Hullo, once again.

I'm back in London now, which is wonderful, but boring, and am tired, but happy, which is nice.

I had a good day today: being taken on my aunt's friends' canal boat up to a pub to eat. (The food was okay... It could have been a lot nicer. But there was nothing wrong with it , as such)and then back again, and then driving into London. Very relaxed.

The holiday in all was lovely.

I did lots of cooking and baking, which I enjoy, with my aunt. scones, fairy cakes, a merange and sponge layer cake thing. I really don't see her enough, as I think I said last time. She's such an academic; she'll suddenly say something and you're having a serious discussion on the nature of language or such.

And with my uncle being a massive nerd, I can make loads of Futurama refrences, and someone laughs. And, even better, he saved my laptop.

I like being up in Cambridgeshire.

Hullo all!

I own yellow skinny jeans. This is because all the cool kids at underage had them. No, it isn't. It's because they were wonderfully reduced in Topshop's sale. The cool kids at underage's jeans were green.

And the people who wore them were male.

This is, quite tragically, most of what I have to say.

I am in Cambridgeshire, about three miles from the city, which means we can walk there. Today has been spent looking for my birthday present (it is tradition that my aunt, Rosie, whose half birthday is today, buys me it a month late) and failing. It's hardly surprising, through, that the only two record shops in the whole of Cambridge don't stock Patrick Wolf's first two albums, much like iTunes. Oh, and we stopped off at a vet in heaven (long, long, long story. It's really in Northern Cambridge) for pills for Radar, the cat.

Yeah.

This is fun, being up here, seeing Rosie and Jim (my aunt and uncle, not the show). I'm happy, which is nice.

Yeah.

Last week, I got back from Dorset. Before Dorset, I was in Cornwall. Although it was utterly unremarkable, it was a largely sucsessful holiday.

Yesterday, Sophia and I went to London's first annual Underage Festival. Say what you will, but it was fun. Yes, there were few really truly good bands. But there was Patrick Wolf, and he was amazing. Utterly amazing. As, I am told, he always is. Oh, Emily, if you're reading this, oh Eleanor (I know you won't be), why didn't I listen to you (and your iPods) when you told me how good he is? Damn. Nevertheless, I am converted now.

Or is that the disco-high speaking?

I will admit that it was my first festival, and I have never been to a gig before, either. I must make a note to go to more. (Say "ahh" here, if you must).

Tommorow, I am going down to Cambridgeshire, where my aunt and adopted uncle live. And that's always fun. I'm staying a week; my father is coming down for a day or two. There's some museum he wants to see.

That is why I am happy.