Anne's Blog

Things I Do Not Want To See On My News Feed

2012-02-09T03:16:00.000-08:00

I fully understand that the son of family friends was trying to raise awareness of animal cruelty. I completely agree that it is wrong to be cruel to animals. This does not mean I am prepared, early on a Thursday morning while feeling a bit under the weather, to see a picture of an Alsatian with it's face blown off by a firework. It was horrific. When I scroll through Facebook I expect photos, people commenting on their lives, amusing Kent uni memes, but NOT THIS.

It was right underneath a photo that my crazy, frequently drunk Canadian friend from Sydney posted of her crotch (in shorts, steady on). I thought 'jeez, the stuff people put on Facebook' and then I saw the dog. Canadian friend, you can post as many gratuitous crotch shots as you like if it spares me from the sight of dead animals with blown up faces.

If I ever see anything resembling a dead human with a blown up face I will be deleting my facebook and renouncing the internet. I will become Amish and never look at or think about technology ever again. I mean it.

Poetry Seminars Continued

2012-01-26T13:38:00.000-08:00

I've had a really good week, and then came the poetry seminar.

We were lulled into a false sense of security at first, re-writing 'Row Row Row Your Boat' in different poetic forms. I thought "this is ok, this is a bit like primary school." How wrong I was.

For next week we have to write sonnets. That's fine, no problem, I can learn how to write a sonnet. Then we were told we had to write love sonnets. I thought that I could probably do that at a stretch if I made it deliberately vague, fictitious and light-hearted (I mean, not only do we have to write it down on paper but we have to read it out loud to other humans.) Then it got worse.

It became, 'Love and/or Eroticism' which then became...sex poetry. Sex poetry. We are all terrified of having to write ANY poetry in the first place, let alone sex poetry. We have fourteen words we have to put in to our sex poems (one for each line of a sonnet) including 'fuck', 'thrust' and 'scratch.' I like, can't. A few people were planning on being mysteriously ill next week, but I feel the braver option is to write a poem, sticking to the rules of a sonnet and using the key words, about how much I don't want to write and read out a sex poem. So far all I have is:

'Fuck, I don't want to write a sex poem
I'm going to thrust over to another university'

It's a work-in-progress, admittedly. Sex poems were not mentioned in the course booklet. We were not forewarned of this at the open day. I feel this is quite a dramatic and sudden jump from 'Row Row Row Your Boat.'

Poetry (Don't worry, not actual poetry)

2012-01-21T07:00:00.000-08:00

Narrative theory last term was pretty scary. We occasionally had to write stuff and read it aloud in front of other people. That is nothing compared to the sheer horror of this term's poetry module.

If there was a module called 'Nudity Theory and Practice,' in which a group of us went to a seminar room, took off all our clothes and talked about what we look like naked, it would be only slightly scarier than having to write poetry and show it to other people. Ok, I exaggerate, but there's a reason why if I write poetry it is funny and rhyming.

First of all we had to find our way to the seminar room, at five o'clock in the evening, in the dark, through a winding maze of corridors. The seminar room has three glass walls, so we are completely surrounded by darkness. We all just kind of sat there not looking each other in the eyes, as if it was Sex Addicts Anonymous (it felt worse than alcoholism) or as if we were all about to play a completely sober game of strip poker.

Then the seminar tutor asked us to raise our hands if we ever read poetry for fun, in our own time. It was literally just me and some guy called Nathan. Then we were asked if we were all scared shitless (not her exact words) about writing poetry for this course, and everyone raised their hands and giggled nervously.

The thing that I dread the most is if someone in the seminar had a traumatic childhood, writes a poem about it, reads it out, and then cries. I can see that happening. Particularly after I've just read out something jovial and Dr Seuss like, and the seminar tutor's like "Thanks for that Anne, and now on to Caroline*, with her poem about sexual abuse."

I suppose I'll see next week.

*There is no Caroline.

2012

2012-01-03T05:21:00.000-08:00

Well, 2011 was fantastic. Backpacking around Australia, starting university, all that was really very good. In fact it was the best year so far (not in recorded history, I heard 1969 was pretty good, I mean in my life.)

It may be because 2011 was so great, but I am not yet warming to 2012. I personally don't believe the world is going to end, but so far there have been moments when it felt like it might. For example, yesterday I didn't feel particularly well, and then the internet died for no reason. I began to sharpen my weapons for the apocalypse.

Today I went to the dentist, because I had some really important top-secret information which needed to be tortured out of me by some sadists. "This should be your normal teeth cleaning routine" said the dentist, as he tried to extract as much blood from my gums as possible. "You should do this every night for the rest of your life."

Not only was I subject to this torture ("Are you alright?" the dentist asked, as he and his evil assistant cleaned my teeth using what felt like a cattle prod and a vacuum cleaner. He'd numbed my gums and I was unable to answer with anything other than "Aarrghh") but I have to subject myself to this every single night, sometimes at university, while drunk. There is of course, a chance that I might die. I could lose several pints of blood and collapse, a limp corpse, into my sink, surrounded by floss and interdental brushes. Forget zombies, floods and plagues of locusts, this is the end of the world.

Tomorrow I'm going to the opticians. Maybe they'll tell me that the way to achieve 20/20 vision is to, every night, stab myself repeatedly in the eyeballs.

Controversy Bingo

2011-12-23T07:30:00.000-08:00

Normally I love people, but not on the 23rd December (except for Laura, because it's her birthday).

Today is the day that we have some relatives over for lunch, who arrive, freshly botoxed, from the South of France*. Then from midday until four they sit and play a really fun Christmas game with the grandparents, called 'Who Can Make The Most Controversial Statement,' or 'Controversy Bingo'. Some gems so far include:

1. Cousin Emma is thinner than Anne. I mean, she looks thinner. (My Mum counteracted this one with "Emma has a bonier face.")

2. That word 'gay', once such a lovely, wholesome word meaning 'happy' or 'cheerful' is being tragically misused nowadays. What a pity.

3. Boys are better at singing than girls.

4. Anne's necklace is too long. Never mind what Topshop say, it could do with being about six inches shorter.

Once we reached the annual 'Global Warming doesn't exist' discussion, a Christmas tradition as normal in my house as the tree and presents, my Mother and I retired to the kitchen in order to be angry in private.

I expected the usual round of homophobia and misogyny, but the cousin Emma comparisons are going a bit far. I mean, we've already established that Emma, a genuinely lovely person, is more polite and hard-working than me, and that she has a perfect boyfriend and never expresses anger, but now thinner? Also, this is not the first time I have recieved fashion advice from my grandfather, who is 87, and, to be honest, not an expert in this field. If he was Giorgio Armani himself I would listen.

My parents and I coped with the afternoon by happily counterbalancing the game of 'Controversy Bingo' with a game of 'Has She Had a Facelift?,' in which you summon members of the family into the kitchen under the pretence of getting them to lay the table, and ask their opinion on the matter.

In the mean time, I adopt the following personality:

I think its important to get all the ill will and general wankerishness out of the way in time for Christmas Eve, when we will all be full of the joys of the festive season.

*I think they're in London for Christmas, they just talk about their villa in the South of France a lot.

Love Actually Isn't All Around

2011-12-06T06:39:00.001-08:00

For some reason Blogger wouldn't let me comment on Harry's excellent blog on being single at Christmas, so I am writing my own.

Every year, inevitably, I am single. This comes with questions from my grandmother along the lines of "Your cousin Emma has a lovely boyfriend. Do you have a boyfriend Annie?" I always say "no" while my parents deliberately change the subject. However I'm tempted by creative excuses, such as:

a) No Granny, I'm too busy having casual sex with total stangers.
b) No Granny, I am a lesbian.
c) Yes Granny, his name is Chad and he's my drug dealer.

A university friend of mine was recently accused by another friend of 'always being in a relationship.' She protested that this wasn't true, and she had actually been single for four months before her current relationship. It's difficult to avoid a bitter, sarcastic internal monologue going "Oh poor you. Four whole months, that must have been so hard." I try not to be bitter though, as some people just have relationships more frequently than others. I propose relationship communism, where love is divided equally amongst everyone. I could be the Chairman Mao of relationships.

As Harry said, however, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Statistically single people will not be single forever, and the general feeling of loneliness is due to songs like 'Lonely this Christmas.' Try to imagine a house that's not a home, try to imagine Christmas all alone.I like to think that refers to people who don't have families, rather than single people. After all, we all have people we love and who love us to spend Christmas with right?*

It's not like any of us would be spending actual Christmas day with a boyfriend or girlfriend anyway. It's just the build-up that's the lonely bit, particularly as for me that build-up takes place in Canterbury, a beautiful, historial little town full of twinkly lights and buskers singing 'All I Want For Christmas' outside old-fashioned sweet shops.

But it's important to remember (without meaning to sound cheesy, except, inevitably, this will sound cheesy) that we are not really alone. I'm not walking around Canterbury by myself, I'm with friends. We all have friends and family.** Think of the starving children in Africa. Do they know it's Christmas time at all?***

Well, I hope that put things in perspective. Remember, no matter how depressing the build up to Christmas can be, that's nothing compared to how catastrophically shit New Year is.

*As far as I'm aware, everyone who follows my blog has parents/guardians. If you don't, I'm really sorry.

**Again, I'm really sorry if you don't. I'll be your friend.

***If you're reading this, and you're a starving child in Africa, then it's Christmas btw.

Rebel Without A Cause

2011-11-12T17:02:00.000-08:00

Last week I had a dream that I was Lady Sybil from Downton Abbey. I was all set to abandon the aristocracy and run away with Branson, the politically radical Irish chauffeur, when, regrettably, I woke up.

Ever since then I've had a slight feeling of dissatisfaction. This is partly as I'm not actually about to elope with a fictional character portrayed by a man voted the sexiest in Ireland, and partly because it is very hard to rebel against anything nowadays. My views (men and women are equal, gay people should be able to get married, we should narrow the gap between the rich and the poor) were radical in 1912, but not so much now. This is, of course, a good thing; it shows that the world has generally improved.

Rebellion nowadays is a bit...lame. It's completely impossible to rebel against open-minded, liberal parents who I completely agree with on all major issues. I wouldn't want to. I like to think if I were actually a member of the Edwardian aristocracy I would be a bit radical, but you never can tell. If I wanted the disapproval of my parents, I would get an offensive tattoo, date someone from The Only Way is Essex, a programme I have mercifully never watched, and join the BNP.
Reading 'How To Be A Woman' by Caitlin Moran, hilarious and insightful though it may be, is not going to cut it. My mum wants to read it after me.

In the good ol' days they could rebel with style. Please take a moment to do a Wikipedia search for Jessica Mitford. She was, in my opinion, the coolest person of the 20th century. Her family were aristocrats, and they were all completely and delightfully mental. One of her sisters married Oswald Moseley, the head of the British Union of Fascists, another sister fell in love with Hitler and then killed herself when Britain declared war with Germany, while Jessica became a communist and ran away to join the Spanish Civil War at the age of nineteen. There's a picture of her (which I have in a book but can't find on the internet) as an old lady playing boggle with Maya Angelou. What a badass.

It seems the way to cause controversy nowadays is to go backwards. This can only be another sign that the world is improving. My cousin's fundamentalist, homophobic, majorly conservative views are met with far more concern from my grandparents than anything I believe ever could be.

Because I can't think of a sufficient way to finish this blog, here's a picture of Caitlin Moran with Sybil and Branson from Downton Abbey (Jessica Brown-Findlay and Allen Leech, because there is no point pretending that I don't always remember actor names)

Hugs Not Drugs

2011-11-03T05:37:00.000-07:00

I've had a chesty cough for the past week, which is weird because I rarely have a cough, and I don't have any other symptoms. Interestingly, this cough began on the day that the three smokers in my hallway realised that it's possible to smoke in the bedrooms without the smoke alarm going off.

I couldn't sleep at two this morning, and I heard voices outside my room, so I went to hang out with two smokers in one of their bedrooms, which gradually turned into a weed den. As the night of listening to slightly pretentious Indie music on YouTube progressed, my voice became huskier and huskier until I eventually had to leave. I'd taken my duvet with me so I had to change the cover at four in the morning, because it stank of tobacco. My cough has worsened today, almost certainly due to the passive inhalation of both tobacco and weed.

The cleaners are turning a blind eye, which, in a way, is good of them because they also turn a blind eye to our new kettle which hasn't been safety checked, but I kind of wish the smokers would return to just going outside. I understand that it's cold in November and it's an effort to walk, but they chose the habit.

The more I hang out with smokers the less I understand it. These people spend about a third of their weekly allowance of cigarettes, while I spend about one twenty-fifth of my weekly allowance on the Strepsils which I need because of their smoking habit. They have to find people to supply them with weed. They can't walk from our building to the building where we eat dinner without lighting up on the way. Some of them need weed to write essays. I for one, keep a bag of chocolate Crunchie rocks in my desk drawer, which are cheap and I don't need to block the bottom of the door with clothes to prevent the smell of the Crunchie rocks escaping and setting off the chocolate alarm.

Oh dear, another complainy blog. On the plus side, soon I'm going to buy a hat with the proceeds of not smoking.

The Nightclub Issue

2011-10-21T21:13:00.000-07:00

I feel I have blogged excessively over the past month despite in September thinking I had given up, but this issue persists too much not to write about. I briefly talked about hating nightclubs in Sydney where people go out with the sole intention of groping backpackers, but at least that was a cultural experience. At university, I still hate nightclubs. If they were all unexpectedly shut down tomorrow, I'd be wandering amidst all the protest riots saying "Oh well, never mind, why don't we just go to a nice pub?"

It's currently twenty past five in the morning and I had the lovely experience of fleeing the university nightclub at half one, by myself, in order to escape from Gropey 'Would you like to come back to my room' McInappropriatetouching. I was under the impression that I was generally feeling all right until I got to my room and cried out all the vodka. The thing is, it wasn't actually Gropey himself who upset me, it was the fact that I feel like I'm in the 0.5% of people who would not like to go back to his room because I don't actually know him. That's the problem with nightclubs, you don't actually know anyone except for the people you arrive with, because (mostly) everyone looks and dances exactly the same. Which is not to say that I never enjoy myself; if I'm with nice people and there's no expectation of groping and it's one of the rare occasions when I actually like the song then I have a good time. Except I had a better time last week, when I was in a slightly quieter bar and one of my friends suggested that we left at eleven, bought ice-cream, and sat in the corridor in our pyjamas watching Pulp Fiction.

Really, nightclubs combine a selection of the things that I hate: annoying, repetitive music which seems to be from an album called 'Songs to play in nightclubs about being in a nightclub,' people who make me feel like a Jane Austen character for thinking that emotional intimacy should, in an ideal world, come before physical intimacy, and pretending that I can dance.

I am, reassuringly, absolutely fine because just before escaping the nightclub I managed to find Catie and screamed in her ear (not because I'm rude, but because that's the only way to communicate) that I was leaving and the reason why, so no-one thinks I am a) passed out in a corner somewhere, or b) With Gropey McInappropriateTouching.

One day, hopefully, I will be thirty and nobody will ever expect me to go clubbing. That applies to both nightclubs and clubbing seals. Which is also bad.

Typical Quiet Night

2011-10-17T16:31:00.000-07:00

Two friends of mine (both girls) just came into my room in their underwear, completely drunk, stole both my winter and my summer dressing gowns and put on my lipstick, and ran upstairs to go and watch porn in the public computer room.

I, of course, chased after them in my pyjamas with a giant red lipstick print one of them had left on my cheek, apologising to the students in the computer room who were actually trying to do work.

Sometimes university is mental.

Universations

2011-10-10T11:37:00.000-07:00

I have had a lot of bizarre conversations recently; far too many to write down on a long word document for Zanny to turn into a book. (Just an example of the sort of thing which might happen.)

Just now, I had a conversation which flowed perfectly from horrific sexually transmitted disease urban myths to James Joyce. Immature to pretentious in about ten seconds, which, thinking about it, is what every conversation throughout sixth form was like as well.

Earlier today, in my seminar, we learnt about Iambic Tetrameter, which is when there are four beats in a line of poetry. I was wondering why it was called 'tetrameter' and not 'quatrameter' and then had an epiphany, which I shared with the girl next to me and we sat there with our minds blown for the next several minutes. Tetris is called tetris because there are four blocks which make up each of the shapes that fall down. It is possible that no-one reading this blog finds that quite as exciting as I do, but never mind.

On Friday, a peculiar third year boy approached me in a club/bar-type place and then, without really any build-up other than a brief discussion about how bad the music was (they were playing Love Shack), invited me on what might have been a date to the library. It pretty much went like this:

"This is purely hypothetical, but I hang out in the library a lot, so if you ever come to the library, maybe we could get coffee." Then he went away and unsubtly spoke to his friend about me, complete with mouthed words and enthusiastic pointing.

I was left both confused and marginally depressed. Confused because it was a hypothetical date to an absolutely enormous library at some point in the future. That could not be vaguer unless I was asked out on a metaphysical date to the universe at an unfixed point in the space-time continuum (which, by the way, would be awesome.) I was also marginally depressed because I love coffee and I'm quite fond of libraries, but the guy in question did not know that, so I get the impression that he says that to all the girls. I think I may have been targeted because I was exactly the same height as him.

In other news, my conservative, incredibly religious, homophobic cousin has recently announced his engagement to a woman from his conservative, incredibly religious, homophobic church and they're going to have conservative, incredibly religious, homophobic babies. That's the depressing future of my surname, which originally belonged to Polish Jews and is now going to belong to the Church of Scotland.

That's all folks. Tonight I am going to a 'pub quiz' with a due sense of dread because apparently here 'pub quiz' involves clothes-swapping and blowing up condoms.

The Cure For Illness

2011-10-03T16:44:00.000-07:00

I have freshers' flu. I kind of assumed that because freshers was the week before last I had miraculously escaped, but no such luck.

Aside from one seminar, I spent all of today drinking an endless cycle of tea, coffee and hot chocolate and attempting to read 'Oedipus the King' but having to have an hour-long nap every other page. Obviously I should have had an early night, but I couldn't sleep so I ended up walking to the other side of campus in my pyjamas with some drunk people, one of whom was just wearing knickers and a top. I feel like perhaps the fresh air did me good.

University is good so far.

Jet Lag

2011-08-14T20:18:00.000-07:00

It is 4.18am and I am in Saint Albans.

It is both weird and wonderful to be home. Both my brother and my bedroom look completely different. My parents made huge, vast improvements to my bedroom as a nice surprise, and my brother appears to have aged about five years.

The flight, incidentally, was horrible. I had a cold, as did everybody else on the flight, so it was 24 hours of everyone's germs circulating around the plane. However it got me home, and I managed to stay awake yesterday by setting up my new iPod and going to see the neighbours. I didn't get to sleep until midnight due to the cold, and then naturally woke up at 3.30 and was unable to get back to sleep*. I therefore cannot promise to be coherent later today. Talking to the neighbours yesterday I found myself forgetting how to string words together in order to make sentences.

Anyway, it is very weird to not be in Australia. All the Melbourne relatives gave me lovely cards and a bracelet and saying goodbye was very difficult. Australia was amazing. It was the best and weirdest six months of my life. I met a lot of lovely people and a lot of weirdoes. I mostly went to beautiful places but I went to a few horrible places as well. I can't quite believe it all actually happened.

*By 'unable to get back to sleep,' I mean desperate to a) go on the laptop, b) listen to new songs on new iPod and c) Be awake before Laura and Jane show up in about four and a half hours.

The Outback

2011-07-29T02:42:00.000-07:00

I have seen a lot of strange things in the Outback. Snakes, crocodiles, rock wallabies, a town entirely obsessed with UFOs, pubs in the middle of nowhere, canyons, gorges, Uluru, fainting Germans, asthma attacks, and lots and lots and lots of red dust.

Today my tour group and I were walking through a dry gorge when a crow said "Aaaaah" and our (female) tour guide said "That's what she said."

Later on today we stopped at the small town of Hermannsberg, and I was happily eating a Drumstick, which is the Australian equivalent of a Cornetto, when a load of Aboriginal children, probably between the ages of seven and ten, walked past me and yelled: "Want money! Want money! Want money!" I was so startled that I shook my head, hid behind a bin, and quietly pretended not to exist.

Gotta love the outback.

Completely Spoiler-free Review of Deathly Hallows Part 2 (and some stuff about Darwin)

2011-07-15T00:27:00.000-07:00

I would, ultimately, have preferred to see Deathly Hallows part 2 with someone who I could discuss the film with afterwards (no doubt incredibly loudly.) Also, I can't HELP but think that the atmosphere on release day in England; today, in fact, would be slightly better than the atmosphere in Perth at 9.35 in the morning on the inexplicably earlier release date. The cinema was only half full, due to all the major keenos going to the midnight release the night before, or going in the evening like normal people. However rather than catching the two buses and the train that the Western Australia travel planner recommended (for literally a half hour journey) I got a lift with very nice family friends with small babies who cannot go out in the evenings, so I'm incredibly grateful that I even got to the cinema.

Well, it was amazing. I did not cry until about two seconds before the end credits. I'm also not entirely sure I breathed properly until the end credits. When I left the cinema I looked in the mirror in the toilets and was relieved to see that I still looked as young as I had done before the film. I was kind of worried I might emerge as a proper grown-up with a mortgage and the ability to drive, or something. It was true to the book, and Maggie Smith was very much like a certain A Level English teacher who taught us Chaucer, and Alan Rickman did some serious hardcore acting.

It's also pretty good in 3D, although I was so absorbed in the storyline anyway that it would probably be good either way.

I swear one minute I was reading the first book when I was seven and suddenly all the films are over and I'm nineteen on Tuesday. That's another thing...I'm nineteen on Tuesday. And Tuesday happens sooner in Australia due to the time difference, so I am sort of nineteen before my twin brother, who was born two minutes earlier. Until I return to England and balance is restored to the universe, I will be sort of older than my older twin. Crazy.

I am in Darwin now, having two hours on the internet in an air-conditioned internet cafe because I cannot face the 31 degree heat again. And that is actually all I have to say about Darwin, other than why do we have to have our bags searched and walk through a security archway to get into the library, and why does the library only have reference books? I wasn't planning on stealing an encyclopedia.

The Wallet Incident

2011-07-05T23:22:00.000-07:00

Firstly, I recently had the single most terrifying moment of my life. More terrifying than leaving the resort on Fraser Island in the middle of the night to look for dingoes. More terrifying than firing a shotgun or riding a horse through a creek. More terrifying than the moment on the coach on the way back from the Woman in Black trip when the lights went off. You get the idea.

I left my wallet in a shop called 'Hot Dollar' in Sydney, where I bought a pen which could have turned out to have cost me all my money, all my Dad's money, my provisional driver's license, all my luggage (the locker reciept with the access code to my luggage was in the wallet) and basically everything except my passport, a copy of Percy Jackson and the Battle of the Labyrinth, and some orange tic tacs. I discovered this loss only an hour before my train was due to leave for Perth, a three day train journey across the outback. I was supposed to be at the station an hour before departure, but instead I was running frantically down George Street, knocking into pedestrians and panicking more than I have ever panicked.

As I dashed into Hot Dollar, I asked the check-out man and he said he had not seen a wallet. For a minute there, I was sure that in the next hour I would have to a) go to the hostel and get them to break into the locker with my luggage in it, then b) go to the bank and plead for a new card, and c) ring my cousin in Melbourne in tears and explain how I had lost everything, and finally d) ring my dad and explain that I had lost his emergency credit card and he must cancel it immediately. If by some miracle I then managed to actually get on the train, I would have to live on orange tic tacs for three days.

Luckily, my Canadian friend Brooke who accompanied me on the mad chase down George Street asked the next check-out man, who asked me to give a detailed description of the wallet "Black! With a clasp shaped like a padlock," before he handed it to me. Needless to say, I got on the train and within the next six hours or so my heart rate returned to normal.

"Phew" doesn't even come close.

What I Have Been Up To

2011-06-28T00:02:00.001-07:00

Following two exhausting weeks travelling up the East Coast with a couple of posh boys from Sussex/ Oxbridge and some dull Swiss Germans, I had two weeks of highly necessary collapsing and eating in Melbourne. Nothing counteracts horse riding, surfing, snorkelling, rifle-shooting, sailing, getting lost in Byron Bay and other things Anne Really Enjoyed But Is Not Likely To Take Up As A Hobby, like lying on a sofa drinking tea, eating chocolate and watching Grey's Anatomy.

A nine year old Venezuelan child genius who is a friend of my cousin in Melbourne has a crush on me. He drew me a picture (of some dragons), hugs me frequently and asked his mother if he could keep me. Rather tragically, this is by far the most flattering admirer I have had in Australia.

I've delayed my trip to Perth by a week (I'm going tomorrow) because my family friend there gave birth to her baby a week late, going into sudden labour and giving birth to a ten pound baby girl on the floor of her house, delivered by her husband with no assistance. Today I went shopping for baby clothes as a present, a weird and awkward experience because I felt like I could be arrested at any moment on suspicion of not actually having a baby.

My four year old cousin did a dance performance in the living room to the Peter, Paul and Mary version of 'Leaving on a Jet Plane.' It was very moving.

That is all really. Apart from the fact that I am not very good at lassooing goats. Or snorkelling, which just involves me breathing like Darth Vader under water until I decide that I have had enough of this nonsense and prefer to breathe through my nose.

If anyone ever gets the opportunity to go to Fraser Island, they should. It is beautiful. But beware of the dingoes.

Reasons Why I Shouldn't Go to Longreach

2011-05-23T15:53:00.001-07:00

Firstly, do you see what I did there?

1. There is nothing in Longreach. It is a ghost rural outback town. All I would do there would be go to the motel, have a shower and sleep. There is more to do in Brisbane, it being an actual place with actual people.

2. I got about two hours sleep in very cramped train conditions last night, next to an old man who sang in his sleep and in front of a woman who called her young teenage daughter a 'bitch.'

3. There is absolutely no guarantee that I would get a window seat.

4. In 24 hours there and 24 hours back, I could pop to St. Albans by plane, have dinner with my parents (for free!), probably see a lot of my friends, sleep in my own bed and get back to Australia in time for my tour from Sydney to Cairns. This thought makes me sad.

5. I get to see the outback on the Indian Pacific train from Sydney to Perth, which is three days and actually has proper reclining seats, unlike the train to Longreach which is basically exactly like a plane only with no films or television.

6. All the stuff I would have done on the train to Longreach (reading, daydreaming, writing an epic novel, god knows) I can do in Brisbane only with more leg room.

7. The Brisbane hostel is really nice, the weather is lovely, the food is expensive but yummy and I actually get to sleep in a bed, which is a nice bonus.

Also, I shouldn't go to the BAFTAs, because I have nothing to wear, I've got out of the habit of wearing make-up, and the camera would cut to me and I'd be asleep, headfirst, in the bangers and mash. I was so tired this morning that I accidentally left my passport at reception (they returned it to me safely) and then had a shower without a towel and had to dry myself on my new t-shirt.

More Books and Stuff

2011-05-21T01:40:00.000-07:00

I met young adult author Cassandra Clare today, although I feel that we did not form the in-depth, close personal relationship I definitely had with Morris Gleitzman and Garth Nix. This is because my shift was over, and I was no longer wearing my bright orange t-shirt with the word 'volunteer' on the back. I was just an ordinary member of the public getting my book signed and lining up for her talk, which meant I got to overhear some great things in the queue. For example:

"I went to the Melbourne festival last year, and Joss Whedon was there but I missed it. I missed Joss Whedon."

"Some people queue up for book signings for thirteen hours. Would you queue for thirteen hours to get your book signed by J. K. Rowling? I'd just follow her round the supermarket and steal her receipts."

(This is because in Australia when you buy things they give you the choice between putting in your pin number or signing. I reckon J. K. Rowling would choose pin, personally.)

And then, my personal favourite:

"She's so weird. She had to leave university early to go and paint her TARDIS."

Anyway, Cassandra Clare was funny and interesting and at the book signing me, her and an Australian girl had a very brief conversation about the fact that the world is supposed to end today and whether we're safe as it's already evening in Australia.

On Monday I have a twelve hour train journey to Brisbane, arriving at six o'clock in the morning, then twelve hours in Brisbane before a twenty-four hour train journey to Longreach, a night in Longreach and then a twenty-four hour journey back. Then one night in Brisbane and a twelve-hour train journey back to Sydney. This is completely mental, but luckily I have my iPod (which will inevitably run out of battery), a blank notebook, four pens, and five books that I have not yet read. Hopefully I won't be sitting next to someone weird, because the other day on the train I was next to a woman reading the Bible who tried to convert me to Christianity, and that would not be fun for twenty-four hours.

Backstage at a Rock Concert

2011-05-18T23:30:00.000-07:00

No, of course I didn't go backstage at a rock concert. I went backstage at the Sydney Writers' Festival Primary School event in Penrith while volunteering. More or less the same thing. The second I arrived at the Performance Centre where the event was being held I had a conversation with Morris Gleitzman the children's author without realising he was Morris Gleitzman the children's author until he mentioned that he would be signing his books.

My job was to usher primary schools into the venue along with another volunteer, and then write children's names on post-it notes so that the authors (Morris Gleitzman and Deborah Abela) would be able to spell their names correctly when signing autographs. This was mostly easy (Sophie, Sam) but then other times confusing (Mikhayla, Kyprian, the fact that nearly every Australian boy is called Lachlan.)

I was then officially allowed to leave, but I found out that Garth Nix was on next with another author called Sean Williams with whom he co-wrote a book. I hung around outside the stage door like a groupie until they came out, then said 'Garth Nix?' at both of them, not sure which was which. Then I got Garth Nix's autograph for April (I seem to remember her being a big fan of his books, it would be a bit awkward now if I was confusing her with someone else.) He gave me a couple of free signed bookmarks, then we had a conversation about the St. Albans Waterstones and the fact that nearly every Australian boy is called Lachlan.

Tragically, my stalkerdom meant that rather than leaving I was asked to do post-its for all the kids wanting their copies of Sabriel signed, but I didn't really mind, even when I had to run to the mall to buy extra post-it notes and even though I spent the entire day wearing a bright orange t-shirt. I hope whatever shift I am doing tomorrow involves being backstage with authors, although I hope I don't make an idiot of myself in front of Markus Zusak.

Nightclubs

2011-05-05T18:16:00.000-07:00

I have been spending a lot of time in the bookshop. I have also been spending a lot of time in the bar, which every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night transforms into a nightclub.

Now, don't get me wrong, I like socialising. I love getting a little bit dressed up to go out in St Albans with some people who I've known forever, where we have a few drinks and sit on the sofas in Lloyds. Clubbing, however, is not really my favourite thing in the world.

I couldn't really make less effort here short of going out in my pyjamas. Whenever I go out I'm wearing a t-shirt, jeans and flip flops with no make-up. Occasionally I might really go to town and actually brush my hair, but not very often. Due to budget, I only buy the five dollar cocktails, and the most I've had in one night is three. I have been out a lot over the past three weeks, because the bar is next door and it's a good way to meet people. It was fun at first after a couple of months of conservation work, but I'm beginning to get a little bit tired of it.

For example, I have heard that song 'Price Tag' by Jessie J so much that I think I know all the words. And that song where Rihanna talks about how much chains and whips excite her, and 'Firework' by Katy Perry, which is actually alright, and 'On the Floor' by Beyonce, and that really annoying one that's just a beat and some words which make no sense. Normally I have absolutely no idea about any music unless it is either on my iPod or played in the background of a film I just watched.

Not only have I listened to a lot of music which I don't really like, I've also met a lot of weirdoes. Or, possibly not even weirdoes, just the kind of people that really, really enjoy nightclubs. Yesterday, with some trepidation, I went to the bar by myself for the first time in the hope that I would make friends there. I did, but then a guy put his hand on my thigh before introducing himself. I don't know about anyone else, but I prefer to say 'Hi, I'm Anne, who are you?" before I grope people. (That makes it sound like I frequently grope people. I really, really don't.)

It is impossible to cross the dance floor to go to the bathroom without being felt up a little bit and having beer spilled all over my shoes. Last night I refused to let someone buy me a drink in case he spiked it with anything (I did let a nineteen year old geography student from Birmingham buy me a drink last week when he bought everyone a round, but that was a little different.) While he was off buying a drink for himself, I was sitting alone, and a guy who was probably in his mid-twenties came up, pointed at me, pointed at himself, and then made dancing gestures followed by kissing gestures. Devastatingly romantic though this undoubtedly was, I mimed 'sorry but no.' And that's another thing, no-one can hear you say no, you just have to mouth it while making pushing-away gestures like you're a traffic controller.

Now I hate to sound like a boring person, but recently I have had beer force poured down my throat, watched a guy swallow a tampon whole (yes, really), been offered sex in the lift, and had two people making out against me while I try and maintain a straight-faced conversation with someone about the Sydney Powerhouse Museum of Science and Design.

I think I might just go to the bookshop.

Australian Dictionary

2011-04-29T18:54:00.000-07:00

Here are some new words I have learnt:

Tim Tams: A bit like Penguin biscuits, only not packaged individually.

Lamingtons: Coconut and chocolate sponge cakes.

Pashing: Snogging

Pash Rash: Rash around mouth from too much pashing. I don't know if this is a widely used term or just said by one girl from Perth who someone was telling me about.

Thongs: Flip-flops. This results in a lot of confusing and awkward conversations. I also learnt that in New Zealand flip-flops are called 'Jandals', or 'Japanese Sandals.'

Lift: Fizzy lemonade soft drink.

Solo: Other fizzy lemonade soft drink. I can't really taste the difference.

Monotreme: Mammals which lay eggs. There are only two, the platypus and the echidna.

Diprotodon: Giant extinct Australian marsupial. Basically a wombat the size of a hippopotamus. I want one as a pet.

Singlet: Vest top

Capsicum: Pepper, as in red pepper or green pepper. This is, for some reason, a really fun word to use. "Would you like some capsicum on your pizza?"

Tomato Sauce: I asked for ketchup yesterday and the guy was like "You mean tomato sauce?"

Latte: Does not in any way resemble a latte. Basically a regular coffee with a tiny amount of milk.

Esky: Cool box for storing food. I prefer this word to 'cool box.'

Ute: Utility vehicle or pick-up truck.

According to my Lonely Planet guide and Wikipedia, 'Bludger' is slang for a lazy person. However I've not heard anyone use this and probably if I called someone a bludger they'd think I was talking about Quidditch.

And you thought Catie was doing all the language learning in Austria.

CVA

2011-04-18T19:01:00.000-07:00

So, I have just finished six weeks of Conservation Volunteers Australia. I will begin with...

Week 1: Upon my arrival in North Geelong, one of the most zombie-apocalypse type places on Earth, I made friends with a nineteen year old girl from Liverpool who did the same A-Levels as me, and likes the same TV shows. This was unbelievably lucky. A group of us went with our team leader, Mr. Darcy (his actual name, he insisted we call him Michael but whatever) to Bimbi Park Caravan site down the Great Ocean Road, which is full of koalas. We dug a trail through the rainforest, which was amazing; dressed like a combination of Indiana Jones and Bob the Builder. I spent a lot of time being bitten by mosquitoes and pulling leeches from my socks.

Week 2: Just me and Ellie from Liverpool in the CVA house that week, which meant a lot of eating food and watching television. We went to the Serendip wildlife sanctuary to rabbit-proof a fence with a load of old men. That was the week when I encountered a wolf spider and learnt that I have absolutely no upper-body strength.

Week 3: A group of us went to Camperdown, to stay in another caravan site in little cabins. After weeding various gardens in the area, we went sightseeing and saw the Twelve Apostles. My favourite day that week was when we went to do some planting at a local secondary school, and got a tour of the school by an apparently legendary retired teacher, who had a garden planted in the school in his honour.

Week 4: Possibly the best week of CVA. Went to Hamilton, a small town in the middle of nowhere, to work on the farm of what were probably the world's richest Australian farmers. They had an amazing farmhouse, and let us stay one night in their incredible holiday home in the Grampians, which had two enormous 'cottages' and their own private lake. We broke all CVA rules by going fishing on the lake and drinking alcohol. We had Andrew as our team leader this time, and he was a bit like Stephen Fry in the sense that he knew lots about lots of different things.

Week 5: Stayed in Hamilton, saying goodbye to Ellie-from-Liverpool who finished CVA. Spent the week with a twenty-nine year old Spanish vet called Yolanda who seemed to eat only fruit and vegetables. We went with our new team leader to rake various playgrounds around Hamilton and spread mulch. I spent most of the time in Hamilton library, to the point where two days before I was due to leave they actually offered me library membership.

Week 6: Yolanda left, and two nineteen-year-old guys came to the Hamilton house, one from Wales and the other from Belgium. This was possibly the most fun I had in the CVA house because they were completely insane and managed to break the clock and the fridge by playing sport indoors. One night we played Murder in the Dark. Pierre from Belgium ate more than I have ever seen a human being eat. The work was weeding around the wetlands in the rain, which was a bit cold and miserable. I was pretty happy to leave Hamilton because there wasn't much to do as everything seemed to close on the weekends.

Phew. Now I'm in Sydney, staying in a youth hostel, which is turning out to be very, very cool even though the only friends I've made so far are some guys from LA who left this morning. I won a free t-shirt hermit crab racing, a sentence I never thought I'd be able to say. I've realised that until the 7th May when I start volunteering at the Sydney Writer's Festival I have absolutely no responsibilities other than not to spend all of my money. Little scary but good.

Teaser Trailer

2011-04-04T23:01:00.000-07:00

I have 9 minutes remaining on this library computer, so I sadly don't have time to do an in-depth blog post right now.

However, COMING SOON: the weekend after next, I will be writing a lengthy blog post about CVA (Conservation Volunteers Australia) and everything I have been up to. Stay tuned.

Da da da da, da da da da, there's nothing like Austraaaalia

2011-02-25T02:00:00.001-08:00

Hello people who are 11 hours in the past. Please insert witty Doctor Who/ Back To The Future reference in here. I couldn't think of one witty enough.

So. I am in Australia, typing very quietly, because I am babysitting, and one of them just woke the other up and I had to go and get milk and read bedtime stories half way through the blog post.

Things I have done so far that are not normally part of my daily routine:

1. Eaten about five small meals a day rather than two large ones.
2. Eaten lychees.
3. Worn brown canvas trousers (with flip flops, and I spent the whole day thinking "I saw Cady Haron wearing army pants and flip flops, so I wore army pants and flip flops.")
4. Not worn any make-up at all in nearly two weeks despite going places every day
5. Fainted in the middle of a Melbourne law firm for no apparent reason, alarming an Australian woman called Margaret.
6. Been visited in the night by a three year old who then fell asleep in the bed next to me, and held on to me like a teddy bear for three hours.
7. Seen a huntsman spider.
8. Attended a primary school barbecue.
9. Travelled around on a tram by myself.
10. Eaten takeaway pizza with three lesbians and two gay men.

I also saw some bats. Many bats. Black bats.

Next Thursday I am off Conservation Volunteering. Little bit scared but I rang the people and they seem to have a plan for what I'm doing, which is subject to change, but at least they know who I am and won't be confused when I show up.

It's the middle of summer here, which is weird. And they do have cheddar cheese, that was a myth I heard.

All I can think of for now, better sneak away before the kids wake up. Not sure when I'll next blog, but I'll be on facebook/email-able until Friday (or, Thursday, in UK time)

I love everyone in St. Albans (with the exception of people I don't know/ like, but if you know who I am then I probably love you or at least like you a bit.)

Leaving on a Jet Plane

2011-02-12T09:38:00.000-08:00

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go. The rest of the song isn't really relevant, because I do know when I'll be back again, I don't intend to bring a wedding ring home, and 'so lonesome I could die' is a slight exaggeration.

The vast majority of my goodbyes are already done. I said bye to Jack last week, Laura and Jane came round for a very enjoyable nine and a half hours of Indiana Jones and compulsive eating yesterday, and today I have been making the rounds of the neighbours. It's been a bit of a whirlwind of packing, skyping, hugging and phone calls.

I can't quite believe I'm going to Australia tomorrow. I'm really going to miss everyone, and I am dreading the moment tomorrow when I say goodbye to my parents at security, but I'm also, obviously, excited. Feeling a little bit like this:

But also a little bit like it's my first day of school tomorrow, but a really big, far away school with kangaroos.

I will keep in touch as much as I possibly can, whenever I have internet access. Oh my God I am going to Australia tomorrow. Except not right now; right now I am going to go and eat dinner with my parents.

Goodbye Everyone And I Love You All. See you in August (although I'll blog lots before then obviously).

Valentine's Day

2011-02-09T12:21:00.000-08:00

As some people already know, due to an anomaly in the space-time continuum I am not going to have Valentine's Day this year. I fly at around midday (note to self: actually look up flight time) on February 13th, arriving in Australia twenty four hours later. This is midday on February 14th in UK time, but Australia is 12 hours ahead, so it will already be midnight, and Valentine's Day will be over.

This of course poses an enormous problem. Where will my hordes of secret admirers send their cards/flowers/chocolate/large sums of money? I mean, I usually spend every 14th of February sorting through thousands of letters from my adoring fans. Last year they actually had to close the Post Office because every single letter and package that came through was addressed to me. If I'm on a plane travelling very fast I don't know how this will work. I forsee Royal Mail strikes, police riots and general chaos.

...or, alternately, it will actually be the best Valentine's Day I have ever had. I usually celebrate Valentine's Day about as much as I celebrate Ramadan, but I get to go and see my boyfriend, Australia, although he has a bad case of Cyclone Yasi at the moment. And hey, maybe they'll show Rom Coms on the plane.

The Triplet

2011-02-08T06:06:00.000-08:00

This happened in my house today:

Me: Do I have a secret triplet I don’t know about?

Mum: When I first saw the scan I thought you might be triplets.

Me: What would you have named the triplet? It would have to be a four-letter one syllable word.

Mum: Oh dear.

Me: Not a swear word! Not like Jack, Anne and Fuck.

Cue my mother and I laughing hysterically on the landing for about five minutes, while she's putting her laundry into a basket and I'm struggling to hold onto my laptop, a pile of clean clothes and a bank statement.

Poor Fuck, he gets so forgotten amongst his siblings. I like to think that nobody pays attention to him because I'm the girl and Jack's the disabled boy and he's just 'the other one.' You know that short guy you saw wandering around school with dark hair and a very forgettable face? Yeah, that was him. He lives in our garden shed because he's painfully shy of strangers, and only joins us for meals once a year, on our birthday.

It's true, I swear. There were two whole minutes unaccounted for between Jack and I being born; plenty of time for another one.

Oh Score.

2011-02-02T10:16:00.000-08:00

New blog post, because the one I wrote instead of this one was about nothing, and I just found out something pretty cool.

Deathly Hallows Part 2 release date in UK? 15th July

Deathly Hallows Part 2 release date in Australia? 14th July.*

Right. That is it. I am really looking forward to this film, and I don't think I can sit around in the UK waiting for a whole extra day. There is only one thing for it; I will have to go to Australia. I know it sounds crazy, but it's the final Harry Potter film after all, and I can't bear the thought of those Australians seeing it 24 hours ahead. (And Australia is already 12 hours ahead, which makes my brain hurt, but I think that means they actually see it even earlier. I think. Hmm, I don't know.)

I think I'll go next Sunday, just to make sure I get a really good seat, because you can never arrive at the cinema too early. That'll give me five months to buy popcorn and possibly even have a little browse around the cinema foyer if I'm lucky. I could of course go to France, where the release date is 13th July, but unfortunately I would need to become completely fluent in the language. Conveniently, they speak English in Australia, although for all I know the film could be dubbed with Hugh Jackman, the little boy from Round The Twist, and Nicole Kidman as Harry, Ron and Hermione respectively, and with Geoffrey Rush as Dumbledore, and Tim Minchin as Voldemort.

Better pack a bag or something.

* There is no possible logical explanation for the Australian release date being earlier than the UK one other than that Warner Bros know about me, and love me very much.

Sleepless In St. Albans

2011-01-25T15:05:00.001-08:00

I woke up at 3.30am this morning, after having a dream that I was saying goodbye to people at the airport before going to Australia. These people were my Mum (fair enough, she will be there in real life), Laura, Jane and, for some odd reason, Catie's Dad. I assume he must have driven Laura and Jane to Heathrow or something. Anyway, everyone except Catie's Dad was crying in a way I don't actually anticipate will happen in real life, apart from with my mum, who cries if she sees an ambulance, and I awoke with the dawning realisation that in 19 days I am going to Australia for six months.

Whenever I think about it, I struggle to get my head around it. I'm majorly excited to the point where I get a little teary with excitement if I go onto YouTube and watch the 'There's Nothing Like Australia' Australian tourist board advert. And I'm scared to the point where I get nostalgic for stupid things like Morrisons and the coffee machine and the traffic lights by the station. (Seriously, I'm going to be nearly as far away from those traffic lights as it's possible to get without going into Space. Or to New Zealand.)

So I am completely and utterly wide awake. But, importantly, Australia is not that far, because they still speak the same language, have the same book covers, say 'pissed off', and, as I remembered earlier, created the 90's TV show 'Round The Twist.' So, you know, I always have that as a topic of conversation to fall back on. In periods of awkward silence I can just sing the theme tune.

Maybe Tim Minchin will be there and I can pay him to be my lifecoach. Or the other way round, because I have a pretty tight budget.

Lol Skins

2011-01-19T12:13:00.001-08:00

Recently, I have been watching Skins. I never watched the first four series when they were on TV, so I thought, given all the hype, I might give it a go.

I have to say, I am relieved that somebody finally thought to make a documentary of my years in Sixth Form. I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong impression that I spent the past two years of my life attending lessons, going to town with friends, watching TV and reading the odd book. I mean, remember that time when I brought that huge bottle of vodka into school, drank it in a supply cupboard and then threw up on a teacher? And when the same teacher had sex with my friend on the school trip? Not to mention the time when a squatter locked me out of my own house while I was naked and then some drug dealers smashed up my clarinet.

I'm joking about that last one of course. I don't play the clarinet.

Anyway, this particular quote (said in the middle of a lesson in front of everyone) basically sums up my teenage years:

"I got off with Tony on the Russian trip. I only did it because I fell out with Anwar when he said he hated gays, so I got upset, and Tony said he'd give me head, to cheer me up, you know. It didn't mean anything- I lost my head, and then he gave me head, and then we got deported from Russia."

Let's be honest, we've all been there. Every. Bloody. School. Trip.

All sarcasm aside, it's actually a brilliantly entertaining programme. My only small qualm with the plot is what kind of crazy school has a Female Staff Shower Room which teenage boys can easily wander into? They need to get the PTA onto that.

Spiders

2011-01-10T14:19:00.000-08:00

I've just spent half an hour looking at deadly Australian spiders on Wikipedia. Because now would be a very good time to stop being the person who does not venture into the garden shed for two years after seeing a massive spider through the window, or gets a neighbour to help set free another huge spider trapped under a bowl. Time to de-sensitize myself.

Sadly, I cannot help it that spiders look like the personification of evil. That's a Black House Spider. Wikipedia casually remarks that they're widely distributed throughout Australia, kind of implying that they're a bit like dishwashers and no home is really complete without one. Fortunately they're not considered dangerous or anything, but their bites are excruciatingly painful. Well, that's alright then. It's Latin name is Badumna Insignis, which sounds a bit like a satanic cult.

Then there's the Redback spider. The image of this would not upload, probably because they are so evil that they don't show up on blogs. Apparently they are one of the few arachnids to engage in sexual cannibalism. They also look a little bit like supervillains. See, I try not to be afraid of spiders, but it's very hard not to be a little bit trembly and scared at the thought of sexual cannibalism.

Then there's the huntsman spider which is, to put it politely, fucking enormous. Wikipedia is full of reassuring information, as huntsman spiders are apparently not deadly, and you'll be ok in about two days, but if you get bitten by a 'Badge Huntsman' you might suffer nausea, headache, vomiting, and heart palpitations.

And of course, these: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Australian_venomous_funnel-web_spider

Some of the deadliest spiders in the world, found all around suburban Sydney. Their hobbies include killing children, showing up in your friendly local swimming pool, and killing some more children. First there's pain, then goosebumps, sweating, tingling, twitching, salivation, eye-watering, increased heart rate, nausea, vomiting, shortness of breath, confusion, writhing, muscle spasm, unconsciousness, then death. Sounds like a typical afternoon.

Luckily there's an antivenom, so as long as you seek immediate medical attention you actually just have a couple of days in hospital and don't die. Damn, I am not going to sleep tonight. The most important thing I have to remember is always check your shoes for deadly spiders before putting them on. In the meantime, LOOK A KOALA:

Serious Business

2010-12-29T12:22:00.001-08:00

It's the 29th of December. The day after the day after the day after Boxing Day. Frankly, I am surprised, and my surprise is gradually becoming concern. The Doctor Who Christmas Special was the day before the day before...I'm just confusing myself...it was a while ago, anyway. And obviously I am not going to blog about it, for three reasons:

1. I am not what anybody would call an expert on Doctor Who.
2. Other people I know who have blogs are.
3. I thought it was 'very good.' That would be two word-long blog post.

So obviously, as I am not an expert, I am also not weeping into my pillowcase every night because I do not know what Laura and Jane thought of it. It is just that the disturbing lack of undoubtedly excellent analysis combined with attractive pictures of Matt Smith suggests that more sinister forces are at work.

Which leads to the main point of this blog post: Did Laura and Jane...you know....die?

Has there been a horrific accident I don't know about? A Doctor Who related suicide pact? Did they enjoy the Christmas special so much that they chose to commit suicide because nothing else in the mortal realm could ever compare to it? Or did they hate it and die of the disappointment?

Or perhaps this whole 'huge fan' thing was a lie. They're now sitting in their respective houses laughing and saying: "Haha, just a TV show, haha. Who's Amy Pond?" No, that can't be true. God, I hope they're still alive.

So, Laura and Jane, fill out this survey.

"I am...

a) Dead
b) Still too emotional to type
c) Frozen in a box and only able to come out on Christmas Eve (do you see what I did there?)
d) Sorry? What? I didn't watch it, sorry. "

Lazy Christmas

2010-12-25T11:06:00.000-08:00

It is gone 7pm, and I have not opened all of my presents yet, or watched the Doctor Who Christmas Special. Crazy, I know, but in my family, we finish stockings at 9.30, then there's a long break until eleven when everyone eats breakfast and gets dressed, and then we open presents until about 12.15 when my parents and granny go to prepare the turkey. We eat Christmas lunch at 2.00, and by the time we have finished and the grandparents have had naps and the washing up is done, it is 5.30 and I realise I have been entertaining Jack for two hours. At this point I yell 'Are we going to open any more presents before Doctor Who?' and then by the time the grandparents have properly awoken it is quarter to six, and I say 'Fine, I'll watch it on iPlayer.'

Then we opened presents for another hour until Jack got fed up because he wanted to eat tea. I didn't mind because I recieved tartan button down pyjamas which I wanted to instantly change into, and wow they are comfy. Maybe before midnight we might actually finish opening presents. Who knows?

We used to make presents last until Boxing Day back in days of old. I literally don't know how every year the entire Christmas lunch process lasts for over five hours. In other amusing-moments-from-my-Christmas, my grandfather (who loves bow ties) said that he hoped the Doctor wearing them would make them more commercially available, and, at eight o'clock this morning, my Dad decided it would be a fun idea to lock me outside in the snow in my pyjamas.

Ooh, we're going to open the last of the presents now apparently. Excellent.

Too Much Fun

2010-12-21T06:18:00.001-08:00

In our attic, there is a box that we get out around this time every year. In this magical box are eight electronic, singing Christmas toys which belong to my brother.

There is a snowman that sings 'Frosty the Snowman', a snowman that duets 'Winter Wonderland' with a smaller snowman, a Christmas Tree which sings a song called 'I'm the happiest Christmas tree,' a deformed looking penguin that sings a Christmas song no-one has ever heard of, a penguin on skis that sings 'Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow,' a reindeer that sings 'Jingle Bells,' a Father Christmas that sings 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town' and a teddy bear dressed as the Queen which sings 'One Wishes One a Merry Christmas.'

I spent the best part of my morning setting them all off at the same time and allowing the chaos to ensue. It is madness in this house. Sheer madness.

Fa La La La La La La La La

2010-12-18T12:54:00.000-08:00

In the spirit of Laura's Christmassy wintry cheery blogpost, here are some particularly festive moments from my day.

1. Half of the staff at work had to leave at midday due to the snow, leaving those of us who live in St. Albans to attempt to run a cafe, but I didn't mind because the customers were very sympathetic and full of the joy of Christmas (except for one of the virgers, but oh well.)

2. I accidentally squirted milk directly into my eye in front of some customers. A little elderly lady said "Oh dear, you just baptised yourself" which made me laugh.

3. A little toddler named Edwin kept getting in my way. His parents were saying: "No Edwin, out of the way Edwin," but I didn't mind because his name was Edwin.

4. Steve from work and his boyfriend Clive gave everyone a box of licquor chocolates each. This was especially nice as I have never even met Clive, and the chocolates are delicious.

5. The Abbey looked beautiful in the snow as I left at 4.30 (we closed early.)

6. Once I got to my road, I decided to run down it while listening to Fairytale of New York. I would recommend this to everyone.

Old Age

2010-12-15T12:24:00.001-08:00

Ironically, after blogging about still being a child at heart and enjoying Christmas pantomimes, I now appear to be aging at an alarming rate.

I am surrounded by old people every day that I work, because at a cafe in a cathedral the majority of the customers are, well, ancient. There are obviously exceptions, like their grandchildren, choirboys and the occasional young person who possibly wandered in by mistake. However, some customers come in so regularly that I have named them (in my head) "Crazy Old Guy", "Smelly Old Guy," "Old Guy With The Adorable Face," and "Old Lady Who Looks Like A Hammerhead Shark." And now I am worrying that aging might be catching. That, or these people do not go to the cafe because they are old; they are old because they go to the cafe.

Perhaps there is something in the coffee.

I found a grey hair.

An actual grey hair, just hanging there next to my cheek and my ear, amid all the other black ones.

I showed it to my Mum, and she said "maybe it's blonde." After all, my brother was born blond, and his hair has got darker ever since and is now dark brown. The same could be happening to me in reverse. But I compared it to one of my Mum's actual grey hairs, and it truly was grey.

This is only the beginning. Soon I will have wrinkles. And backpain (actually, I already have this today). Soon I will call everyone 'dear.'

A grey hair. This is ridiculous. I read books from the 'Young Adult' section. I have a cuddly toy lion. I know all the lyrics to 'The Teddy Bear's Picnic." I pulled it out. It is not coming back.

Oh no you didn't!

2010-12-10T13:53:00.000-08:00

Oh yes I did.

Jack won four tickets for the whole family to go and see the panto of Peter Pan tonight at the Alban Arena. I know I am eighteen, and that I have finished school, have a job, and am technically a grown up, but I really, really enjoyed it.

Tomorrow at work almost everyone is going to be talking about what a fun night they had and how drunk they got etc., and I can pretty much guarantee that none of them had as good a night as I did. There was music, exciting special effects, a camp Smee, adorable lost boys and topical jokes. I saw Rolo's husband in the queue for chocolate ice-cream during the interval, and my brother laughed very loudly during any quiet moment, as expected.

I laughed, I booed, I shouted 'It's behind you!' and I clapped my hands because I believe in fairies.* We were sitting in front of a huge crowd of cub scouts, and during a version of 'For Good' from Wicked with Neverland-related lyrics (don't ask) one of them yelled "Don't get all emotional!" It was funny. Or maybe you had to be there, I don't know. And Larry Lamb from Gavin and Stacey was excellent as Captain James T. Hook.

Anyway, now I can go back to being a very serious grown up who does not sing along to a version of 'Another One Bites The Dust' sung by pirates. Expect the next blog post to be about the current economic climate, or my views on the student protests, or mortgages. In the mean time, 'I always want to be a little boy** and to have fun.'

*Shut up. Of course fairies are real.

**Girl.

Got Me Thinking

2010-12-05T14:24:00.000-08:00

Both Laura and Jane's excellent blog posts, as well as Friday's episode of The Graham Norton Show, got me thinking more about this whole fame business (or, you know, showbusiness.)

On The Graham Norton Show, they always seem to pick guests that you would never expect to see together, like David Boreanaz and Sharon Osbourne, or Cynthia Nixon from 'Sex and the City' and David Mitchell, and the contrast is usually what makes the programme entertaining.

Except occasionally they will have a guest who is unbelievably famous, and is billed as the main attraction, and with very few exceptions I will never care about this person as much as the other, more minor celebrities on the show. For example, on Friday the main guest was Justin Bieber, and the entire audience screamed whenever his name was mentioned, but his presence almost put me off watching it. The only reason I did watch it was because of Jack Black and Miranda Hart. At one point someone from the audience screamed 'I love you!' after Justin Bieber had spoken, and Miranda Hart said 'Thank you.' Obviously she was joking, but I kind of wish the audience member had actually been speaking to her, or at least to Jack Black.

I think to properly admire someone famous you have to identify with them in some way, so on those kind of programmes where they have Justin Bieber next to Miranda Hart or Katie Price next to Jo Brand I don't understand why anybody would tune in for the former rather than the latter.

On a semi-unrelated and not-at-all profound note, I think Sally Philips who plays Tilly in 'Miranda' (I sat down, I gave it another go, I laughed out loud) is aging in reverse. She looks younger than she did in 'Bridget Jones's Diary.' So, now I think there is a fifth category of celebrity, which is 'Famous People Who Age Backwards.' These are surely the most dangerous.

My Family and Other Shenanigans

2010-11-28T09:22:00.000-08:00

Everyone's favourite eccentric religious cafe was closed today for some kind of event, so I got to spend a Sunday at home with my family, who, after four weeks of Sundays without me, were behaving more weirdly than normal.

As it is November, my Mum decided that we had to eat the Christmas pudding which my Aunt and Uncle gave us last Christmas, presumably to make room for a new one this year. She poured too much rum on it, so it burned for a very long time before we actually got to eat it. I never eat Christmas pudding on actual Christmas day, so I didn't really mind eating some now. After we'd finished, we got talking about toys Jack and I had when we were little, and Dad reminded me about a teddy bear we had that my parents had named 'Orifice' because apparently it was shaped like a polo mint, with a massive hole in the middle and a bear's head attatched.

Aside from family stuff, yesterday at work I broke my first glass (at work, not ever) and at one point thought I had broken the coffee machine, but it turned out that probably wasn't me, as I am not the first person to accidentally try and make a latte when the milk fridge is empty.

2010-11-17T05:28:00.000-08:00

Oh dear. I have a stomach bug, and no title for this blog.

It is 13.28 and I have been lying in bed all morning and not eating anything, as I spent a significant portion of last night either throwing up, trying not to throw up or listening to the Deathly Hallows audio CD to distract me from throwing up. What endless fun. Which must, of course, have stopped by at least Thursday morning as I need to work on Saturday and apparently in the catering industry you can't go into work until forty-eight hours since your last vomit.

I can't believe I just used the word 'vomit' in a blog post. I'm so sorry. Not that it's a very rude swear word or a racially offensive term or anything, it's just a little bit gross. Although luckily I have been actual throwing up-free for 12 hours and counting.

Really Weird

2010-11-01T03:48:00.000-07:00

Edited post because I have some interesting facts courtesy of the Lonely Planet Guide to Australia.

In Queensland, there is a place called Laura. It's a sleepy settlement that 'comes alive in June of odd-numbered years with the three-day Laura Aboriginal Dance Festival,' and includes somewhere called the Little Laura River. I was just thinking "I will have to go there and take a picture of the road sign" when I saw that on the very next page of the travel guide is information about Queensland's largest fresh water river, the Jardine river. It describes the 'impenetrable country of Jardine River National Park.' Apparently it's named after John Jardine and his sons Frank and Aleck, who were selected to supervise the area in 1864. Frank Jardine married a Samoan princess (Jane I found your real parents.)

I was a little freaked out. So, question for Laura and Jane, did you secretly go to Queensland and name places after yourselves?

Quest and Woolloomooloo

2010-10-28T07:16:00.000-07:00

I am back from Thursday Quest one, which was a rehearsal for all the independent travel I'll be doing in Australia.

I can navigate the underground, overground (wombling free) etc. all fine and smoothly. Unfortunately to actually get myself around actual London I rely heavily on print-outs from Google maps, but I successfully found both the National Gallery and the National Theatre, and had a browse around. Unfortunately once I had looked around both of them I did not have the map for how to get to anywhere else. But I had a good time in Foyle's bookshop, and reading some of Jo Brand's autobiography in the National Theatre bookshop (avoiding, of course, the books which give hideous drama exam flashbacks.)

Apparently, my Dad has somewhere 'cracking' (his word, definitely not mine) lined up for next week. That will either mean really fun or impossible to get to. However I am now getting really excited about Australia, particularly as my Lonely Planet Australia book has a map of everywhere so I will always find something to do and how to get to it. And because there is a place in Sydney called 'Woolloomooloo,' which is the only place name in the world with 8 letter 'o's.

Fish Pie.

2010-10-22T05:54:00.001-07:00

My Mum is cooking fish pie from 'The Dairy Book of Family Cookery'. There is no escape. I like fish, I usually like pie, but whose idea was it to just put bits of fish in mashed potato? I can smell it from here, and later I have to eat it.

I discussed with Mum how 'The Dairy Book of Family Cookery' sounds overly wholesome and would be better suited if Jack and I were called Janet and Roger, and if I was any good at needlework. We have the internet and iPods; we should be using 'The Lady Gaga Book of Family Cookery.'

Except that is not yet really a book.

Stephen

2010-10-13T09:23:00.000-07:00

I am reading The Fry Chronicles, which is Stephen Fry's second autobiography. I'm only on page 42, but I've flicked ahead and read some good parts (page 100 made me literally weep with laughter.) Then I put the book down to watch TV, and during an advert break heard Stephen Fry's voice on the direct line adverts. The TV was blaring next to the Blackadder box set, which was still sitting by the television from when Laura and I watched some of it last Thursday.

After I'd finished watching TV, I went upstairs to my room. To get to my room I need to walk up my stairs, where Stephen Fry's book The Liar, which belongs to my parents, is still sitting on the landing from when I took it to Corfu and never got round to actually reading it. Once in my room, I put The Fry Chronicles back on my bedside table. Sitting on a tiny chest of drawers next to my bedside table are assorted pebbles, some jewellry, and Stephen Fry in America.

I carried my laptop up from the study and plugged it in at my desk, using the same socket I use for my CD player. I almost never ever use my CD player, except on the rare occasions when I can't sleep and feel like listening to some Harry Potter, read by, you guessed it, Stephen Fry. And then I have to stop because he's at the bit with all the death, and that does not make for peaceful sleeping.

If I turn around and look over my left shoulder, he's looking at me from the front of his book. If I extended my arm and pressed play on the CD player, I would hear his voice. At Zanny's house there was a joke that I had brought Hugh Laurie along as my date and he was just outside parking the car. Well, if I went to the front door right now and Stephen Fry was there, perhaps holding a packet of chocolate digestives as I have run out, I would not be all that surprised.

If by some hideous chance Stephen Fry just googled his own name and, after reading about 5000 million other results (because he's not, you know, busy or anything), stumbled across this, then I am not stalking you Mr. Fry, you appear to be stalking me.

Breakfast and Religion

2010-10-11T11:12:00.000-07:00

The Breakfast Club are unable to give me a regular shift for the time being, which means, while I am still technically an employee, I will be looking into alternative possibilities. I am going into Cafe at the Abbey to 'have a chat' with them on Thursday about a potential job. I hope I do not need to be religious to serve food to passing worshippers.

This is a little bit sad, because I was just getting the hang of the Breakfast Club, and was almost able to tell all the blonde, ponytailed staff members apart. Not that I will not be working there anymore (double negative ahoy), just possibly once in a blue moon.

Obviously Cafe at the Abbey is not exactly like being an Amish farm hand or a Baptist priest, but it just so happens that both breakfast and religion are almost entirely non-existent in my regular day to day life. They're things that other people do, like sport and buying lottery tickets.

Oh well, come February I'm taking myself out of the St. Albans job scene to go and help endangered dingoes in exchange for food and board, or something along those lines.

Crazy Gets Crazier

2010-10-02T06:35:00.000-07:00

At 1.30 this morning, I couldn't sleep. I heard people shouting in the street but, not realising that one of them was Kathryn next door, was too scared to go and look.

At 10.30am, as I was still in pyjamas and dressing gown making coffee, Sara from other next door knocked on the door, holding part of our wing mirror, and explaining that our car had been vandalised, along with about seven others down the street, and that I should probably not tell my parents yet so I don't worry them.

I went to go see Kathryn next door, and she said that she had been up at 1.30, seen teenage boys running down the street kicking cars, and had gone outside to yell at them. Seeing them kick our wing mirror so it dangled off the car, she chased them down the street and then called the police, who said that each car owner had to report the crime individually. She asked if I could call on my parents' behalf, being eighteen. They said yes.

So I went on a hunt for the car details and found them in an upstairs filing cabinet, then rang the police from Kathryn's house (not 999, the local police station.) That part was pretty cool. Reporting the crime and giving them the car details, my Dad's details (it's in his name) and my details and everything. And now Kevin next door is trying to fix my laptop (I'm on the home computer) in exchange for me providing part of their lunch, as they did not have any bread.

I am not telling my parents until a couple of days before they come home, because I want them to know before they actually see the trashed wing mirror.

Part of the wing mirror is on the dining table. It's bizarre.

Sneaking Suspicion

2010-09-30T10:51:00.000-07:00

My MSN is not working; it crashes my laptop every time I try and use it. Everything else is fine, just being kind of slow to turn on.

The house phones are not working, they say they're engaged, but I've hung them all up and they're not.

I had to organise my Australia travel insurance while my parents are in Spain. My Dad supplied me with his credit card details- but his credit card is not working so I paid it from my savings account.

There is only one possible explanation- my parents are being arrested in Spain (probably for murder or drug trafficking or something) and so the government have hacked into my laptop in case I use MSN to communicate with the criminal underworld, cut off my Dad's credit card and discommunicated all our house phones.

This is probably not true, but then my parents were recent victims of credit card fraud, and all their old cards were cut off. And now, apparently, a new card.

Communication is a little tricky. but my mobile is working fine (although rapidly running out of credit due to lack of house phone, but my parents have given me permission to use some food money on credit), as is facebook, and yahoo. And my parents instructed me to get the neighbours to ring BT tomorrow.

WHY DOES NOTHING WORK? WHY?

At least I have the main computer if I need MSN, and the TV, and the microwave. But this is still a little bit like the beginning of a horror movie. Going to Company of Teens in 15 mins will make me slightly less freaked out.

Nostalgia

2010-09-21T14:47:00.000-07:00

It is just beginning to dawn on me that I am sort of a grown-up now.

I mean, I am going to be alone in the house for 2 weeks, I have driven a car (admittedly not without a lot of prompting,) I now have a job, although saying that makes me feel anxious that I'll turn up tomorrow and the other staff will be like 'ha, just kidding. Go home.' I have stopped growing. I can legally purchase alcohol. I do my own laundry and go to the bank by myself and tick the box saying 'I am over 18' to watch the Inbetweeners on 4od without having to lie.

This is weird, because it feels like about three and a half minutes ago that I was upset in Resistant Materials because Zia said in a patronising way 'Anne, have you ever even been out with a boy?' and then laughed. And now that just seems kind of stupid because that shouldn't really have worried me much at thirteen. I found a diary that I wrote when I was thirteen to fourteen (and might have to burn) which made me realise that it was a lot longer ago than it actually feels like. All the REALLY SHOCKING gossip from 2006 or whatever is actually really, really mundane.

I am kind of hoping that when I get back from Australia I will actually feel a bit more like a real grown-up, because I will have wrestled kangaroos and fried shrimps or whatever it is people do in Australia.

WooHoo

2010-09-17T06:29:00.000-07:00

I got a job!

At The Breakfast Club, where five kids from different social groups sit in Saturday detention and learn things about themselves along the way.

2010-09-05T13:13:00.000-07:00

I am officially going to Australia from the 13th February to the 14th August 2011.

Wow.

I would like to thank my father and his 380,000 spare air miles and my relatives who live in Australia and left a message on my Dad's voicemail saying 'whenever and for as long as she likes.'

Wow.

No Room at the Inn

2010-09-03T09:54:00.000-07:00

So my Mum and I left to go to Kent at seven o'clock in the morning. We ran around, talking quickly, drinking coffee and making pro/con lists Gilmore-style. And then sat in a four-hour traffic jam on the way back, because today is just one of those days.

Here were the pros of deferring, which are major and numerous:

1. Time to learn to drive
2. Time to learn to cook
3. Guaranteed on-campus accommodation next year
4. Off-campus: distance and difficulty
5. This one is stupid, but I would be 21 for the third year in the US, and therefore the legal drinking age.
6. July birthday, so I'm young in the year anyway
7. Lack of first year Halls experience off-campus
8. Waiting for something good rather than settling for mediocre
9. Able to change to preferred module, as I only got my second choice this year
10. Difficulty acquiring internet access off-campus
11. Unpredictability of small group of roomies, can't visit other uni friends on campus easily
12. I am mentally prepared for Halls, not a house.
13. It is not like second year when you choose who you live with among your best friends and have lived away from home before.

The only major con was not getting to go this year, but I know that I made the right decision for me. I plan to do the aforementioned continuing to learn to drive and cook, start looking for jobs and talk to my relatives in Australia about possibly seeing them.

I am happy with my choice but still kind of disappointed generally, as Kent keep building me up buttercup baby and then letting me down and messing me around. I really need something good to happen at some point soon.

How To Make Friends Quickly

2010-09-02T09:13:00.000-07:00

What an afternoon.

I have not officially got anywhere to live next year, and have three options.

1. Defer university, which ensures that I get on-campus accommodation for 2011, and find something to do for a year.

2. Hastily find equally desperate Kent first years, do a group e-mail and become very quick BFFs and potential roommates with some friendly-seeming strangers looking for a place to live.

3. Buy a tent. Live in it. Become known as the Campus Hobo.

I have gone for option number 2, and have sent more e-mails to strangers today than in my entire life, and my stress levels are set to Maximum.

Post

2010-08-26T03:33:00.000-07:00

I pre-ordered Mockingjay (the third Hunger Games book) ages back. It came out in the UK yesterday, but my order was not dispatched until today, which means it will arrive tomorrow at the earliest.

And I went into Waterstones yesterday and saw it, there, on the shelf, mocking me (no pun intended.) I could have bought it, except I have ordered it. I had a £10 book token and everything. It had no blurb, so I read the first sentence. My Mum, who I was with as we were making a trip to the bank, said 'put it down and walk away.' So I did.

I am also waiting with bated breath for news on accommodation, which I am likely to get later than most of the people on the Kent facebook page because it was my insurance. But Mockingjay is more important, because Catching Fire ended on a massive cliffhanger.

UPDATE:

I just had the following exchange with my mother:

Mum: Anne! Come downstairs!

Me: Coming!

Mum: You have a letter from UCAS!

Me: seeing Mockingjay on the table Mockingjay!

Mum: Yes, but UCAS letter.

Me: Yes, but Mockingjay.

The UCAS letter was boring and did not really say much. I am off to read. And will have to put Paper Towns on hold for a while.

Well

2010-08-19T04:08:00.001-07:00

I am happy, I think.

I got ABCC (the B in A-Level French last year, the A in English)

Kent wanted ABC.
UEA wanted BBB.

Even though technically as it averages out on points UEA ought to have accepted ABCC, they didn't because they are silly and really need to sort out all 500 million of their phone lines. If I had got a lower grade in English but a higher grade in History or Drama, they would have accepted me, so I am therefore warming to the idea of Kent very rapidly as they wanted my A in English, which makes a lot of sense for an English and American Literature course.

Also, it's the only course on UCAS which is American and English Literature with creative writing and a year abroad, which is more than I could have asked for really. And Alan Davies went there, and Sarah Waters of lesbian historical fiction fame, David Mitchell (the Cloud Atlas author, not the comedian), Howard Read, Ellie Goulding and some people I haven't heard of. Good old wikipedia, with its information like the gender ration (55 women to every 45 men, apparently.) Of course, I have absolutely no memory of the university at all, as the open day was at my worst point of glandular fever, but oh well.

So I'm off to Canterbury, like the Pardoner in 'The Pardoner's Tale' which I wrote about in the English exam.

And most importantly, more so than anything else in this blogpost, I got a Proudfoot hug. What a legend. She should be famous.

Anne got tipsy and sat by a campfire

2010-08-13T14:35:00.000-07:00

After last week's somewhat unecessary blog post, I will return to actually talking about recent events in my life.

So I returned with Alex and her very lovely family to Dorset. To be honest while I was looking forward to it there were elements of doubt that it could possibly be as good as last year, and a fear that I might spend the entire time on the beach desperately hunting for a specific 'brock' as we might refer to it.

However the first difference was that there was torrential rain on the first day, which actually was a good thing as I never thought I could have so much fun sitting in a tent wearing my Mum's old waterproof and eating constantly. And then there was the sitting around the campfire, wearing my staple look of two hoodies (but one was a leaver's hoodie this time) and socks with flip flops, complete with the crazy Edward Scissorhands hair and bright red face. Good times.

And then there was returning to the lovely town of Wahey-mouth and eating fish and chips by the sea. Although the wind was a lot colder than last year I did get to swim in the sea once, which was lovely. I do not know if I found the brock; it was impossible to recognise by daytime and at night, lets be honest, one patch of grassy, crumbly earth is much the same as another, but Alex and I did get to act a bit idiotically by sitting in various different bits above the beach and trying to judge our position based on the lights on the island of Portland, and then just giggling and jumping in mud.

Last night I stayed up late to watch the meteor shower (very amazing) and then this morning Alex decided to leave the tent to go for a walk at 5 o' clock. After a few minutes I panicked in case she had left to either throw up or commit suicide (I was half asleep) and found her after about 10 minutes on a hill. So we went down to the beach to watch the sunrise, which was slightly mental but incredibly pretty. We did go back to the tent at quarter to six, the whole thing seeming bizarre as every other night we had slept until about eight and we have no idea what made us both wake up simultaenously at 5ish. The fact that this morning I was doing that and now I'm at home on the internet is slightly surreal.

Also, over the course of the holiday Alex got high and had sex with a woman, but don't mention it to her because she'll probably want to tell you in her own time.

I Want One

2010-08-04T11:55:00.001-07:00

Now, I have never had a pet, and I do not necessarily consider myself to be an animal person. I mean, I like animals, and I will happily talk in a stupid voice to anybody else's pet cat, but I'm definitely not the biggest animal lover I know by any means. Since I was very little I haven't liked books with animal protaganists that much (obviously Disney films like The Lion King are an exception) and I gave up nagging my parents for a pet years and years ago.

But ever since stumbling across the picture I want a teeny tiny little bunny rabbit. My Mum said that rabbits are actually not particularly friendly pets, but look at it's little face and tiny little ears. All the world's good emotion must surely be contained inside that rabbit. I just want to tuck it into its little rabbit bed at night and sing it a lullaby. I want to give it a completely incongruous name like Brett or Gus or Bruce. In fact, yes, Bruce. And then I'll make it a little plaque with 'Bruce' on it.

Actually getting a little bit tearful right now. I should probably eat some chocolate or something.

Justifying Wasting Time

2010-07-24T07:43:00.001-07:00

So I've been spending a lot of time recently watching documentaries about people. I'm not sure if I am wasting my time or whether I am actually learning a lot about the world and preparing myself for leaving home and meeting people who are not my family or from this town.

Naturally, I still have standards regarding what documentaries I watch. I've watched all the BBC documentaries that look interesting under the 'family and relationships' and 'lifestyle' sections and have moved on, kind of warily to Channel 4. Obviously this channel is pretty infamous when it comes to stuff like 'the girl born without skin' and 'lets watch people have extreme surgery' but those I avoid like the plague, preferring people's lives and personalities to the inner workings of their digestive systems etc.

Recently, I've watched World's Strictest Parents, The Grandparent Diaries, Underage and Pregnant and My Child's Big Fat Birthday Party on BBC iPlayer, and I like to feel as if I have learnt something. The most shocking of these, in a way, was the birthday party one, because the mother was really excited about the party, whereas her 8-year-old son didn't want all of the fuss and thought that she had gone over the top spending £20,000 on the huge cowboy party when all he really wanted to do was play with his friends in the garden. I actually watched this the day after my birthday party and felt incredibly relieved that my parents had never tried to get me a unicorn, like the 12-year-old girl whose parents stuck a pointy cone on a horse for her party. They could have just gotten her a rhino.

And now I've watched two episodes of How The Other Half Live on Channel 4, guaranteed to make anyone weep uncontrollably at the sight of the little girl from the council estate hugging the little girl from the Sussex mansion and crying because they bought her a new bed. Or the look on the face of the boy who finally got his own bedroom thanks to the wealthy family from Kent.

There, I'm learning about poverty and family life and people and the issues facing society today. My life is like a P.S.H.E lesson without the condoms on bananas. This is clearly what happens to me when there is no school.

End Credits

2010-07-20T06:04:00.000-07:00

My birthday was amazing, with thanks to...(in no particular order, other than with Jack obviously being first)

Jack the Twin
Mum
Dad
The Edinburgh Grandparents
The Welsh Grandparents who sent money
The Cousins who apparently sent money which has not arrived
The Assorted Aunts and Uncles
Alex
Laura
Jane
Elise
Zanny
Katie
Jess (who was there, but kept a low profile all evening)
The people who we ran into afterwards in Cross Keys
Kathryn next door who left a cake on the doorstep under a glass.
And everyone who wished me a happy birthday on Facebook.

Now, I've driven around corners while extremely tired I have no responsibilities for the rest of the day.

Street Party

2010-07-18T08:34:00.000-07:00

Today my street had a party, and it was amazing.

I drank wine with nectarines in it out of a plastic Bug's Life cup.
Mya and I lost spectacularly to Leah and Kate at table football, and table tennis.
I helped a woman I had never spoken to before empty little stones out of a sandpit.
My grandparents made some friends down the road.
And I ended up not joining in the boys vs. girls waterfight because it turned out to be about 20 boys, all with weapons, and about 5 unarmed girls.

All in all a very good last official day of childhood, seeing as I spent most of my childhood doing crazy stuff with people in the street.

And it has taken me 2 episodes of Buffy, 3 episodes of Jane Eyre, 2 episodes of Bones and 1 episode of How I Met Your Mother, and an hour this morning to make my brother's birthday card and I am still not finished.

My Life Is Now Complete

2010-07-17T07:27:00.000-07:00

For ages I have randomly had the words 'Gentlemen! This is a house of God!' in my head, and been unable to remember where the line comes from.

Well, just now I was making a birthday card for my brother while watching the 2006 BBC Jane Eyre and the vicar just said 'Gentlemen! This is a place of God!' (I misquoted) after Mr. Rochester tried to beat up his brother-in-law.

I yelled 'Yes, finally!' and now I can move on with my life.

Things I Learnt in Corfu

2010-07-13T03:41:00.000-07:00

1. J'aime le breeze.

2. I don't actually burn that much so long as I apply regular suncream.

3. However mosquitoes are quite fond of me.

4. Never underestimate the power of the British plumbing system.

5. Zeus is an appropriate substitute for modern religion.

6. Alex knows a lot of facts about science. Well, I knew that before Corfu.

7. I might possibly have a recurrance of the old chesty-spluttery glandular fever cough.

8. I am incredibly excited about the book Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins coming out on 25th August. I got over my booktile dysfunction by skimming the final chapter of Catching Fire on the train on the way back and still retaining information.

9. I have very nice friends. Before Corfu I loathed and despised them all with a burning hatred, but now my opinion has changed after actually spending some time with them.

10. Lounging by or in the pool is the best part of any holiday.

Also, today I had to get up very early, both from coughing and because I had to go and have my first driving lesson. It was probably better than I expected, far less scary and the driving instructor was lovely although it was quite complicated. It turns out that I am short enough to have to drive sitting on a cushion, which the instructor keeps on the back seat for 'little people.' Therfore I am driving at approximately the same elevation as fairies and all seven dwarves, with the seat pushed right forward.

And now I can finally relax.

The Prom Post

2010-07-01T07:43:00.000-07:00

I once, when I was about thirteen, bought a book of short stories at an airport called Prom Nights From Hell, for god knows what reason.

I never really read the book after the first story, in which a girl realised her friend's prom date was the reincarnation of Dracula, and skimming through, it just gets worse. In the next story, a girl wished to a fortune-teller that the boy she liked would ask her to prom, and then the boy spray painted 'Will you go to the prom with me?' on top of a watertower and fell and died.

In the next one, a girl is killed by the guy she goes out with to make her ex jealous. And then he turns out to have been the Grim Reaper himself. I genuinely could not work out what the next one was about, except it seems to include talking dolls and the immortal line "Drink a can of man!" The last one is by Stephenie Meyer in all her sparkly-vampire glory, and appears to be about some angels and demons who happen to be at the same random hell prom.

Needless to say, I am happy to report that NONE OF THESE THINGS HAPPENED last night. That I am aware of anyway. I had a very good time, despite the foot pain and ear ringing and lack of alcohol.

Also, sorry for spoiling a book that I'm sure everyone was desperate to read.

Summer

2010-06-24T02:31:00.001-07:00

A lot of people dislike Summer a bit, which I can understand. Walking in blistering heat in the middle of the afternoon and feeling disgusting is not pleasant, and particularly when you have dark hair which gets so ridiculously hot that if I sat on a roof I could be used as a solar panel.

However, all that aside, I love Summer. I also don't know if in English we capitalise seasons. Ah, according to Yahoo! Answers, we DO NOT.

So I love summer, because I love not having to wear layers and layers of clothing and still being cold, and I love the freedom of the summer holidays and I like the way that even when I'm in school (never again) the fact that it's warm outside seems to make lessons more relaxed.

And I love having ice lollies and ice-cream, and drinking Ribena out of a pint glass, and being barefoot in the garden, and the shade under the tree and how Clarence Park is suddenly full of really happy people. Like one time a few summers ago when there was one couple that were just asleep in the middle of a field for about an hour, although it's occuring to me that they may have been dead.

I love deciding which books are summery and which books aren't, which is why two summers ago I ended up reading 'Notes from a Small Island' and 'Small Island,' because they have the word 'Island' in the title, even though neither of them are particularly summery. And I like summer evenings when it's cooled down but you don't feel like sleeping because you've been lazy all day. Most of all I love not being entirely sure what day it is (it's Thursday 24th June 2010, I just checked) and it not really mattering what day it is because it's not like I have homework or anything to hand in next week.

So thank you Mr. Sun. I am glad the hay fever tablets are working.

(The person in the picture is definitely me. Nothing from Google. Just me, on a typical Thursday morning.)

Rhubarb

2010-06-19T12:23:00.001-07:00

My exams are all done, which means that my life is far less stressful now, as whenever I am doing anything which could normally be seen as procrastinating or wasting time, there is genuinally nothing more productive I could be doing.

However, my family are involved in a conspiracy to make home as stressful as possible now exams are over. Today at lunch I poured half a pint of double cream all over the floor by mistake, which I thought would be the most dramatic part of the day, but I was wrong.

At dinner, my Granny and my Mum got into an argument about whether or not my Mum liked rhubarb (she doesn't, but my Granny said that she did, and it escalated.) It culminated with my Mum storming out into the garden and slamming the door, and my Grandad getting mildly angry with my Granny for the first time in at least 25 years.

Importantly, it was not about the rhubarb really but about Emily/Lorelai Gilmore-type tensions, many of which tend to involve food. There were so many vast helpings of tension cake that I jokingly asked if maybe I could go upstairs to start revising for first-year Uni exams, because it's never too early to start.

I have actually come upstairs to watch Doctor Who, which I missed due to the awkward mealtime. Not particularly looking forward to Sunday Lunch, unless I find some way of not being there.

Short Post

2010-06-15T11:44:00.000-07:00

All I am saying about English is that I took a bit of a gamble which may have been a bad idea or a good one, and am hereafter changing my name to Risky McPardoner'sTale.

As for History, bring it on. I am equipped with the knowledge that Khrushchev had a burly physique.

Things I Have Learnt...

2010-06-10T13:37:00.000-07:00

...From Drama

1. Never under any circumstances should anyone be named 'Abigail.' If your name is Abigail and for some reason you are reading my blog, I am sorry, this is an in-joke.

2. It's not the week before the performance unless at least half of the group has cried.

3. Tension cake is to be served at room temperature, and should be cut with great care and very sharp knives.

4. It's not tension cake if it has Twelfth Night quotes written on it, then it's just cake.

5. The Drama teachers' personalities should correspond as closely as possible with Lysistrata, Calonice and Lampito.

6. The most important parts of rehearsals are when people of very different heights are tied up and made to fight one another, and singing 'My Heart Will Go On' at inappropriate moments.

7. Flocking is the most important part of Drama ever. There is going to be a feature film, starring Jude Law as the Leader of the Flock.

8. The bell signalling the start of Drama is called a 'knell.' This is an official term.

9. You must always listen to each other physically.

10. 'Probably Nicola and the Occasional Room-mate' is an ideal name for a band.

11. There is no such thing as an ordinary assembly. There is only a Frantic Assembly.

12. The main character of Pool (No Water) is not called 'Paul O'Water.'

13. It is physically impossible to eat 45 Wispas in 24 hours, so don't even try.

14. "She's here!"

15. And lastly, but most importantly, Shakespeare had an earring. This is really the only fact that will be necessary.

Weddings and Stuff

2010-06-05T04:24:00.000-07:00

My brother should attend every wedding ever. I think it's very important for someone other than the Bride and Groom to make their voice heard during the "I do"s. Because otherwise, frankly, it's a little dull to hear "Do you, Namie McNameName, take this woman, Namella Name-ingson, to be your lawful wedded wife?" without any occasional shout in the background.

However if they had actually been called that I suppose it would have been quite entertaining anyway.

My parents therefore spent the entire service going 'shhh Jack' while I tried very hard not to giggle. I was mentally urging him to shout during the "Does anyone know of any lawful impediment why this marriage cannot take place?" bit, but, alas, he didn't. However it is completely inevitable that at some wedding in the future he will interrupt at that point, and if I get married it could quite possibly be mine.

A good day was had by all I think. Except people kept coming up to me and asking me about revision, and my Mum was like "She's revising really well" and my Dad was like "No she's not, she's at a wedding." Oh well.

Upcoming

2010-06-01T15:02:00.000-07:00

I know Russian History better than I thought I did, and I'm feeling OK about English and the Twelfth Night part of the Drama exam, however I have stared blankly at the Lysistrata practice questions and flicked through my script and drawn up a complete Lysistrata mental blank.

Today I got to the revision stage where I thought it might be productive to re-read The Pardoner's Tale, as it's quite short and I wouldn't have the time to necessarily re-read the others. Unfortunately it has to be read aloud, and sounds pretty ridiculous. That was a fun and highly unecessary half hour.

I'm going to a wedding on Friday. Not much can be said about that other than it will be interesting. This is the third wedding I'll have been to in my life and they have all been a little bit bizarre and unusual. The lesbian wedding my family was invited to but couldn't attend as it was in Canada and we had work/ school was actually the most normal.

It is amazing the number of TV shows I am suddenly really interested in now that I'm on Study Leave. I didn't go to bed until really late last night because I was watching Child of our Time on iplayer.

Also, it is the FIRST day of Summer and it was so cold in the house today I wore a jumper and a hoodie.

476 words...

2010-05-24T05:27:00.000-07:00

...of my Twelfth Night notes done.

It is very hot outside, which tends to make me sleepy, so for the past two days I have been dozing off while trying to revise.

And this morning my mother made way too much coffee, because my uncle was visiting and she thought he would drink more than he actually did. So now, as an alternative to feeling sleepy, I have had rather a lot of coffee to drink.

And now I can't do my Twelfth Night notes anymore becuase I keep getting distracted by the urge to walk briskly or dance around listening to music. And I did not even get very much sleep last night due to the bizarre screaming outside my window. It was either mating hedgehogs, cats being strangled or the agonised cries of the monster I created the other night out of dead body parts. I must make a mental note to stop ransacking the local graveyard.

Oh dear, I should really stop typing now.

Long Time, No Post

2010-05-22T03:03:00.000-07:00

Not much has been occuring. Study Leave is dull; I have done some revision. Decided to revise English and do my Twelfth Night notes this week and do History next week.

I stayed up to three in the morning re-reading the second half of Stephen Fry's autobiography, so now I am exhausted and have wasted most of the morning sleeping. I also have hay fever. In between all this revision and procrastination, the television continues to be very interesting. Ashes to Ashes and Outnumbered may have ended, but there's still Doctor Who, Glee, How I Met Your Mother and the embarrassing guilty-pleasure programmes that I care about less than the ones listed above.

However, important to mention that Britain clearly does not currently have very much talent. Or maybe all the talent went to the BBC to be in Over the Rainbow, who knows.

Also, Stephen Fry quoted Macbeth in his autobiography (And pity, like a naked newborn babe) so I could technically argue that I stayed up until three doing hardcore revision. And I may need to get myself some antihistamine if this hay fever shenanigans continues.

Lies

2010-05-15T05:36:00.000-07:00

My Dad is irritating me by pretending that he watched Ashes to Ashes last night (he didn't.)
He keeps saying things like, 'Oh, Ashes to Ashes was very good last night wasn't it?' and 'Fancy that, a man named Gene.'

And I'm like 'Shut up Dad, go away.'

It's like when he pretends that he used to watch How I Met Your Mother when he was at school (obviously not possible) or when he told me that he frequently runs into Jim Broadbent on the train to work (not true either.)

School's Nearly Out For Ever

2010-05-12T09:26:00.000-07:00

Apart from revision sessions, exams, clearance and results obviously. And I plan to buy myself a tent and live for the remainder of my days on the back playground, roasting marshmallows on a small campfire and becoming known as the strange middle-aged woman who speaks in riddles.

I'll offer cryptic words of wisdom to passing students, like the witches in Macbeth, and maybe one day a student will try and befriend me and it will be made into an inspirational documentary. Perhaps in lessons the teachers will tell legends about me to the students, beginning with: 'They says she was a pupil here once, many years ago, shortly after the dawning of the new millennium...'

Or, you know, I'll go and be a normal person, but a normal person who after fourteen years of education gets confused by how 'ninety seconds' and 'one minute thirty' are the same thing.

Political Party

2010-05-07T06:01:00.000-07:00

Having people over for a small political party was great; eventually at three in the morning we gave up on waiting for an actual result and decided to catch about four hours sleep.

Due to temporarily being possessed by a superhero, I got up at 7.20 and did the washing up. I'm glad that I did, as otherwise I would have to be doing it right about now. Katie very kindly drove me and Alex to school, where I tried (and failed) to sleep in the common room before Drama.

I also have to say, that despite the fact that we are technically going back for a revision session next week, the last English lesson with one of our teachers (do I name teachers in blogs? Probably not) was quite emotional. It also contained the most amazing Gothic-themed cake I have ever seen. Which was also the only Gothic-themed cake I have ever seen.

So shattered I am going to stop now because I don't trust my typing ability.

Talking to Strangers

2010-05-01T09:10:00.001-07:00

This afternoon I went to Morrison's to buy ready meals for my 'home alone while parents go on random holiday in Chichester' stint at the end of the week. As usual I was listening to music and daydreaming on the way there, so after taking my headphones out in the actual shop I was still a little zoned out and only paying attention to choosing which ready meals didn't look gross (very few.)

When I got to the check out, still in my usual walking alone dazed state, I was a little unprepared for the conversation with the very friendly check out man, who after I said hello to him, asked me the following questions:

1. How are you?
2. Have you had a nice day?
3. What have you been up to this week?
4. Are you quite shy? You've gone bright red.
5. Do you have a bag? (Ok, this one was about the shopping)
6. Are you thinking of Uni?
7. Which one?

To which the answers were:

1. Fine thanks. You?
2. Er...yes.
3. Erm, not much.
4. Er...yes.
5. Yeah, I've got one thanks.
6. Yes.
7. UEA.

The Uni thing started because he said 'good luck doing whatever you're doing,' and I said 'Erm, A-Levels' becuase I was feeling like a mean, cold person for going red as opposed to volunteering any information. It occured to me that I either need to:

a) get better at talking to strangers, or
b) learn to use the self check-out.

Good News

2010-04-29T01:34:00.001-07:00

I am not currently in form time, or, you know, working because that is what study leave and Sunday afternoons are for.

And the sun is shining outside and the History mock is over. There will be cold pizza for lunch and I don't have to go to school for over an hour. Good times.

Food and Work

2010-04-24T13:20:00.000-07:00

Jess's Alice in Wonderland party was fantastic, and I have now eaten so much food that I cannot imagine eating ever again (or, at least, until tomorrow lunchtime.)

It was merry, whimsical, nostalgic and hilarious.

Despite the teacher being stuck in Hong Kong due to the cloud of volcanic ash, I have a reasonably sudden History mock on Monday which I have done practically no revision for, as well as a Lysistrata mock, which, in light of the recent surprise History mock, I have also done very little revision for. Not to mention the English essay that I wrote half of on Friday and cannot be bothered to finish because all the Gothic questions are virtually the same.

Inevitably I will end up failing at revision in order to watch the Glee Repeat (apparently it was repeated on Friday rather than Sunday, who knew?) and anything else I can procrastinate with on iplayer. But now I must watch Doctor Who, despite the post-eating-too-much exhaustion.

Irony

2010-04-19T15:00:00.000-07:00

No longer feeling nostalgic about school now I actually have to go back tomorrow.
It'll mean getting dressed at some time that isn't at least half past eleven, which means I should probably be going to sleep right now.

Glee was excellent tonight. TV is amazing at the moment, in general. It's almost as if broadcasters think 'Hey, let's think of a fun way to distract kids from those exams they have to revise for.'

Oh well, I'm sure some of it is educational.

Wow Time

2010-04-15T14:52:00.001-07:00

This will hopefully be a more interesting blog post than the last one, which was just me venting my general history frustration.

Jane said something in her vlog which I had not realised: just over 3 weeks of school left until study leave. This is not a panic about exams, as I know when the exams are, this is just...the end of school. Actual lessons. In classrooms, with teachers and fellow pupils and whiteboards and all the typical school things.

One minute you're five and getting upset in a P.E lesson because you can't do a forward roll, and the next minute you're seventeen and...getting upset in a Drama lesson because you can't do a dive forward roll off three people. That is cyclical structure if ever I saw it.

And what about school bells? Breaktime? Packed lunches? Being surrounded by people in blazers who should me shorter than me but aren't? I swear sometime last week I was doing maths and worrying about puberty, and now I have friends that can drive, and my Mum asked me yesterday if I was planning on taking my cuddly toy lion to university. (Yes)

My parents never got detentions in their entire time at secondary school, and nor have I, except for ones for the whole class. I also managed to get through the whole of science up until year eleven without once touching a Bunsen burner. I feel like I should, at some point during the next three weeks, light a Bunsen burner and get a detention.

I also regret never once skipping P.E, apart from one time when I left early and sat in the changing rooms for twenty minutes, but I don't think that counts.

Wow, reasonably profound final stretch of school blog post. Expect something similar and also slightly different at the actual end where I highlight some particular favourite memories, like one of those channel 4 countdowns but with more like 5 rather than 100.

Argh.

2010-04-15T06:48:00.001-07:00

I thought I would edit my History coursework today.

I read it, in my head, and it was so dull that I realised on page three that I was not taking any of it in. So I read it aloud, in a monotone, and by the end of page one I realised that I was still not taking any of it in.

So I lay on my bed listening to music, and then went to look at it again. I added a bit more to one sentence then realised that I was now over the word limit. It is without a doubt the most boring word document in existence. I could type the word 'bored' repeatedly for a page and it would be more interesting than this particular piece of coursework.

Argh.

Life

2010-04-13T06:59:00.000-07:00

It's a day of sunshine, picnics in the park (except I left early to get a lift with Katie) and buying ridiculously upbeat cheerful music on itunes.

I am now for no apparent reason listening to feisty lady music. Which I have decided is now an actual genre. And 'There She Goes' which is one of those songs that you can always imagine is about you while listening to it even though it's clearly about drugs.

I have come home and realised that I am at a bit of the loss for what to do for the remainder of the afternoon except watch television and possibly do some Macbeth quote gathering. I have rented the film 'Almost Famous' to watch, which I hadn't heard of until I watched that Movie Mistakes thing. It's about a 15 year old rock journalist and has Zooey Deschanel in it at some point. It might be awful, or it might be good.

Ooh, according to wikipedia Rotten Tomatoes gave it an 88, so I have high hopes now.

The Television.

2010-04-09T02:20:00.000-07:00

You can cancel the assassination plans, recall the armed ninjas and cross me off of your hit lists, because yesterday I finally watched Doctor Who.

It was excellent. I intend to continue to watch it. Also, my Mum likes how the new Doctor dresses, so ordered my Dad a similar jacket. They did not actually watch it; they're just clearly heavily influenced by the fashion part of the Independent.

I am not going to say anything else about Doctor Who, as I am by no means an authority on the subject and fully intend to leave the analysis, reviews and comments to those better informed than myself. Ditto Ashes to Ashes.

Also, Outnumbered was amazing. Best part was 'We're not, now we're spotting lesbians.'

Quarter Past Midnight

2010-04-06T16:12:00.000-07:00

I should not be blogging at this godforsaken hour.

Just returned from Zanny's. You know when you're out somewhere, and you're really, really tired to the extent that you're practically falling asleep at someone else's house, and you think 'I'm going to sleep as soon as I get home,' and then suddenly you get home and you're awake?

Well, that is me right now. The weather was nice today; you could tell by the many people making out in Clarence Park. It's like the mating season.

Oh Sod It

2010-04-03T12:11:00.000-07:00

I'm going to end up watching Doctor Who on iplayer tomorrow morning because it's had positive reviews and I won't have done enough Lysistrata to let myself watch Bones.

My life is confusing.

Easter

2010-04-03T09:35:00.000-07:00

I am confronting the two issues of the early Easter Holidays head on. These issues are:

1. Fear of watching too many episodes of Bones in too short a space of time, therefore not savouring them accordingly and
2. Fear of not doing enough of my Lysistrata concept.

Therefore, from today onwards, 20 pages of Lysistrata= one episode of Bones. Of course, this is not as harsh as it initially seems as the pages are only odd-numbered, so by 20 pages I actually mean 10. However it feels a little bit like some kind of diet, with Bones being chocolate and each page of Lysistrata being a press-up or something.

Of course, both of these are stationery activities and I can eat chocolate at the same time, providing the corpses are not too disgusting, making the diet analogy kind of null and void. Although I did walk to town and pay a visit to a certain local trainee librarian today, which constitutes as exercise.

The exciting news is that I have a new bedroom blind to replace the broken, orange one and the rock in a sock holding it in place. It is blue and not particularly thick, so the sun will stream in a bit but not so much that I will be waking up in blinding sunlight every morning as I have been doing for the past year or so. Looking forward to testing it out tonight.

Now I must go and get in eight more pages of Lysistrata before dinner. Oh, and I've also made the decision to not watch Doctor Who, because I am not really a frequent watcher anyway, and had just got used to David Tennant. However I did watch Ashes to Ashes. It was always going to be one or the other.

Poll Tax

2010-03-31T06:15:00.000-07:00

As it says on the BBC website, it's the anniversary of Poll Tax Riot Night, which, as my parents never fail to remind me every year, was also the day they met.

Happy Poll Tax Riot Anniversary everybody.

Luck

2010-03-29T12:19:00.000-07:00

In History today we had to pick numbers out of a Quality Street Tin to decide which two people we would be preparing a powerpoint/ information sheet with.

Luckily I got to work with my two favourite people, because I dislike everybody else in the class.

Make of that what you will.

Sleepyface

2010-03-28T12:32:00.000-07:00

I had lots of fun at Alex's last night, but now I have incredibly exhausted. I just fell asleep on the sofa for forty-five minutes, and was going to watch 'An Education' but now feel it is too late to start a film when I am this tired and can just half-focus on 4od instead. Attempting to ration the number of Bones episodes I watch to prolong the enjoyment; I would watch another one today except I am almost definitely too tired to follow the undoubtedly complex and intellectual plotline. I am only dimly aware of who actually did the murdering in the last one I watched.

No work has been done this weekend, in other news. My legitimate excuse is that I have finished my coursework, until my History draft gets returned to me, and ever since actually writing the coursework I have been feeling a bit ill.

Nothing much else to say. Except I have Bad Romance in my head as Katie was singing it this morning and this is incredibly annoying as it does not appear to have any words that I know of.

EDIT: 'I have incredibly exhausted'??? Clearly.

ANOTHER EDIT: My Dad just called me from downstairs saying that I actually have to watch An Education with him because it is in some way entertainingly relevant to our lives.

No School Day

2010-03-24T09:08:00.001-07:00

This day may turn out to be very productive.

I woke up, shuffled around and perused my history sources, which have overtaken my carpet, then went to town and bought Alex's present and card. I also got a top to wear to Alex's, which I was not expecting to buy. Then I had a nice lunch and came home.

Since then I have written a quarter of my history and been to the dentist.

Alex's Birthday: Sorted. (More or less)
Teeth: Sorted.
History: Quarter Sorted.

Big breakfast making time in school tomorrow. Excited and a little apprehensive as I tend to be a tad over cautious around ovens and rely overly on Zanny (sorry Zanny.)

Just noticed a weird insect crawling over my Schulzinger source. Oh, he's now moved on to a different source. I think he might be trying to tell me something.

Oh no

2010-03-19T08:09:00.001-07:00

Another episode of Bones.
Another gory moment involving a piercing.
Another trip downstairs to breathe deeply and get a glass of water.

I think I have an extreme squeamishness when it comes to piercings. I can just about cope with changing and wearing earrings, but that is the extent of my tolerance.

I can tell it'll be a good episode though.

All Hope Is Not Lost?

2010-03-17T11:41:00.000-07:00

A couple of weekends ago I was in an airport branch of W. H. Smiths, feeling downhearted due to the lack of good books that I wanted to read. I have not read any teenage fiction in a long while, but I was looking through that section feeling the familiar 'oh, it's all vampire romance now, how crap' feeling.

I do not really want to read about boring girls falling in love with generically dull sparkly vampires, as if people are going to rip something off at least make it something worth copying. Like we learnt about in Drama with Shakespeare stealing everything off the Italian guy, that was fair enough because everyone's heard of Twelfth Night but as far as I know no-one's that familiar with the other play that I can't remember the name of.

Anyway, Blaise recommended a book in History (nothing to do with History though) that was apparently good and not about glittery meadow sparkly undead love. On a whim and some book tokens festering in my purse I bought it, and I haven't actually started reading more than the blurb and the first page yet due to this Marxism essay, but it looks highly promising.

Perhaps this is not the end after all.

Mothers' Day with LBJ

2010-03-14T07:35:00.000-07:00

Alice in Wonderland was very good. I want all of the dresses Alice wore throughout the film to wear to prom (I would change every forty-five minutes.) I appreciated the visual effects a lot as I was seeing them through both 3D glasses and my beloved nerd goggles.

Great though my Saturday was, my Sunday is being ruined by Lyndon B. Johnson, who's decision whether or not to increase involvement in Vietnam is discussed at length by boring historians whose sources I have to highlight for fear of letting the group down tomorrow. This is distracting me from things I could be doing, such as watching Bones, watching Amelie, watching anything on 4od or iplayer, or watching paint dry. Or even, possibly, doing my Marxism essay.

I am sure I have previously titled a blog post 'Go Away, LBJ.'

My Mothers' Day card went down very well, mainly as I drew a moustache on a picture of Luke from Gilmore Girls and labelled it with my Dad's name.

Food etc.

2010-03-11T14:24:00.000-08:00

I was mightily pleased with my re-sit results, and was therefore generally upbeat for the entire morning, most of which I spent trying to inform my parents. This involved texting my Dad during English and standing on the street at breaktime in an attempt to get signal to ring my Mum.

This levity may have affected my eating patterns, as well as the fried egg sandwich in 'How to Boil an Egg' elective (Zanny and I created some strange explosions with the electric hob.) And then when I got home my Mum was like: 'Do you want to go to out of school drama or do you want to go out for a meal with me and your Dad?'

Needless to say I chose the latter.

Also, I only had one lesson yesterday due to History Teacher #2's kitchen being flooded, so I spent most of the day at home, which made me realise exactly how much tea and coffee I drink when left to my own devices.

I was stuck on Mother's day ideas until I realised that most days the first thing I do when I get home from school is watch Gilmore Girls (again with coffee) and that my Mum likes to watch it too because she has Lorelai-envy and blatantly fancies Luke. I feel I must incorporate this somehow.

EDIT: I was just reading back on my first posts from September, and found this gem:
"Not all my blog posts will be rambling about coffee"
What a lie. All I ever seem to DO is ramble about coffee.

10 Things I Learnt At The Weekend

2010-03-07T13:52:00.000-08:00

1. My cousins are considerably awesome and booked tickets for us to go see some improvised comedy with some of their studenty friends.

2. I can pass as 18 in a very busy Edinburgh pub so long as I am with students, only remain in the pub for about fifteen minutes (drinking quickly), and deliberately don't look at the bar.

3. My perpetually kilt-wearing cousin decided not to wear a kilt for the weekend, but instead embarrassed us by going on stage during the improvised comedy for a game of 'Freeze.'

4. My non-kilt wearing cousin, before we settled down to sleep in the living/ drug taking room of her flat, was thoughtful enough to ask me in a concerned way if I thought I was likely to choke to death on my vomit while sleeping, to which I answered probably not.

5. My parents were entirely convinced by my cousin saying loudly about me: 'She's definitely not hungover!' before I told them on the plane back that of course I had been.

6. My Dad loves the film 'Legally Blonde' and has apparently seen it many times.

7. The cousin who normally wears a kilt told me, while we were eating lamb in the restaurant, that he spends a lot of time in university cutting up dead bodies. When he told me it was dissection and not forensic anthropology I lost interest.

8. My grandparents love my non kilt-wearing girl cousin's boyfriend so much that they have a giant photo of him in the attic, although with my cousin.

9. All family arguments can be settled with a certain type of Hungarian pastry that I am not going to try and spell.

10. The aforementioned family arguments tend to revolve around politics, global warming and whether or not my grandfather needs different glasses for the computer.

The End.

Santander and Life

2010-03-04T13:15:00.000-08:00

Today I went to Brent Cross and spent £48 on clothes. Then my new Santander' card wouldn't work in the machine. Turns out that it was the replacement card for my savings account not my current account, so I'd inadvertantly bended my current account card thinking I was meant to destroy it.

Therefore, I do not have access to my money for a week and owe my Mum £48. Luckily I have change, so oh well. I also can't remember the number for my savings account bla bla bla boring banking stuff.

In my out of school drama thing today we played a drama game called 'Werewolf.' It is a little bit like Wink Murder only more complicated and terrifying. Everyone accuses you of being the werewolf and you feel horribly guilty even if you're not, so I got accused a lot because I looked so nervous. Good times.

Tomorrow I am off to Scotland for my grandfather's birthday celebrations. Should be fun.

Ewwww

2010-02-27T10:33:00.000-08:00

I was watching an episode of Bones today (Episode 6. 'The Man in the Wall' for the benefit of Jane), in which something happened that was so disgusting I had to sign out of MSN after the episode and go and have a glass of water and lie down on my bean bag for a while. It wasn't even something explicitly shown, just talked about, and it even made Dr. Brennan wince.

Nonetheless, what an excellent programme. I am now eating Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey icecream, ultimate cure for squeamishness.

In about fifteen minutes I'm off nextdoor babysitting. Good times.

Forensic Anthropology

2010-02-25T06:11:00.000-08:00

due to my general squeamishness and lack of scientific knowledge, would be an appalling career choice for me.
Looks good as the title of a blog post though.

A Letter

2010-02-22T14:47:00.000-08:00

Dear Anonymous Person,

You insult me a lot, and it is always quite amusing, like the time you told me I was 'like Giles from Buffy only bossier and therefore like Hermione from Harry Potter only not as pretty,' which was much laughed at afterwards for being the strangest pop-culture insult ever. Or the time you said something weird and slightly perverted about the top I was wearing, and then said 'you should wear it if you ever go on a date.' Thus inventing the Patronising Lesbian Diss Compliment.

However, as people in this particular lesson can apparently tell from my facial expressions, I have just about had enough after nearly seven years of casual put downs. You are someone who has been 'bullied' in the past, and makes it into a massive sob story, and yet just insults people the whole time. I really should have said something back, but none of my immediate comeback ideas were appropriate for a classroom environment.

While I should have been expecting it from the creator of the pop-culture insult and the Patronising Lesbian Diss Compliment (TM), the 'glasses/hair/clothing combo insult' from a permanent glasses-wearer was something else.
Also, please stop trying to make us jealous of your life. It is not really working.

Love from,
Anne

PS: Yeah Laura, that's you told. ;)

Bad and Celebrity Genders

2010-02-21T09:08:00.000-08:00

SWED question 2 is a fail, history coursework is a fail, parents are a fail.
Cannot do a ranty blog post about parents because I'll only delete it later when we are once again on speaking terms.

Reverted back to being five when the neighbour came round to thank me for looking after their guinea pig and I was a bit tearful from the parental argument, so my Dad was like 'Anne come down!' and I said 'No, not now!' and hid in my cupboard.

You know, as if the neighbour was going to barge up to my room and demand to thank me in person. Sat in the wardrobe for a while like a very pissed off citizen of Narnia.

In more upbeat news, I spent much of lunchtime explaining to my parents that Taylor Swift is female and Kanye West is male. They thought it was the other way round, but apparently knew the gender of Beyonce. Then the phone rang and I was like 'that'll be Taylor Swift, explaining her gender.'

It wasn't, it was my Granny, but I was giggling weirdly down the phone at her at the thought of Taylor Swift being an eighty-something year old from Pembrokeshire.

UEA

2010-02-20T09:33:00.000-08:00

Today I went to UEA (The University of Extreme Awesome.)
The campus itself is an ugly interconnecting network of concrete blocks, which I love in the same way that people love mongrel stray dogs and the little slum children in Slumdog Millionaire.

As usual with universities, my Mum and I made fools out of ourselves by arriving and instantly asking the first person we saw where we could find coffee, then making a Gilmore-style dash in the direction of the nearest coffee shop. She also asked the tour guide whether students were allowed to swim in the lake, the answer to which was a resounding 'no.'

Last time I went to UEA I remember all the food tasting completely gross, but that was probably because I had glandular fever at the time as it all tasted quite nice today. We got given a tour round the room of a guy who was clearly not ready to give a room tour, as he was still in his pyjamas and seemed kind of embarrassed by the half-naked picture of Cheryl Cole on his wall. .

And that was pretty much my day really.

Oh my God, just saw that there's a Gothic Episode of QI on iplayer, with Sue Perkins of 'Supersizers go Wartime' fame. I am incredibly excited.