1 kitten, 1 brother

Calories: average but I definitely have a bit of tummy chub going on these days :(
Units of alcohol: 5
Scratches/ pin pricks from kitten claws: about 20
Wine glass nearly broken: 1

Last night I thought I was going to be murdered.  By my mother.  The reason was that I turned up on the doorstep with a tabby kitten in my arms.  Her name is Tiger and the reason I took her home is she was about to get run over on a country road like her sisters and mother and auntie.  Now, I couldn't possibly let this little ball of fluff die, could I?  We already have two cats at home called Tilly and Wilfred.  Wilfred is the only gay in the village.  He also thinks he's a dog.  And he dribbles.  But that is beside the point.  Tiger is going to B&B with us until we can persuade my granny to take her on.  And I must say, she has settled in brilliantly.  I don't really want to let her go, it's nice to have a kitten to nap with, but Tilly and Wilfred aren't best pleased and I do feel rather disloyal.
However, my point is that I wasn't murdered.  Obviously.  Because I'm writing this. Mum was strangely fine about it all and has a massive soft spot for Tiger, and I have a new little someone to love rather than the men that wander in and out of my life.

The other thing is my brother.  I. REALLY. DO. NOT. LIKE. HIM.  He's home this week for reading week but finds making my life a misery far more enjoyable.  Lucky Portsmouth and Plymouth are miles and counties apart.  What annoys me most is how everyone who sees him says how much he looks like my dad while my mum goes all watery eyed and says 'I know, I know' whilst looking at him lovingly.  He treats her like shit but I think she can't make herself get properly angry or enforce rules/punishment because she sees dad in him.  GREAT.  I feel like I was swapped at birth/adopted.

Bloody poser. And no, he's not fit. End of. 

 A couple of weeks ago George realised than he could wind me up whilst surreptitiously filming me on his stupid iphone and then posting the result on facebook for the world to see.  I don't see this as very brotherly, especially as one video caught me in one of the biggest rages I have ever been in after he smacked me on my head knocking me to the floor.  Domestic violence EAT YOUR HEART OUT.
This evening he tried to add another video to his collection.   He was being so slyly nasty to me that I told him I don't want him to come home next weekend for my birthday, he told me I couldn't stop him coming it was his home too etc etc etc and then I spotted the little red light flashing.  I asked him to delete the footage, he wouldn't.  Mum wouldn't make him either.  So I did the only thing I could think of: threatened to drop the glass of red wine I was holding all over the new kitchen floor.  And you know, I was so angry that I probably would have.  Luckily Mum realised I was serious and made him delete it. But he's such a sneaky, cunning **** I'll bet you a bottle of JD it'll soon appear on facebook.  Watch this space.

To Plan or not To Plan- that is the question

Cigarettes: 0
Units of alcohol: 7
Back street shinnanigans: 1
Hugs needed: many
Favourite Fire and Stone Pizza: 1/2 Florence 1/2 hoisin duck

I'M BACK.  It's been a while- a couple of months, and I apologise for that but I have been SO BUSY.  Plus my lack of motivation at the moment made me not bother to blog since I'm no longer being marked on it. However, due to high demand particularly from a certain Miss Laney, I shall continue...perhaps it's a form of therapy.

A lot has happened since I last wrote.  Christmas in France which of course involved family feuds, the best new year I've probably had, completing and handing in all my semester 1 work then getting it back, finding a lovely house for 2nd year, starting new units (gotta love fairy tales) setting up an all- female choir The Portsmouth Harbourettes, organising a concert for charity which will take place in April and having a lover I like more than I should.  I have about 10 days left of still being able to kid myself that I'm not a grown up before I turn 21, yet I feel more immature than I ever did at school.

For the first time in my life I have a best friend, someone I can talk to about anything and who is always there for me.  Alice and I do pretty much everything together but our favourite things are singing, cooking and spooning.  But the point of this post is that we are ALWAYS BUSY.  As a result, I'm exhausted and can't remember the last time I sat down to trawl the internet to watch Gossip Girl.  My skin is breaking out through lack of sleep and I can't stay alert or focus on anything.

I've been brought up to plan my day and plan things to look forward to, which makes me feel like I've had a productive day.  I wish I could say I'm doing lots of work, but the fact is, I'm not.  Just the bare essentials.  Don't tell Granny Ann.  I'm just busy doing other things like organising and endless choir rehearsals and... well... just things.  Our guy friends who live below me seem to do absolutely nothing except play on the PS3, watch tv and play the odd game of squash and it annoys them that I plan.  I can't even invite them round for dinner in two days because they can't plan that far ahead.  They take life one hour at a time and are therefore far more relaxed and stress-free than me.  I envy them in some ways.  Perhaps I should take a leaf out of their book.

Aims for next week: sleep, exercise, eat healthily so I can enter proper adult life (cough cough) feeling perky, motivated and ready to enjoy the next stage of life.  That didn't sound gay in the slightest.