But it burnt my bum!

Got a little fed up of paying £12.99 to sit out in the sun only to stay as white as milk. So I made sure that, today, I slowly shortened my life for four blissful hours on the burn baby burn baby burn baby...
I don't care that I'm fantastically burnt, in all-sorts of rather odd places. But it will tan, p-ray - even if there is a red mark on my back in the shape of a wonky diamond.

Burnt answer? Skin cancer!

Also, persistence works.
After spending at least a year saying NO. Absolutely not. Jog on. Move out. Pack up. Give over. Hush your gums...
I have said yes.
Guess that's sometimes the way things turn out.

:). Is all.

Minor injury. Or... minors... and injuries.

Download with Gen was fantastic. She has the sweetest boyfriend ever, also - such a GENT. I spotted a metal bar on the floor. He did too, but whilst I just thought "What the fuck is that?", he picked it straight up and gave it into security, in case someone got hurt. Sweet!

Yes the festival was good. Of course I missed Rage, the band I actually went to see. I'm not even shocked about this, it could only happen to yours truly, I accept.

Looking on the bright side - I met two lovely girls on the way home who were suffering with the same problem... either miss Rage and get the last train home or see Rage and sleep in a bin somewhere on the outskirts of the festival due to tight security denying any access to the campsite. Since I wasn't on drugs, I didn't fancy sleeping anywhere other than my own bed. GAY.

That aside, I am now covered in a few pretty medium-sized heart-shaped bruises from a rather excited mosh-pit. After a couple of punches, I felt it would be time to get another beer or maybe even score some medicine during a performance by Deftones. So I told Gen I'd see her soon, thinking it wouldn't be too hard to get through the crowd.

I never saw Gen again! My judgement was obviously WAY too sober. How was I so sober?! In fact, the crowd was even WORSE further back, and in the end I just gave up and rolled on the floor with the rest of them, successfully taking a few people with me as I whacked my arse into the air. The last time I was in a mosh-pit like that involved a couple of E's and my naive 16-year-old query of "What's a 'mosh-pit'?" as a response to Carl's warning of "Watch out for the mosh-pit!!" I soon found out.

DEFINITELY GETTING A WEEKEND TICKET NEXT YEAR AND SHALL BAKE OODLES OF BUNS - SHOULD NOT HAVE REMEMBERED WHERE THOSE BRUISES CAME FROM.

What else has happened since I've been back in the dazzlingly exciting town of Huddersfield? Well, there's a job going at the laundrette and Poundworld. In fact, I'm spoilt for choice since there's another job going for cleaning the bus station toilets. 3 whole job vacancies in the entire town! Wow! Lack of jobs? Not from what I can see.

I've been shedding away the rest of my student loan on driving lessons, also. Sadly, I have had to move my test date to August due to driving down the ring road in the incorrect direction and not realising this, ahem, MINOR error even when the steering wheel was being terrifyingly wrenched from my grasp. I thought he was trying to kill me... but it turns out he probably thought the same thing about... me.

Further to the more, my Great Auntie Margaret phoned me up this morning:

"Ayup Katie ow ya doin'? Listen, a need sum 'elp, a need a trolley or sumat! Ahv got too much stuff lyin' around an am avin ter eat ma food outta tha sink. An a can't bend down ter get tha newspaper, so a was wonderin' if a give yer sum bus fare..."

I am HOME.

Suck Cess.

I wasn't really sure these days about how to define success, but I got talking to an old friend the other day and the way she has managed to land directly on her feet has shown me exactly how to define success.

She's doing a degree in Events Management, works a million hours in Sainsburys, will be doing a £7 an hour placement as part of her degree next year, passed her driving test recently and already saved enough to get a nice car. Oh, and she just got a lovely boyfriend.

So in I roll from a couple of months fannying around in Belfast to find all these incredibly straight-backed, non-anthropological people working working working away... the Huddersfield ethic I never seemed to manage to grab hold of.
You wouldn't catch them dancing around a pretend bull wearing feathers on their heads anyway.

So I looked up prospects for people with Anthropology degrees today in a relaxed panic (SHIT, I have forgotten to take my Driving Test Related Kalms after lunch)...

Community Health & Public Relations. This is the area I am aiming for. I could still be a music therapist yet. But one thing's for sure... the next part-time job I get I really need to stick to. "Yer a wirkin' man now son."

So long!

Here are the initials of some very special people who I didn't know one year ago today. These same people have made my year, without a doubt.

A-CM(sex) AE(inspiration) AF(bon) BP(fifteens) C7(everyone) CH(real) CR(cider) DK(jazz) EW(bam) GB(cider) GM(chillin') GM(pater) GR(boat) HD(sex) IF(marina) JK(globalization) JM(alcohol) JW(marina) LJ(tennis?) LP(genovia) LP(bristol) MR(marina) MB(tescos) NE(sniff) O1(insane) PB(squire) PC(lol) RK(banter) SH(ethno-hig) SR(eyeyy) WC(sniff)

If your initial is not there it either means I don't like you or I actually forgot you - how dire.

Yeah yeah, you KNOW what my initials would be... KW(poo) OK, OK, I get the joke, now let's just leave that and the fact that this blog is simply here to hide the previous blog. Did I ACTUALLY post that as a blog? Apparently I did.

But that aside, I'm serious guys - I'm going to miss you all so much! You all mean so much to me - I have never met people so strangely interesting and beautifully marvellous as your fine selves.

I am shedding a little tear as I write this.

So, yeah... fare to the well... good to the bye... see to the yah... au to the revoir... so to the long. Until the next time, you chunks of brie in a box of dairy lea... flakes of gold in a piece of shit... butterflies in a swamp of frogs...

I do love you.