National Stockings Day, Spanish Exchange Students, A Bit More Kontan.

Hullo.
As the title of this little post suggests, today is NATIONAL STOCKINGS DAY.
This is fab because I love stockings. It's also fab because it's a day designed to raise awareness of and help raise money for charities dealing with breast cancer. It's a day created by Charnos Hosiery who encourage ladies to 'ditch' the tights and slip into a pair of stockings or hold ups for the day.
https://www.facebook.com/CharnosHosiery/app_175340192599341

Today my lessons were infiltrated by Ganzalos.
Oooh muchacho. These Gonzalos were very nice chaps. It would be fair to say my weakness lies within an accent, and today I was pretty much  melted into a puddle on the floor of the language block.  Speaking of muchacho-worthy men, the French language assistant this year (you remember "Kontan") mustn't be forgotton. I took my friend down to the language block and just so happened to run in to him (cunning, I know). Oh Lord. His eyes would break you too. Anyway, later on I was on the bus with some others to go to this translation workshop in Sherbourne, when it went all quiet. Unfortunately I had chosen that moment to say to another friend of mine (I know, they're both real aswell) "Oohh, I bumped into Kontan earlier! Oh God, I LOVE that man."
Got some funny looks from the Year 13s infront of me. I think the head of languages may have heard too. Oops.
I'm not sorry.


Daphne x

Earth Months, Kontan, Pinupzania.

Hasn't it been a while? Three whole Earth months. Since prom and the jumble sale. I have mostly been working and spending my wages too quickly and easily on vintage treasure. However, this happy, guilt free spending really needs to stop for the following reasons:
a) I still need to pay for a little 'gals on tour' style German exchange
b) I can't bloody close my wardrobe as it is
and
c) Where as the work to school work ratio was about 3:1 over the summer, it's swapped around to about 1:3 and the incoming packets of gold are somewhat less frequent these days.

It's a little problem, because I have a slight shopping problem. It's something I need to come off of slowly... along with Nutella, apple juice, and banana milkshake... which pretty much means all of the joys of life. Fab.

Anyway, this week was pretty groovy. I had been fairly nervous all week about having to do this bloody French conversation lesson twice a fortnight with the French language assistant. The reason for this was mostly the manly European chain around his neck, but it was also his slightly vacant stare. As it turns out, Quentin ("Kontan" apparently...) is really a very gentle, quiet soul. He was nice. Very patient with my ridiculous attempts to string French words into sentences. But he did spell squirrel wrong. We're working on it.

Oooh, I did some pin-up with Pinupzania over the summer! That was fun. I love pin-up, at the moment I'm working on getting a portfolio together, so maybe I'll post some of it here for you to cast your eyes over. Tomorrow in particular, I'm starting with Christmas pin up (for a sort of vintage style lads' mag- about vintage cars, and cocktails...not a nipple tassel or tramp stamp in sight), but I'll leave you with an Elvgren beauty.

Daphne x

Prom, and Jumble Sales.

Evening, chaps.
Sore feet today. Lots of work this week, but I have tomorrow off and Saturday off! I was working last Friday right up until about an hour and a half before my prom, so I did a bit of a Speedy Gonzales getting ready. It was crazy. I had them to the left and right of me fixing my hair and makeup and nails. I had the most gorgeous 1940s evening dress in a dusty pink sort of colour, with lace right up to my neck, and over my shoulders, and lace sleeves. I love this dress a lot. I will probably never wear it again. I can't get rid of it. It's too precious.
I went to a jumble sale yesterday! Yeah! The vicar, bless her heart, found a vintage dress and put it aside for me. What a love. I don't even go to church. And I bought this dress for only twenty pence.  And a few skirts and blouses, and a jacket (all 40s and 50s style) for about a pound in all. And a couple of vintage books for fifty pence each. I love jumble sales. I LOVE JUMBLE SALES AND I DON'T CARE IF YOU JUDGE ME FOR IT.
TTFN,
Daphne x

PVB, and Schwimmers.

Afternoon, chaps. Shame about the weather, but as Vera Lynn says 'tomorrow is a lovely day'. I think she tactfully misses out the suffix '-aslongasitdoesn'tpissitdownagain'.
Anyway, I just wrote myself a CV! I need YOUR summer jobs!
Now for something a bit dandy. There's a loverly magazine compiled by a fabulous vintage lovely called PVB magazine. I'll link you at the bottom in a mo, so promise me you'll go check it out. Stop reading Oscar Wilde, put down your Keats, Madam! And get a look at this magazine. I think it's exactly what all vintage lovelies need. Full of promoted small businesses. It's fab because it gives press to small businesses that might otherwise miss out. It's fab because it's full of little bits that will help you look even more glam, kittens. It's fab because it somehow pulls things from the mysterious and sometimes muddled up world of vintage together to make it do-able by a modern woman on a budget! (Let's be honest, we'd like to spend two hundred quid on a 1940s swing dress, but unless there's a wedding or some veeeery nice looking re-enactors, it's not bloody likely... and as far as re-enactors go, the young ones are few and far between. I'm sorry. You were all thinking it.) But it's also fab because it's not just for an experienced vintage lovely, it's for newly found vintage lovelies, alternative vintage lovelies, retro lovelies, AND experienced vintage lovelies. All the lovelies united under the wisdom of each other's submissions to the mag. If you have a small business then you're doing yourself a disservice by not reading this. PVB Magazine is the way forward.
Here is the latest issue! http://www.petasvintageboutique.com/issue-2.html

In other news, my exams are over. Made friends with a sour-faced invigilator that I told you about last year. Her grandchildren go to a school in Truro with my cousin- small world, eh? Speaking of Cornwall, I'm going down to stay with my cousins there next month with a friend of mine. I need some cheap-ish swimmers, everyone. 1940s or 1950s, I'm thinking... tweet me @LieutntGeorge with any suggestions, because I had a quick look through Etsy and eBay but I can't really find anything particularly heart-breakingly gorgeous (this is a requirement since the photos will undoubtedly end up on Facebook for my ex-boyfriend to stumble upon, mahah).
TTFN, darlings.

Daphne x

Ducks, Derek Acorah, Intense Research.

Afternoon, chaps. Mother has ducks. They live in the shower. I wish this was a joke, but no... we have three ducklings living the shower and they have a paddling pool in the garden. Their names are Jemima, Daphne(!), and Delilah. They're bloody noisy, but I suppose their heart melting fluff makes up for it. I'm so weak. I find myself singing them little German nursery rhymes about ducks...alle meine Entchen...
Yesterday I spent three hours in the hot tub and got out like a pale raisin. Then I watched Most Haunted (because Derek Acorah is the funniest living being I have ever encountered) and tweeted about vintage things... And then I used the internet to track down somebody I met a year ago. Now, I think we need to stop and admire this for a ticket. I didn't know their name, number, address, I didn't know shit, gurl. I know it's wrong, but I'm quite proud that I stalked them down on the internet just from their re-enacting group. And I watched from afar for a few minutes, before I realised that I had in every sense reached an all time low. From this I can conclude that my revision is going well.

But in all seriousness, if I can find somebody with just '29th infantry' to go on, who knows how other people might be finding me, or you, or anybody at all with the same ease.
-Daphne

Burlesque Moose Interpretation, GCHQ, and Secret Liquid Happiness.

Just a few words from me:
1. Sweet mother Mary, Eurovision was weird tonight in Sweden. Burlesque moose dancers? I don't even think I want to understand.
2. Visited Cheltenham for the first time today and saw GCHQ. It was fab. But I also saw my sister's uni halls....they're... She has empty wine bottles in her window like medals. That's my girl.
3. Finished school on Friday. Will be back in on Monday. Bazaar feeling. I didn't cry, so I feel like my experience is incomplete...Just my exams to go, and then it's prom! Might have to put a hip flask in my handbag. Secret liquid happiness, you see. More on my last day soon. Fingers crossed.

Daphne.

Passport Pirates, Cleaners, The Loft.

Evening, you beautiful, beautiful people.
SO. Who wants to hear about something stupid I did? Gather round children, and sit tight.
I wanted to get myself a passport; I got to the website that looked fine, just like the gov. one. It wasn't the government one,  I know I should have checked properly, but looking over the top half of the page it all looked fine. Lord, I'm such a twat. So anyway, the passport pirates took a considerable amount from my bank account to send me the forms I could have gotten free from the previously blogged about bitter post office women. Now I'm very poor, with the cost of my passport and other things to pay. Ah well...I've learnt my lesson. But if I come across the passport pirates I shall jolly well have some quite unladylike things to say to them. Sodding passport pirates.
In other news, tripped down the stairs somewhat. Cleaners at the bottom giving me judgemental looks.
AND, I need to write a speech this weekend. A speech to make to my teachers and other students finishing school this year. Because of the whole 'Daphne is Head Girl' sitchyation. By which I mean, I'm Head Girl, I have to make a speech. Why do I have to say it the hard way? But anyway, I want to make them all cry and laugh and love me. Maybe I'll blog it to you just as I'm about to make it. Wish me luck. My year is too tongue in cheek ( like me) to take anything too heavy.
Etsy shop is now open for business! Still working on getting stock in, so be patient with me. But check it aaaaat, dolls, favourite it, share it! I need to sell these beautiful vintage bits, they need more care and love and attention from retroheads like you lot. Vintage makes me happy, so that's why I'm sharing it with you. Because I love you.
SEARCH DaphnesLoft on Etsy to find my shop!
TTFN
Daphne x

Beautiful tat and expensive junk.

Evening, fabulous people.
I don't usually mix my devotion to vintage things with my internet rambling, but as I always say, "what's life without whimsy?"
So today, let me give you a short and sweet little look into my world. Only thing is, it's me. It probably won't be very short, you know how I love to go on about that which Fatherbloke calls 'tat' and 'junk'...quite beautiful tat and relatively pricey junk, thank you, sir. Where shall I start?
Let's begin with the facey and curly side of things, because I think most of you reading are of the female variety. How good am I- writing for my audience... you're welcome, dolls. Now, I think some other time I will give you a nice long, in depth version of what I'm about to tell you, but for now 1940s style makeup:
Slightly darker (liquid) foundation with lighter powder (I go for 'translucent', to be utterly sure it's paler than my actual skin, and you can mix it with talc if your foundation is quite warm, plus the talc will make it last longer), you can use powder or very pale/white eyeshadow, and then muted brown or grey eye shadow in the crease of the socket, black or brown mascara (but make sure you use eye lash curlers before so you get the right shape, and flick the wand to the corner of your eye and up so you get a sort of wide eyed look), pink rouge with slightly red or peach undertones (just follow your cheekbone and follow into a tiny circles directly below your eyes), forties brows are natural in thickness and have prominent but not unatural arch to them, to make them stronger use eyebrow pencil, brown eye liner or eye shadow.
I would go in for pin curling and the like but I think I would tire you out.
Tata for now, all.
Daphne.

Anonymous, Stamp Gits, and Trumpet Players.

Evening, chaps. It has come to my attention that I haven't written here for a couple of months. This was, in fact, brought to my attention firstly by a friend who can recall the date of my last blog exactly- isn't that fabulous? Secondly, by a lot of emails from the website telling me that some arsehole called 'Anonymous' posting spam about...I don't even know. However, Anonymous, I don't appreciate it. Please bugger off. YOU'RE GETTING IN MY MIND. Seriously, I had a dream I was bitching about how much I hate you over icecream with Mamma Dunford. Most surreal thing ever.
Recently I have learnt that people who call themselves stamp experts are usually gits, and that playing the trumpet can make a slightly creepy person extremely creepy, but I'm not entirely sure why.
See you later alligator.

Daphne.

27th, A Young Lady, and Cat Antics.

Good evening, all.
It's been a little while, hasn't it?
I've come to disagree with the 27th of the month these days. Meh. There are just some days that need to have coconut ice planned for them- the 27th of the month is one of them. So naturally, we made curry and coconut ice. We being Schwierd (a chap of mine) and I. Occasionally we all need a bindi, bangles, and coconut ice. I'm not sure that it's even Indian food, but it's a nice combination...
I was thinking recently about a girl, Malala I believe, who is now in hospital up country after being shot by the Taliban in her country. How incredible she is. So brave at such a young age, so resolute, and determined.
She's my age.
And I wonder, put in her position, whether I would be strong enough to do what she has. I'd like to think I would be, but I'm not in her position, so how could I possibly say that I would be. I so admire her. In my opinion, she displays true courage, and conviction, in so many ways equal to, more than, that of Milicent Fawcett or the Pankhursts- but so very different. In a truly civilised world, is every man and woman taught to think for his or herself? I think yes.  The "girl" I referred to earlier, is very much a woman. A woman who knows the value of her education, and a woman who has been fighting for what she knows is right.
Ask me who I admire, and I say it must be her, and I'm sure there must be others who are trying to do exactly what she was trying to do.
The attack on her, a young lady, and a credit to not only her country, but to the rest of the world has made me question just how "civilised" some people really are. Where is the civilisation in a group who would attempt to kill a child simply for wanting to go to school? Where is the civilisation in a group who would openly threaten to attempt to kill her again on her return?
Something must be done. And it must be done before it's too late.

Daphne.

NB. On a lighter note. Mother just made me move so that her cat could sit on the settee where I was, because apparently it was exactly where Winnie "wanted to sit"... -.-

Ludo, Eric Clapton, And The Boys.

Hullo, peoplefolk. I, sir, am blumin' knackered.
This is the part where I could choose to tell you why, or leave you guessing from some obscure, ridiculous hints- but that kid cheats like a bitch at Ludo.
Paps made banana wine. Luffly stuff, chaps. Bit strong.
Anyways, I won an award this week. For excellence and attainment in modern foreign languages. So thanks, Pat Neale! I owe you one, man. This was at a presentation evening, which I had to be at (Head Girl and whatnot), and let me tell you- between you and me- I took every ounce of effort to smile at so many grumpy parents who didn't want to be there.
If I Saw You In Heaven, Eric Clapton. Lord above, it makes me cry. He lives over the beach at Porth Kidney. Porth Kidney is my favourite place in the whole world. Now, I must make this a little bit more serious. Just this once. I'm not sure if that's what the boys would have wanted, though. So I'll try to keep it light.
Joe and Lou are twenty tomorrow. If I Saw You In Heaven- paps still can't listen to it. The boys passed away as babies, and the whole thing deeply upset my parents- as you can imagine. But we grew up always knowing their names like older brothers, and I think they'd have been a right laugh, expecially if they'd turned out anything like paps. Maybe we'd have had to have put up with spiders being thrown at us and other assorted laddish traits, still...wherever they are now, I'm sure they're doing just fine. And although I might not have known them in life, I think I know them all the better for the thought over the years. So, if I forget to say it tomorrow- happy birthday, guys. Don't drink too much.

-Daphne.

Dave From A Registered Charity, Goldfish Eyes, And The Crapmobile.

"Hullo, can I speak to a uh... *stutters over my father's last name a few times*?" "Ah, no, I'm afraid he's not around, can I take a message?" "Uhm, who is this?" "Well, I might ask you the same question, sir. His daughter." "Oh, then tell him it's Dave from a registered charity." "We'll see, Dave from a registered charity, we'll see."
Some people.
Huzzah, peoplefolk, it's me. Just twentyseven days later than last time it was me and I was whittering on about GI Jive Hour or something. Seriously though, the 1940s UK Radio Station... so much love.
Now, there three key thoughts on my end today:
1. A woman with goldfish eyes insisted of picturegraphing me in my uniform in a very unatural position. Nobody poses like that, woman. Nobody. We won't go into the details, but it involved rolling my sleeves down so I didn't agree with it.
2. Builders. I love builders. It seems they mostly drink tea, and talk down their phones, but suddenly infrastructure appears at their finger tips.
3. As I was crossing the road, a young man who looked a little...spaced out... drove past with banging fairground music blaring from his crapmobile. Resisted the urge to skip in circles.

Love, luck, tea.
Daphne.
 

GI Jive Hour, 'Burlesque Interpretation', And Money That I Haven't Got.

Evening, you lot. I've been listening to this for six hours http://www.1940sukradio.co.uk/ and I'm not sure if I can stop. Eventually I won't be able to talk, I'll be be a mess of big band music, GI Jive Hour,  and American war bonds advertisements. So I'm looking forward to that.
I was going to do something really worthwhile today. I ended up spending a few hours learning German and spent the rest of the day looking for WAAF uniform bits and pieces on t'interweb, I won't lie to you, I'm going to have to get a real job to afford it. But I so want it all. It's very difficult to come by uniforms for sale, they're all hired or 'burlesque interpretation' (which is basically world war two for strippers). So, people, any WAAF uniforms for sale, you let me know, oui?
Other than that it was the general vintage shopping with money I haven't got. Look at where I spend the money I don't have, and you won't blame me http://www.lovemissdaisy.com/ . I AM IN LOVE. I love Love Miss Daisy so, so, so much. I just...mah. The way to my heart, if ever there was one, is through a)uniform or b)old things - but not in the Hugh Hefner sort of way... as in... old radios, and rifles, and posters and whatnot.  Anyway if I wanted Hugh Hefner, I suppose I'd have to spend the squids that I haven't got on 'burlesque interpretation WAAF uniforms'.
That's all, chaps.
Just one last thing, this is the chorus of a song I just heard on the afore mentioned radio.
"You'll get no promotion this side of the ocean, so cheer up my lads, bless 'em all."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DYPrwor7Yps
Worth some thought, I reckon.

Daphne.

Latin, Hipsters, and Beethoven.

Hallo, my humanfolk. I would attempt the "what's cracka-lackin'?" thing but unfortunately I'm not feeling very American today. Do try it yourself if it floats your boat.
It is currently 9.51PM, 22nd August. Do you know what day it is tomorrow? The day I find out whether the sour invigilator was right to be giving me bitter "get on with your paper" eyes last June during my Latin exams...cross your fingers for me, eh? English, Maths, Science, French and Latin to be worrying about tomorrow. And we're only half way through, people.
The thing is, aside from my slight lack of German (with which I'm taking the exam next June, with a bit of luck, and flattery around my French teacher), languages are good with me. Usually. So hopefully Latin will be fine, it's just that I feel like I've forgotten the past four years of learning and chanting verb conjugations, and noun endings in six weeks. I'll have to read the Aeneid on t'interwebs to wake myself up in September. That'll be fun. I'm not reading the whole bloody thing, of course. Just the bit about "so run my she-goats, run" because that bit always make me giggle for some reason. Heheh. Okay, so enough of that, because I know you're bored of my academic misadventure.
A really good band you lot need to listen to is Of Monsters And Men. Such a great band. Little Talks, and Dirty Paws are good to get started with. I'm NOT a hipster. But trust me, these are good. Down with hipsters. I have to bite my tongue when I see them. They're so hipster they're mainstream. C'mon, bro, there's no need for the knitted hat. I know our summers aren't great, and all, but really? A hat? A knitted hat, at that? Sigh. And as for your oversized glasses with no glass in them... get rid of them. I'm going to go on a snapping-your-stupid-bloody-hipster-glasses spree, and if you get in my way, I'll cut up all your frickin' multicoloured braces. I won't even go into "I did it before it was cool", 'cause you know who really did it before it was cool? This guy. Beethoven wrote his own music before it was cool.

Daphne.

453rd AAA AW Battalion.

'Allo, 'allo, 'allo.
Last night I went to bed with a list of things I knew I needed to do today. I went to bed all like "Yeah! Damn right I'll do all that work and feel like I've achieved something tomorrow! Nothing's gonna stop me, man, I'm a freakin' machine!"  And then this morning I woke up with super-villain hair, one eye bigger than the other, cursing the sun and the chirpy birds. That list I'd thought of had been mentally torn apart with my teeth, whilst reciting an indiginous hunting chant of some sort. Well, that's what it felt like, any way. I started reading Lord Of The Flies for my English work in September. That was gripping.
Inevitably, I put that down.
You know, there's this little pill box in a field a few hundred yards from my house. One from the second world war. Mum reckons it's haunted, and my dog doesn't like it either. There's definitely something weird about it. So after I had finished exploring inside (it was pretty much empty except for an old mat at the entrance) I went back to t'interwebs to find out which US army bn. had been camped in Maiden Newton during the second world war. I looked through all the records and whatnot and apparently there were the 453rd AAA AW Battalion and 55th Quarter Master Base Depot. With my pro interweb 'intense research' I even found pictures of them training in Fort Something-or-other in America. Nifty, eh?
Instead of German we studied the 453rd AAA AW Bn today, chaps. And it was lovely, sir.

Daphne.

Russia, Coursework, 1940s Radio, and Boris Johnson. Four things... I'm just screwing with you now, aren't I?

So, apparently I have a greater audience in Russia now. It's a good day for everyone.
Today I sat my desk for six hours and wrote out a whole bunch of coursework pieces for my German studying-malarky. Had a positively smashing row with the Kellen who proceeded to demonstrate his manliness by deleting our 'friendship' on the Bookface. I ask you. Nevermind, my pretties, I can't say I really care that much. Oh, chaps, I also had the great fortune to stumble upon the most delicious radio station ever. It runs on donations and the money they make from advertising on their website, but it plays music between 1920 and the end of the war. I completely adore it, I listened to it all day. I'll put the link at the bottom, it's definitely worth listening to. Put it on your list of "Things to do to make Daffers love me."
Do you know who I love? Boris Johnson.
http://www.1940sukradio.co.uk/

The Macarena, Dig For Victory, and Twentyseven Squids.

Good morning, you lot. Good afternoon, evening, whatever...
I learnt the Spanish bit in The Macarena, but I have no German coursework yet...Los Del Rio +1        German 0. Bugger.
It's okay, it's okay, I'll have most of it done by the end of the summer, trust me.
So, I have news. You remember I published those photos last week? Of Maiden Newton At War? Yes? Well, next weekend there's something just like that in Wiltshire called 'Dig For Victory'. Free admission, peoplefolk. Look: http://www.dig-for-victory.com/EVENT-DETAILS-2012
So, I'll try to be there, you know me and a man in uniform. Wink wink, nudge nudge.
Finally I have the hair and makeup down to about 25 minutes...say what you like, but I was bloody pleased...  Unfortunately, after spending twentyseven squids, I had to let my Navy uniform go. That's the last time I go to questionnable websites for that sort of thing. What shall I wear this time around, hmm? Ideas?
Also, my friend Acacia has a penchant for the Swiss. Just to let you know.

Daphne.

German, Natalie, and Tanks.

It's a new month, peoplefolk. And the first day since summer started that I actually started doing all the stuff I said I had to do. So, yeah. I'm now basically German, with a boxer's body, extremely well-read, and beautified. Huzzah! No. I did a load of German, started training, started reading things for my Inklish exams, and my sister attacked my hair with straighteners. So, it's been productive in Daphne's world lately.
Natalie, I think being referred to as the girl who reads books about World War 2 is a noble thing. Mostly because I am too. Here, look at these photos from Maiden Newton At War (this huge event where I live and the whole place goes all forties for a few days).

   A bloke called Barry that I picked up. "Here, now I've got something to show me wife..."                        

  A sargeant whose name I don't know and me dancing. That dancefloor was a serious forties mosh pit, and
we kept dancing into people and being danced into. But he was very, very nice...                                              

        A young lad and us lot. I say young, but he's taller than me with heels on. -.-                                

                                         Us lot and a man with a tank. Ch'yeah.

 So that is us. That is us and pretend soldiers. And tanks.
                                       And damn it, do we love tanks.

Daphne.

Princess, Summer, A Mild Bus Induced Concussion.

Huzzah, peoplefolk. I'm back. You see, I have been a-boating around Norfolk, and sunbathing on top of a blue boat called 'Princess.' It was a lovely holiday, aside from the dodgy plumbing and some sailing tit that almost tacked into me. But, otherwise beautiful, and relaxing. The perfect place to see that your ex has moved on to a girl you were supposedly close to. But I'm not bitter... the twofaced little...ergh. A week and a half, brah? Seriously?
Mah.
Anyways, school is over for the summer. I have a lot to do this summer though, history and spanish stuff, art coursework, all my German coursework (since school doesn't offer it, I'm doing it by myself), repainting the shed, seeing my friendly-types, seeing the familiars in Cornwall, looking at youth conferences perhaps...The point is, I have a lot to do. Oh, and I need to get a job, unless it turns out that I won the lottery last night. HA. Yeah, no. I need to get a job.
You know how I always ask for funny stories and nobody ever complies? EVER?!
Well, I decided I would get the ball rolling, so as to speak. So, a little while ago, I was finding a double seat on the bus because Katie always sits with me. The only double seat was at the very front of the bus facing the rest of the passengers. So Katie took the window seat and I took the seat in the aisle. Turns out that the bus driver that day did not believe in slowing down around all the sharp corners. Turns out my balance really isn't very good.
I literally fell out of my seat. And I dived into the aisle as the whole bus watched on. That poor kid the other side.
Okay, your turn.
If you won't post it here, you can email me for blogging purposes at dafferslovesyou@gmail.com.
Love. Luck. Tea.

Daphne.

Dabble.

Thanks. Especially to Mama Dunford and Natalie, you beautiful women.
I don't feel less crappy than before, but putting pink in my hair, and acquiring braces for my boating shorts has been excellent distraction. Luckily I had a long phellytone call with my psychopathic friend Caitlin, and we cried, and laughed, and bitched, and cried, and laughed. It was nice. Damn, I love that little weirdo.
Without going into details of the last twentyfour hours, I just feel horrible about everything. I don't expect him to understand. I'll miss him.
But I'm giving up on humans.
Human emotions continue to confuse, and repulse me, so there's at least one thing that will never change. Also, my furry black pussies need homes this week. Doesn't the summer get better, and better?
Welcome to England: where it rains everyday, and the forecast doesn't matter. Huzzah!


Lieutenant George will walk again. Maybe.
There's just one last thing: dabble. Dabble, dabble, dabble. I really will miss that.

-Daphne.
NB: Tell me, do my posts ask more questions than they answer? I'm sorry about that. You get used to it.