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I'm little, red headed mess, more hair than mass or sense. All I really want to do is make something magical and show the world and have it be proud of me.

Sunday, 21 June 2009

Irrational Sunday Traditions.

Every Sunday is the same. I wake up at half eleven, do a bit more art, fall in love with a new indie-boy, realise that it's half one and I have no plans and call Lydia. She'll say she's not allowed out on Sundays, have I not yet realised, you disturbed church, etc. etc. I'll decide a new pair of plimsoles is WAY overdue, and a dress would be nice, so I hop on a train and go into London town - I'd be judged if I went round more locally on my own. So I'll wander into Flagship Topshop, find some beauties and leave. I have nothing else to do with my day, so, still plugged in to Too Close For Comfort on repeat, I'll take a trip to WHS, just to admire the art equipment. Every single week I end up buying something. You see, theres something about buying new pencils, its a kind of satisfaction. And then you go home all excited like, I HAVE NEW PENCILS, MAAAN, sitting on the floor of a southeastern service train. The next bits th best bit. I get my brown paper out and draw. Satisfaction? I think so. I know so.

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