Knee-Literature.

I definitely should have spent the evening revising, or at least doing something mentally progressive. As it stands, I drew 1920s-esque faces on my knees and found a suitable F. Scott Fitzgerald quote to accompany them.

"I hope something happens. I'm restless as the devil and have a horror of getting fat or falling in love and growing domestic."

"But it's on you for life!",,,

... My mother's reaction to my first two tattoos. So, of course I'm getting another! Although this one is going to be pretty well hidden so I won't get any grief about it and she'll be none the wiser. Since Murakami is one of my favourite authors and I never want to forget the beauty of his novels, I figured that having the Wind-Up Bird permanently inked onto my skin should make for a pretty obvious reminder! I'm not a huge fan of most tattoos but I think they can look particulrly good on the ribs. For example...

Of course, I would love to have her figure too but I guess the more meat on my bones, the less excruciating it will be.
It's a good enough excuse for now at least.

Recipe of the Day.

A wholesome bowl of history revision

Ingredients:

• A stack of paper, assorted coloured pens and a regular smorgisboard of reading material on American history
• One packet of oatcakes
• One apple - chopped
• A mug for green tea and black coffee - amount moderated to personal preference
• Plenty of water
• Tobacco. Lots and lots of tobacco.

(Serves 1)

Instructions:

1. Wake up nice and early for maximum revision time following by 1 - 2 cups of black coffee
2. Spread out notes. Flick through reading material. Smoke a cigarette. Check emails. Smoke another cigarette. Write something partially incomprehensible. Smoke another cigarette in recognition of your good work.
3. Intersperse 'revision' with much liquid drinking, much less calorie intake and the odd break for Mad Men (cue the inevitability of further smoking)
4. Repeat process until your eyes blur, your limbs ache and you start speaking in an American accent.

Lose a pound, gain an A level! I'm seeing this one right up there with the best mantras.

Some poetry, of course.

I picked up a Rupert Brooke anthology whilst helping my pa move house the other day and after reading up about him on the internet found myself wondering why, oh, why had it taken me so long to discover him! A few of his poems brought tears to my eyes. There's something comforting in the knowledge that I can still be so acutely affected by the written word. Something that, however fleetingly, can lift the deadening weight on my chest. I guess I'm an old romantic at heart.

The Busy Heart
Now that we've done our best and worst, and parted,
I would fill my mind with thoughts that will not rend.
(O heart, I do not dare go empty-hearted)
I'll think of Love in books, Love without end;
Women with child, content; and old men sleeping;
And wet strong ploughlands, scarred for certain grain;
And babes that weep, and so forget their weeping;
And the young heavens, forgetful after rain;
And evening hush, broken by homing wings;
And Song's nobility, and Wisdom holy,
That live, we dead. I would think of a thousand things,
Lovely and durable, and taste them slowly,
One after one, like tasting a sweet food.
I have need to busy my heart with quietude.

I see outfits like this, fall in love with them and then swiftly realise that I'd need to be at least two stone lighter to to even consider wearing them. Any advice on a good leg elongater would be duly welcomed too!