Good Golly, Miss Molly, [yes, I quite like Little Richard] it's been an age since I wrote on this. And what a weird (yes, it's an awful cliche now) rollarcoaster of a year it's been. Well, it's not been a year since I last wrote - only since November - but my academic year, my first year, at university is drawing to a close. In fact, as I write this, I am surrounded by two suitcases, boxes, a few carrier bags, small random items yet to be packed away in something safe(ish) so that I can be driven back home tomorrow. It's quite strange. I was reminiscing with my flatmate today about the first day we met, and tried to get a flat-gathering together so we could all make friends. It was she who remembered best, really, since such such a lot of things has happened.

Ooops. I was supposed to book my coach tickets to Bournemouth (Yes, I'm still with The Tall Lanky One. He's done well at Uni and I'm going to visit for a few days. Although he left here today after a 2 week visit.). I'll continue writing this later.

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And so I've done it. I've saved a whopping £21 by NOT taking the train. Then again, I've got to spend an inordinate amount on the single bus journeys to and from town at home in order to get my coach, but nevermind. Woo.

I'm sure most people will sympathise with me when I tell you that it took at least 10 minutes longer than it should have, simply because, when it came to booking the first ticket (save monies by getting singles to and from london) I could not for the life of me remember what the devil I did with my debit card. It's never with me when I want it, and when I don't want it, it's there; enticing me to withdraw plenty of cash to mindlessly spend.

Speak of the devil - well, not Him personally - The Tall Lanky One has just logged into gtalk to tell me he is hungry, needs the loo and has returned safely. I've emailed him all my travel details, and I kinda regret not being able to see his face when he reads them. Or maybe it's a good thing - perhaps he took it as a certainty that I wouldn't come afterall and has made other more wonderful arrangements than to drag me around probably-not-so-sunny-Bournemouth.


I shall begin to scrub my bathroom floor with an old toothbrush and bleach. And to reclean the sink and mirror and tiles so that they shine as they were before Lanky One's horribly fluffy and moulty bath towel came.
Honestly, ladies. If you have your boyfriend around for long enough, he will infest the most bizarre places with bits of fluff, crumbs and other things in crannies you weren't sure existed.