| 010: april 3, 1981 |
[03 Apr 2012|11:32am] |
WARDED TO FRIENDSThey're releasing me today. Just thought you should know. I'll be going home to my parents' Caerphilly house. Hestia and Gwen aren't going back to Hogwarts until next Monday and Tiwlip can't stay, so. Someone needs to feed them. WARDED TO AURORSI'll be released from St. Mungo's this afternoon. Please let me know when I'm meant to return to work. I'm not really sure how this sort of things works.
Thank you.
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| 009: march 29, 1981 |
[29 Mar 2012|03:16pm] |
I'm awake. I wish I wasn't
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| 008: march 18, 1981 |
[18 Mar 2012|12:54pm] |
Whose bright idea was it to have Mothering Sunday the day after St. Paddy's? Crawled home at 4am yesterday with the best of intentions to make my lovely mama a gigantic breakfast in bed. My older sister's in South America doing research and the younger two are still in Hogwarts: so here was me, being all grown-up, like. Taking the lead. Being the Good Girl. But instead, she wound up in here at noon, with breakfast done for me. Total failure.
Why do we leave home? I'm staying in this bed for the rest of my life.
Happy Mothering Sunday to the best mum the world over.
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| 007: february 16, 1981 |
[16 Feb 2012|06:40pm] |
I mean this totally respectfully, but:
It's kind of awesome to see actual action. Even if it's mostly just crowd-control.
I didn't even mind getting everyone coffee this afternoon. AMAZING.
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| 006: february 12, 1981 |
[12 Feb 2012|06:15pm] |
So since Valentine's is coming up -- on a TUESDAY, which happens to be a day I DON'T WORK -- I figured that this should be a time all the single ladies (and gents) get together, cause a ruckus, get drunk and go to a disco.
Indira and I can host pre-drinks and Indian food -- Proudfoot says if we eat strange food, we might dream up our soulmates, and I'm substituting "strange" for "spicy." Who's in? And who do you reckon I'll dream up?
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| 005: february 11, 1981 |
[11 Feb 2012|05:08pm] |
So I'll begin once more by saying: "Dear social life, It's not you, it's me. We were good together. The best of the best, really. I appreciated the long talks, the drunken debauchery, the penchant we both shared for finding ourselves in strange places. Together, we were something. It was real, and it was good. And it was real good. I'll think of you often and remember you fondly. Yours, Cerys."
That's out of the way. Figured I'd embrace my in-the-daytime existance and share with you my weekly flea-market finds. Proof, you arsehole (you know who you are) that second-hand almost never means rubbish.
( Wave your wands! )
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| 004: february 1, 1981 |
[01 Feb 2012|11:56am] |
Someone tell me they did not just carry out an attack on Wales.
Hell no.
WARDED TO AURORS SCRIMGEOUR, MOODY, MULCIBER AND SAVAGE
Added after this.I just wanted to say -- even though I'm still in training -- that I would be really, really, really happy to help out on this case. If there's any extra work, added shifts, shadowing work -- even just running around getting people in the field coffee -- it'd mean a lot to me. Thank you for your time.
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| 003: january 30, 1981 |
[30 Jan 2012|09:48pm] |
Despite popular perceptions, when I have a day off I usually spend it at the flea market -- not the pub. Today was no exception, unfortunately for both my budget and my flat. It's already brimming with stuff, strange stuff, stuff that isn't as practical as my slightly unwieldy record collection, which is already not very practical in the strict, utilitarian sense of the word. I'm afraid that I'll be one of those people who drowns in their things. You know, like I'll slip, break a hip, suffocate under the weight of mercury glass, vinyls, tacky costume jewelry and antique magazines.
It's a disease.
In other news, I'm finding it more and more difficult to get out and listen to live music. I mean, a lot of my friends are in bands and play around Cardiff. It's only that most of their gigs are on Fridays and Saturdays. I sort of feel like I'm being sucked into a vortex where everything is political and nothing harmonizes.
Or something.
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| 002: january 12, 1981 |
[12 Jan 2012|07:28pm] |
Depressing. I mean, I need to preface this by saying: don't get me wrong. I love my job and I'm over the fucking moon to be in my third year. Shadowing Devyn Savage is a lot like finding out you've won the lottery (so please, please don't be angry that I'm complaining). But today, I thought I might organize my schedule before I headed into work and then remembered:
Right. I don't have to. Because, at the tender age of 20, my weekends are booked from here until all eternity. Never again will I see a Saturday night or not see it, as the case may be, depending on my alcohol intake. I'll die a lonely old maid (who is, nonetheless, wicked with a wand) and forget what the inside of a disco looks like.
Happy work week to me. Goodbye, cruel world.
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| 001: january 1, 1981 |
[01 Jan 2012|07:26pm] |
Really quick question: does anyone know where I was last night? Memory's a big foggy. I'm decently certain the New Year started off on the right foot, but I'd like to be more sure. Cheers.
WARDED TO AUROR TRAINEESMy head's too done in for this. Thoughts? WARDED TO TIWLIPUgh. I don't know I can handle mum and dad's right now, I'm in a right state.
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