Brain break.

This post is published from the school computers... Rebbbell.

Anyway, listening to Bombay Bicycle Club, watching Raphi drink the dregs of my water bottle and generally avoiding my next set of work...

It's cold and we've finished our exams, so there's a slight air of jubilation about the place, despite the dread of marks...  

Oh, and yay for BIG text.

A Day in the Life.

Yesterday was one of those wonderful noneties that slide into existence and seat themselves upon memory. I wrote an examination on a Saturday for the first time in my life and it consumed half of the day and put me in a decidedly ill humour.

However, sunshine and Jane Eyre with Bear soon caused my distressed state to dissolve. Jane Eyre was a magnificent movie, an absolute celebration of natural light, with a haunting portrayal of the book. Mia Wasikowska is quite an amazing actress. I loved the costumes and hair in the movie. The Bronte sisters were incredible.

Also, yesterday was Paul McCartney's 69th birthday. In case you were wondering.

So, yes, in the evening my sister had dinner guests, who were good company. Let's not forget that we ate a sumptuous meal and that I laughed a lot. Ultimately, it was a sedately wonderful day. Now, I have to go study Communism.

  

Television

They sit, eyes glazed
Watching T.V. , unfazed
By the genocide and plunder
Of lives in Rwanda

Yet, the emotionally sparse
Reality T.V. farce
Has them on the edge of their seats
Even if it's just the repeats.

Saturday Market

Bury your heart in some deep green hollow

Or hide it up in a kind old tree

Better still, give it the swallow

When she goes over the sea.

In Saturday Market there's eggs a'plenty

And dead-alive ducks with their legs tied down -

Grey old gaffers and boys of twenty -

Girls and the women of the town -

Pitchers and sugar-sticks, ribbons and laces

Posies and whips and dicky-birds' seed,

Silver pieces and smiling faces,

In Saturday Market they've all they need.

What were you showing in Saturday Market

That set it grinning from end to end

Girls and gaffers and boys of twenty - ?

Cover it close with your shawl, my friend -

Hasten you home with the laugh behind you,

Over the down - out of sight,

Fasten your door, though no one will find you,

No one will look on a Market night.

See you, the shawl is wet, take out from under

The red, dead thing. In the white of the moon

On the flags does it stir again? Well and no wonder -

Best make an end of it, bury it soon.

If there is blood on the hearth, who'll know it?

Or blood on the stairs,

When a murder is over and done why show it?

In Saturday Market nobody cares.

Then lie you straight on your bed for a short short weeping,

And still a long,long rest,

There's a one in the town so sure of sleeping

As you, in the house on the down, with a hole in your breast.

Think no more of the swallow,

Forget you, the sea,

Never again remember the deep green hollow,

Or the top of the kind old tree!

- Charlotte Mew

Shazalakazoo

From Serbia, with love.

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