Hello there

Good evening.

It has been quite some time, my dear readers. Actually, my dear readers are solely East European porn aficionados, so if you’re reading this: спасибі, але ви не бачите мої сиськи.

Feel free to leave now.

Since my last post, I finished my exams, moved to my homeland of Yorkshire, got a degree, got an internship, got a job, got a bike and bought some slippers. I’m not quite sure how I ended up here, but the view is lovely.

So first: degree.

I have an MA in English Literature and Mathematics. I know, I find it odd too. My dad took this as I was exiting the stage and no-one was looking at me. I’ve been circulating it to my family along with the official one, mainly because I look like a ginger water butt in the proper one, but I feel I should give my family the choice of which one to display. 
I suppose I should talk about the dress: once upon a moon, this was a fashion blog. 
It’s off-white and tight and has Japanese-y flowers all over it and from Zara. 
These were the rules: 
“Female graduands are expected to wear a dark skirt or trousers and white blouse (tie, if worn, black) or a white or dark dress; black shoes.”
I didn’t exactly follow them. I decided that University of Glasgow had had quite enough effort and time and money off me over the past 5 years, and I was damned if I was going to graduate dressed like a waitress, so I was going to wear something I wanted. So I did. And my shoes were that Kate Middleton nudey peachy shade so reviled by Grazia magazine. 
I’m also a big believer in signs and omens: on my birthday, a very drunk women, who was wearing this dress, told me I should buy it. So I did. 
No-one bollocked me, or told me to take it off- my god, imagine graduating in nobbut your undies- so it was all fine and I have a far nicer dress sitting in my smart clothes arsenal than most of my fellow graduates. 
Next: Yorkshire. 
I am home, living with my father, saving for one of the house things, and they’re bloody expensive. Might be here a while.
I went on what can only be described as a clearing out rampage when I left Glasgow. There were bin liners involved, it was deeply unsettling to more than myself. I now own a single drawer of clothes. That’s it. Add to the mix a younger sister fast catching up on me growth-wise (5ft2 to my 5ft 5 and a half, and same size shoes already) and I have become a sort of clothes ninja. Speed in dressing is essential, or the clothes will magically move rooms. 
I’m also more used to my nickname than my real name now. ‘Caitlin’ sounds like I’m being told off. 
Next: job. 
I have a job. I am employed. And not as a waitress. Oh no, my dear readers, I have a salary and a pension and my own office. I am a data analyst at a university, and I like my job. I like being paid every month, too. 
This is where the blog comes in. Sort of. 
I’ve been getting that restless feeling I get when I don’t write for a long time- even my journal has fallen at the might of the 8-5- but I am going to take back my creativity! I felt like it might be a bit dull for you being all “and this is what I wore to work, and this is what I wore to work…” but who the hell cares?! It’s up to me to make it interesting. And let’s face it, I’m going to be at the mercy of the 8-5 for the next 43 years, so I’ve got to do something exciting. 
I can always write about the dog. 
Cakes x
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