Oh noes! The queendom has fallen onto the 2nd page. How could this happen? :(
Does anyone want some virtual pink slippers that I will give to the first person to get their arse down here??!
Love Miranda. xx
The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.
Wind in the Willows.
Ok, Zara gets them! They sound nice. I love slippers. I woke up at 5am this morning and I couldn't find them and, yes, I panicked a loot.
Ability to concentrate would be nice but I don't have so much to share I'm afraid.. I love reading and I'm on short poems at the moment, which is ok. :)
Pink rules though. :P
The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.
Wind in the Willows.
yay! <3
I love slippers too. I couldn't find any I liked for ages, they were all really grannyish, but suddenly there's loads of nice pairs in Topshop &other high street places.
The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.
Wind in the Willows.
The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.
Wind in the Willows.
Hi Zara. Bless you. I only knew when my mum went back to uni the other year, don't know what she did though.
I would like to do some kind of psychological research when I am older... Perhaps.
I don't know.
The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.
Wind in the Willows.
You're not dumb! Dissertation is the big scary huge essay that you have to do all by yourself. Come up with a question, do your own research, find your own conclusions. Worth a fair bit of marks.
I have a choice of doing my dissertation topic (international students as outsiders of the student body) or an economic geography essay (something to do with creative destruction and the global economy or sub-national region's relationship with the state). All very exciting stuff...
I'd love to be an academic, but I'm not smart enough or rich enough.
That sounds scary, and too many long words for me. You must be clever!
The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.
Wind in the Willows.
The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.
Wind in the Willows.
