the prettiest star

Laugh now, but one day we'll be in charge.

Tuesday, August 30

Families. Can't beat them. Shame that.


I went for a gorgey steak dinner with my friend tonight, and it struck me how both of us did nothing but complain about having to live back at home for the holidays. And it's not just us, it seems all the students I speak to are having some kind of mental breakdown.

Take right now. I am sat, peacefully, at my laptop in our offic space upstairs. We have wireless internet, not that my computer will have anything to do with it, but my mother has decided that this is the moment- at 12am, to print out her expenses. It's really pissing me off.

Call me spoiled or selfish, whatever. This woman and her twat of a boyfriend exist only as a means of making my life more difficult.

What possesed me to come home for the holidays? Oh I remember, home is where I am style consultant/cleaner/mender of computers/ taxi. What better way to spend my summer?

It's got to the point now where I hear her boyfriend getting up and this sinking, icky feeling materialises in my stomach. He sounds like a horse, all heavy breathing and odd snorting noises. Then he emerges, never wearing more than a pair of pants and sunglasses. I don't know if his eyes are sensitive or whatever, but only a complete tosser does that.

Two weeks on Friday I officially move back to Casa of Freedom and Good People None Of Whom Are Insane.

I keep going there, for long weekends and the like, and the 16th of September cannot come soon enough. I will gladly exchange the loudest man in Spain and his bumbag for communal living.

The other day my Dad asked me if I was going to live at home after I graduate.

I told him I would live in a cardboard box with tramps before going back There.