Friday, 31 May 2013. Nobody gives a toss if a scene reminds you of Béla Tarr.

A trail of scribbled nothings An english girl living in South Africa. Monday, February 21, 2011. More chuckle-fuel for my inability to be a grown up. So, I recently had two phones stolen. Admittedly, I use the word stolen. Misplaced and not returned is a little closer.

Much To Say About Nothing That Matters. I am not going to criticize any one of the films made from the Harry Potter books, because my list would fill a few books- as I think we can all agree they are. Not as good, and have incredibly annoying actors for each teenage role, and ideas that are only vaguely the same ideas as in the book. You would literally have to read each one of them to really know what the hell is going on.

The journey past her door is tense. I feel like a schoolgirl, corridor creeping. I so hate it when she greets me in her nightdress, the dark outline of her nipples making me redden, reminding me of my prudishness. I ease myself along the corridor, faintly pressing myself against the wall like a shadow, a thief. I have almost reached the office door when. And still I say nothing. My heart is beating; I bite a long chewed lip.