Reasons Why You Should Definitely Follow Me On Twitter And Other Such Updates

Well, I've sent 45 billion work emails, condensed five scrawled To Do lists into one carefully-printed catalogue of tasks, listened to 80% of the Today programme on Radio 4 and found a cure for the common cold*.  And it isn't even 11am! This can only mean one thing: SNOW DAY. 

*well, I'm self-medicating with paracetamol and hot water and lemon and feeling bloody marvellous. 

Next thing on the agenda: update this bleedin' blog. Again, I've been away. I know. Sometimes, though, you've just gotta revise for that French exam and enjoy your subscription to the Times and read, read, read (pour mon travail, mainly, although I have been enjoying the odd excursion into extra-curricular books, too); ooo, and maybe do some furtive planning for future stuff and whatnot. 

So what have I been doing? Well, I could direct you towards my twitter feed, but a quick peek at my profile timeline suggests that my updates are a bit, err, slapdash shall we say? 

And you wonder why you don't follow me? With updates like this?

I've also been bossing my husband around:

And spoiling y'all with my sharp and insightful celebrity-based commentary:
  

To be fair, this last one was the most exciting thing to have happened to me this month:

It was Ryan, if you're interested, on this episode. 

What else? There must be more! Well, during February half-term we made off to Debbie and Richard's delightful self-catering spot in Ravenstonedale, Cumbria once again. And voila, I took perhaps the Most Impressive Instagram Photo Of All Time:

It was honestly this beautiful. 

And then went to Best Book Shop Of All Time. Believe me, I've been to a few. And read lots, accompanied by lots gins and tonics. Lots of lots, hey? It was a week of the best kind of excess.

And I blew my mind reading a biography of Ted Hughes followed by Birthday Letters. Sometimes, his words are so tender; at other times, they're like a slap. Highly, highly recommended. 

And then a quick stop-off in London before coming back to Bruxelles. An exciting Orla Kiely purchase (be still, my beating heart) more than made up for the misery of a rail replacement service. And how lovely are those turquoise King's Cross tiles?

So that's me for now. Must do better and all that. 

So until next time, listen to this. It's fabulous. I've been pretending that it's exposure to French, but actually taking an hour to compile a playlist called Frenchy McFrenchy on Spotify probably isn't as useful a method of revision as, say, ooo, studying irregular verbs might be. I just like her throaty voice and imagining myself listening to this whilst smoking a cigarette and looking intense as only a Frenchy could.