While we're on the subject, a quick word for all my fellow eyebrow enthusiasts reading- I'd like to retract my earlier sentence about Rimmel's eyebrow pencil. Not because they are paying me to (sadly I don't think I will ever make any money from this blog, unless I stop swearing and start taking photos sipping bubble tea lattes or posting pictures of what I'm wearing every day* which I will never do because I have don't have a big enough vocabulary or good enough camera to do either) but because I have since grown to like it.
The secret is just a smudge on the inner eyebrows, then blending it through the rest of the brow. I've decided against the Benefit Brow Zings because, if I had a wax and a powder at my disposal, I know I'd slowly go further and further away from the hairy, arched line that lies between Strong Brow and Insane Sci-Fi Villain.
|"Have I overdone them a bit?"|
Cut to Friday night and I'm walking to the tube station at one mile per hour, gritting my teeth as I hobble over cobbles. A couple of hours later and I'm falling down Olivia's friend's stairs, thinking I can regain my balance right up to the last second, when I realise I'm actually going down. I untangled my legs from underneath myself as I fell, landing miraculously in a side-sitting position, as if I was in a family photo.
I can't believe I didn't hurt myself, I fell from the middle of the stairs all the way to the bottom.
The next day I was dreading work, because I was working a double shift, 11.30am until midnight, but it was actually fine. The shift manager bought me a croissant and a coffee from Pret a Manger and at 3 o'clock I had a two hour break, so I ordered a burger and then fell asleep in the cellar, stretched out between two broken chairs with my coat over me.
When I woke up I had a coldsore.
The beast that never sleeps.
Unfortunately, after Olivia's birthday night, I seemed to have lost my oyster card, which had a weekly pass loaded on to it. I held off cancelling it because I knew I'd find it somewhere, but on Sunday afternoon I finally called up Oyster and cancelled it. Then I found it in my coat pocket and cried hysterically into my pillow for about ten minutes.
I can't believe it. I even had a dream on Saturday night that I found it... I KNEW I'd find it! It was in my fucking coat pocket, where I keep it all the time. I just didn't look properly.
Anyway. Anyway. I've just remembered I've got the end of my book to finish- 'The Algebraist' by Iain M.Banks. I've read Iain Bank's books before- 'The Wasp Factory' and 'Espedair Street'- but I've never read any of his sci-fi novels, which he publishes under Iain M.Banks. I picked it up in my brother's bedroom over the summer and started reading it. It's a pretty old book, I wondered where it had come from but the other day I noticed a sinister note written on the inside cover about 'modified swarms' and 'group minds' which has got to be my dad.
At first I found it The Algerbraist hard to get into, I couldn't get my head around the descriptions of things. The vast hub curved over the floating scape of wheels, widening into a ridge a thousand klicks high... That sort of thing. I had no idea what was going on but as I got into it I found myself actually looking up from the book and thinking: WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN NEXT?
I'm very, very nearly at the end.
I'm seeing my dad this weekend, I can return it to him. I'm going to Liverpool to see a play that someone in our year at uni wrote, there'll be a few of us going so it will be like a big uni reunion. I planned on saving up and having a blow out but instead spent all my money and now have a fiver for the entire weekend.
I can hear something, a muffled sound. It's coming from within my wardrobe...
It was my new shoes that I can't walk in, having a massive fucking laugh at my expense.
*I did think about doing this for a joke, putting up photos of my day to day wear which normally consists of holey leggings and an inside-out vest top with my kimono over the top, above the caption: 'Today I'm feeling welfare luxe, this look will take me from the dole office straight to the cocktail bar' but I fear the irony would be lost on some people and I'd just end up looking like a class A dickhead.