Schooooooool's out. Forever.

I think I've lost my writing mojo. I know where I left it - somewhere in the 94 pages of earnest intellectual ramblings that I handed in five days ago. I'm struggling to write a basic grocery list at the moment... which would explain the lack of food in my house but not the piles of washing or layers of dust that I've accumulated in the past weeks.



I'm not sure how I thought I would feel once school was finished, but bewildered and fucking tired would have been two of my top five guesses. Flat would also get a run-in. Tired. But that goes without saying. The last week of dissertation insanity was truly epic and honestly exhausting. A meeting with my tutor, with two days left to write before printing, had me in sobs of tears all the way home on the bus - proper panda eyes - thanks to a rally of confidence inducing comments, from "it could go either way" to "whatever happens don't take it personally" and poor LB had to bear the brunt of it. Months ago I had booked us tickets to see the hilariously clever Tim Minchin at the Hammersmith Apollo, thinking "Yay - last Friday before printing, I will SO be finished by then". Not. Four hours sleep the night before, still channeling the heights of panda fashion, it was the glib wit and shocking talent of Tim, three vodka redbulls and a gentle "Maybe I might just hold your hand and make sure you get home" at the end of the night that saved me. At least until the next day.

Now I've never given birth, nor given up drugs (or taken up drugs in the first instance...) but Saturday was fucking hell. Small bouts of constructive activity punctuated by small sobs, tired bawling tears, proclamations of defeat and exhaustion and a fading will to live. I finished the conclusion at 3.30am that night, LB offering words of encouragement and home cooked meals and a shoulder to wipe my panda eyes on throughout. Looking back now it feels like a surreal nightmare. Looking back at my dissertation now I know it was - there's a whole paragraph in my conclusion in a different font. I suppose I should be grateful it's not wingdings but still.

I think the end was always going to be horrendous but for a horrendous week it was punctuated by some lovely occasions. Just not much sleep. Tim was pretty fabulous, such a clever guy and so was the lovely scruffy Bob Evans, he of my still-favourite song "Don't You Think It's Time". Which he played as an encore at his gig in Shepherd's Bush earlier that week.


And then there was a lovely visit to Covent Garden for cheese. Sigh...


And woolly hats. Cheese and woolly hats and a walk across Embankment footbridge for an accidentally quite artistic photo of the London skyline:


From here we actually went to the Tate Modern to see Miroslaw Balka's incredible installation for the Unilever Series in the Turbine Hall. But I become overwhelmed by the need to simultaneously drink and rock in the foetal position when I think about art at the moment so I might leave off that for a few days - but in a word, brilliant.

Above, below: Miroslaw Balka, How It Is, Tate Modern, 2009 

I still don't think it's hit me that school has finished - this time a YEAR ago I was in Germany and I feel totally bewildered wondering what the hell I'm going to do next - I rather suspect I've maxed out my luck on the whole job-falling-into-my-lap thing.

Am just so looking forward to going home for three weeks - some family love, some friend love, some Bondi love. Bring it baby. It's still a good six weeks away yet but thanks to the increasingly shite weather, the shorter days and the woolly hats, well, Christmas feels like it's approaching very bloody quickly. Things like this:


Don't help with the false hope. I took this photo on October 25th - two whole months before Christmas. Talk about optimistic - or capitalistic? I mean god, the leaves are still turning, don't switch on the Christmas lights just yet!

I feel though like I've had a sneak peek of the Christmas to come with the arrival of my bro's nearly a week ago. It's been a fabulous diversion from flatville, which is where I was fast heading in the wake of school's final moments. There really is something inherently reassuring about being amongst your tribe and with funny bastards as brothers there is lots to be merry about. I'm not entirely flattering myself though - yes, yes, they're pleased to see me, but I know where their true love lies and it's about five tube stops from here and otherwise known as the Emirates Stadium.

First night in town and they took me to an Arsenal football match.


It was pretty amazing actually - an incredible atmosphere and just such a theatrical setting. And LB and little bro were gracious enough to answer nearly all my no-doubt plebby questions about off-side rules and the use of lower case letters to spell out the players names on their jerseys. Little bigger bro was sitting elsewhere - probably no bad thing considering his hooligan alter-ego comes out to play whenever Cesc Fabregas does.

We're actually in Budapest at the moment - a flying visit for a token dose of Europe while they're here. It's been a nice distraction from the 'bugger all' that is currently my life's work and once my flagging mojo recovers I'll get to the last few days.