A bliss that tastes of strawberries and whipped cream

I finally moved the last of my belongings out of Liberty Quays, Kent University at Medway accomodation. I am out. It is finally completely off my hands. Staring out over Balham High Street I watch the cars and bright red double-deckers go past as the fruit and veg-guy packs up his raspberries and Jersey Royals for the day. The wind that carries the sweet smell of summer nestles its way in through the open windows and makes my boyfriend's pots of chillies on the windowsill dance in the setting sun. I can hear the laughter and muffled music from B@1 downstairs, and it mixes well with the sound of my guitar as I am tuning it.
It is the last day of June and I have absolutely nothing to do tonight. And on Sunday I am going to Sweden.

I can also tick two things off the list of "Things to do before death". Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney was two breathtaking concerts. 50 000 people singing/belching/slurring/bellowing along to Sir Duke on Saturday night underneath a starry sky over Hyde Park and fireworks in the sunset to Live and Let Die on Sunday. I honestly don't know what to say. And those who know me can tell you - that is rare.

Champagne should be drunk on a roofterrace. Preferrably Aqua's

Whoa, did someone say an intense week?

End of exams celebrations with hugs, laughter and a mini bottle of rosé, rushing back to London for friends waiting with the Jägermeister on ice and even more hugs. Thursday will probably be crowned day of the year as the night celebrating my dearest Sarah Mitchell turning 21(I think) kicked off with Sagatiba training, Champagne on Aqua's roofterrace overlooking my beautiful Central London, a breathtaking Robyn concert and then - neither of us remember much more.
No need to drone on, yet I have to say that despite no more university, my brain is slowly but surely morphing into mashed potatoes. 12 hour shifts and little to no sleep is doing the trick.
But my dear chickens - get out in the sun! Screw the budget - it's not as bad as we thought! Yet someone made an interesting point. Through all the calculations of how much the low income to high income families would suffer etc. - no one had thought of the single professional household. Ones like me and my friends who tend to be unmarried, unreproduced, young professionals living in flatshares and working long hours with a despicable wage. What about us? Is this because we are a London phenomena?

Dear internal organs

I am writing to you in advance to apologize for the horrifying events that will occur over the next four days(14/06/2010-17/06/2010) and sadly effect you and your partners. I am aware of the agreements previously set (see life contract, signed 25/07/1990) and the promises made by both parts to coexist under these, however, this will be an exception. Despite our relentless efforts to make vital cutbacks, certain areas will undoubtedly be affected more than others, such as liver and gastric functions.


My sincerest apologies and with best wishes for a swift recovery
Sara Malm

It's been 365 days

One year ago , she met a boy who hates sports and he met a girl who loves whisky.

The rest is, as they say, history.

I am waving my wand and my exams are still there!

Bowing out of the Harry P Theme Park argument gracefully (read the clever opponents winning argument here) I have realised that I don't really want a Harry Potter Land Theme Park. I want Harry Potter Land full stop. Ten years after I read Harry for the first time and decided that no matter what happened I was going to be as close to this magical land as possible (yes, that is actually true, I was ten years old when I decided to move to England asap and it was because of J.K. Rowling - eight years later I did) I am still waiting for my Hogwarts letter.

Some would call me a romantic dreamer. Others would call me plain sad.

My feelings regarding politics revision

Giving up phish for Battersea Cats

Good deed of the day:

I am giving up Ben & Jerry's in favour of a Battersea Cats and Dogs home Kitty Cabin. £10 a month (just about my normal B&J spendings) are going towards saving some fuzzy, cuddly kittens - not to mention reducing the lard-belt that is my midsection.

YEY, I'm a good person!

A picture of what to expect from the Harry Potter Theme Park in Florida

This is a promo pic for the Wizarding World of Harry Potter:

You know what I find is the most interesting part of this promo picture? The sky. That sky creates much of the mood and expectations in that picture. The warmth of the light from the fake Hogwarts and the authenticity of the snow on the roofs, is all thanks to that dark sky. The problem is: you would never get that sky in Orlando, Florida. Ever.

In Britain? Hell yes.

So it makes me wonder: Are they going to make a fake sky? Or are Harry Potter fans going to melt in their merchandise robes and hats under a scorching sun? I think the latter.

They can fake the pine trees and the rocks and the snow, the buildings, castles, bridges and lakes - but you cannot fake the British weather.

High time to bring the Harry Potter Theme Park back home to Britain

"... the fact is that Harry Potter is not American. He is British. Where is Diagon Alley, where they buy wands and stuff? It is in London, and if you want to get into the Ministry of Magic you disappear down a London telephone box. The train for Hogwarts goes from King's Cross, not Grand Central Station ..."

THANK YOU BORIS!

The London Mayor Boris Johnson writes in his weekly Telegraph column about the need to "exploit out intellectual property" and build a British Harry Potter Themepark

Finally someone from some form of British authority has reacted to the murder of J.K. Rowlings magical world. I never understood why there was a need to recreate Northumberland and London in Orlando, Florida when you could do it somewhere in the UK. The world of Harry P is not supposed to be in tropical heat (fake snow on the roofs of Hogsmeade in +28 C - I mean, are you kidding me?) Being one of those hard core Potter fans that re-read the entire series at least once a year and falls asleep pretty much every single sober night to the soothing voice of Stephen Fry (who does an excellent job with the audio version) this is something I will fight tooth and nail for. Not only because there is no way in hell that I could afford going to Florida. Harry Potter is my bible - and you know how stingy people can be about their religion.

Surely we cannot afford to do this with any government funds in the current economical climate, but there must be enough geeks with money to fund this? Boris, I advice you to give Richard Branson a call. Or how about Simon Cowell? Or J.K. Rowling herself? Why would these proud Brits not be willing to put some money towards this? The amount of money an English, substantially more authentic, Harry Potter Themepark could generate is scary.

"The Greater London Authority (GLA) is said to be “highly receptive” to any possible bids," - The New Civil Engineer

This made me giggle in the silent section of the Drill Hall library

nicked off Sands Media Services blog

Doesn't it suck when even your mother's man is out of your league

Its not exactly news that I read gossip blogs. And its probably not really a splash that I hate celebspawns that have been given everything just because they have the DNA of some famous person. There are however some exceptions. If your mum is Demi Moore and you still end up looking like Bruce Willis, then you deserve some luxury as compensation.

How was your Saturday night?

In a bar, you sometimes have those nights, where there are just a few highlights in an overall shitty night. Last night was like that - just without the highlights. Douchebag United decided to have their annual clubmeeting in my bar. Oh the joy.
I had people throwing garnishes - a hen party that started a cucumber fight, and when all the cucumber AND mint was on the floor they went for the ice. Then some promoter with half of Essex in tow was 1 hour and 20 mins late for his bookings - just because you require VIP treatment does not mean you can act like a diva. On top of this another hen party dressed up as "Pink Ladies" where the maid of honour, straight out of Newcastle with the manners to boot, had the audacity to ask me "Can we have free drinks? Can we have free shots? Can we have half price drinks then? But its a hen party, can't you give us anything for free? " The answer was No, No, No and I don't give a flying fuck.

And these were the nice people.

B-b-baby I'm a rockstar

Dr Geoff Ellis has done some research for UKTV Gold (why the television fee has gone towards this I have no idea), and come up with a connection between when you are born in a sibling group and the likelihood of success in certain areas.
Apparently the eldest child are over 3.5 times more likely to become a rock star than their younger siblings. Three quarters (75%) of the study sample of rock stars were oldest or only children with a personality that include being ambitious, energetic, people pleasers who crave attention.

Before one starts waving these numbers off as bollocks - it does make sense. As an eldest child, hopefully anticipated by your parents, you have all the attention from parents and relatives and you are the star of the show. Then, all of a sudden, without you even realising it, you have been demoted to a mere support act as a new baby arrives. Studies have shown that this shapes kids for life, and it is true! If you take away the rock star part of it, I am all those things. So it seems I have the statistic on my side. I guess all I need now is to be discovered.

"When all the data is considered together, a simple Chi-square test suggests than there is a less than 1% chance of the relationship between sibling group and role type being down to chance alone. When Rock stars are considered in isolation against the rest of the sample group, the probability of the results being purely random are reduced to less than one in a thousand."

I told ya, b-b-b-baby I'm a rockstar...

Dear readers...

... I am sorry to inform you all that this blog, known as The Scandilous Life, will hereby be no more. It appears that the talanted young author of this blog accidentally started to look at pictures of Aaron Johnson and drowned in her own drool.

I am sorry for your loss
/ Google

An editor in the making?

Digressing more that a tad bit from my history revision I am reading about editorship in Andrew Marr's My Trade (a book that is going to save my degree if I ever saw one). Becoming an editor is my number one dream, it is up there with publishing a novel, owning a house, losing two stone and affording a pair of Loubotins and yet affording to eat and pay rent ( listed in order of significance). Without bragging I can say that already I have some of the qualities that I need - I get a kick out of being in charge, I am powerhungry and I have an ego the size of Oxfordshire. However - one major piece is missing. One piece that seem to be vital to becoming an editor.
I cant do conflicts and confrontations.
I can break down a person to crumbles, slag off his/her work, ethics, personality and apperance - as long as he/she is not there. I cant bear to be mean and awful to someone's face - mainly because I don't like the thought of making people sad (I go by the old saying that what you don't know wont make you cry) but more importantly I am shit in physical combat. I get nervous and lose my words. I avoid my opponets gaze, stutter something incoherent and walk around cursing to myself for the remainder of the day because I was too much of a coward to talk back.
Marr writes about the heaps of mail with abuse and negative feedback. All that negativity have to come off like water on a goose's back. With me? More like a drenched kitten. I take it all personally and go into a corner and cry. Seriously. I am absolutely awful with critique - maybe that's why I am so sheisse at giving it to others.

I need to toughen up. I need to become a complete bitch - and be OK with it. I've got anywhere between 10 and 30 years to do it. So feel free to tell me I'm fat, and wait for my retort.

Enough said...

"Let us be candid. What an editor needs most is a monstrously large ego"