Festivals - and why I hate them.

Every time someone asks me if I am going to a festival this summer I die a little bit inside. I cannot get my head around why these weekends are so popular. What you are asking me, essentially, is if I too have agreed to pay the price of a small house in order to spend two nights in a field attempting sleep in a canvas cage. If I’m lucky I might be able to rest my head on a rock. During the night sounds of shouting, fighting and vomiting will entertain my tent friends and I, ensuring all will be cranky and tired in the morning. Not to worry though, I knew this, and brought red bull for this exact purpose. During the daytime we will be queuing mostly. Upon reaching the front of the queue we will be ripped off and leave, burger/drink in hand, feeling violated and abused. At V festival in 2007 I actually paid £7.50 for a grease sandwich. I paid this because I was hungry and had been queuing for around half an hour. I did not enjoy my snackette. The fury gave me indigestion. 

People who have paid hundreds of pounds to sit in a field.

This year if one wishes to voluntarily attend Reading Festival it will cost around £250. Why not go on holiday instead? Or stay at home? Once you have arrived at the fun house you are destined to spend the entire time queuing for vouchers. These will then be used when you reach the front of the gigantic queue for the voucher bar, where you will be charged approximately two hundred pounds for a plastic bottle containing wine which will undoubtedly taste like paint stripper but which you will drink anyway, because you are parched and need to get sufficiently paraletic before any enjoyment of the festival can occur. 

(Google Images)
People having 'fun'. 

I suppose the main reason for attending festivals is to see bands and dance about in uncomfortable proximity to strangers who have not showered for two or three days. Although this is gross, it is understandable for festivals such as Reading and Leeds, not so much for V Festival. Cheryl Cole was supposed to be headlining this year.  In a cruel twist of fate Cheryl contracted malaria and MAY NOT be well enough to present the X Factor this year, let alone headline V. Hopefully with counselling we will all overcome this news, life is full of hurdles. But really, why was she headlining? Who is it that has not yet realised that Miss Cole is not good at singing, or dancing, or performing, or entertaining, or whatever it is she is attempting to do. She is famous because she is nice to look at, but at a festival one cannot hope to come anywhere near enough to the stage to actually see the face of the performer. I presume Scouting for Girls will be taking her place as they seem to show up at V every single year without fail despite the fact that no one has liked them for a number of years. 

(Google Images)
Pandora's Box. 

After some sweaty dancing with strangers, where one spends the entire time distracted by the constant need to dodge flying bottles of urine, there will come a time when you too need to use the toilet. This is the point during the festival where I am overcome by fear and anxiety, and start to prepare myself for the worst. Fortunately there is plenty of time for this because the portaloo area is a popular festival haunt, thus you are likely to spend around an hour queuing for the pleasure of its services. Last time I attended a festival I reached the front of the queue and dithered about which portaloo would be preferable. As I started to feel lightheaded from holding my breath for a number of minutes I tentatively approached a green plastic door. I reached for the handle and a man behind me shouted “NOOOOoooooOOOOoooo!!!!” In my haste to back away from the offending portaloo I almost lost my balance and fell in mud. The next person to approach the door was not warned in time. The sight was not a pretty one. The walls of this little green tomb were caked in excrement. I don’t know how things like this can happen but I imagine someone had been quite unwell a few hours previously. All those who had been in high proximity to this monstrosity turned a pea green colour as they too started to worry about their turn. I searched for some time for a toilet which did not make me wretch but was unable to find one, eventually giving up, shutting my eyes and holding my nose until the ordeal was over. Needless to say I was reluctant to consume any fluids for the rest of the day as this was not an experience I was willing to repeat, ever, in my life, ever. I was reduced to peeing in a field, like a dog. I cannot comprehend why, when the ticket prices, and prices of everything in the festival arena (a programme is £10) are so exorbitant, the portaloos cannot be cleaned more regularly, or be more plentiful so one does not have to queue for an hour to wee. It makes me enraged and disgusted, but mostly enraged. 

The only memories I can recall of V Festival are those of repulsion, horror and outrage. Oodles of cash were ripped from my clutching hands, constantly, for two days. As I left, covered in grime and mud, tired and grumpy, I felt as though I’d been robbed. I can’t understand the pleasure which some appear to gain from festival attendance. I wonder what such people are thinking. I continue to wonder for some time and can come up with no legitimate reason for any fun being had at these events. So no, I am not going to any festivals this summer.

From Alexandra

Taylor Momsen - You what you what???

Despite feeling I should encourage all of Momsen’s past, present and future endeavours as a result of the loyalty I feel towards all those involved in the production of Gossip Girl (worlds best TV programme, like, ever) Momsen’s recent antics have begun to make me shudder. She is giving Gossip Girl a bad name and I do not like this at all. In fact I am fuming about it.

(Google Images)
xoxo

Momsen is seventeen, however she began some kind of ludicrous campaign to inform the world that she is edgy and unpredictable at the grand age of sixteen. This is too young. It means her campaign has lacked integrity from the start. Her fantastically bad attempts to sound like the person she wants us to think she is have been brought to my attention mainly through the bizarre comments she makes during interviews. The theme which emerges is one of a supposedly uncaring attitude. Upon being asked if she felt under pressure due to her (unexplained) fame, this is what actually left her mouth, "there is if you care, but if you do what I do, you just don't give a shit… Can I not say that?" This comment is intended to make her public think something along the lines of... ‘Omg Taylor, you are like so totally hardcore, even though you’re only sixteen and your claim to fame is that you played Cindy Lou Who in The Grinch.’ It doesn’t work, due to the fact that not everyone watching is completely can’tevenstringasentencetogether stupid. 

(Google Images)
Cindy Lou Who!

I believe we are supposed to be jealous of the confidence Momsen is oozing everywhere and wish we too did not worry about what others thought of us. Momsen thinks this will gain her oodles of respect I imagine. Presumably we are then to start plastering posters of her pasty little panda face all over our bedroom walls. However, this (fake) attitude is then juxtaposed with desperate, slightly insane, attention seeking comments such as, “I have a knife collection...I have my favorite black knife with me all the time. It's a switchblade. It relaxes me to flick it.” Regard, a twist in the tale, here Momsen takes care to mention that she is also complicated, a troubled soul. At this point a lightbulb explodes above my head as I realise that someone so very uncaring would have little need to explain that she is very, very edgy. Perhaps the juxtaposition is used to emphasise just how much she doesn’t care...a clash of opposing attitudes shedding light on a vision of a deep, thoughtful personality. Doubtful. I sense that it might actually just be because she does care what people think, after all. Madness I hear you cry, she is the most uncaring of them all! Cool as a cucumber!  Sadly however, this is the only reasonable explanation I can think of for the fact that she often utters humiliating rubbish along the lines of, "I was raised Catholic. I fucked a priest once - I'm just kidding." 

(Google Images)
Momsen: So edgy she does not even require a skirt.

Momsen likes to wear suspenders with dresses which barely cover her bumhole. The dresses will usually be made of lycra. This is not appropriate for anyone, especially not a lady of sixteen. I expect, however, that someone so cutting edge would be unconcerned with ridiculous notions such as not dressing like a hooker after school. In case we don’t get this at first (we are stupid, remember) Momsen clarifies that she doesn’t care what we think of her vomit inducing fashion choices, "I like wearing garters. Apparently people think that’s a big deal, but my tights won’t stay up. So whatever you want to do with that information…” Smashing. Another golden nugget of self-righteous chitchat. It fails to address the real problem, which is why her dress is not longer, or less tight, or less see through. She is basically naked most of the time. Recently she was photographed sporting a dress so short you could see tampon string. I can’t help thinking this must confuse paedophiles. 


Before leaving the house in her lingerie Momsen slathers black eye shadow and lashings of eye liner in a round shape surrounding her eye socket. It seems she is going for some kind of man dressed as a lady look. Either that or she has employed Avril Lavigne as her make-up artist. Neither are advisable. Don't worry little Miss Momsen, I shant judge you for this. When I was sixteen I too was no make-up pro. Why not let a grown up teach you? Drag queen chic is not a thing. Stop it. Stop it now. 

(Google Images)
Child porn?

Momsen is also definitely not a pop star. She wants to make this perfectly clear by constantly banging on about her new band, The Pretty Reckless, who are famous solely as a result of her being in Gossip Girl. We are not to think this, though, we are to think they are famous due to the huge amounts of musical talent pouring from Momsen’s ass. Perhaps this is why it must always be exposed. On her definitely not disney-esque, very edgy band young Taylor states, “it’s a rock band and its heavy. Our record is a life record. It confronts everything head on. It’s death, love, drugs, sex, religion, politics.” A life record? Really? I have listened, it is not. 


Taylor Momsen tends to become infuriated when she is compared to Miley Cyrus. I expect she usually responds by slamming a door, or something. In one interview this pearl of wisdom fell from her rosy lips, "the Disney bubblegum shit that the world is living right now is pathetic. I thought we passed that repression." Excuse me, I think I just threw up all over my shoes. Anyway, even if Momsem was, theoretically, not the new Miley Cyrus, (she definitly is), I wonder who she might think she is... But of course, She is modelling herself on Kurt Cobain! (She has made an abysmal failure of this.) No really, she actually said, “I wanna be Kurt Cobain.” If my memory serves me correctly Mr Cobain was a depressed heroin addict who shot himself. This is not a good role model for a sixteen year old girl. Where is her mother? 

(Google Images)
Scandalous album cover.

Pipe down Little J, before someone calls social services. 

From Alexandra

Alexandra Contemplates the Phenomenon that is The Jeremy Kyle Show.

Being a student and daughter of a Jeremy Kyle Show addict (she’s in denial but its on series link on the sky planner for an unknown reason) I have nursed many a hangover to the sound of the ranting and raving of Mr Kyle and his band of unfriendly guests.

(Google Images)

My thoughts when presented with this show follow a similar pattern every time. I begin with mild disgust that Kyle is still allowed an hour slot on ITV, every single day of the week. The show is also repeated on ITV2 often. I don’t see why it needs to be on so much. I start to wonder why something better isn’t on. Jeremy must have a large fanbase. This is a worrying prospect. 

My anxiety then fades as I become entranced by the bizarre events the scary people are shouting about. I start to offer my own advice, several times as they never seem to listen. Often there will be advert breaks where I wonder why I have started to care who the father is. Unfortunately the show begins again in no time (after a brief interlude where strangers encourage you to send them all your gold) and I am once again shamefully fascinated by the extraordinary accents these people are screeching in. I feel angry that such people exist and start to get annoyed that I, the taxpayer, am paying for Charmaine to have twelve children while her tracksuit clad buttocks remain on a (probably not very clean) sofa drinking questionable cider and being angry with her family. They are always angry with their families. They are also always unemployed. This is usually why they can’t afford to visit their children and Jeremy gets annoyed, after a brief period of being shocked, when they say this. I start to wonder why he is so often surprised seen as this happens most of the time on his show. I get suspicious of his fury and wonder if he is pretending. This makes me feel cheated. Then I remember that I have started to enter the mindset of a Daily Mail reader and tell myself off for this. I stop watching and start my day safe in the knowledge that my intellect and morality are far superior to that of the people I have just witnessed on the telybox.  

Jeremy is an unsavoury character. His use of catchphrases and shouting when he thinks he has made a good point irritate me. He is forever suggesting that people “put something on the end of it.” He is also always annoyed that they don’t have a job. He wants them all to get jobs and live happily ever after. This is not what he should be going for because if he runs out of morons and freaks of the unemployed persuasion he will have trouble producing his atrocity of a talk show.


After a brief shouting match Mr Kyle will always go soft and start telling us about how he is to save todays unfortunate soul from destruction with the use of the 'after care team'. Who are these people? I’m not sure they are real. There is only one actual real other person and he is called Graham. Graham comes out at the end sometimes so we know he exists. He is nice and tells drug addicts and alcoholics that he, Graham, will clean them up. We are led to believe that Graham is a miracle worker. I’m not sure this is true. 

(Google Images)
Who/what is marrying this man?

My primary concern during this peculiar hour of ‘entertainment’ is why these lying, orthodontically challenged people want to be on Jeremy Kyle. They come, sit and tell an audience of strangers that they are convinced that their husband is being unfaithful. Who in their right mind sits at home thinking London (actual name of a Kyle guest last week) is absolutely definitely cheating on me with Wayne/Dwayne/Perry from round the corner.. what I will do, therefore, is phone a television programme in order to obtain the truth on live television, thus achieving maximum humiliation and a permenent record of my sorry excuse for a relationship? And why, if this is the way you would like to finalise the end of your marriage, would you not wash your hair prior to your ITV debut?

I do not think that British society should acknowledge the existence of the Kyle guest people by dedicating an hour of daytime television, every single day, to their madcap problems, ponderings and arguments. I therefore suggest that Mr Kyle’s show needs to be banned, for the good of all. Failing this it should be moved to Dave so that no one watches it. The end. 

From Alexandra

Why Avatar is Not Actually as Good as Everyone Thinks

Due to popular demand (Chris Adam told me to) I will now explain why I disliked Avatar even more than I disliked Inception. 

(Google Images)

Overhyped does not begin to describe the ridiculous amounts of advertising used in the promotion of this film. This meant the film had begun to irritate me before I had even seen it. I was informed, by an advert of some kind, that this was going to be the future of cinema. This is a lie. Avatar was never going to be the future of cinema. Yes its 3D, but it still needs to actually be good; it needs an interesting plot, believable characterisation, maybe some twists and turns in the tale.. Avatar has none of the above. It’s a film about smurfs with sex appeal. 

There was a big fuss made over the fact that this was the most expensive film, ever. I don’t like when this is mentioned a lot before the release of a film. I am not really concerned with how expensive the film is, all I want to know is whether or not it is good. This one isn’t, thus the need for emphasis on cost I presume. I began to wonder if it was actually the aggressive marketing campaign which had made the film the most expensive one, ever. 

The main problem I had with Avatar was that this film has already been made. In fact I saw it as a child, only then it was called Pocohontas. If you have not had the pleasure of this disney delight let me summarise the plot for you. Dashing Englishman, John Smith, goes to faraway land in order to plunder gold and such like from Native America. Natives are a bit unfriendly, want to keep their gold. Smith meets sexy lady in skimpy native type attire, Pocohontas, who takes him under her wing. They fall in love. Together they fight adversity and make the world a better place. Then John gets shot and goes home. 

In Avatar US military folk go to Pandora in order to plunder a raw material imaginatively entitled Unobtainium. Na’vi are a bit unfriendly, want to keep their special tree. Dashing American, Jake Sully, is sent to gather information on the natives. In an unexpected twist Sully falls in love with the sexy smurfette, Neytiri, who takes him under her wing. Neytiri is also in a skimpy version of the native attire. She looks like a 12ft blue Lara Croft. They fall in love. Together they fight against the US Military. (At this point some wildlife get involved). The blue people win. (This is because together they are successful in fighting adversity to make the world a better place.) Then Sully turns blue and they all live happily ever after. 

(Google Images)
"Together we can fight adversity! Hooray!"

Avatar = Pocohontas. The only difference is Cameron has given Avatar a more disney friendly ending. It’s all so sickly sweet I’m surprised more people didn’t vomit popcorn all over the Odeon. Although, I presume the failure of the US Military to obtain the unobtainium would have had quite bad effects for us ‘Sky People’, because I was reliably informed that the Earth was dying near the start of this two and a half hour marathon of cheese. Cameron has made the Americans mean in this film, so we will side with the Smurfs, and be pleased with the ending. However, I live on Earth so I would probably rather that the Earth didn’t die. Has Cameron forgotten that the vast majority of his audience will be living on Earth? Maybe he is confident that most people will have forgotten about this bit by the end of the film, distracted somewhere in the middle by all the bright colours and bizarre scenery of an LSD trip. 

I am finding it hard to think of anything good to say about Avatar. With Inception I could see glimmers of a good film lurking beneath the bits I hated which enabled me to, sort of, comprehend the rave reviews. With Avatar I am still none the wiser as to what all the fuss was about. The graphics are pretty I suppose but I stopped being impressed by brightly coloured people around the age of six, when my interest in cartoons dwindled. Take out the special effects and CGI rubbish and what you’re left with is a script with all the imagination of a teaspoon. If this is the future of cinema I fear I may have to start spending my orange wednesdays at home. 

From Alexandra

Why Inception is Not Actually as Good as Everyone Thinks

I appear to be the only person in the world who didn’t think Inception was god’s gift to cinema for the summer of 2010. 

The movie centers around the idea of invading people’s subconscious whilst they dream in order to extract information or implant an idea... Fine, but has no one realised that dreams are not actually that interesting? I have never been interested in other people’s dreams, ever. They’re just dull. I wouldn’t care if you dreamt about a pogo-sticking llama with the face of my great grandmother.

Also, Christopher Nolan - what kind of dreams are you having? And who came up with this idea of an 'architect' designing a 'maze' in a dream, expecting this to be a believable, legitimate basis for the blockbuster of 2010? These are the ramblings of a madman.. Actual dreams don’t work like this movie says they do. Even if they did (they definitely don't) this still doesn't explain why all the dreams in Inception look like they belong in a James Bond film. None of them even come close to looking like an authentic dream. Have you ever dreamt of a city made entirely of grey blocks with lots of paper fluttering around in the breeze, complete with random house you lived in as a child? No, me neither. 

Leonardo di Caprio failed to impress, in general. What has happened to you, Leonardo? It’s hard to believe this puffy faced chap is that very same heart throb who grabbed the attention of adolescent girls nationwide with his portrayal of Richard in The Beach. The years have not been kind to di Caprio. What a waste. Also, why hasn’t anyone noticed that Leonardo’s character in Inception and Shutter Island are the same person? Switch over Dom Cobb and Teddy Daniels mid-movie and no one would bat an eyelid. I don’t even think the outfits were different. Bring back Richard.  

When Leonardo was nice to look at..

Nolan has inserted a few jokes into this (tryingtoohardtobe) dark and mysterious film, apparently at random. They completely clash with the mood of the film. It feels silly. A film this moody should not also try to make you laugh. You might as well have had a giant easter bunny merrily hopping across the screen during one of Jigsaw’s twisted games. 

Admittedly the special effects were good, there’s a nice bit where a street folds in on itself which made me go oooh. However Ariadne’s tour of dreamland goes on just that little bit too long, which detracted from my fascination somewhat. It started to feel a little less isn’t this mindbending and a little more... look how much money we have spent. 

The film’s saving grace is the relationship between Mal (Marion Cotillard), the late Mrs Cobb, and Di Caprio. This part borders on the brink of good as there is actually some substance to this sub-plot, with crazy Mal being all crazy due to a prologued time spent in the grey, windy dreamland... which is where you go if you die mid-dream, obviously. This was my favourite of the jumbled mess of sub-plots featured in this film because it does that thing that films normally do.. where the loose ends get tied up in the end, it all makes sense and then you all feel much better and go home. The rest seem to be there solely to keep you guessing as to what is actually going on. Ariadne asks "Whose subconscious are we in, exactly?" She's in the film. If she can't work it out we might as well not bother trying. 

I wouldn’t say Inception was boring, it is ambitious and it has obviously got people talking. It is just not as good as everyone thinks. I got the impression Nolan was trying very hard to be complicated, edgy and confusing and I couldn’t quite work out why. By the time the film was drawing to a close my brain was getting tired and Inception was definitely losing its grip on my attention. Normally when a film is that difficult to keep up with there is some kind of climatic, unexpected ending which makes it worth all the trouble. In Inception..they wake up. 

Then again, I didn’t like Avatar either. 


From Alexandra

Alexandra’s Thoughts on Brighton

This week the boyfriend and I visited Brighton, seaside town of East Sussex, in search of candyfloss and sunshine. At night we slept in a B&B, the Kelvin Guest House. The owners were gay, not just a little bit gay, very gay. It was decorated with rainbow flags. I loved it.

The Kelvin Guest House

Whilst there we enjoyed a number of touristy type excursions. First on the agenda was a visit to the Royal Pavillion. The website claims this is “remarkable for its exotic oriental appearance both inside and out.” Unsurprisingly Alexandra was not a fan of the Royal Pavillion. Let me tell you why. Firstly they give you an audio guide but this audio guide has too much jazzy music and in between the jazzy music a man talks and sometimes a lady talks but they talk far too much about not very much. It is interesting for a little while but once you get the idea that George was the 19th century’s answer to Paris Hilton what remains is essentially waffle sandwiched between pieces of jazzy music. I got bored of the guide half way through and toddled off to the next room before being told to by the voices eminating from this giant phone. The other reason for my lack of enthusiasm was that George and I clearly have different tastes in interior design. Everything was too bright. It looked a bit like some buffoon had allowed Lawrence Llewelyn Bowen to go crazy with no budget. There was a dragon eating a chandelier over the banqueting room. The dragon was too big. It could have fallen. I kept imagining a dinner time massacre. Apparently the Pavillion is “home to some of the finest collections and examples of the chinoiserie style in Britain.” I expect a big chinoiserie fan would love the place. Me.. clearly not a chinoiserie fan. Having said this I did think the outside of the building was fairly snazzy. The gardens were also quite good, but there was a crazy man playing a bongo drum who winked at me and this made me afraid so I left. 

The Royal Pavillion

At dinner time I was excited to go to an italian called Donatello’s because they did gluten free pasta. Anything gluten free excites me. It was extra delicious. After this I accidentally got horribly drunk. I don’t know how this happened but I went to Oceana and remember little to none of the evening. The next day was stressful. I had a headache. I felt unwell. I could taste wine and I couldn’t make it stop. Then I fell asleep on the beach and burnt my nose primarily and also the rest of my face. It is still not totally recovered. I fear I may get wrinkles. 

Whilst my pounding head was still in recovery I went to the sea life centre to see a shark. I did see a shark there and this made me happy. Then I got some pick n’ mix and my happiness levels increased further still. I will never grow up. 

Before we returned to Essex a shopping trip happened. The Lanes has many boutiquey type shops which are great. A lot of sparkly jewels are sold there. Twinkly things attract my interest and make me spend money. I thought the streets were kind of reminiscent of York’s famous Shambles, although obviously not as good. The shops did not go inwards Harry Potter style like the York ones do. Sweet shops were plentiful though so Brighton gets points for this.

Then home. Then tea. 

From Alexandra

Reasons why Alexandra Hates Twitter

Sometime during the easter of 2010 I finally decided to see what all the fuss was about and register with the new social networking fad... twitter. Shortly after I commenced use of this site, however, a number of things began to trouble me. If you would care to read on I will divulge the reasons behind my uncertainty. 

• Word limit. I do not like to be told what to do at the best of times. The twitter word limit rules with an iron fist. A website should not be allowed such strict regulations... say I have something outstanding to share with the world, yet mid sentence I am interrupted by an automated message. What then? How will I get accross my message? Inevitable nightmare situation. This does not impress. I like to choose the lengths of my sentences at will. Facebook allows this, might I add. 

• Idiotic lingo. I am not a bird. Why would I tweet? I wouldn’t, that is the answer. 

• Twitter stalkers. It bothers me that strange women are following me. Their twitter pictures are suspicious. They appear to have forgotten to don t-shirts. Why are they following me? I don’t want them to. This stresses Alexandra out.

• Celebritweets. Why do all these famous folk have twitter? And why so many followers? The ramblings of most should have no place on such a platform. Misguided interest led me to the twitter page of everyones favourite childstarturnedrebelwithoutacause, Lindsay Lohan. One Lohan tweet caught my eye, in it the starlet states “the only "bookings" that i'm familiar with are Disney Films, never thought that i'd be "booking" into Jail... eeeks,” speaking of her recent experience of the legal system of the city of angels. This tweet is misguided. Firstly it is not a funny joke. Secondly Lohan should not be making any sort of jokes about her dangerous behaviour, funny or not. Last time I checked drink driving was a fairly serious offence when committed by a mere mortal - not so for Lilo. Why are the Lohan management allowing her to post her obscene thoughts on the internet for all the world to see? I can’t imagine this will aid her in getting work in the future. Disney frowns upon convicts. We know you’ve gone off the rails, you crazy girl you.. now be quiet please. Even Lohan’s attempts at charity work are half-hearted. It seems she is trying to help abandoned dogs in New Orleans... not by actually helping mind, just by tweeting her little heart out, asking you to. She is obviously busy, being in jail, oh and being a rebel. 

• Twitter conversations. These are confusing. So many @’s. This means I have trouble stalking people. Facebook provides a handy wall-to-wall function, I am confident this is entirely for ease of stalking. It is much appreciated. 

• Tweeting for the sake of tweeting. Although this does occur on facebook the epidemic seems to be more widespread on twitter. Twitter addicts appear to tweet constantly. This makes me think they are not busy people. Upon discovering this information I automatically look down on them. This morning Fearne Cotton, of radio 1 fame, demonstrates that she is not a busy person by tweeting, “MORNINGGGGGG! rubbish nights sleep last night! COFFEEEE.” Even if Fearne and I were the best of friends I’d be unlikely to wonder how she slept last night. Who is it that cares if Miss Cotton is having coffee this morning? If someone does, this also troubles me.  

From Alexandra