In recent years (or rather, ever since i held an adequate understanding of the English language), I’ve harboured an undeniable desire to be English, to speak that delectable London accent, to go to boarding school, to moan often about the weather…
Just what is it about the English culture that is so attractive to me? I love its comfort foods: stews, sausages and mash, baked beans and endless varieties of cooked potatoes. I love the quaint country lanes, I love its literature, I love its slangs and its humour. I love its people.
Yeah, so this is just a big fluffy shout out to England. You’re brilliant!
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I’ve got about 3 unfinished drafts sitting, waiting to be posted on this blog, and I have 2 sets of characters that won’t leave my head, waiting to live out their stories. I am currently working on a story titled “Quit Freak”. Usually dialogue comes out much harder for me (I’m much better with mood and and setting and no-quotation marks required stuff. Exposition is damn annoying!) so I sort of wrote it all out in a rush. and now I an insert the rest of it organically. Le Sigh, indeed.
My ipod (1st gen iTouch) continues to behave irregularly but I simply can’t justify getting a spanking new one because “Sherlocked” (Yes, I really am that obsessed. Don’t say I didn’t warn you) is still loyal and he was the first major purchase I made with my own dollars. When I bought him, I cherried him out with a real leather cover, Bose earbuds (they suck, I am grown up now) and a myriad of other frivolous expenses (though I do not regret the case, in fact, it’s save Sherlocked many a times).
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