pressing flowers – the life version

The oven makes an awesome bassline to the song I’m listening to. Toilets generally flush in e flat so I’m wondering what note it’s happily humming along to. If I cared enough, I’d get the tuner out. No matter now, the TV’s on and music has been paused, all in the name of Stephen Fry.

I got a rose today. Because we’re not in college on the day before Valentine’s day (Friday the 13th, ooh) my college got festive a week early. Hearts have been strung everywhere and the dinnerladies got a little saucy with messages on heart placards today (“Hey, big boy.”, “Gotcha.” and, “Hug me.” to name a few.) There has also been the chance for people to slip a specified amount of money into a red shoe box decorated with hearts in order for the owner of the swipe number written on the envelope to receive a rose.

And, regardless of my strictest instructions to Robert, I received an email yesterday telling me that I had a rose waiting for me at student reception. Despite my protestations, I’ll admit that I was fairly delighted to get a rose. The last time anyone gave me a rose was the 24th of October, at my Grandma’s funeral, and I had tried, unsuccessfully, to press that. It turned black and withered. So to receive a red, living rose for a reason other than sympathy was lovely.

Yeah, four weeks today.