I have an awful sleeping pattern. For weeks and weeks I have only let my head hit the pillows past four o clock in the morning, sometimes even five. Of course this results in waking up in the afternoon and then not being tired enough to go to bed until five o clock in the morning.. again. It’s a vicious cycle.

Tonight I somehow managed to fall asleep around one o clock in the morning, which to me was a huge improvement. I could wake up early and actually make my day worthwhile. I was wrong.

At half past four, in the morning, I am woken up. It’s not because the duvet is too warm, or because I went to sleep too early, or because I had a bad dream. It was because Italian girl- my flatmate whose bedroom is next door to mine, was having a full conversation with someone. Bear in mind that Italian-girl is naturally a very loud and excitable person. When she is being loud, and it’s the only noise in the entire flat, because everyone else is asleep, the noise travels and seems louder than actuality.

If it was half past four in the afternoon I’d have no qualms, and I’d probably appreciate being woken up. If I had stayed asleep any longer I’d essentially be nocturnal, but no. This is the morning. And so I am frustrated and fed up, Because I’ve now been awake for half an hour hearing their conversation (though it’s in Italian so I can’t understand it) I will not be able to get back to sleep for hours. Now my whole day has been thrown askew. Thanks Italian-girl.

I think I’ve now come to understand mum or my step-dad who, when Vie and myself had particularly late nights playing music and talking, would make the effort to come into our rooms and tell us to be quiet and sleep. I was extremely tempted to walk over and knock on her wall and tell her to zip her lips. Of course I don’t have to be up early or look after kids, which is what my parents have to do on a daily basis, so I’m not too angry, but still. It’s going to take days to correct my sleeping pattern.

Sorry mum for being an ignorant teenager and not listening to you when you came to tell Vie and I off, and we didn’t listen and talked anyway or played the music anyway. We must have been so annoying. There were some nights when you would get out of bed and stumble groggily upstairs three times and we still wouldn’t get what was so bad. Now I understand, and I empathise completely. This must be Karma.


A.M at P.M

The 24th of May was the concert for the Arctic Monkeys that I was going to in Finsbury Park, not because I’m a band member, a roadie or a ‘groupie’ but because, like any other average person in the world, I bought the tickets. They were a Christmas present to Ed. Luckily I had managed to procure an umbrella and waterproof shoes for if it did rain when I got to London it was raining so hard not even my brollie could save me. Luckily it dried up by the time the concert came around (even if the mud in the park could rival Glastonbury, when we were getting the tube back there was a man with mud up to the hem of his shorts!). We had tried to find rain-coats before hand but the only ones I could find were from Topshop and I wasn’t prepared to spend £40 in plastic. 

Ed and I got to the venue just as the first opening act ended, and that was the opening act we really wanted to see…but the four minutes that we did see them were pretty awesome. The second act was Miles Kane and we figured that if we took the face of the bassist and the haircut of the drummer he would look much like my step-dad. Perhaps he doesn’t actually go on business trips, but is actually a rock star. Some of the (bizarre/retro/iffy) clothes looked like something he would have somewhere in his wardrobe! The other was Tame Impala, but I didn’t really pay attention to them much as I was freezing cold and my feet were killing me. I jut wanted the main act to perform.

In between acts there was an agonising half an hour wait for the next band in which, having no dancing to distract myself from the pain coming from my feet and legs I watched the people. Never in my life have I seen so many people wearing the same combinations of denim and leather, and never have I seen so many people with a Noel Gallagher-esque hair cut. I couldn’t help but wonder how many people wore those outfits as their daily wardrobe or if they were just trying to fit in, but it was entertaining.  When the bands came on there was more dancing (read: jumping and swaying) which made my feet agonise in the long run, but at least all my weight wasn’t on them constantly. 

Arctic Monkeys came on at nine in the evening and their first song was Do I Wanna Know from their newest album which made everyone super excited, but they only played perhaps three songs from their AM album, which the tour was meant to promote, so it felt a little bit lacklustre. I believe it rained again, but I couldn’t tell because apparently a thing you do at Arctic Monkeys concerts is throw beer into the sky and down peoples shirts so it could have just been Fosters raining down on us. The problem with the beer being so readily available was that people were incredibly drunk before we had even reached halfway through the evening. I had to watch as a man vomitted into a cup and put it on the ground, and had to put up with a man who told everyone he “was Boy George”. Arctic Monkeys are a good band but they were only on for an hour which sort of disappointed me because they have tonnes of songs and only performed around ten of them, however they did play our favourites and so we were happy with what we got. 

Ed and I also had to leave at 10pm so that was one reason why I should be glad they finished half an hour earlier than we were told, at least we didn’t miss anything from them, but the problem was now that every other person was also leaving and Ed and I needed to be back at King’s Cross to collect his suitcase and get on a train home, so we had to dash from the stage to the tube station to make it ahead of the crowd and we just managed to get on the train before the mass of people caught up with us. Perhaps if the gig had less supporting acts then we could have seen more of the main act, and I would probably feel a lot less disheartened, but it was fine, I discovered some new music. We got home covered in alcohol and cigarette smoke which wasn’t very pleasant and since Ed went through the full experience of having a glass full of it poured down him we were happy to be home. The way I’m writing this I’m making it out to be less pleasant than it actually was but, believe me, I did have a good time. I’m just glad that I wasn’t covered in mud or booze myself.