2011

Has been full of many things. New discoveries. Artists such as Sophie Layton and Marcel Cowing. The hybridity of etchings and collage, of monotype and print. Countless artgasms at once. John Stezaker's lovely exhibition at the Whitechapel, discovering my equivalent of a treasure trove on unearthing a little print shop round the back of Tate Modern called Intaglio. It was full of pigments and rollers and etching tools and everything you could ever want to print with. I asked if there were any job opportunities. Unfortunately there wasn't. I may still go back with a CV in any case and try my luck. I have hands that have become gnarled and angry due to my inconsistency with any kind of moisturising before or after printmaking. I have hair that hasn't been cut since last April and is transforming into the Sigourney Weaver fro from Ghostbusters. I have a rear end that is gradually acclimatizing itself to the horrendous saddle on my bike and the poor state of the cycle paths between New Cross and Camberwell. I have turned into a domestic goddess who makes soup and decides to waste money on ironing water, orange blossom and pomegranate no less, to make my clothes lovely. This, however, was somehow undermined when my housemate let me know that what we thought was detergent turned out to be fabric conditioner.

Things are generally pretty good. The sun was shining yesterday, my room is lucky enough to be on the good side of the house, the side where the sunlight streams into your room on a morning and emanates positivity throughout your being. A bit like Scrubs when Dr Cox announces that its going to be a great day in a, what I think, was a Scottish accent. I bought Maggie tulips. It was Valentines Day after all. What is more exciting than Valentines Day you ask? Why of course, it is the reduced chocolate section in Sainsbury's the day after, that allows you to buy packs of chocolate love bugs for thirty pence. To go to the cinema to f i n a l l y see Colin Firth in the Kings Speech, and find yourself leaving the cinema tear-stained and lovebug foil wrappers dropping from your person at regular intervals as you negotiate your way out of the cinema. Lovely.