl4k-5QmprSpsGSzQWwoL7X_Xl5UrZX-nW75KNyYc5NVJq9manQ_IN2kbgba2xOPuqBCZPozEyLVBqm9uD31TUq4w7rkM7M/s1600/world+book+night+025.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9slucSn_ZcJUZq31UfXMs9fj8OgwrDt3ud6kBICmuZyyNTl4k-5QmprSpsGSzQWwoL7X_Xl5UrZX-nW75KNyYc5NVJq9manQ_IN2kbgba2xOPuqBCZPozEyLVBqm9uD31TUq4w7rkM7M/s400/world+book+night+025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580757025077877906" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I also want to announce the winners of my giveaway for some of you lot to win a copy of <span style="font-style: italic;">Fingersmith</span>. Unfortunately I am only going to be able to give two copies away (most of the people who entered live overseas and I am a poor student, thus cannot afford to be posting four books to Australia). I numbered each email and used an internet random number generator thing (properly high tech, I know) and the winners are:<br /><br />Beth at <a href="http://bethan-no-y.blogspot.com/">www.bethan-no-y.blogspot.com/</a><br />and<br />Anisha at <a href="http://livelifedeeply.net/">http://livelifedeeply.net/</a><br /><br />Incidentally, two of my favourite blogs (Ani, I think, actually has my brain in her head, and Beth writes about literature in a far more beautiful and eloquent way than I ever can). I've emailed you both, so send me your addresses and I'll get the books posted out to you asap. Congratulations!<br /><br /><br />Of course, the whole point of World Book Night wasn't just to give out free books. It was to promote writers and to promote reading and to promote the bookshop industry. I must shamefully admit to being one of the main perpetrators of the Amazon takeover, but we really must all start going to libraries and to proper book shops and start supporting the <span style="font-style: italic;">real</span> literature industry. Hopefully World Book Night will have brought this to more people's attention. It certainly brought it to mine.<br /><br />And, obviously, free stuff is always cool.<br /></span></span></div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682531559520827856.post-59117217915032888222011-03-05T13:42:00.002+00:002011-03-06T00:49:58.129+00:00Yes. Just...yes.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">“</span><span class="quote" style="font-family:times new roman;">Whenever I, you know, read something wonderful, I don’t wish I had written it, I’m so happy that somebody else did so I can just enjoy it.</span><span style="font-family:times new roman;">” </span></span> <table style="margin-top: 10px;font-family:times new roman;" width="100%" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td style="width: 1px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 20px; font-weight: bold;" valign="top"><span style="font-size:85%;"> — </span></td> <td style="font-weight: bold;" class="quote_source" valign="top"><span style="font-size:85%;"> Jesse Eisenberg</span></td></tr></tbody></table>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01003449140367766510noreply@blogger.com0