... while I wait for the internet to get on with selling me train tickets. Very tired, as I stayed in after work experience to get even more experience, watching the production of the paper. I even got to help! (Though it was mostly running around showing things to people.) Very tired now, and trying to do things late at night, which never works.
I'm not that political, but I'm pleased all those students turned out, even if they did set fire to things. I hope this isn't the last protest they hold - raising tuition fees is ridiculous. Sure, you can go on about charging the people who directly benefit, but this country needs an educated workforce, thanks to the decline of manufacturing et al. Oh well, if it gets and worse, I'm emigrating.
Night night!
Thursday, 11 November 2010
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Day 2 behind the paywall
... and I'm still enjoying myself. Kept busy today, plenty of archiving and also made a (very rushed) list of Upcoming Law Events from the internet, and transcribed an interview. It's amazing how fast time passes when you're not in subbing!
I wore my boots again, and my crochet-front checked dress (most successful internet buy yet), which even garnered a compliment! I counted four Breton-striped shirts in the office today, which may tell you something about the interpretations of Smart Casual when it comes to journalists. If I had one, I would be tempted to join the sisterhood, but I'll be sticking to my outfit plan for this week (less a plan, really, more a collection of the only leg-coverings I have that aren't jeans and things that look respectable with them). I may, however, grow more adventurous in the eyeshadow department. You have been warned!
I had lunch with The Godmother and two of her friends in the rather swanky canteen, and later W brought me some sort of pastry thing (apparently Portuguese) at my desk (yes, I have a desk. And a phone. I know!) which was lovely. I never thought the main issue on Work Experience Week would be overeating!
Excitingly, I may also (fingers crossed) be going on an expedition on Friday with one of the very kind people from the section I'm working at to do some interviews out beyond the boundaries of London (do such places exist? My life before here seems as if a dream...), but I won't say who or where in case a Competitor reads this and steals the idea (you have to be constantly on your guard in Journalism).
In other news, I need a haircut. To a somewhat distracting degree. I think I am finally going to have to cheat on my hairdresser, and find somewhere cheap here. It's not an easy decision, but I have needs! (Londoners! Is there anywhere cheap here?)
Today was Bloody Cold (that is the official term, ask any weatherman). I may need to go back to Uniqlo in search of Japan Technology to keep my knees warm.
Time for bed, as I am still a commuter even though my destination is different this week!
I wore my boots again, and my crochet-front checked dress (most successful internet buy yet), which even garnered a compliment! I counted four Breton-striped shirts in the office today, which may tell you something about the interpretations of Smart Casual when it comes to journalists. If I had one, I would be tempted to join the sisterhood, but I'll be sticking to my outfit plan for this week (less a plan, really, more a collection of the only leg-coverings I have that aren't jeans and things that look respectable with them). I may, however, grow more adventurous in the eyeshadow department. You have been warned!
I had lunch with The Godmother and two of her friends in the rather swanky canteen, and later W brought me some sort of pastry thing (apparently Portuguese) at my desk (yes, I have a desk. And a phone. I know!) which was lovely. I never thought the main issue on Work Experience Week would be overeating!
Excitingly, I may also (fingers crossed) be going on an expedition on Friday with one of the very kind people from the section I'm working at to do some interviews out beyond the boundaries of London (do such places exist? My life before here seems as if a dream...), but I won't say who or where in case a Competitor reads this and steals the idea (you have to be constantly on your guard in Journalism).
In other news, I need a haircut. To a somewhat distracting degree. I think I am finally going to have to cheat on my hairdresser, and find somewhere cheap here. It's not an easy decision, but I have needs! (Londoners! Is there anywhere cheap here?)
Today was Bloody Cold (that is the official term, ask any weatherman). I may need to go back to Uniqlo in search of Japan Technology to keep my knees warm.
Time for bed, as I am still a commuter even though my destination is different this week!
Monday, 8 November 2010
Good Times!
I know, horrible, horrible pun. But I did have a really good first day of work experience! Everyone I met was lovely (apart from the guy I heard a few rows over, who suddenly erupted at his colleagues for 'wittering', although I didn't technically meet him (lucky for him! I am the Witter Queen) so he doesn't count) and W came over to chat when he came in for his shift. Sadly, I didn't manage to see Moonbeam (one of the lovely ladies on my course, who is doing her week a few floors up from me, at a certain dazzling red-top) at lunch, mostly due to my attempts to appear professional, which made checking my phone an infrequent and surreptitious occurrence. Oh well, there's always tomorrow!
I did a lot of archive-y stuff, learned how to use the system and watched the BBC news channel on silent while waiting for pages to load. There was one story which kept coming round, which just had a slow close-up of the face of Big Ben, then a cut to some fancily-uniformed guys firing a cannon. Were they firing at Big Ben? Did Big Ben orchestrate it? Has some unforeseen time travel crisis occurred, leaving us up to our eyeballs in militant Hussars? I may never know.
I wore (because you were desperate to know!) my trusty black kneehigh boots (I've said it before and I'll say it again: Best. Birthday present. Ever.), my warm but pretty Apricot dress (also a birthday present (and a close contender for the boots' accolade)), very wooly tights and a slightly anxious smile.
Did anyone else feel a strange urge to build an ark today?
I did a lot of archive-y stuff, learned how to use the system and watched the BBC news channel on silent while waiting for pages to load. There was one story which kept coming round, which just had a slow close-up of the face of Big Ben, then a cut to some fancily-uniformed guys firing a cannon. Were they firing at Big Ben? Did Big Ben orchestrate it? Has some unforeseen time travel crisis occurred, leaving us up to our eyeballs in militant Hussars? I may never know.
I wore (because you were desperate to know!) my trusty black kneehigh boots (I've said it before and I'll say it again: Best. Birthday present. Ever.), my warm but pretty Apricot dress (also a birthday present (and a close contender for the boots' accolade)), very wooly tights and a slightly anxious smile.
Did anyone else feel a strange urge to build an ark today?
Sunday, 7 November 2010
Am I a real student?
I was clicking around on Cosmo on Campus (http://www.cosmopolitan.co.uk/your-life/cosmo-on-campus/special) this afternoon, and while I could relate to a lot of what I read, I realised most of it was in retrospect - I remember living through a lot of what they describe, but my current situation is quite different. This makes me a bit sad (university was an amazing three years of my life (cliche, maybe, but also true)), but out of nostalgia, blogging! Therefore, I bring you the interesting specifics of my current, sort-of-student existence, compared to the hedonistic life I was enjoying up until July (officially, anyway - I still had an excellent summer).
1. Socialising & Friendships.
Probably the most important part of student life, eclipsing even academia (because while you are there to study, the people around you and your relationships with you colour every aspect of your life). At university, I had a large group of friends (mostly people who were in my extremely close-knit society (which had a few drawbacks - especially as it made picking and choosing the people you wanted to spend time with rather more challenging)), none of whom were in lectures with me. There were people I got on with and chatted to in my various seminar groups, but I don't think I ever spent time with them outside of that. At Journalism School, however, everyone spends almost every day together (with the exception of Mind-numbing Mondays, which breed a special kind of camaraderie in the face of adversity) and we are quite frequently divided into groups to work. As a result, I know all the full-timers by name, at least, and I think we all have at least a vague idea of each other's personalities The massive reduction in free time since my university days (I think I feel another bout of nostalgia coming on) means I tend to want to spend my weekends with friends who I can't see in the week, somewhat reducing the possibilities for proper socialising time with course-mates (although there have been more than enough opportunities to head to the pub with them in the evenings for some serious gossiping). It's a different kind of friendship, I suppose. I've never been in any of these people's living rooms, for instance.
2. Campus.
Journalism School is tiny. During a recent conversation with Jumanji, when she told me about two freshers being caught doing something very naughty in a rehearsal room at her university, I realised that there is absolutely nowhere entirely private in the whole of our little corridor. The toilets are not completely soundproof, and wherever you wander, you will pass someone. The best venue for cloak-and-dagger dealings would probably be the Secret Kitchen, but that's locked and right next to the very popular vending machines. The UEA campus (where I spent three glorious years... Ok, I'll stop) had all sorts of secluded nooks and crannies, inside and outside, and that's without taking into account all the flats and residences.
Secrecy aside, it's strange to go from having a huge campus, with restaurants (well, sort of), shops and a giant central square to hanging out in either the common room or the computer lab. Or the doorstep, I suppose, if you smoke.
3. Contact Hours.
6 hours a week to more than 6 hours a day. 'nuff said.
4. Accommodation.
I'm typing this in a giant bedroom, still quite full of an excellent mushroom risotto that I did not make for myself. This is the lap of luxury, by student standards. I'm still not too sure if I like living by myself yet, though - I don't really spend enough time here during the week to work it out.
5. Commuting.
At UEA, I walked to campus, or caught the sometimes reliable bus (in my last two years - in first year I just had to wander out of my residence five minutes before things started). These days I am transformed into one of the zombies of London lore, spending three hours a day in transit. At least I get a brisk walk, I suppose. (Actually, I have a dark secret - I quite enjoy commuting. There are lots of interesting people and I get to run down escalators.)
6. Work.
Got there eventually. The work I do at Journalism School is quite different to what I used to do at university. I actually tend to do it, for one thing. There's quite a fast turnaround - 20 minutes after you're told to write something, you're reading it out to the class. I enjoy this significantly more than essay writing - all that extended effort and manic rush to the deadline was much more stressful. I wouldn't mind more constructive feedback sometimes, though.
7. Money.
Nope, still watching myself like a hawk on this one. London is expensive.
That'll do for now. In other news, I'm very excited about starting my work experience week tomorrow! Hopefully I'll have lots of stories to tell you.
1. Socialising & Friendships.
Probably the most important part of student life, eclipsing even academia (because while you are there to study, the people around you and your relationships with you colour every aspect of your life). At university, I had a large group of friends (mostly people who were in my extremely close-knit society (which had a few drawbacks - especially as it made picking and choosing the people you wanted to spend time with rather more challenging)), none of whom were in lectures with me. There were people I got on with and chatted to in my various seminar groups, but I don't think I ever spent time with them outside of that. At Journalism School, however, everyone spends almost every day together (with the exception of Mind-numbing Mondays, which breed a special kind of camaraderie in the face of adversity) and we are quite frequently divided into groups to work. As a result, I know all the full-timers by name, at least, and I think we all have at least a vague idea of each other's personalities The massive reduction in free time since my university days (I think I feel another bout of nostalgia coming on) means I tend to want to spend my weekends with friends who I can't see in the week, somewhat reducing the possibilities for proper socialising time with course-mates (although there have been more than enough opportunities to head to the pub with them in the evenings for some serious gossiping). It's a different kind of friendship, I suppose. I've never been in any of these people's living rooms, for instance.
2. Campus.
Journalism School is tiny. During a recent conversation with Jumanji, when she told me about two freshers being caught doing something very naughty in a rehearsal room at her university, I realised that there is absolutely nowhere entirely private in the whole of our little corridor. The toilets are not completely soundproof, and wherever you wander, you will pass someone. The best venue for cloak-and-dagger dealings would probably be the Secret Kitchen, but that's locked and right next to the very popular vending machines. The UEA campus (where I spent three glorious years... Ok, I'll stop) had all sorts of secluded nooks and crannies, inside and outside, and that's without taking into account all the flats and residences.
Secrecy aside, it's strange to go from having a huge campus, with restaurants (well, sort of), shops and a giant central square to hanging out in either the common room or the computer lab. Or the doorstep, I suppose, if you smoke.
3. Contact Hours.
6 hours a week to more than 6 hours a day. 'nuff said.
4. Accommodation.
I'm typing this in a giant bedroom, still quite full of an excellent mushroom risotto that I did not make for myself. This is the lap of luxury, by student standards. I'm still not too sure if I like living by myself yet, though - I don't really spend enough time here during the week to work it out.
5. Commuting.
At UEA, I walked to campus, or caught the sometimes reliable bus (in my last two years - in first year I just had to wander out of my residence five minutes before things started). These days I am transformed into one of the zombies of London lore, spending three hours a day in transit. At least I get a brisk walk, I suppose. (Actually, I have a dark secret - I quite enjoy commuting. There are lots of interesting people and I get to run down escalators.)
6. Work.
Got there eventually. The work I do at Journalism School is quite different to what I used to do at university. I actually tend to do it, for one thing. There's quite a fast turnaround - 20 minutes after you're told to write something, you're reading it out to the class. I enjoy this significantly more than essay writing - all that extended effort and manic rush to the deadline was much more stressful. I wouldn't mind more constructive feedback sometimes, though.
7. Money.
Nope, still watching myself like a hawk on this one. London is expensive.
That'll do for now. In other news, I'm very excited about starting my work experience week tomorrow! Hopefully I'll have lots of stories to tell you.
Thursday, 4 November 2010
In which I am exhausted and full of stirfry
I've decided to make it quick tonight as I am having trouble keeping my eyes open.
St Bride's was cool, and I learned a lot of Fun Facts, like where the shape of wedding cakes comes from, and just how small a cardboard box a skeleton fits into. To be honest, the visit to the crypt is probably what most of us will remember most vividly. The charnel house (basically an orange-lit pit with lots of bones stacked in it) was like something you'd see pictures of in history textbooks or museums, so it was really weird to have nothing between it and me but somewhat dusty air. There were also boxes and boxes of skeletons (and smaller boxes for the skulls (some of which still had hair, according to their labels, which was the thing that came closest to making me squeamish)) and a ring binder with all their details in it. Burial really isn't for ever, it turns out.
Afterwards, we went to a Fleet Street pub for lunch (I had fish and chips, which was good, but came with more batter than you could shake several sticks at, and other people had to finish for me) and ended up staying all afternoon (well, a few diehards did, which I think proves our commitment to the journalistic lifestyle better than anything).
I got home quite late, but with excellent timing, as there was a large quantity of stirfry (masterfully prepared by W (The Godmother's husband - I feel a single initial adds to the drama)) for me to help consume. I repaid him in minor computering services (sadly I'm not quite such good tech support as Superchef, but I managed to work it out). I have since managed to slump into bed with my laptop, but I did receive one excellent piece of news: my work experience for next week is all sorted. I'm very excited about it, and I can't believe it's only next week!
Bedtime.
St Bride's was cool, and I learned a lot of Fun Facts, like where the shape of wedding cakes comes from, and just how small a cardboard box a skeleton fits into. To be honest, the visit to the crypt is probably what most of us will remember most vividly. The charnel house (basically an orange-lit pit with lots of bones stacked in it) was like something you'd see pictures of in history textbooks or museums, so it was really weird to have nothing between it and me but somewhat dusty air. There were also boxes and boxes of skeletons (and smaller boxes for the skulls (some of which still had hair, according to their labels, which was the thing that came closest to making me squeamish)) and a ring binder with all their details in it. Burial really isn't for ever, it turns out.
Afterwards, we went to a Fleet Street pub for lunch (I had fish and chips, which was good, but came with more batter than you could shake several sticks at, and other people had to finish for me) and ended up staying all afternoon (well, a few diehards did, which I think proves our commitment to the journalistic lifestyle better than anything).
I got home quite late, but with excellent timing, as there was a large quantity of stirfry (masterfully prepared by W (The Godmother's husband - I feel a single initial adds to the drama)) for me to help consume. I repaid him in minor computering services (sadly I'm not quite such good tech support as Superchef, but I managed to work it out). I have since managed to slump into bed with my laptop, but I did receive one excellent piece of news: my work experience for next week is all sorted. I'm very excited about it, and I can't believe it's only next week!
Bedtime.
'I wouldn't advise putting obese children on skateboards'
Our visit today was a fun-filled trip to City Hall. The Hall itself was, I have to say, a bit of a disappointment - part of the reason I had trouble finding it was because I couldn't believe the rather drably modern jelly mould of a building was really what I was looking for. Luckily, I did get to see London Bridge, which was much more exciting. I felt like quite the tourist!
Another disappointment was the complete non-appearance of Boris, although Jonesy (my Welsh classmate - can't actually remember if Jones is his surname or not, but I'm lazy with these aliases, as you may have noticed) did manage to get some semi-bigwig to slag him off, which was entertaining. Apparently, he doesn't have 'vision', which may explain the somewhat screwed-up expression usually gracing his overbred face.
We sat through a briefing on child obesity, which was mostly pointless - the only new thing I learned was that one in four British Households doesn't have a dining table. I'm not sure the figures were adjusted for student houses, though, which may explain quite a lot. Mostly I sat there thinking Is this really news to you? And Why won't the American bimbo shut up about New York? She even set Monopoly (his name sounds like a popular boardgame (well, popular with rather sad people over a certain age, just like him) and it wasn't a leap) off, although I suspect we would have heard from him anyway (but complaining about someone's hard-earned skyline is just going too far).
There was a talk about what exactly whoever these people were do, but I'm afraid I was distracted by hunger (exacerbated by the earlier presence of a Dominoes man, who could not shut up about that fresh, fresh pizza (although he did make me snort audibly when he said (somewhat proudly) that children don't buy Dominoes because they can't afford it - apparently everyone's fourth choice of pizza provider has in fact been aware that their prices are extortionate for some time (he also mentioned that their average customer tends to order pizza once a month - I bet if they checked their figures they'd find it was quite close to the beginning of the month) and cheerfully cite it as a business strategy. If I ever needed another reason to turn my back on their overpriced flim-flammery, he gave me one (I must also add that all these chicken strippers and cookies and so forth that people keep telling me are excellent reasons to keep paying through the nose are not even that good. Our favourite place in Norwich kept giving us free drinks and desserts, but apparently it only counts if it's coming from an enormous franchise)) and a swivel chair at that point, so I can't enlighten you.
Afterwards (and much to Superchef's disgust, as he wanted to catch his train and is less than fond of heights) we were taken up to the 9th floor balcony to look at the illuminated skyline. It was bloody cold, but also really gorgeous, and something we'd never ordinarily be able to do, so thanks to Mr Public Affairs Teacher for that (although I wish he'd just accept the baldness and get a haircut).
I come home via a pastry counter and WHSmuh (as I like to call it), and have thus eaten far too much and need to go on an urgent diet (preferably one that involves eating whatever I like and sleeping lots, as this is the only sort of lifestyle I have ever been able to stick to) lest I balloon like an 8-year-old.
I would like to take this opportunity to say to those poor, semi-enfranchised underground workers: suck it up and get back to work. I managed to organise a journey across town and I wasn't even being paid for it. The more you strike, the more people will realise they can manage without you, and then you'll be stuck in the ring with the Boris-bull and no red hanky. So there.
P.S.: Forgot to say, the title is something one of the people in the meeting actually said, which just about made the whole thing worth getting out of bed for. (Well, that and the fact that the rather tasty young man who said it (although Superchef may well argue that the policeman giving evidence yesterday was better-looking) was the child health advisor for Jamie's School Dinners, which makes him practically a celebrity.) (Although he is soundly trumped by Jonesy's story about playing football with the lead singer from The Arctic Monkeys (I was so impressed, I didn't even tell him about that evening the boyf and I so thoroughly confused Ed Byrne))
Another disappointment was the complete non-appearance of Boris, although Jonesy (my Welsh classmate - can't actually remember if Jones is his surname or not, but I'm lazy with these aliases, as you may have noticed) did manage to get some semi-bigwig to slag him off, which was entertaining. Apparently, he doesn't have 'vision', which may explain the somewhat screwed-up expression usually gracing his overbred face.
We sat through a briefing on child obesity, which was mostly pointless - the only new thing I learned was that one in four British Households doesn't have a dining table. I'm not sure the figures were adjusted for student houses, though, which may explain quite a lot. Mostly I sat there thinking Is this really news to you? And Why won't the American bimbo shut up about New York? She even set Monopoly (his name sounds like a popular boardgame (well, popular with rather sad people over a certain age, just like him) and it wasn't a leap) off, although I suspect we would have heard from him anyway (but complaining about someone's hard-earned skyline is just going too far).
There was a talk about what exactly whoever these people were do, but I'm afraid I was distracted by hunger (exacerbated by the earlier presence of a Dominoes man, who could not shut up about that fresh, fresh pizza (although he did make me snort audibly when he said (somewhat proudly) that children don't buy Dominoes because they can't afford it - apparently everyone's fourth choice of pizza provider has in fact been aware that their prices are extortionate for some time (he also mentioned that their average customer tends to order pizza once a month - I bet if they checked their figures they'd find it was quite close to the beginning of the month) and cheerfully cite it as a business strategy. If I ever needed another reason to turn my back on their overpriced flim-flammery, he gave me one (I must also add that all these chicken strippers and cookies and so forth that people keep telling me are excellent reasons to keep paying through the nose are not even that good. Our favourite place in Norwich kept giving us free drinks and desserts, but apparently it only counts if it's coming from an enormous franchise)) and a swivel chair at that point, so I can't enlighten you.
Afterwards (and much to Superchef's disgust, as he wanted to catch his train and is less than fond of heights) we were taken up to the 9th floor balcony to look at the illuminated skyline. It was bloody cold, but also really gorgeous, and something we'd never ordinarily be able to do, so thanks to Mr Public Affairs Teacher for that (although I wish he'd just accept the baldness and get a haircut).
I come home via a pastry counter and WHSmuh (as I like to call it), and have thus eaten far too much and need to go on an urgent diet (preferably one that involves eating whatever I like and sleeping lots, as this is the only sort of lifestyle I have ever been able to stick to) lest I balloon like an 8-year-old.
I would like to take this opportunity to say to those poor, semi-enfranchised underground workers: suck it up and get back to work. I managed to organise a journey across town and I wasn't even being paid for it. The more you strike, the more people will realise they can manage without you, and then you'll be stuck in the ring with the Boris-bull and no red hanky. So there.
P.S.: Forgot to say, the title is something one of the people in the meeting actually said, which just about made the whole thing worth getting out of bed for. (Well, that and the fact that the rather tasty young man who said it (although Superchef may well argue that the policeman giving evidence yesterday was better-looking) was the child health advisor for Jamie's School Dinners, which makes him practically a celebrity.) (Although he is soundly trumped by Jonesy's story about playing football with the lead singer from The Arctic Monkeys (I was so impressed, I didn't even tell him about that evening the boyf and I so thoroughly confused Ed Byrne))
Tuesday, 2 November 2010
A Review! (Zola Jesus)
Spent the day at the Old Bailey. Sat in on a trial in the morning (which proved very popular, as most of the class filed into the public gallery while we watched) and listened to witnesses, statements and legal mumbo jumbo. I won't tell you what it was about, because if you start reporting a case, you have to finish (when it does - it's The Rules) and I'm much too lazy. Some of us snuck off early after the nice court reporter man's talk in the afternoon, so I was home by 4 (walked back from the station in broad daylight, which was very strange) and able to get down to some serious loafing about.
It's been too long since my last review (you must be musically bereft, unsure of what exciting new artist to listen to!), so here's one:
It's been too long since my last review (you must be musically bereft, unsure of what exciting new artist to listen to!), so here's one:
Zola Jesus - Stridulum
Video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m2ELsTsqvyk
I'm not exactly sure what this song is about (but it's ok, I get the feeling I'm not supposed to be), but it's very atmospheric. That's really the only word I can think of to describe it. It's got lots of good crescendoes, percussion is used for effect rather than as most of the music, as was the case for Torn Apart by Horses, and there are all sorts of exciting harmonies to put you on the edge of your seat. Do you ever listen to music when you're out and about and imagine yourself in a film? Well, I do sometimes (mostly when I've got lots of walking or staring out the train window to do) and if I was listening to this song on the way home, I would half-expect every streetlamp I walked under to go out. And possibly a cloud of screaming phantasms to give chase, with plenty of black and white flashbacks to me lounging in a crypt, or crockery breaking in slow motion or some such. In fact, I suspect that this is the song whoever made those music videos for Evanescence was secretly hoping for.
This song is so atmospherically overpowering, it would instantly change the nature of any video clip you played it over. Actually, I've just tried it, watching a video called 'i are cute kitten' (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ZSbC09qgLI if you really care), which I would normally consider fatuous nonsense, even if it does have a cat in it. With Stridulum playing over it, however, it became incredibly sinister, even the cuts to grammatically cringe-inducing text of rather feeble jokes (not least because the cat kept appearing out of things (the bit where it pops out of the bed is genuinely chilling, in this context, and Tarantino himself would be proud of the end part with the net... disconcerting without ever being explicit)), the tension mounting even though I was reasonably sure nothing of note was likely to happen.
Zola Jesus (probably not her real name, but I'll leave it to a semi-professional reviewer to expand on that) is lucky enough to have a veritable choir of ghostly friends to help out with the singing (everyone needs an edge in the music industry, I'm told), and while she's good enough not to really need their help, they certainly add character to the song. I wouldn't be unkind enough to suggest this is cheating, as if you look at the first picture on the video, she is covered in some sort of crude oil (reminiscent of a surprised seagull on the news after the latest tanker crash) so she clearly has some issues in her life and could do with a break.
All in all, I enjoyed the song, but I'm nervous that prolonged exposure will lead to my investing in either a pair of cut-off black lace gloves or some serious kerb-stomping, ghost-kicking boots and I'm not sure either would suit me. Worth a listen, though, for whenever you're feeling eldritch or you want some Atmosphere in your life.
Real Review here: http://www.tinymixtapes.com/music-review/Zola-Jesus-Stridulum-EP (it's of the album rather than the song agin, but I'm sure you can deal with that)
I'm off to have supper now. Hope I don't cross myself too much, or I'll make an awful mess.
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