hobbit pants, pond scum magic, clive, lily pads, haloumi, The Burrow, a shotgun, regrets

my high waisted maroon pants have been called both ‘hobbit pants’ and ‘lost boy pants’.

sometimes we walk through the park that looks like the shire, and listen to the shire song from the lord of the ring’s movies, and plan to make all our friends wear overalls and hobbit pants, and baggy white blouses and bare feet and drink pints merrily like happy little hobbits in the park.

a few days ago a group of little boys at the park wanted to play soccer with us. rhys was the ring leader, and he was sassy. then there was charlie, who was a bit of a faker. always falling over calling for penalties. then there was dara, and another one who was just so small, and a little racist. i can’t remember other names. i accidentally swore quite loudly in front of them and i felt really bad. whenever you got the ball they would just swarm you. i accidentally knocked one of them over which again made me feel really bad. rhys was telling us about how he’d been to brazil, and how he shot a bazooka, and blew up a barn, and dropped it on his foot. it was so much fun, even though i’m pretty terrible with kids. 

linden’s grandma passed away the other night which was awful. i was sitting across from her when her mum told her on the phone, and it was one of the most difficult things to witness, watching someone you care about in so much pain, watching the grief and confusion and clouds on her face. 

i knit a beanie with dark green and blue and purple and a bit of yellow; a combination of colours i’m calling ‘pond scum magic’. 

all my flat mates are gone. i hang my laundry from the ceiling in the kitchen, along the pipes. there is also a minor ant problem. these facts, combined with my interactions with the stray cat of clive booth hall that i creatively call ‘clive’, make me feel quite eccentric. 

it’s been in the high 20’s all week. a few days ago we were lying in the park, and this french hippy with dreadlocks called cedric came and jammed on guitar with max while i knit my pond scum magic beanie. 

the sun doesn’t go down til almost 10 pm. 

the people who live above me get progressively more irritating. they invited me to an end of term party. i didn’t go, and then they rang the bell at midnight which made me feel uneasy because i was there alone. i ignored it. they sit and smoke on the stairs right outside my window. and burp. they burp really loudly.

the other day we walked out to port meadow, which is a while out of town, through a field of yellow flowers, past a lake and to a secret river. i stepped in it and got mud nearly up to my shins, but i still would have gone swimming if i had my swimmers. it was like wind in the willows; there were actual lily pads. 

we have been making travel plans. we are going to paris, geneva, the cinque terre, rome and then the greek isles. then back to oxford for a few days, and then home! the thought of saying good bye makes me cry. these people feel like my family. but at the same time, i’m looking forward to being home.  

we’ve been sitting outside with delicious dinners, like quasadillas and grilled haloumi with capsicum and onions, and watching bad tv while the squirrels frolic.

down lime walk, where the boys live, there is a cat that i named clark who always comes and says hi but mostly just rubs against stuff and falls over, like it’s always drunk, but i still really like it. 

the other day we went out to our friends family home in a little village. it was a magical house, three stories and winding with nooks and crannies, like The Burrow. there were so many flowers in the garden. i collected some chicken eggs, and tried to climb a rickety old pirate ship treehouse. i also fired a shotgun at a target. his parents made us fancy cocktails with pimms and mint leaves. we played in an old wheel chair and i sat in the passenger seat of a seventies sports car. for some reason we were feeling nostalgic for the days of teenage angst and we laughed and listened to angsty teenage music from the two thousands; blink 182, taking back sunday, yellowcard. 

everything has a cinematic, fictitious quality and things seem so romantic here. there are always, always people in tuxedos. the risk of this dream like state is that i forget that my actions have consequences, even if not immediately felt. delayed regret. 

things are so very different, and i feel incredibly different, in good ways and bad ways and in red ways and blue ways. gold.