taimatsu | Woohoo!

RACC has published their autumn programme online! It's slightly broken but I have already worked out I can do Japanese Improvers on Wednesdays, BSL level 2 on Tuesdays, and an exercise or art class on a Monday. There's a term-long Explore Drawing and Painting which looks possible. Ideally I'd do the year-long OCN Creative Portfolio, which covers fine art, ceramics and photography and helps you create a proper portfolio, but that's Tuesday, and I really want to take the next step with the BSL.

I have fallen totally in love with the song 'J'ai jamais dit (je serais ton amie)' by Axelle Red. The title translates 'I never said (I would be your friend)', and the song's totally, unutterably fabulous. I should do more French so I get more of the nuances to her songs.

I keep getting totally distracted by my story and visions of steamy bathrooms and cakes of lavender-scented soap. Mmm. I've typed up the first draft of the initial couple of paragraphs of the story, which I shall post beneath a cut to tantalise interested parties. It's not finished, and I definitely need to polish it up, but it is immense fun to write and will hopefully be equally fun to read.

So, anyway, you know when Daisy and Trixie protest to Alice, during their telling-off for the dormy bottle-fight, that they had thought the Prees were having their baths, and Alice says 'We can't all get in at once?'

Alice Fitzpatrick shook her dark curls angrily as she locked the door of her study. Giving Sybil Burlington a dressing-down proportionate to the heinous sin of blacking the eye of a Junior had taken quite some time, and the prefect had completely missed her turn in the Sixth's bathroom. She threw her towel and dressing-gown over her shoulder, thrust her cake of soap into her pocket, and started up the stairs anyway.

Outside the bathroom hung a notice, listing the official bath schedule. It was half-past nine; the last bathroom slot was filled, and Alice would now have no time to bathe before lights-out, which, for the Sixth, was at ten o'clock. Sighing, she turned away. At that moment, however, she heard the bath being filled, and swung round to look at the list again. 'Nine-thirty,' she read, 'Clare Beaumont'. An idea presented itself.

(More anon!)