I like how…

I like how the Creative Writing Society events are essentially just a platform for me to live out my literary fantasies. A chance to create the atmosphere I’ve read about and longed to have – the Oxford dream perception I’ve long reconciled to being lost; Harry Potter style common rooms, high dark wooden bookcases and roaring fires and squishy chairs filled with people who care about words as much as I do.

Bloomsbury High Tea this week was, in my opinion, a total success. Virginie’s music made all the difference; 1930s recordings of Fred Astaire and Cole Porter and then more modern, higher quality re-recordings of the same. Beautiful jazz numbers and voices filled the air as we drank less tea than I expected people to get through, although granted I only had four cups myself. Normally I get through much more in two hours if left to my own devices outside of Nero’s. But I was drinking out of my Alice in Wonderland cheshire cat mug, with “drink me” written inside, so to be honest my day was made already, and then as people left the committee were showered in compliments so I can hardly object!

We got the food just right – only a small amount of leftover sandwiches and cake, which were duly donated to the homeless of waterloo and a student birthday party respectively. Scones were all eaten in suitably Bertie Wooster fashion; muffins were scoffed and tea was quaffed in perfect degrees of warm. We even had enough mugs! I brought three extra for the forgetful and the turnover was enough that nobody had to use the emergency plastic cups, although we did have to wash up two mugs to cover the deficiency.

What really made it for me was looking the part – my hair. Classics housemate did me up in gorgeous pin curls and waves, so I ended up feeling like Vivien Leigh and looking not far off. I was wearing my dress from the actual ’30s bought from a vintage shop in Shoreditch. It was extra special because this dress reminds me of Laura, who’s in Canada and I miss her, but it made me think of her and smile in a good way, not a mopey way.

Left: The real deal, Viv                                                         Below: Myself and housemate Hel in full updo.

I mean, you can’t argue with that. I included some images of 1930s things on the tables as talking points; typewriter adverts, paintings and photos of the Bloomsbury Set who we were supposedly emulating, a quote – which were largely ignored. People didn’t need them. We just left everyone to talk to each other and make friends, which is my job, and it just happened naturally, and there was laughter and at times you could barely hear the music we were chatting so much.

I’m so, so pleased. This kind of thing is so rewarding when it goes well! Can’t wait to get the rest of the photos off Hel …

That moment when you realise

That you have really predictable taste in jewellery. I basically like animals on chains.

Like owls

Or bees

Or, probably most predictably, cats.

 

Note how all three come from the same website, how I already own a tee shirt, pencil case and in fact a necklace with owl(s) on them, and how just a few days ago I got that bee necklace in gold for £2 from primark. And yet I still lust after a new one, in silver.

I’m actually a retard.

 

Should we have to pay for our rights?

Well no, of course not. You’d think that an LGBT is a necessity; a right for anyone who identifies as LGBT to have a safe space where they can speak about how they feel, to share their concerns and their joys, and connect with people who can offer support and if necessary, welfare advice.

Unless of course you work for the Student bleeding Union, at which point the LGBT is just another “club” and a full list of attendees is required – regardless of the absolute downright validity of confidentiality, crucial to the trust and friendship that an LGBT is based on.

The only justification for this is, in my opinion, health and safety. If you want to know the number of people in a room for fire evacuation purposes, that’s fine. But that is a number, which is infitely different to names and email addresses of people who are supposed to have complete confidentiality. It’s nonsense, it’s blind-sighted; it’s down right offensive.

Why should you have to *pay* to join an LGBT? The union doesn’t charge for careers advice, dyslexia help – for god’s sake, foreign students are offered English lessons free of charge from our language centre, think how costly that is. But you have to pay for LGBT welfare?? Where is the distinction here between the kinds of support?

Our LGBT is NOT a club, or a society, or an activity – the category the SU is threatening to classify it as. LGBT is more than an activity you chose.

I know this because my friend is heavily involved, and she voiced her concerns to me. I help run a society. I’m damn proud of my society. But it’s a society, not a welfare organisation, and if the union says members have to pay I’m fine about that. You want me to give you their emails? Can’t see why, but fine. I’ve not made promises to my members – they won’t be frightened away because they can’t trust me with something that personal and that frightening they’re afraid to tell their friends and family.

Fuck off, SU’s everywhere, don’t use funding cuts as an excuse to cut LGBT rights.