Ooph.

That is all.
Go about your day.

Reading week is officially over.

And I'm already knackered. Although that may have had something to do with late-night Othello-watching and essay-writing. Maybe.

Bah. One and a half hours is not a long enough break between classes to walk home, have a nap and walk to the next class, so, as you can see, I am instead slumped at my desk staring mindlessly at the internet. I say this like it's any different to any other day. On the plus side, I have pretty nails. My nail-painting has become slightly obsessive, for I know that if I don't paint them, then I will bite them, but my inability to sit still means that any nail varnish that lasts more than a day before it is picked off should consider itself very lucky. The one thing that this picture does not accurately display (aside from the fact that it's a mirror image, so technically isn't displaying anything accurately) is that the purpley-looking nail polish is sparkly, and the blue nail polish glows in the dark. Yeah. I know. I'm so cool it hurts. Oh, wait. No. Sorry. I'm so tired it hurts. That makes much more sense.
In other news, I'm currently obsessed with this song...

... and this tv programme...

 Dylan Moran has been fuelling my procrastination over the past few days, and for that, I thank him.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to drag myself all the way back to Southam (ok, so it's a 10/15min walk, but still...) and listen to my Brit Lit professor ramble about Keats, why students shouldn't have jobs and how none of us has any prospects in life. And his wife. Oh joy.

And while we're on the subject of Bens that I'm in love with...

Not you, Teague, although I do love you very much. <3
No, the Ben in question is the wonderful Ben Kling, whose name the more observant stalkers among you might recognise as the one behind those lol-worthy dictator valentines from my St. Valentine's Day post. Just look at him. Look. At. Him. He's just so pretty. And his blog makes me giggle. And he sings. His cover of Toxic is just wonderful, as is his song "Monkey in a Suit" (both of which can be listened to here).
And yes, I'm aware that I'm shamelessly plugging some random guy on the internet, but he's cute, and I find him entertaining, and I thought you might do too.
And I kinda love him. There is also that.
I'm not a crazy fangirl. Honest.
*shifty eyes* 

If it's not too much trouble,

I'd very much like to have this man and this cat in my life:

As is so often the case, I find myself in the aftermath of watching a terribly sappy and heartbreaking film of love and loss, and so I am currently in a bizarre flux between sobbing like a fool and swooning over the beauty of Ben Whishaw. I suppose one might say that I'm "swobbing", but that's a terribly ugly-sounding word.

But anyways, my point is that I just watch Bright Star, and it was quite lovely, and had a wonderful soundtrack, and had that gorgeous man you see above in it, and a cat, and reduced me to a hopelessly weeping mess. Did I mention that I'm a little bit in love with Ben Whishaw? And the cat? Yeah.

Reading Week is almost over.

How on earth did that happen? How is it already Friday?
I've managed to waste my week away, sleeping and going to the Caf and eating all the food. Wait, I retract my comment about that being a waste of a week. That's the best kind of week to have.
Nevertheless, there is still much work to do, and while I can commend myself for reading half a novel and sewing my holey clothes (check me out, all domesticated and what not), I cannot ignore my essays. Boo.
On an unrelated note, it's started snowing again. Like, really snowing. The White Witch has clearly returned. Where's Aslan when you need him?
In honour of the snow, here are some pictures of snowy Ottawa and cats and squirrels that I took a few weeks ago :)

Now if you'll excuse me, the Caf is serving "English-style fish and chips" today. I'm not missing that for the world.

Toronto take 2.

I went to Toronto. Again. This time for more than a day. I'd tell you about it, but I took pictures, so you can look at them instead.

Not a bad view from the roof, really.

Slushees at 2am, because we're just that cool.

Exeter Impy flashbacks in the middle of Toronto <3

A mini Team Team reunion :)

The sun emerging over Toronto. There are worse things to see at 7am.

Niagara Falls: "It's like Barry Island on speed."

Glow-in-the-dark mini-golf. Your argument is invalid.

Convincing from a distance, but look a little closer.

Family Day = 25% discount at CN Tower = WIN.

Lake Ontario looking beautiful from the top of the CN Tower.

Is it sad that I'm more excited about the fact that in this photo I'm wearing purple jeans and a "Soft Kitty" tshirt than I am about the fact that I'm at the top of the CN Tower?

Casual Myspace mirror pic at the top of the CN Tower.

Yeah, I'm not really sure either...

Om nom nom nom.

Streetcar. Sadly not named Desire.

Look readers...

I have nails!!
I realise that for most of you, this is a seemingly banal announcement, but those of me who know me well will know just how much of an achievement this actually is.
Since acquiring nails, I've become somewhat obsessed with painting them and buying cheap nail varnish, but such is my inability to sit still and leave things alone that it only takes a day or two to pick it all off again.
But yeah, I wanted to share my achievement with you, because I am a six-year-old. Look Mummy! Look what I did! You get the idea.
I promise to be more exciting soon. My fellow Welshies and I are invading Toronto this weekend, so I'll have pictures and such to show you next week.
But for now, here's a video of Stephen Fry being wonderfully hilarious:

:)

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,
I don't like midterms,
Or trite rhyme schemes.

Happy sodding Valentine's Day, kids.

Midterm.

It's such a nauseatingly North American word, don't you think? Never in Britain would you hear someone talk about a midterm. Especially not when you're an English student. It's generally accepted that students choose English so that they can write waffly essays, and don't ever have to actually memorise anything for exam purposes. And yet here I am in Canada with pages and pages of dates and names and other such things to revise. Yes, revise. I am not studying. I am revising. Deal with it, Canadians.
So, while I'm sure most of you will be spending the evening of St. Valentine's Day enjoying the company of your loved one or miserably sobbing in front of the tv while you watch The Notebook and consume copious amounts of wine and ice cream, I have a hot date at 6pm with a 3-hour exam. It's nice to know that this February 14th I get to despair at my romantic loneliness while desperately trying to remember who wrote the score to Casablanca. Oh well, at least on Wednesday I can go to Loblaws and buy stacks of reduced price chocolate.,

On a lighter note...

A noticeable trend.

Now, Canada, I need to have a word with you. We've had our fashion differences in the past, but this is getting ridiculous. I can live with the rucksacks and the excessive amount of Roots and Abercromie tshirts. I can forgive the propensity to wear trackies all the time. I might even be able to overlook the excessively baggy trousers (which, by the way, was apparently a trend created by prisoners to indicate that they were up for a bit of backdoor fun, if you know what I mean). I can deal with all of these things, but this I cannot tolerate I've noticed that some of your residents think that it's ok to walk around wearing big, thick, thermal winter socks and these:

This is a nasty habit which cannot be allowed to continue. I've seen this look with jeans several times, and even once with leggings. I'm afraid that I cannot condone this sort of behaviour. I don't care how comfortable they may be, or that they're easy to slip on when you're just popping to the caf. You look like dickheads. Stop it. Now.


P.S. You're still not off the hook about the whole leggings as trousers thing. They're just not. End of. Full stop.

Casnewydd Calling.

As an exchange student, I find myself constantly plagued with the question, "Where are you from?" It's a perfectly reasonable question, really. If I were a Canadian who suddenly found him/herself in the presence of someone who, to quote Nicole, "sounds like Harry Potter", I'd be interested. However, as a Brit who isn't from London (shocking, I know), I find myself faced with the dilemma of exaclty how specific to be. Thankfully, Canadians are neither stupid nor ignorant (I'm looking at you, America) and are generally familiar with the concept of Wales. Or they're too polite to say otherwise. This does give me a certain level of confidence to safely say, "Oh I'm from Wales," and if they look particularly thick, I'll stick "in the UK" on the end, just to be on the safe side. This is all fine and well for introductions, but as I find myself getting to know people, there are always those annoying few who insist on asking, "So where exactly in Britain are you from?" We both know that this conversation is only going to end in a hapless grin, awkward giggle and shrug of the shoulders from both parties, but we've reached the point where I'm obliged to respond: "Just outside a city in South Wales called Newport." Now, when I tell people in Exeter that I'm from Newport, I'm usually greeted with a look that screams "I'm so sorry" and a flippant remark about how they once had a train change at Newport. I defy you to find a person in Britain who hasn't been to Newport train station. Here, however, the word Newport means absolutely nothing, so after this rather lengthy and unnecessary introduction, let me give you Canadians a taste of exactly what kind of classy, sophisticated and cultured town Newport really is:

Click here for cultural enlightenment 

And if that wasn't enough, how about an Alicia Keys parody to show you just how awesome we really are?

It's a shithole, but it's my shithole. <3