In an ideal situation

I spent the most part of this evening dreaming. 

Normally I save this kind of mind wandering for when I'm in bed 

and playing at being an insomniac because it helps me to fall to sleep.

I would love, LOVE, to live in a cutesy cottage like this. 

Well, like this bit with a few adjustments. 

I'd like a wooden front door that is painted in a bright colour 

and a garden that has lots of flowers 

(ideally magical ones that would take care of themselves.) 

Inside I'd like real oak wooden floors, 

lots of lamps and 

twice as many cushions. 

I'd like an double oven and a gas hob 

and a fridge that dispenses ice and cold water. 

I'd like to have coloured walls and walls covered in pictures. 

(For me pictures and photographs are different things.) 

But I would like to have lots of photos everywhere. 

Of my babies, my brothers, my Mom & Dad, my nieces and nephews, 

my in-laws, my friends, my hubs (and me) and my holidays. 

I would like book shelves that are full of books that I've actually read and that I love. 

And finally, 

and this one is most important, so listen carefully, 

I would like lots of juicy squidgable babies 

that will grow up to be noble prize winners/rockstars/poets/astronauts. 

Actually, scratch the growing up to be noble prize winners blah blah blah part, 

I would just like to have juicy babies 

that grow into curious children, 

pleasant teenagers 

and then happy adults. 

Is that last part too cheesy? 

Did I take it too far? 

Anyways, if I'm going to dream, I might as well dream big, right?

Boo turned woo

Sometimes, when you feel sick and a little bit sorry for yourself, 

when you've had a long day and 

feel like you haven't achieved anything over than managing to successfully breath 

and when you feel absolutely discouraged, 

you just need to take a minute, 

pull yourself together and 

remind yourself that things aren't so bad. 

For me, today was a day that was mostly full of self pity. 

But then I got home, took a nap, had a scrummy ummy umpkins dinner made for me, had a bath, ate a pop tart and had my hair played with 

and I felt much better.

Then I remembered that first that I got on my assignment last week 

(first first ever), 

the goodies that my fridge is now full of after my Mom & Dad came over, 

the kids at school saying how our project (the perfect pizza) 

was the best one they've ever done before because they get eat it afterwards,

 that my ironing basket is completely empty, 

and this poorly spelt sentence from a kid that cracked me up 

"one of my hobbies is insests and my favourites are aunts."

Then I realised that my day wasn't so bad, 

and that I actually have a pretty sweet life.

 It's all about the little things you know?

Colins & Percys

I'm not going to hide it and I'm not going to lie. I love sweets. (Marks & Spencer do the best gummy sweets in the world!) And chocolate. And generally all things that are bad for you. And I'm a firm believer in having a little bit of what you want when you want it. 


Ross agrees with my sweet rationale. Problem is, Ross thinks I want sweets too often, so he devised a sneaky little plan. He would watch me come home from the supermarket and watch me unpack the food, then when I'm not looking, he'd secretly move the sweets out of the cupboard and into his secret hiding place. I hate the hiding place. Correction. I hated the hiding place. Until I figured out where it was. Right on the top of the kitchen cupboard, which is just a little bit out of my reach. Not when I stand on a chair though.


One day last week I made the fatal mistake of swiping something from his secret stash right in front of him. I'd forgotten to keep up the pretence of still being clueless about the hiding place. So to my absolute mega dismay today (I'm a poet and I didn't even know it!), when I went to help myself to some Percy Pig's, there was not a single packet to be found! Devastated. 


A very upfront and threatening (on my behalf) quick fire text conversation followed. 
Me: Where are the sweets?!?!?!?!?! (No kisses)
Ross: Muhahahahaha! Somewhere in the kitchen.
Me: Don't you get all muhahaha on me. I could make your life a misery! Also, I've looked all over the kitchen already.
Ross: Could we do something with Chloe & Jared tonight?
Me: Absolutely! But don't think I didn't notice the swift change in subject. Sweets. Now. If you don't tell me or I haven't found them by the time you get home I'll be sugar coating your unmentionables!


He's a very brave/lucky man. I found the sweets. They were about 10cm away from the original hiding place! My need for sugary goodness hindered my eyesight. So all is right with the world. I got to have a little sugary fix and I eliminated another hiding place in the kitchen. (There aren't that many places left for him to hide stuff now! Muhahahahaa) 

Stalker(ish)

At this point in my creative endeavours in life, under no circumstances would I call my myself a photographer. Yes, I like taking photographs and yes I love my camera, but me, a photographer? No.


Sometimes, when I have a camera in my hand, my inner stalker comes out. I don't know way. It just happens. I must have about 77 thousand pictures of Ross by now. And that's only with the slightest bit of exaggeration.


My camera isn't even discrete! It's a big, black in your face DSLR. I wouldn't give myself the label of complete psycho just yet though. I don't take pictures of people I don't know. Normally. Hardly ever. 


Take yesterday as an example. Throw me, the hubs & two friends into York, with my camera in hand, and this is what happens. Please note, these are just a handful of the few (hundred) that I actually took. And I feel like you should know that none of these pictures were posed or forced. They're just naturally this affectionate. It makes me just the littlest bit sick. Not really. 

So, moral of the story, if we're hanging out, I have my camera and you don't want a million pictures of yourself at the end of it, tell me. Either that or be aware that I will force you to watch a slide show of all of the photos at the end of day. Because I do do (ha) that. Just sayin. 

A (waste of time) theory

Ok guys, humour me. Just for a little bit. I'm conducting a little experiment you see. My experiment is based on a theory that I heard on Radio 1 a few days ago, and seeing as though it was true in my case, I decided to investigate further. 

The theory goes a little something like this... Generally, (I like to generalise) in a relationship, one member (member?) of the couple will do the majority of the driving. Again generalising, I'd expect that it's the man. Am I right? That's not the theory by the way. So, we've established that someone in the relationship normally does the driving. Now, according to the theory, said member of the relationship will sleep on the drivers side of the bed. Do you follow me? Imagine your bed is a car (you can even imagine that your driving to Tesco if you'd like), does the driver sleep on the same side of the bed as the steering wheel would be?

Mr.K does. And he's the driver. 

Need I say more? The theory is proven.

Actually, I'd be kind of interested in seeing if it's right for anyone else. Do your sleeping/driving arrangement prove my theory? 

Mr.K caught me right while I was in the middle of explaining the theory to my Mom & Pops. Nice

Life(ish)

I didn't blog yesterday. I decided to just live in the moment and for the moment, rather than living straight on through the moment so that I can write about it at the end of the day. Because I've developed a real bad habit of doing that. So excuse me if my blog posts are a little shorter, with more photos and less words, I'm busy actually living my life. 




If anyone is interested in what I did yesterday, I had a lovely day full of sunshine, ice cream, shopping, friends and photos. Throw in a little episode with some lost car keys, a skype session and a camera that decided to go crazy, but not completely brake and bam, welcome to my yesterday. (We can even be friends if you'd like?) 


For any body in the vicinity of Leeds/Bradford that has a hanckering for really (REALLY) good ice cream, I wholly recommend Goodhall's ice cream parlour, in Tong Village (which is a delight in itself anyway, can we say picturesque?). They make all of the ice cream themselves. The Hokey Pokey flavour is seriously good. It's made with cinder toffee, rainbow vapours, wishes and sunshine. You know, all the good stuff. And when you have your ice cream, you can sit outside in the sun with the chickens. Literally. The chickens are seriously free range. Anyway, go there, try it, love it and say that I sent you.

I know him so well

So, by now you all know my hubs. Mr. K. Although I never call him that in real life. I don't know why I ever chose to refer to him as that, but whatever. Whether I like it or not, it's stuck now. It's a blog only nickname.


Well, I've known him for almost five years now and loved him for just a little bit less. I know him pretty well by now and I think I can even prove it. See..


1). He used to say that he didn't really like chocolate. I've found this to be a complete lie. He loves chocolate. But offering him a choice between chocolate and sweets and almost every time he'll take the sweets.
2). He supports Man. Utd and Grimsby Town. But it depends who's asking as to what he says. If he thinks you're going to call him a glory supporter for being a Man. U fan then he'll definitely say Grimsby Town.
3). He owns every single Jay.Z album ever. Ever.
4). He's only been to two music concerts in his whole 23 years of life. The X Factor tour with moi last year and to see Ja Rule when some crazy woman was dancing very close to him so that he'd move and she could stand in front of him. 

5). He really likes sprouts.

6). He thinks that he looks like a cross between Christano Ronaldo and Nathan Scott from One Tree Hill. 

7). Like I've always wanted to go to Rome (well, since I was 14 at least) he's always wanted to go to Barcelona. Barcelona is to him what Rome is to me.

8). He knows the words to practically ever song that there is. It seems that why anyway.

9). Because he served his mission in France he likes to bisou (the two cheek kisses) with every person that he knows speak French. Sometimes with people that don't speak French but he likes a lot too. Normally only boys though!

10). He's a hypochondriac. He'll take a paracetamol for the slightest ailment or ache. Sometimes I wish that I could trade bodies with him for a day, so that I can know how much he's actually aching when he says his leg hurts or his arm hurts or he has a head or blah blah blah. 

11). If you ask him what the happiest day of his life was, he probably won't say our wedding day, he'll tell you that he doesn't know! Typical!

Rome

Maybe when I was about fourteen years old, give or take a year, I was walking with my best friend Hannah whilst she delivered her papers and we made a plan. Our plan was this: next summer go on holiday to Italy, specifically Rome, stay in a tent, see all of the famous sights and enjoy the warm Italian sun. Just the two of us. No family, no adults, no supervision. But guess what. Our parents said no straight away. They said there was absolutely no way we were going abroad for a week by ourselves and staying in a tent. At the time I felt so hard done to, but in hindsight, I can appreciate how ridiculous of a request it was. But ever since then I've really, really wanted to go to Rome.


So when the Mr. & I got engaged, there was no way I was letting him convince me that we were going anywhere other than Rome for our honeymoon. 


The tragic thing was that when we got there my camera battery was dead. Pft. Completely and utterly lifeless. And the even more tragic thing was that I'd forgotten the charger. And the most tragic thing was that I made Mr.K come with me whilst I spent a big chunk of a day finding a shop that would sell a charger. We never found one. (We did find the most amazing gelateria mid search) So all of our honeymoon pictures are taken on a camera phone, which at the time I resented massively, but now I'm grateful we have any pictures at all. 


So, for your viewing pleasure, Mr. & Mrs. K hit up Rome, July 2010.

P.S Can you tell that I couldn't think of anything to write today?

I already know.

Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way i ought to go from here?

Cat: That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.

Alice: I don't much care where.

Cat: Then it doesn't matter much which way you go.

At church today I felt particularly inspired. There were two talks about journeys and paths in life and making decisions and reaching our goals. Someone mentioned the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland and it really got me to thinking and wondering and doing some pretty serious self evaluation and reflection. 

I decided which way I wanted to go in life long before I came to Earth. I believe that I (when I say I, I don't mean that I believe only I existed) lived before I was physically born, that there's a pre-existence. And I believe that in this pre-existance, I chose a plan. A part of this plan was coming to Earth and having experiences in a physical body that would help my spirit to learn, to progress. Another part of this plan was that if I made good choices in my life, if I respected my body and lived the way God wanted me to that one day, after I'd done all that I can I'd be able to be saved by his grace and I'd be able to return to him, my Heavenly Father. 

That means that I can't live my life like Alice did. It matters very much which paths I choose in life because I already know exactly where it is that I want to go. 

That's not to say that I don't have any freedom to choose, because I absolutely do. Having free agency is a fundamental Mormon belief. But it's the freedom to make the right choices. To choose good over bad. To choose right over wrong. To choose happiness over misery. 

I'm not perfect, I don't always get it right, and my choices aren't always the best. My perspective can sometimes get a little blurred. But I'm realistic, I'm only human. But despite that I know where I want to go and I'm going to do my outright best to make sure that I get there. 

Cream Scones

My (practically perfect) Saturday went a little something like this....
- Wake up at nine and snooze for about half an hour while I squeeze up really close to Mr. K's warm morning body.
- Have the longest shower ever, ever and leave only the littlest bit of hot water for the hubs.
- Drive out to Ilkley, which is the prettiest place ever and look like a real keen bean taking pictures of everything with my bestest bud Chlo.
- Visit a little tea room that is run by the sweetest old dear. She's completely rushed off her feet and it takes about half an hour for my homemade lemonade and scone to arrive (said lemonade and scone are in the picture), but the wait is worth it. At this point I feel possibly more English than I ever have in my whole life. It's good. 
- Very, very unsuccessfully try to find some hidden treasures in the Ilkey charity shops, but fail. Entirely. There were no treasures or bargains to be had today. 
- Stop off on the drive home to take some pictures for Chlo. I did a good job. 
- Feel insane amounts of gratitude for the insanely beautiful part of the country that I live in.

- Laugh at Chlo when she starts freaking out thinking that she's going to be blown away by the wind when she's stood on top of a tiny, little boulder. 
- Pick up Mr.K & Chlo's hubs and drive over to Xcape where me meet up with Jake & Emma. 
- Play a weird round of 3D mini gold that makes me feel sick, very warm and disorientated. 
- Try to decide where we want to eat, but all revert to acting like five year olds and can't make a decision. So we rip out the list of restaurants from the Xscape map, fold them up and choose one at random. Although the first three that we chose were completely disregarded, so we just kept picking until there was one that we wanted. We ended up at Bella Italia and it was goood. 

- I would personally recommend the Godfather dessert. It's ice creamy, brownie-y, chocolatey, toffee-y, wafery, vanilla-y goodness was simply heavenly.
- Came home with Chlo & Jar, bought face masks (which Mr.K got in his eyebrows & whiskers!) and watched Frankensteins Wedding. 
- Now I'm in bed and basically falling asleep. Your lucky this post is even hap..... Zzzzzzzzzz.

List of happys take 3

I wish that I'd remembered to tell myself to smile in this photo.

1. Finally getting to see the sun SHINE for once.
2. Going to Temple Newsam. It's so beautiful.
3. Having 4 different flavours of squash in the cupboard.
4. Mr.K doing the dishes way more than me this week.
5. Ditching the gym to hang out with friends instead.
6. Not having to set an alarm this morning.
7. People saying thank you when I let them out a junction.
8. Naps.
9. Snuggling under blankets in the dark with the Mr. while we endlessly watch Scrubs and cry at pretty much every episode.
10. Being half way done with writing my essay.
11. Dusting off some of my old journals and reading through them. I used to be such a weirdo.
12. Waking up in the middle of the night and thinking it's time to get up, when actually it's only 5am and I have an extra two and a bit hours in bed.

St. Patricks Day

Officially, today is called St.Patricks today. By me however, it's been called various different things. St. Paddys day, Ireland Day, Irish Day, Potato Day & St. Kathryn's Day (because she's the only Irish friend I have, so I celebrate her.) 


I've never celebrated St. Patricks day before. But today I even wore green, hugged an Irish girl, sang B*Witched & Ronan Keeting songs and said 'power shower' a few hundred times. (Power shower are the only two words I can say with a remotely Irish accent by the way.) I even made a St. Patricks day drink. I say made a drink, it was just lemonade with green food colouring in it. But I felt like it helped me to get in the spirit. I was close to dancing a jig at one point.


I'm not even Irish. (I kind of wish I was so that I'd have a sweet, sweet accent though.) Actually, I've never even been to Ireland before. That's kind of a sad thing I suppose. That I celebrate the Patron Saint of Ireland more then I do when it's St. George's turn for a party. I don't even know when St. George's day is! I'm a terrible English...man...person. Do we say Englishman or English person? Or would I say Englishwoman? You know, because I'm a girl. That's how bad of one I am! I don't even know what I'm called. Oh, I'm going to upload some pictures and go to bed before I start to cry out of sheer shame and seeming lack of patriotism.

An Awkward Teenage Story

This photo has nothing to do with this post...

My last post was a bit of a cop out. I feel like a cheater. And my sports bra is digging into me. The combination of those three things makes for some quite serious discomfort. 


Speaking of being uncomfortable, talking to people that I don't know very well always makes me feel a bit funny in the stomach and awkward. A phone call from an unknown number basically gives me heart palpitations. It's that serious. 


It's not that I don't like meeting new people. Heck, I love making new friends and learning about new people's lives, it's just that I don't think that I'm very good at making conversation. I get nervous in anticipation of awkward pauses and so try to think of anything (anything) to make sure that there are no gaps in speech. I've had conversation with people I've just met about their pets (not too bad), their hopes and goals for the next five years (a bit heavy for a first meeting) and the colour of their toothbrush (weird!). 


Let me tell you a story from about five years ago, when I was fifteen. (This is bad by the way, please don't judge me.) It was a Friday night and I was at a church dance. I can't quite remember where it was. Either Sheffield or Northampton. Not that the location is relevant to the story. There was about ten minutes of the dance left, and everyone knew what that meant. Two words. Slow dance. Uh oh. My worst nightmare - having to making conversation with either a stranger or someone relatively unknown while you awkwardly hold each and sway. Great. Normally I would have anticipated that the slow dance was approaching and rushed off to the bathroom, but for some reason on this night I didn't. So, some boy comes over to me and asks me to dance. Even worse than my inability to make conversation is my inability to say no. We're about a minute into some slow cheesy song and I've gotten past the introductory stuff that isn't too hard, but now my hands are sweating and I'm about to go into cardiac arrest. My brain is buzzing whilst I try to think of either something I can say or a question I can ask or a way I can out of this awful, teenage swaying situation. So what do I do? I suddenly stop dancing, grab my phone from my pocket and say "oh, my Dad is calling me, it must be important, he wouldn't call me in the middle of a dance otherwise." So I pretend to answer my phone and have an imaginary conversation with my Dad whilst I just walk away from this poor guy That's right, I just walk away. I don't even go back to apologise or offer some kind of explanation afterwards. I just leave him standing there whilst the song finishes. Even when it has finished and I'm stood in the comfort of a circle of girl friends and I see him walking toward me I reach for my phone again and launch into another imaginary conversation. 


I'm a horrible person aren't I? I told you it was a bad story. I'm surprised (and grateful) that I haven't been cursed in all romantic endeavours since that awkward, awkward night. 


Admittedly, as I'm getting older, I am the grand old age of 20 you know, I'm getting better at it. I'm learning that conversation doesn't have to only come from me and if there are awkward pauses, then that's ok. It's not the end of the world. Please make note of this though, if I'm talking to you and ask you either about your pets, five year plan or toothbrush, take pity on me please.

Ifs & Buts

I don't even know entirely what that saying means. But Emily reminded me of it today and I really like it.


It's all about the little things, you know?

Housewifery

I dream of having a fireplace like this. 

I'm the eldest of my siblings. (Eldest or oldest? I have no clue which word I'm supposed to use here.)Either way, I'm the oldest of three. And I'm the only girl. That obviously means that I have two younger brothers. Anyway, now that we've got over stating the obvious... Being the oldest and the only girl meant that my Mom trained me up pretty good in all things domestic. Cooking, cleaning, washing, the works. Suffice it to say that by the time it came for me to move away for university I was already on the edge of Domestic Goddess status. Please don't think that I'm being big headed here, it's just the truth. When I first moved into my student house one of my housemates didn't even know how to use the washing machine. I could put on a load of washing in my sleep.


Years have passed and honestly, I am bold enough to say that I'm a Domestic Goddess now. I'd even go as far to say as that it's taken such a hold that it's instinctual. Seriously. Within the first thirty minutes of being awake today I had put away the clean & dry dishes, washed up my breakfast stuff, folded some dry washing, put a dirty load of washing in the machine, tidied the living room and organised my bag for school. I feel like I've missed something. Oh, and I whipped up a batch of chocolate chip muffins. You know, as you do. Actually, the last point is completely made up*. I only said I was domesticated, not Superwoman. 


I enjoy my wifely duties of running my home. Maybe somebody reading this will be horrified at my old school stereotype of women, but whatever. I like making sure that my home is a place where Mr.K (and me) can feel comfortable. And I like cooking him meals that he enjoys. I pretty much run the house, and I like it that way. But don't get me wrong, Momma K taught her boy well. He knows when to turn of the playstation and to step in after I've done more than my fair share. Either because he's being sweet and attentive or because I'm about to go into some kind of meltdown.


Nigella Lawson is one of my heroes. Minus the bizarre and sometimes, frankly, inappropriate noises she makes whilst she's cooking. Well, today I felt like her, positively Nigella-esque. After my Goddess stint this morning, I feel entirely qualified in saying this: Nigella Lawson, eat your heart out. I too, am a Domestic Goddess. ( I imagine that last sentence being said very dramatically and slowly. Just sayin.)


*Note, I read this to Mr.K whilst he was on his playstation and asked him to listen for mistakes. I got to the end and he said to me "where are the muffins you made this morning?" Yeah, thanks for listening. Pft.

Project

This is what I keep telling myself. If not now then when? Because I've had a little project in my mind that I thought I couldn't set into motion. Let me share.


You've heard of Mormon fashion bloggers? And maybe you've heard of Mormon Mommy bloggers? And they have a directory for each of these categories, where people link up there web address to the list, read the blogs of like-minded people and maybe even really go for it and make some friends.


Well, I am a Mormon and I'm a blogger, but I'm definitely not a fashion blogger or a Mommy. I'm just a young, married Mormon that blogs about life. 


So, what my project is going to be will be along the same kinda lines as the fashion bloggers and Mommy bloggers directory. The ideal situation will be to put together a list of young Mormon bloggers, where I, and anyone else who might want to can read about the lives of similar people, to see how their faith is reflected in their everyday life and to be inspired. 


So I'm going to set a few wheels in motion and kick start this little project. First on the agenda is thinking of what I'll call it...

Wedges if Doom: Part 2

You may recall the wedges of doom. You know, the ones I wanted, they didn't have my size, I checked again, still didn't have my size, I find them in my size and fall off them and roll my ankle and ended up not buying them. Remember? Yeah? Well even if you don't, you can read about it here. (The Wedges of Doom.)


Well, I decided to kick fate in the butt. I bought them yesterday. And I wore them today. I was really nervous the whole time. I held on to Mr.K whilst I was walking whenever was socially acceptable and walked really slowly and cautiously (kinda dramatically actually) whenever it wasn't. Like when I need to go to the toilet at church today, I thought I better not ask Mr.K to help me into the bathroom. That would have been weird.


Ask me how my ankle is feeling. Well, let me tell you, it is FINE! I didn't fall over, I didn't roll my ankle, I didn't do anything to hurt myself at all actually. I just felt splendidly tall and maybe even a little vintage. That's because of the lace dress though, not the shoes. (I think those last two sentences are the closest I will ever come to being a fashion blogger.)


I have learnt a very valuable lesson. Screw fate and wear wedges as often as possible.

Wedges of DOOM, in your face!

Dr. Seuss

This is my friend Annie. You can see just a little bit what our friendship is like from this picture. Basically, I terrorise her. In the most loving and friendly way you can think. (Because in this picture I haven't blocked her mouth or nose, so she can still breath. Like a said, loving & friendly.) 


There are lots of reasons that I have love in my heart from Annie. But I just want to talk about one Annie instigated love today. Dr. Seuss. 


Annie introduced me to the good Dr. last year. When I say last year, I don't mean calendar year, I mean academic year. She would read me Dr. Seuss bedtime stories and do voices and everything. She read the How the Grinch Stole Christmas to me so many times that I can practically quote the last few pages in their entirety. The Roast Beast is my favourite.

"And he... ...HE HIMSELF...! The Grinch carved the roast beast!"

When it get's to that part I am practically shouting the words. The Grinch is probably my favourite Dr. Seuss book. Even when it's not Christmas. 

I have other favourite too though. Oh, the places you'll go! ("And will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed! (98 and ¾ percent guaranteed)")  The Lorax, I Had Trouble Getting to Solla Sollew, Oh, The Thinks You Can Think and Too Many Daves. I know, I know, Too Many Daves is a poem. It's still allowed to be one of my favourites though. 

When I was on my teaching placement last year (English placement, not French) I even thrust and forced my love of Dr. Seuss on my class. I probably spent a little bit too much of my literacy lessons reading them Dr. Seuss stories and even got them to write their own Dr. S style poems. They loved it. And so did I. Apparently writing in the style of Dr.S is more difficult than I thought it would be though. It certainly separated the movers from the shakers anyway. What does that even mean? Is it rude? I hope not!

"You'll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. 

You'll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go. 

So be sure when you step. 

Step with care and great tact and remember that Life's a Great Balancing Act. 

Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. 

And never mix up your right foot with your left." 

(Oh, the Places You'll Go)

Wise.Words.To.Live.By

List of Happys part 2

Here are my list of happys/weekly splendipites.


1. Being in Momma & Poppa K's house with all of the family having a takeaway and good times.
2. Watching Mr.K's brother CJ get Ava-B to dance and say "thank you master". Funniest/cutest thing of the day. I should have taken a picture. 
3. Wearing an outfit that made me feel positively European today. Skinny jeans, stripes and a blazer. Je suis practiquellement Frencaise. Practically anyway.
4. Celebrating Subway's 10th Birthday by buying a medium drink and then getting a 6" sub for free. For your mental picture: Sweet onion chicken teriyaki with extra cheese. 
5. Buying Easter eggs for £1 each.
6. ZUMBA(AHHHHHH)
7. The two identical clocks on Momma K's mantel piece. 
8. Setting up another Skype double date for next week.
9. Being on the cross trainer in the gym and some random media student asking if they can film me. Slightly perplexed, ermmm yeah, ok. She says, oh but don't worry, we won't film your face. Not sure if I should have taken offence. I found it quite amusing actually. 
10. Curling my hair and it actually looking nice. At least according to me.
11. Realising how happy I am not to live on the edge of a tectonic plate. 


Do you have a list of happys for the week? Or even generally? Tell me. Tell me!

Enjoy your Saturday & Sunday.

Photo from paper tissue.

Rule Britannia

Today it rained. A lot. And it was super ridiculously windy. Super ridiculously crazy windy. No exaggeration. I got to university this morning with my hair stuck to my face and my clothes and shoes wet through. If there's one thing I hate it's sitting in soggy clothes and having wet socks. Boo.


On days like today it's really easy to wish that you were somewhere else. I do. I pine for warmer, sunnier days/places where you can just go out in a tshirt (obviously I wouldn't only wear a tshirt, that might not sufficiently cover my unmentionables), wear sandals and have a genuine reason to wear sunglasses. Sometimes, on days like today I like to think of moving to America. I'd probably be a cheesy stereotypical Mormon and move to Utah. That would be ridiculous though, because it snows a lot there and probably rains a lot too. But I don't know for sure, because I've only ever been once and it wasn't in the winter. It was when I was ten years old and I don't even remember much of it. 


But I sometimes like to think about it anyway. But then I think too much and realise that I would miss England. A lot probably. Do you think that your heart would pine for the rain if you lived somewhere that was sunny all the time? I think eventually it would. 


There are lots of things that I would miss about England. I'd miss fish and chips and English money. I'd miss all the green spaces and English accents. But it would be fun to live in place where an English accent is different and not just the norm. It'd be nice to not be an average Joe(sephine). I'd miss Radio1, Asda and reruns of Catchphrase & Topgear. I'd miss people's politeness and there inability to complain or kick up a fuss in public. I'd miss my family (maybe this one should have come first) and I'd miss Next & Primark. I'd miss Dairy Milk chocolate, wine gums and ribena. I'd miss being close to Europe and I'd miss being able to send free text messages to my friends. I'd miss Orange Wednesdays and I'd miss pub lunches. I wouldn't like having to think about the time difference when I want to call home and I wouldn't like how much it would cost to buy tickets to come back. I would miss Dime Bar milkshakes from Shaky Jakes, which is the coolest shop in all of Headingley. Actually, I would just generally miss Shaky Jakes. I think that I would even miss the Queens Christmas speech. Not that I've ever watched it, but if the option's no longer there I might....maybe. I would miss seeing things like this

And places like these. They are so quintessentially English looking. 

Hmmm. Now that I've thought about it, maybe I'll just put up with the rain and stay put.