I am definitely meant to be writing my dissertation right now but the Ostrich in me is doing what all Ostriches don’t actually do in real life - bury their heads in a mound of sand. I wonder where this myth came from? Why would an Ostrich even feel compelled to do such a thing? Hello sand, here is my Ostrich head. I hope you don’t mind if I stick it in you for a while. I’m feeling a bit scared at the moment and I’d rather be choking on your grains than bother with my problems/tasks right now.

Anyway. NEWSFLASH I am going to Glastonbury again.

I wasn’t supposed to be but Scott bought a ticket from me from the last lot that went on sale the other day. Though I bought crippling wellies that were the wrong size last year, and spent half my time hobbling around the site trying desperately not to complain for fear of making myself look like a whinging idiot, I did actually enjoy myself.

I imagine the rare sunshine that graced the site for four entire days helped tremendously, as did Leonard Cohen, and the stripper-boho-fairy dancers used by Goldfrapp too.

I was proud of myself last year for going, mainly because despite my fear of Poo(p) and all things associated with the functions of our intestines, I braved the infamous longdrops of Glastonbury daily whilst there (albeit with help of an olbas oil inhaler and wetwipes) At least I know what to expect this year.

I will also make sure to smother myself in sun cream as I made the mistake of forgetting on the biggest day of the festival (saturday) severely burnt my face and thus missed Jay-Z’s epic performance due to a pretty bad case of sun-stroke, instead spending the evening by myself in the cinema field with only Alvin and the Chipmunks and Iron Man as my solace.

I almost looked like Lucifer up there. I look forward to more thrift stall magic finds such as these:

More of this too…

So, Glastonbury 2009. The line up is again, not very good this year but in my head unless Radiohead, Muse or Bowie are playing, which they are nor, I won’t be particularly bothered about anybody who is playing. Fleet Foxes are a must of course. Instead, I shall roam the fields like the observant wanderer that I am, though I will begrudge the two mile trek to the now relocated cinema field.

Any other news? We have been planning our trips around New Zealand which is a bit exciting. I’m still trying to convince Scott to spend more than a night in Wellington.

I have realised that half of my follow list on twitter consists of ex-Whedon actors and actresses. I’m not sure what this says about me, except for the fact that I am more of a die-hard fan than I ever thought was possible, what with the Buffy thesis as well. You can never be too old to love, is my motto.

Still following the Flight tour. Scott joked that it would be just our luck that when we went to New Zealand, the two Kiwi’s would tour the UK. I am mortified at the possibility of this thought. If that happens, I will throw a FizzGig Tantrum, like so:

Fizzgig Tantrum

I can not comprehend the idea that I might not get to experience their Sugalumps in person.

Graduation is looming. I am annoyed that I am leaving with £21′000 worth of debt. The actual debt doesn’t bother me, but the fact that the University force me to pay another few hundred pounds on top of the thousands already given to them, just so I can have the privilage of graduating in a cap and gown in front of my proud parents. It makes me feel a bit ill at their greediness actually. The University, not my parents.

Out and Over.