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On the weekend, Mr G and I put hot drinks in flasks, packed a blanket and went up to the Brecon Beacons National Park for a drive. It's only 40 minutes away from our house and has some stunning scenery at the best of times; even more so when it's sprinkled with snow.

I took some photos, which I think are rather pretty.

Then I put them behind this cut because they're quite big and I don't want to break your internets )

And that is all I have to say on the matter of frozen precipitation in the South Wales area.
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Imma get this out of the way up front. Living in a house with broken central heating when it's -6oc outside sucks great big donkey balls. I've been in the house for an hour and a half and I still haven't taken my coat off, even while I'm sitting here waiting for my dinner to be cool enough to eat. I can see big steaming clouds of my own condensed breath every time I breathe out and I can't feel my index fingers on either hand.

Still, I'm not gonna let it get me down, so to cheer me up I've decided to share the love and kinda invent my own meme. I'm sure someone's done it before, probably better, but hey. The sentiment is there.

Comment me with "DO ME!" and I'll respond with three things that I like about you. You are great and I would like you to know exactly why I think that.

And if it is of any interest to you at all, after the quantum leap there are pics of my cousin's new American Bull Terrier pup, Rosie, who is eight weeks old and possibly the most adorable thing ever invented.

Ziggy predicts a 99% probability of puppies )
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I hope you've had a good year so far. If you have reason to celebrate, then I'll be delighted to hear/read about it and I hope your celebrations are everything you wish for. If you have holiday time from work, whenever that might be, I hope it's as relaxing or as productive as you wish it to be. I wish you peace and good will; happiness and good health.

I do not wish any of those things for you any more or less at any other time in the year than I do now, just because it's December and it's almost the 25th.

And to anyone else who might feel like an isolated weirdo, as I often do, for not feeling the spirit just because of the time of year, you're not alone.
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Travel plans move on apace, and Mr G says visa applications are sent. I have a list of things to do in preparation for the trip as long as my arm. Dull stuff, including sorting insurance, telling the bank withdrawals will be made from exotic locations and booking airport parking. We picked up the tickets on Saturday and await the arrival of the tour itinerary to I can go through the travel books we have and annotate them like the crazy control freak I am.

The fun part, which I have yet to sort, is what reading matter I will take with me. I like to take series books. Last year I made my way through all four Twilight books (not so good) in Mexico (also not so good) whereas the year before I read all of His Dark Materials (unbelievably awesome) in Thailand (best holiday ever).

With that in mind I'm seeking recommendations for books to take. Grown-up books or young adult is fine. Ask me any questions on what I like to read you think might help and I would love to hear what you suggest.


Oct. 7th, 2009 08:43 am
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This week, early morning music in my mind seems to have been replaced with remembered dreams. Very, very strange dreams involving well-known people1.

Monday night saw me dream two things: firstly I dreamt that I was sitting in my usual chair in the lounge when my mobile rang and it was [ profile] terraswrath. We chatted for about ten minutes about something I can't recall and that's all I remember. It was one of those ultra-realistic dreams where I was quite convinced it had actually happened, then when I switched my phone on in the morning, I had a text from [ profile] terraswrath at about 0030hrs telling me that if she weren't in a room full of people trying to sleep she would have called me. I mentioned the dream co-incidence to [ profile] licklepickle yesterday and she reassured me that it was just a glitch in The Matrix :p

After the very mundane, realistic dream, my brain switched to one where Mr G and I were walking down seafront at Porthcawl - a tacky seaside resort close to where we live. It wasn't just us, but for some reason Zane Lowe was with us too. Except whilst we were dressed in jeans or something, Zane was wearing a pair of swimming shorts and kept diving into the water. I think I can blame a combination of my recent joint fic efforts with [ profile] licklepickle and the fact I read a Tweet from Zane saying he was stuck on a train to Swansea before I went to bed.

I've cut this dream because even though it wasn't distressing for me it involves disembowelment of sorts so it might be icky for others )

Then the sweet one had Rufus Hound flirting with me and offering to walk me home from somewhere [no idea where], with Mr G winking at me as Rufus and I walked off together and he delivered me back to my flat in a London tower block with doors that opened to an outdoor balcony like in a skanky motel [I live in a big old house in semi-rural Wales...] and kissing me on the cheek before taking his leave. I remember his beard tickled me as he kissed me. And I'm sure that'll serve me right for watching Argumental before bed, but I'm rather glad it was Rufus who popped up in the dream and not Marcus Brigstocke.

So all in all, very strange indeed. The good thing about it is that I'm clearly sleeping enough to dream, so hurrah for that.

1Well known if you're me, or into British comedy, or watch MTV UK, or listen to Radio 1
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We have a new vacuum cleaner, called Henry. No really. That's what he's called. For those who've never met Henry, he looks like this:

I had more fun than should be possible last night cleaning the cat hair off the stair carpet with my new friend Henry. He also made the carpet in the spare bedroom look somewhere near presentable given it's about 20 years old and about as threadbare as a carpet can be without falling apart completely.

I was also amused to find, whilst I was cleaning in the spare room ready for the arrival of Mr G's dad this evening, a magazine that had gone missing from the bathroom a couple of weeks ago. I get Scarlet, which is a monthly mag of toy reviews, kink discussions and what they call "Cliterature", and when it's in I tend to read it in the bath. I remembered leaving it on the windowsill and was perplexed I'd been unable to find. When I discovered it pushed under the spare bed, I realised the last time I'd seen it was before we went to North Wales. And when we were in North Wales, my cousin and her fiance came to stay in our house and slept in the spare bed. I smiled to myself and wondered whether it provided them with any inspiration whilst we were allowing the free run of our house to get some respite from the tiny cramped space they're currently sharing with my aunt and uncle ;)

This morning also provided mind music. Today it was this:

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I already knew it was the perfectly adorable [ profile] minlliw's birthday. She assures me she's had a nice day and a lovely weekend, which is no more than she deserves. She and I will be meeting for a date next week, when I will be spoiling her in some way or another. If you're reading this, happy birthday my sweet. All the birthday love in the world to you *smooches*

In addition to what I already knew, I have learned the following things:
  • Work-based internet privileges are capricious and fleeting. One minute I was posting a lunchtime rant about the absence of The Brain from my work life, the next thing I know LJ is blocked at a server level by the work system. No more lunchtime browsing of my SFW list. Or daytime venting of my frustrations to my journal's ever-listening ear. Oh well *sighs*
  • I have a sexual squick that's greater than the one I thought was my biggest one ever. Not something I've tried, but something I read today. It squicked me out more violently than I thought possible for anything. I was almost physically sick, and ended up in tears. It's not even anything that's all that extreme in the grand scheme of things. I can deal with all sorts of violence, blood, even watersports even though it's not my thing. I've watched most of "2 girls, 1 cup", FFS! But just a few short [well-written - it wasn't the writer's fault] paragraphs had me quaking and queasy. It made me ponder on the broad church of human sexuality and how we're all so different. I'm sure there's stuff that I enjoy seeing or reading about, or even doing, that would turn others right off. I think I was just surprised at the strength of my reaction, and I learned something about myself.
The only other thing I know for sure is that my headache of Friday was just in remission rather than actually gone, so I'm eating a fistful of pills and going to get some sleep.
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I had an email this morning from [ profile] licklepickle to say that the tickets for next June's Glastonbury go on sale on the 4th October. 4TH OCTOBER! That's, like, three weeks away! We can guarantee our places early. I'm so, so, so excited!

I'm also happy about going to see [ profile] xanium, who I presume is currently wandering around my home town, taking in the sights. It was pleasantly odd chatting with her on MSN last night knowing that she's 20 minutes away in this time zone instead of a 22 hour flight and 9 hours ahead :D

It's also very glee-making that today is my Friday - I'm off tomorrow and Mr G & I are off to Snowdonia to go camping and walking in the mountains. It means that it doesn't matter how late I stay out tonight and my current apparent propensity to sleep best from 6.30am onwards, which is a ballache when I have to get up at 7.30am, can be indulged and I can sleep til I wake. I really need it. Then we can saddle up and head off through the beautiful mid Wales countryside to pitch a tent [*sniggers*] in Bettws Y Coed.

Finally, I just got around to reading the instruction manual for my new work mousethat is supposed to prevent the wrist-ache that I've been suffering with lately. I was struggling with it because it's supposed to rest in the palm of my hand and I was having to form my fingers into some kind of claw shape and found they were pressing buttons even when I didn't want them to. However, I've just discovered that the front portion where the buttons are extends away from the palm rest and now that I've adjusted it to take account of my unfeasibly large manhands and loooooong fingers, my whole right side seems to have gone "aaaaah!" Now all I need is my new ergonomic chair and for my desk to be raised by the recommended 3cm and I'm all set in a workspace that's customised for my ludicrous Amazonian proportions.


Aug. 3rd, 2009 09:20 pm
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What the fuck am I doing? I came online for ten minutes to check my mail and respond to comments and an hour and a half later, I'm still here. After a tense weekend of family awkwardness and a full seven days of this stupid headache, I need to be somewhere that bright lights are not. And in front of a laptop screen is not a good place to be.

Damnit, internet. I wish I knew how to quit you!

*shakes fist, shuts down and goes to read The Unbearable Lightness of Being*
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I am going to a christening on Sunday for my friend's twin daughters. It's not exactly a low-key thing either - the ceremony is in the Anglican cathedral in Cardiff and I know that my friend bought what she described as "very bling" christening gowns in the souk when she and her husband were in Morocco earlier this year. However, I'm at a bit of a loss and could do with some help.

I'm an atheist, unchristened myself and have only been in churches for other people's weddings and funerals. I am distinctly uncomfortable in church [strangely less so when I went to the Gurdwara for a friend's Sikh wedding, but that was just all so different to anything I'd experienced before that I was just taking it all in] and feel hypocritical just being there. I didn't go to the christening of the same friend's son because she didn't invite anyone thinking they wouldn't want to attend and was widely castigated by people, including me, for not asking people along and giving the opportunity to show their support for her and her family. That came back to bite me, didn't it?

I've only been to one christening before and I don't remember much about it. I was 19 at the time, working in a bar for 64 hours a week and Sundays were my only day off. I was exceptionally hung over having pulled an all-nighter that started with a lock-in after hours and ended in the staff house with crates of Hooch. As if to compound my shame and unworthiness to sit in the house of God, I'd snuck out of someone else's bed at 8am after a one-night wonder - a someone I later discovered was due to get married to someone else two weeks later - to meet my parents so we could travel to the church together. I snoozed through most of the ceremony as discreetly as I could and have no recollection of the after-thing [reception? Wake? What the hell do you call the do after a christening anyway?!] so I don't really know what to expect this weekend.

So, to my more well-schooled and less despicably depraved f-listers, I ask this: what the hell is going to happen? I've already guessed from the fact that it's in a cathedral that it's a posh frock do, so I'm sorted on that score. Should I take a gift, or a card? And if so, is the gift for the babies or for the parents? Or the Godparents? There'll be Godparents, won't there?! What is to be expected of the do afterwards? What should I expect in general? Help!

Photo meme

Jul. 19th, 2009 12:37 am
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Ganked from [ profile] candesgirl, because I've not done a meme in a while.

Take ten pics from your hard drive and post them without captions or comments, pics that represent you.

I don't have many pictures on this computer. All but one are ones that I've taken. I'll explain any or tell you about them if you're interested.

Cut for images which I realise, after this week's internet fail, might slow things down )
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Okay, so. I bought this book in Borders' sale this week and last night, once I'd finished working at home on the clinical specification that was making my head spin, I poured myself a glass of wine and started to browse through it. Moving from the practice of writing that was about the n'th degree of factual accuracy to reading about writing for the love of it was very refreshing. And the book's got some really practical tips in it too.

The first thing that I've decided to do, because if I'm going to try to make a go of writing I really, really need to, is to conquer my perma-editor and shut out the harsh critic whilst I'm writing. And this morning, I think I managed something along those lines. The exercise I chose from the book was to write for five minutes without stopping. It specifically says that you shouldn't lift your pen from the paper, but I can't really do writing longhand any more because it feels unproductive. I know that's probably another bind that I'm tying myself into along with my assertion that I'm incapable of having original ideas, or writing a novel, or any other such defeatist comment, but I'm just defending myself by saying that I'm better able to get my ideas out more easily when I can type at 62 words per minute. When the stream of consciousness is flowing fast, speed is good.

So, having gotten up and faffed around for a bit this morning I sat down, set the timer on my phone for five minutes, and wrote. I was amazed at how quickly the time passed, and when the klaxon [because I thought it was an appropriate signifier that time was up :p] sounded I'd written over 300 words. I stopped capitalising. I stopped correcting myself and editing after about the first four sentences or so. And even though it's mostly drivel and it hurts me almost physically to post it publicly with all its spelling mistakes and grammatical inaccuracies, this is what I wrote:

I have started reading a book on teaching yourself creative writing and it says as one of its first exercises that you should write for five minutes, without stopping, and just see what comes out. So i'm doing that for the first time today. No editing. No stopping. Because I want to see if I can do it. I'm a hopeless self-editor. In fact I'm doing it now. Backspacing to correct my errors as I go instead of letting it come out with the spelling mistakes and all rather than just flowing and seeing wher e it goes. Hah. And now i've stopped doing that. I'm even going to stopwitht eht capitalisation. Take that, inner perfectionist. See how you like them apples.

I even started this morning before I got out of bed planning what I was going to write out in my head. Which I think kinda defeats the object of freewriting andseeing where the mood and the thoughts take you. I had a good idea in there, though. It had something to do with thep people I saw yesterday in the doctors surgery when I went to pick up my prescription all staring at the loudly blaring televission waiting to be called for their appointments. Staring blaring blankly at the klaxon-loud television with a cheeky cockerney chappie from some television soap, eastenders probably, standing on a beach in LA asking people to text in the answer to a multiple choice question in order to win a trip to stand on that very beach looking out over the sea. People in a waiting room in a dreary part of south wales watcing a londoner on the television prancing about on the beach, insulting their intelligence by asking them if the answer to the name of the academy awards was a. oscar b. arthur or c

It was at that point that the stop sound rang and I just ceased mid-sentence as I'd promised myself. No corrections, no completions. Just a stream of consciousness lasting exactly five minutes.
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We have internet connectivity back at home. It took a while, but we got there in the end. The freakiest thing about the whole experience was that I tweeted this morning about the BT engineer arriving on early and how I was unaccustomed to dealing with strange humans at such an early hour and BT Customer Care tweeted back at me that they were glad to hear they were on top of things are are now following my tweets. Twitter: freaking me out since 2008.

This afternoon, after a catastrophic lunch failure and a lack of progress in the morning due to people and things distracting me I decided to come and work at home. It worked to a large extent and I managed to marshall my thoughts on my most urgent pieces of work and get some words out on paper. I am at least moderately hopeful of getting to the end of the week and being able to say that I've achieved something. I'm not going to get too carried away, though.

In other news, I've finally finished my long-overdue final Torchwood fic and shipped it off for beta. It's been painful to get through but I'm glad it's in the last lap. Once it's done and posted I can move onto other things.

Exactly what those things will be is not yet clear.


Jul. 15th, 2009 11:14 pm
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Still no internet at home, which is irritating. The pain was somewhat alleviated tonight by having secured tickets to a free BAFTA screening of Szm Rockwell's new movie Milk through Chapter Arts Centre's Twitter earlier on. I knew Twitter would turn out to be useful eventually ;)

There's not much I can say about the film without totally giving the game away. All I can say is that it's set on a moonbase in the near future, is very thought provoking, fantastic to look at and I squeaked like a little girl who'd been promised a pony when I saw Matt Berry's name roll in the credits at the start. I really do fangasm over the most random people.

After the film we went to get Lebanese food, which was yummy, and chatted a bit. It was nice to be out of the house and able to talk properly over dinner. I sometimes worry that most of our communication is through monosyllabic grunts and shared links on MSN. Even when we're in the same room.

Seems like things are shaping up for the weekend. Hoping to catch up with[ profile] minlliw finally and give her some love. Preferably the kind that's slightly inappropriate for two married women to share ;)


Jul. 14th, 2009 11:24 pm
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Our home phone line, and therefore the broadband, is broken due to a "serious exchange fault". It makes me realise how much I rely on the 'net when I let out a frustrated howl upon the realisation that I couldn't Google for the fault reporting number. Roll on the day I can get a connection straight into my head.

This evening Mr G and I went to our local bookshop, Borders, which announced today it is to close down and that there was 50% off all stock. By the time we got there it was like the scene of a middle-class ram-raid. Large sections were already decimated and under the pressure of time and constant tannoy announcements that the store would be closing very soon and that the queues were very long I found it hard to choose anything. Mr G, however, suffered none of my paralysis and as a result we came away with a massive haul including three travel books on Vietnam for our travels in November and December, two books on the Vietnam War, a complete set of Wainwright walking guides to the Lake District (probably for gifts as we already have a set), four of the seven West Wing season box sets, the film Hunger, Andrew Marr's History of Modern Britain, Iain Banks' The Wasp Factory and Teach Yourself books on NLP and creative writing, the last three of these being my only choices. Oh, and the Taschen Big Book of Breasts. Not my choice, but I do approve.

I bought the creative writing book to see if it can kick-start me. I had a very defeatist conversation with [ profile] terraswrath a few days ago about my inability to write and how I could never write anything novel-length. I'm still dubious, but also annoyed with myself for writing myself off without even thinking about it seriously, let alone trying. I'm not promising myself anything but keeping a journal is coming more easily to me now than it used to so maybe that's a sign there's something to develop.

In the absence of an Internet connection, we sat down tonight and watched Hunger. It's an unrelentingly grim film, all long shots with little action and no soundtrack interspersed with brutal naked violence. It was somehow compelling, though, and Michael Fassbender put in a stunning performance.

Anyway, iPhone keyboard is making my eyes go screwy and it's not as early a night as it was. Time to retire, methinks.

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I've been struck with gloom, so I've not been able to find the energy to put down anything about Glastonbury, even who we got to see whilst we were there. But I have to at least do a ten word review of each act so I don't forget what music we saw if nothing else.

In order of appearance, we saw:

Maximo Park - Tight, high energy performance. Paul Smith's junk is foofing ENORMOUS!
Zane Lowe - Wow, that guy knows how to work a crowd. Grintastic :D
Beardyman - More than just human beatboxing - this guy's skill is legendary.
White Lies - Soaring sound and haunting vocals from such a humble combo.
Friendly Fires - Hips don't lie. Lead singer is kinetically driven by pelvis.
The Specials - Very special. Dig at Lily Allen hilarious. Cheer up Terry!
British Sea Power - What's with all the tree branches, you guys? Awesome, though.
The Blockheads - Even without Ian Dury, rocked the house. So much fun.
Metric - Emily is my new girl crush. Energy, drive, melody, groove.
Spinal Tap - Epic, hilarious, irreverant. Used dwarves! Those guys still have it.
Dizzee Rascal - Got crowd going, but not me. Loved "Just A Rascal".
Kasabian - Did we bore you? Is that the best you've got?
Jarvis Cocker - Consummate entertainer - perfect musically, engaging banter plus amusing stage invasion!
Tom Jones - How can you not love Tom? As brilliant as ever.
Will Young - Only heard one song. Sounded good, though. Erm, that's it!
Blur - Possibly the highlight of my gig-going life to date.

So that's that. If I find it in me to write more at a later date, I will. But at least I now have a record of who we saw if I can't summon up the enthusiasm.
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I have no real time or energy to describe my week in London, and plan to do that on Saturday, maybe on the coach back to Cardiff. However, my mind is full of the sensory experiences of the past few days.

The city in bright sunshine looks so different to when the streets are grey and slick with rain like the skin of a seal. Dust and pollen swirl in shafts of light that penetrate between tower blocks, motes that dance in upward drafts of warm air carried through tiny parks and squares of green littered across the map of London. Gusts of wind channelled down alleyways whip tawny fallen blossoms into cyclones of brittle, spent flowers where the walls meet at angles. The Tube in the summertime has a heavy, cloying heat of a thousand breaths; strange bodies pressed and swaying rhythmically against my own are intimate and anonymous.

A walk through the streets smells of charcoal-grilled meat; of stagnant water near the Thames; of exhaust fumes and cigarette smoke as workers gather in tiny tribes outside their office buildings in the streets around the business districts. The taste of fresh-brewed peppermint tea made sweet with coarse brown sugar mixes on my tongue with the spicy liquorice-and-apple flavour from the smoke drawn through the long, rope-wound hose of the shisha pipe at our feet. As the sun sets, the leisurely click of counters on the wooden backgammon board ticks away the last minutes of the day. The swish of a silver tray of charcoals, swung from a metal chain by a waiter to make them glow red hypnotises me as I recline on fat cushions under a canvas canopy in the dwindling daylight.

Whatever other good things have happened whilst I've been in the city can wait for a practical description. Right now I lie in my borrowed bed, unable to think of chronology or events, only feelings and reactions.
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Well, I went to the exhibition. It was shut. That'll teach me not to check opening times before I left the house. But it was fine. Rich arrived in town early so I went to meet him for coffee, which developed into cake, and lasted for about three hours by the time Dan joined us for another and we headed off to the cinema. Rich is on fine form, and seems to be feeling much more relaxed and confident since he's been to see his doctor and had a holiday in Turkey with Dan. He was a pleasure to spend time with this afternoon.

The film, Drag Me To Hell, was pretty good. I think I actually might have screamed out loud like a little girl at some point. But it also had some really funny moments. I don't want to give anything away to anyone who might be planning on watching it, but every seance should have a talking goat :p Poor Rich nearly crapped his pants, and Dan had to climb over me about a third of the way into the movie so he could go sit on the other side of Rich and hold his hand. Bless.

After the film, I stomped from town to the 'burbs about a mile and a half in 20 minutes or so to meet Mr G. As a result I now have very blistered feet due to wearing tights with my Cons instead of socks. I get the feeling I'm going to have to swallow my pride and wear the new lilac Crocs I caved in and bought yesterday for Glastonbury even though I think they're spectacularly ugly and make my feet look enormous. They are unbelievable comfortable though, and I think that's what I need.

On an unrelated note, I was looking around my Facebook earlier and noticed that a friend had posted some pictures from filming of an independent movie she was cast in recently called A Very British Cover Up. The "big name" in said movie is Gareth David Lloyd. I've never found him particularly attractive, but all I can say in this instance is "oh dear".

In fact, I don't think there's enough "oh dear" to sum up how I feel about that photograph.

Off to London tomorrow. Weather forecast looks good again. Happy days :)
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I was feeling pretty washed out yesterday, so I took the best medicine I could find. I watched Zoolander. That film just makes me grin uncontrollably. How is Ben Stiller that awesome? And why is Owen Wilson attractive? I can't figure out what it is about him, but I so would. I mean, just look at them:



In other news, I'm off to a casting this evening for a film that's being shot nearby. It's just for a background role, and the casting will probably involve filling in a form and having a mugshot taken. However, if they decide to use me it will just involve being paid and fed for a day whilst doing something I would happily do for free. Bonus.


And finally, I've discovered when I will be seeing Star Trek next. It's going to be... wait for it... at midnight on the 25th June, in my sleeping bag, under the stars, in a field at Glastonbury! I know it makes me one of the saddest human beings alive, but I'm currently more excited about that than seeing the bands or any of the other fun stuff there is to do over five whole days at the festival.

Fangeek out.
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I've been almost entirely consumed with lust enthusiasm for my fantastic new fandom obsession to the point of forgetting to eat and sleep and stuff and I feel I need to re-focus on real life excitement for a moment. And that excitement comes in the form of the fact that in three weeks and six days I will be arriving at Worthy Farm in Somerset for... The Glastonbury Festival!

The line-up came out on Monday, and I've now had time to consider it properly. There are going to be some hard choices, but I am very much looking forward to the following people, in some kind of roundabout order of importance:

Blur *squees until giddy*
Spinal Tap
Maximo Park
Jarvis Cocker
Mr Scruff
Fleet Foxes
Tom Jones
Tony Christie
Breakfast with Howard Marks
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds [although I know that if I give in and go see him again, I will end up wanting to fuck him senseless even though I know it's WRONG, goddamnit!]

There are hundreds and hundreds more here and if anyone sees someone they know is good and wants to make a recommendation then put it out there.

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