Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Counting your drinks

I've finally admitted that I have an addiction. All this time I've been firmly refusing to count my drinks because I don't want to face up to the truth. Now I've broken my toe at our party on saturday night I must confess the truth- I'm hooked. I can't live without it. I need it every day. Yes, my name is Frances and I'm a control freak. Maybe it runs in the family, or maybe it's just a sign of the times. But I can't even walk and I'm absolutely screwing because I can't play a more active role in the cleaning-up. The guys are doing ok, but they're doing some stuff wrong. Isn't it funny that I have cultivated a (rather successful) image of not giving a shit about anything for the last 8 years and now I am able to lie in bed all day I get up anyway and drag my arse into college? Well, at least I fight against it. And that's why I give such good parties. We filled four crates with bottles- we're estimating a thousand units of alcohol ( at least 250 of those are vodka) were drunk. I wanna have a party every month! Is everyone else having as many dificulties getting the blood off as I am?

Thursday, October 19, 2006

And hey, I just broke the golden rule of anonymity on the blog. Fuck it, I was only worried I'd get the sack anyway...

oh well, what the hell

I got one anyway. www.myspace.com/francesgrahl Despite my sister's very good point...

Preaching to the converted

Yesterday I attended a meeting hosted by John McDonnell in Hackney Empire. There were only a hundred people there; people were giving out flyers in the street during the day but who the hell takes a flyer from some fucking socialist power dude in a stupid hat (or whoever) and thinks oh, they're saving the Labour party, I'll pop along to that one after tea? Me, I guess. But I was definitely the only person in the room who wasn't either one of John McD's minions, a member of some factional leftwing group trying desperately to get their aims onto JMcD's agenda (What are you going to do about seizing the banks for the People, John?) or some sad NHS unionist obviously clutching at any straw that might drag the NHS back from the brink of a carpetbagger-and-golddigger feeding frenzy. It's a lovely thought that Gordon Brown might not be our only option (don't even go there, Reid). But the meeting ended with the audience being urged to rejoin the Labour Party. There is apparently no time limit for members to be allowed to vote for Party Leader. Join for a week! Now that's food for thought...

Friday, October 13, 2006

To dumb down or not to dumb down?

Duh! It was Ethan Hawke and Julia Stiles. In Manhattan. And a nice clip from the beginning of The Conversation, with Gene Hackman. Now I understand The Bard fully...

Wednesday, October 11, 2006


I remembered how much I like Hamlet (especially compared to Romeo and bloody Juliet). Probably that's mostly because of the way Mr Mcleod (oh my god, the first person I've ever mentioned on this blog without using a pseudonym) taught it though. I don't know how my lecturers will tackle the same material; unfortunately Baz Luhrman has yet to make a trendy new version of Hamlet that will appeal to the Youth on my course. Maybe there's a cartoon somewhere?
Mr Mcleod: I shan't read all the parts today. Let some of you do some work. Who wants to read? Right, you can be the second courtier. And now we need someone as the first courtier. Yes, you. Who else is in this scene? I'll read Claudius, of course. Hmm, and Polonius. I had better be Laertes and Ophelia as well. Hmm, I think I can manage Queen Gertrude. Who would read Hamlet best? Right, that's settled.

On one memorable occasion he actually took his jacket off and stood up and came out from behind his desk to act a particularly important part. That was the first and last time I ever saw Mr Mcleod's legs. The speech was of course 'To be or not to be'. Today and yesterday it was Student Discount Night at Topshop. Twenty percent off everything. I bought some good stuff but am kind of tempted to go back and get some more... The place has got to be what Dante's Inferno would be like if he was writing today. New Flatmate has a George Foreman Lean Mean Grilling Machine. It's amazing. Best steak I've ever had outside of a restaurant. And vegetables. And toasted sandwiches. I've thrown my sandwich toaster in the bin. I've seen the grilling light. See below for my dream coffee-maker...

Saturday, October 07, 2006

return of the blog

I've been busy. Now I have the amazing luxury of wireless broadband in my room I can't imagine why I'd ever go to work again... is there any other reason to go to the office apart from to use the high-speed internet connection? And now there's noone looking over my shoulder! Tower Hamlets council are bastards! Take that! Go and see The Devil Wears Prada, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I looked in every shoe-shop in the world for flat black boots that aren't pointy, slouchy or overly butch. They don't exist. The fashion empire has dictated that modern woman must fall into three categories; pointy, slouchy or butch- and there is no grey area. Even though grey is the colour for areas this A/W season. I'm enjoying college so far, except that I really do have wrinkles compared to all my fellow students. I'm going to spend some student loan today on age-defying cream. And I don't know why, but beer is cheaper in the wetherspoons down the road than it is in the union bar. Pathetic. And I embarassed myself in a French class by failing to spot the difference in the vowel sounds in été and était. For an hour. Mostly I got them the wrong way round entirely. Of course the eighteen-year-olds were waiting to see what the rest of the class had got before daring to put their hands up whereas I, with four years of bravery on them, just put up my hand for the answer I thought was right. But I've learnt my lesson now. And by the way, there is no difference. The only vowel sound you need in order to sound French is the 'schwa' sound. Which sounds like Euh...