Writing about writing. How very post modern.

My friend Bex and I were sat in her bedroom last night, burning Nag Champa and doing various hippie dealings, and I was prompted by a source that will remain nameless to work on some creative writing.

I've not really written anything of note since I graduated almost 2 years ago. My dissertation garnered a relatively good grade, not that I can remember what that was now. The cover of my dissertation currently serves as the thin card base of a hat I made for my burlesque routine Tin Soldier. I could pretend that I did this to make a statement about my status as an educated and articulate woman who chooses to strip. However in reality I simply had the impulse to make the hat right away and that was the only item I could find to serve as the base at the time. Though it is fun to show fellow dancers backstage the inside of the hat where the title 'Violence and Perceived Violence in Pornography' can be seen, if a bit hidden by bits of fake fur.

I haven't read my dissertation as one whole piece of work, I simply proof-read after finishing each chapter and handed that damn thing in as I just wanted it to be over. I spend 5 years doing my degree and I'd had enough of being a film studies student. Not that being a film studies graduate is much better, though I do have a full time job now. A job that has nothing to do with my degree whatsoever. Well done me.

I've had a fair few interesting discussions about my dissertation, which would then tend to meander onto the subject of sexuality in general. Mostly these occur in pub gardens. I remember shouting loudly over the drinkers in The Prince of Wales pub on Gloucester Road to my friend Charlie about it. And animatedly discussing it with a man I'd met just a couple of hours before in the garden of The Bell in Stokes Croft, while the two of us and the entire patronage of the pub were dressed as zombies, stopping only to swig from a bottle of chocolate sauce based fake blood before pretending to vomit said substance down my chest whilst stood knock-kneed in slashed clothing.

My previous housemate, Stephen, came to the conclusion that I am a 'sex person' (Lynn!). I could try and refute this fact...but that would be pointless.