I love spring time. I love the dramatic difference it makes to a working day. If you leave for work when it’s light up (compared to the horrific early morning winter darkness of grey olde England) it changes the entire shape of your routine. I like seeing all the new things growing, all the little shoots and buds. The crocuses come first, then the daffodils and then the tulips. We didn’t get a second bought of snow so some of the tree blossoms are arriving early. I like it when you can consider popping out for a pint of milk and not need three layers of clothing. Every single folk album seems applicable when walking in the year’s first real sunshine. I wish I could abandon my silly degree and be at the farm for lambing. Nothing matches bottle feeding spring lambs, watching them jump and bump heads.. Next year I’ll probably take the whole spring off to live up there for a little bit.
Some lovely things, some not so lovely things.
I managed to finish my dissertation a week before it’s due in. I’m really not that much of a swot, but I convinced myself I was never going to get caught out again. I’ve had to write a thesis in one night before, it wasn’t worth the hassle for a 2.1 degree. I wrote it for a French dyslexic girl. It was about feminism in art. It was horrible. Mine was about digitalism and traditionalism. It was a fucking chore, but damn I write a snappy essay. I’m going to get it bound on Thursday.
My final project is going okay. Head of textiles is pretty much boning it. He’s given us the gallery space for the degree show, which is the best spot in the art school. It feels good to stick it to the contemporary art dickheads. I’ve decided to formally submit a submission to the new designers guild, try and get on board for the big London show. I feel like I’m leaning more towards a design career now, I couldn’t see it a few months ago.
I think I’m a cruel girlfriend. I realised the other day when I was thinking of boyfriends past. Everyone has the complete wrong impression of me. Think I’m a twee polite little demure girl that they can take home to their mothers and make a baby with- It will be fine because “I have the mother talents” and I’ll iron their shirts and have a dinner for them when they walk in, and damn this chick can sew. But that’s the way I let myself be perceived, but it’s not even remotely who I am…it’s a complete fabrication of a separate persona. I’m always the boss in my relationships, I’m mean to them- I manipulate them to get what I want, I act like a damn brat at times. So few people really know me- know how cold I can be towards the people that care for me.
There’s a new boy. He’s charming, well mannered, well dressed, educated and ambitious. I’m scared he’s too polite and gentlemanly to stand up to me when I’m out of line. Which I probably will be.
What is something your best friend of the opposite sex does that you can’t stand?
This is pretty applicable to any man- The way they look for things, or fail to do so. If they can’t see something immediately it is gone, simply disappeared. Oh and farting, jeez man..the butt lift. I do not like.
What is the last thing that you lost?
I lost my temper yesterday. I was having a horrible day that resulted in a very childish weepy moment and the throwing and stomping of some sub-par watercolour illustration. I went to the gym, felt better.
The last time you checked your cellular did you have anything new?
Missed call from my papa.
Do you ever read through your Facebook news feeds when you’re online and bored?
Yes, unfortunately I know too many dull people.
Do you have any secrets that you’re keeping from your parents or your entire family?
Plenty. Friends too. I’m quite a private person, everyone unloads their problems on to me, I am the secret keeper. My secrets are my own, if you tell someone it reduces it’s value.
What is something that you learned from your relationship with your most recent ex?
That men can still be lads. Oh and that all men really want is a second mama. But I also learned that I don’t need to be taken care of..& that beards get boring after a while.
What is one thing that you really don’t like about texting?
I bloody hate texting, I don’t get anything from it. But I also hate telephone calls. Vicious cycle.
Is there anything you’ve come to re-establish or realize about yourself?
I’ve grown up a whole bunch, I pay my bills, I budget, I run my own home. I know what I want and know how to put in the hard work to get what I want- Career wise and romantically.
How are you feeling, in all honesty, right now about things?
I have every oppurtunity to succeed, I’ve just got to apply myself and take my aspirations seriously. Nothing will ever fall into my lap just because I want it to.
Is there anything big happening in your life this week?
Not particularly. Just work work work. But you never know, I could be dealt a good hand or a bad card, I’ll leave it up to fate my love.
What are your opinions on the song you’re currently listening to?
Walking on broken glass by Annie Lennox. My all time favourite lady anthem. I love it. She is a wonderful lady.
When was the last time you had to remove yourself from a situation before it got worse?
I am responsible for myself, I know when to hold and when to fold. I’ve never been in a fight and I’ve never been in a situation I couldn’t talk myself out of. Obviously I’ve broken up with every man I’ve ever been with when they start getting too comfy.
Do you ever go online sites for clothing stores you shop at to look at new stuff?
Not really. I don’t like being dictated how I should look.
Is the last book you read a really well-known book?
Notes on a Scandal, about a school teacher that fell in love with one of her students. I’m currently reading my great grandma’s copy of Gone with the wind, more scandal, but with petticoats.
Do you have anything besides just songs downloaded on your iPod?
A bit of a pressumption to think I have an ipod no? But yeah, lots of records, cds etc. But if I pressed play on itunes it would play continuously for over a month.
What is something that makes you not like being in a relationship or not want to start one?
I find the whole process quite tedious. I don’t really like feeling like I’m responsible for anyone else, I love my independence. I hate getting to know their families..I hate registering all their bad little habits. Ugh I could go on.
When was the last time a picture of you was taken?
I don’t allow myself to be photographed. But probably early December at open studios.
What is something that people in your family tend to do a lot that irritates you?
The men are chauvinistic pigs really. & my ma doesn’t correct them. Hell hath no fury like me reading them the behavioural riot act when I’m home.
Do you ever pay attention to couples and if they look good together or if they look weird together?
Yes, I like looking at other people’s love. It’s quite sad really.
In your last relationship, who ended things between the two of you?
Me, always me. I’m quite the little commitment-phobe.
Where is the last place that you and your best friend went out to together?
Le pub! How glamourous.
Who will you be spending most of your time with this weekend?
My housemates. But mostly I’ll be holed up in my studio. Thrilling life mine.
What are you and the person you are currently texting talking about?
My friend Jessica, talking about her nasty baby-daddy.
Are you someone who it takes a lot to have you lose patience or do you get frustrated by the littlest things?
I have wonderful tolerance for some things, disgusting lack of patience for others.
When at the beach, do you spend more time on the beach or in the ocean?
I do not go to the beach. Well unless it was a pebble beach. I loathe sand..The salt air dries out my hair. Oh and ever since my brother got stung on the face by a jellyfish 8 years ago I haven’t put a toe in the sea.
Do you have a high tolerance to pain?
Yes. I’ve broken more things than I care to think about, bloody horses. I’m a tough lass.
Can you recall still how you met your best friend?
One in primary school, one in secondary school, two at university. I love them all more than cake.
Are you someone who notices little details to things or not so much?
My whole life is detail. It drives me insane. Being so obsessed with detail can really ruin the enjoyment of things that should be simpler.
I swore on my life I wouldn’t keep whinging about my weight. But Jesus. I know people are genetically made up to be all different shapes and sizes, no matter how many lbs I shift I’m still going to have broad straight shoulders, still going to have these bastard birthing hips, I’m always going to have the “Maguire arse” and my ribcage isn’t exactly going to shrink. But it’s disheartening to think how hard I have to work to stop my body running to chub. I eat from a fucking saucer and I work out every goddamn day. I don’t smoke, I barely drink. I’m this close to doing some Veruca Salt-esque foot stomping.
Final major project. Spent most of the day drawing forget-me-not flowers. turned into some kind of predictable Laura Ashley looking print, auto rage. Tutorial with horrible conceptual textile designer tomorrow that will will question both my own and my designs existence and try and convince me to taylor a bloody jacket for a carp or something equally ridiculous. Going to seal myself up in the library for a few hours after and get some decent research behind me. Should also probably thicken out my dissertation a tad, I’m still about 2000 words shy of the requirement.
Oh in other news Christmas period was lovely. Usual food and drink overdose. Got slightly angry with the way my parents feel the need to really push the gift boat out for me and my brother even though he’s 18 and I’m 22. But I think my mother is at the “my babies are grown must cling” stage of her life. I was lucky enough to be given a beautiful 100 year old (pristine) black forest cuckoo clock as my main gift. I’m too scared to put it on the wall because I don’t want light to damage it, it’s my new antique baby.
How have you been?
I hate hate hate feeling so overwhelmingly under-appreciated. It just downright hurts my feelings. I’m used to my one horrible housemate and his lack of manners or general compassion towards the human race..but it gets me down. I’ve worked hard to make our house cosy and warm and generally a nice place to be. I organise all the cleaning and make sure it gets a top to bottom super clean once a week. We do one big shop and split it three ways, but naturally I have to organise the shopping list and ordering because I’m the one that cooks our meals. Not because I have to, but because I need to know what’s going in to my food, and it works out cheaper if you know how to cook well and economically. Sadly if the boys were left to their own devices they would only eat meat and some kind of potato. But I work hard to make them nice varied meals, I pay attention to taste and to aesthetics. One housemate doesn’t even acknowledge what I have done (doesn’t compliment the meal or thank me for my two hour effort), the other thinks that any old chimp could put the meal together. Really? You were scared of gas hobs/raw meat and didn’t know how to make a gravy that wasn’t made of pellets before I taught you. So insulted. Never living with just boys ever again.
Two different worlds. My whole life I’ve been forced to try and make myself fit into two different social spheres. When in reality I don’t fit into either.
People in my hometown tend to think I’m stuck up or posh because I don’t talk with the Essex twang and refuse to make myself a walking cut-out of a stereotypical Essex girl. Crippling shyness stopping me from ever being as brave and raucous as they are. I don’t have anything against Harlow or Essex. The town and those people are my friends, have been for most of my life. But I don’t fit in with most of them, and they know it. I don’t for one second think I’m better than them in the slightest. It upsets me that I think some of them think I do.
The other sphere was the upper class collection of spoilt kids I either went to school with or were forced to be around when I was show jumping. For them, naturally I was too common, my family not being blue blood or .com millionaires. Obviously people assume that if you’re around horses that you’re financially endowed, these kids were always so disappointed with my economic credentials. Real pretty in pink situation, too embarrassed to let them know where I lived, that kind of thing. They weren’t there at half 5 in the morning mucking out their 40 grand ponies before school, they didn’t have to miss out on all the parties and events of their school years to do yard work to get their horses livery bill reduced. They could afford it, we certainly couldn’t. End of the day I was a better rider than thousands of their daddy’s money could buy.
My parents worked disgustingly hard to provide for me and my brother when we were younger. If we were passionate about something they tried their hardest to make it happen for us, as long as we put in the hours. I don’t think anyone from either sides of the class spectrum has the right to criticise that. I’m not stuck up and I’m not common. I was raised right and lucky enough to be given the opportunity to have the experiences I’ve had- including my education. I won’t apologise for who I am because I’m not a bad person.
Now I love my family more than anything. My mother is genuinely my best friend, as much of a cliché as that is. But I love my own space more. I love running my home my way. My way of paying the bills, my way of decorating, my volumes of music, my choice to rock up home at whatever time in the morning. All the usual early adult indulgences that come with independence. But I flat out can’t afford to live here without my student loan. I looked into privately renting back home, but the rent is outrageous for such squalid conditions. Even studio apartments. Bloody southern England, ruining my life.
Now I can bitch and moan about the gene pool I fell into but it wouldn’t do anything. We all get dealt the hand we get. But I am just cheesed off with the injustice! I am just an extremely plain girl, a plain girl that is a bit of a chub! I eat little (I have a special little pink plate) and healthily, my mother is a dietician so it’s all I know. I gave up smoking on the 18th of march and have only slipped up a few times. I don’t eat fast food (maybe 4 times a year), my one main indulgence being a bottle of red wine a week. I do at least half an hour of cardio and half an hour of toning every single day, if I miss a day I do double on the next. I don’t lose weight, I end up getting overdeveloped leg muscles because it just tops up how freakishly strong they were from being raised in the saddle. I like sport, not “working out”- but I went to art school, the only team sport here is acid dropping. I don’t think thin lovely girls realise how lucky they are to have a sweet ass metabolism and nice skinny genetics, I get massively jealous when I hear about the junk they eat and how much they drink and smoke and don’t have to exercise. It’s just plain unfair!
Last night I suffered the ultimate humiliation. Was about half twelve at night, went to bedroom to have a little stint on my cross-trainer. Got caught in nothing but my ugly sports bra by a mysterious neighbour smoking a cigarette on the sly in the back of their unlit garden. Literally dropped to the floor with embarrassment..army crawled my way into a discarded dress on my floor. Too humiliated to face the mystery lurker I had to try and tug my curtains closed from the floor. Lesson learnt, always always close your bloody curtains.
I made this little blog purely because I don’t want to bother the people that like their dash good and image heavy. I appreciate that not everyone wants to hear about my silly day to day occurances, some however may want to. Personally I find writing about my life thereputic and quite a handy way to gain some reflection. Originally I was going to make a personal blog to write some highbrow saucy fiction, no seriously, real kitsch petticoat lifting dignitaries getting nasty- think bbc period drama after 11pm..but I ran out of balls. Follow this blog knowing that it’s bassically an egotistical diary I have decided to share, you’ve been warned.
My name is Francesca. I’m a textile designer, I design and print fabric/wallpaper patterns. I’m having a maturity crisis, trapped somewhere between the mentality of a six year old and an eighty six year old. I have trouble taking risks and fall into routine far too easily. I’m extremely dyslexic but I don’t consider myself unintelligent. My crippling shyness somehow gets perceived as haughtiness. My tastes are my own, vast eclectic and ever changing.
