Worst Blogger Ever

I know I keep promising glorious posts which I also know you are all sleeplessly waiting for, but the situation happens to be that since the last occupation at UCL of the registry, and the arbitrary victimisation of the UCL 13 (of which I am one, oh the joys of over-sharing on Twitter) I’ve just tried (and failed, I hasten to add) to get some actual, English Literature-related work done, just in time for The ‘E’ Word.

Whilst I’ve been perfecting the fine art of intense procrastination I’ve been suffering from that oh-too-familiar guilt and instead of reading or writing anything that can even be described as ‘useful’ (other than an unhealthy amount of tweets, which I will stand alone in classifying as entirely ‘useful’) I have found myself three seasons into a Sex And The City marathon and a regular on the threshold of the library.

The point of this post is to motivate myself. I have just over a month until my final exam (when I sign up for it, if it’s not too late. And if it is, change ‘over’ to ‘under’) and relatively soon after this, I will find a purpose (other than ‘public place for private delusions and personal let-downs’) for this blog, state it and stick to it.

I might be getting ahead of myself here, but I’ve actually just decided that it’s going to be a weekly column about the highly congruous topics of fashion, protests and my single girl life (that last one may be Carrie Bradshaw talking) titled ‘Public Place For Private Delusions and Personal Let-Downs’ after than brainwave of parenthesis 30 seconds ago. We’ll see how far that idea gets towards fruition…

In the meantime I may post any too-long-for-Twitter information or ill-judged vlogs/attempts to take over the world here, but even I can’t be certain. And obviously I’ll still be tweeting.

Little Miss Wilde


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