today I finished reading 'one day' by david nicholls. I've always enjoyed british writers, especially the witty ones who commit to making everything kind of a satirical monologue about looming middle-aged crises, like nick hornby. the brits have a certain wit and humor about them that no one else does, I don't understand why they alone have been blessed with it. think Russell Brand on a good day, but sharper and more eloquent; less gesticulation and fanatical smiling about sex. I guess this book did have that element of humor, but it was, in the end just a very, very sad book. I didn't even feel happy at the end even though the protagonist was supposed to have been.

things I hate in books:
adultery
death

unfortunately it has become a pre-requisite for contemporary fiction to include these things so I take them in my stride. I understand without one of the two perhaps a book would lose any impact, but every time I read a paragraph revealing an affair my heart plummets ten floors; the characters are fictional but I always feel so outraged on behalf on the cheated (I suppose that is when you can tell someone is a good writer). so this book is about a man and a woman who are pretty much destined to be together but torn apart for twenty years due to differences in life mottos, ambition, etc. I expected the plot to be a little flat but I think he crafts the characters so well that even though the plot sounds predictable, you want to know how every little detail goes down. and there is a twist at the end! which is where the story fell into the depths of depression. sometimes I wish I just read a happy storybook. but I liked it overall, maybe you'll like it too, if you've ever read nick hornby's 'high fidelity' and liked it, because it's somewhat like it in character

anyway I also liked it because at the beginning, they are both fresh university graduates on the brink of adulthood, something I suppose I will face in a short three, four years more. the idea of that unknown always scares me. instead of thinking it is a 'canvas waiting to be painted' I choose to adopt the slightly more morbid idea of 'being pushed into the middle of the atlantic ocean at night and left there alone'. fear, I think, more than anything. not so much excitement; just an anxiousness. make it or break it. I don't like that phrase very much.

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today I read the news: london authorities declare the threat of terrorism to be on 'high alert'. this put me in a bit of a seizure... everything about Europe being Al Qaeda's new playground makes me nervous. that is where I want to do so many things!!! I don't want it blown to shreds. and I don't want people to die, of course. I WANT TO GO THERE IN MARCH WITH GUS, I was talking to him about it, telling him of all the soccer matches we could watch, in Manchester, London... (he dismissively waved the idea of watching a Chelsea match away: 'I don't care for the other clubs' the true United fan he is) go up to Paris to stare at hot Parisian girls and do things he'll hate like sit in little cafes and watch Parisian life sail by. money is an issue. as always. BUT I'M SO EXCITED

I'm looking at the outline for my French module come school starts. it is quite intimidating. nothing is in English so I am staring blankly at a bunch of letters, some of which I can guess the meaning, some I don't. I know these phrases: parles vous francais, je ma pel -name-, j'adore, j'taime and my favourite, menage a trois hahahahahahahaha