Anyone who who knows me, knows i have a book which never leaves my side, that i've had since i was thirteen. although it's falling apart, covered in stains from all different continents over the years, losing it would feel like losing a limb. i use it for all kinds, from mindless rambles and noting quotes, to drawing things i love and letting others have a doodle. not just anyone can write in my orange chum though, because i believe handwriting is a personal stamp, and to write in my book would be making a permanent move into my life.
i go to London again next thursday, i'm quite excited about it, but not as much as previous. i have until five o'clock on sunday, that can only mean one thing, shoreditch! since the student loan company are being complete unorganised twats, my mother duck has kindly agreed to lend me some money for the trip, obviously she's sick of me moaning about my wardrobe. having zero dollar all week has meant uni and absolutely nothing else apart from internet browsing, leading to me mentally spending my temporary tender, and i used my little paper pal to document the list of things i want/need desperately to survive (dramatisation).
P & L