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Written on Tuesday. Damn this machine!

OK, I've had enough. I felt SHITE on Sunday, I felt BOLLOCKS yesterday and I feel PANTS today. It's the usual so I knew it was coming, but does it have to be so rubbish?

Sunday was that thing with the London Mozart Players, and I was hoping I wouldn't have to sit next to one of these god-like creatures seeing as I can't really play either of the pieces. But I had to, because of the way we had set ourselves out. The day was really good, it was a good experience to be playing alongside them (yada yada yada), and it would have been better if I had not been ill.

I felt fine when we were on the bus. I felt fine when we got there. I even felt fine when I was hopelessly trying to play the Glinka. But about an hour into the first part of the rehearsal, something turned in my stomach and that familiar affliction... afflicted me. My right arm (my bowing arm - rather important) began to quiver and my mouth was slowly filling with saliva. Not as much as when it's full force attack sick mode, but enough to make me feel pretty crap. We had a short break not long after, and I cautiously drank a cup of mineral water.

Feeling like a rabid, wet rag, I sat on the floor where I was. Because only Helen was taking me seriously, I had a plastic cup put on my head by an unknown contributer. Standing up slowly, I dry-heaved* once, I dry-heaved twice, we ran to the girls'.

Our cunning plan failed. We ran into the blokes', and laughing at our mistake sent the bile back down my throat.

We went back in, and my arm was shaking again, making it even harder to play the fast bits. Cutting to lunch, I was feeling better and was able to eat my food, but I avoided offers of jaffa cakes. We went, I began to get a headache and increasingly tired, and by the second break I was tired enough to have a fleeting sleep on the most uncomfortable plastic chairs known to man. This would all have been fine had I been able to take one of my pills, but those things take precision timing. I couldn't take one because it would have made me sicker - that was just the warm-up.

This is basically a self-centred 'pity me' story, but you would want pity too if you got this regular as over-efficient clockwork. It continues:

Yesterday, Monday, I was prepared. I knew it was coming. The warning signs were there: the spit, the general feeling of mankness, the lot. I popped a pill at break, then proceeded to dry-heave for most of the middle lesson. I felt pretty damned awful today as well, but that was reduced by the fact that it was teacher strike and we didn't really do anything.

Harumph. Why do I have to feel so sick? What did I do?

But on Sunday, in response to a query of what was wrong with me, Helen told someone that I 'got it every month'. I was avoided for the rest of the day. I feel empowered!

*Dry-heaved as in my throat prepared itself to be sick and tried to cough up on me, I wasn't actually throwing up.

 
Yes, it's true. I thought it would never happen, but it has this last week. I am totally, utterly, completely addicted to Super Noodles. I'm currently eating beef flavour, and they're lovely.

Sometimes I walk from my school to the bus stop at Halfords, which takes about 25 minutes at my Friday afternoon speed. The route I walk takes me past a few office buildings, the kind with the shrubbery (Nih!) at the side, and it is this clump of bushes that my post concerns.

Today, walking slowly under the train bridge and approaching the start of the bushes, I peered ahead to see if there was anything interesting there. To my disappointment there was only a shredded porn magazine and a 'Men at Work' sign. On another occasion I was walking past and spied a microwave, there has been a shop sign (as in from above the shop) that I think was Londis, and a selection of T-shirts.

But the most worrying was when I walked by and a black lacy bra was strewn negligently across a privet. What do they get up to at these offices? I think it's a JP Morgan office at the moment, I thought they did credit cards!

So yeah, only a little one today. Compared to my usual, at least. Too tired. Night night.

 
Today I feel like talking at you about homophobia. As I see it, there is about as much wrong with being gay as there is being straight, ie nothing. And I find it highly hypocritical of people to say homosexuality goes against God, because there are a lot more homosexual priests than the Catholic Church is ready to admit.

I myself am not gay. I have never been the subject of homphobic abuse, and I have never administered any. But I know people who are gay, who are bisexual and who enjoy wearing high heels, even when the assistants in Linzi give him funny looks.

I was thinking about this this morning when I was getting up, so only about an hour and a half ago actually. It seems unnatural to me that anyone should be attracted to anyone, when you think about it.

In the days of pre-evolution yore, back in the days when we were hunter-gathering and living in tribes, there was no marriage and no awful love songs. In those days, and this kind of thing can still be seen among other animals, it was a case of shag and go. The father never stayed around to watch his little bundles of joy grow up. What I'm basically getting at is, it's strange enough for man and woman to be attracted to each other and want a relationship, so how is it any stranger for man and man or woman and woman?

I don't really care about in holes and out holes, it makes little difference to me. No one has the right to tell someone else that their sexuality is the wrong one, they should spend more time doing important things.

Harumph.

I have new stomping boots, they're great!

 
The previous post was muffed, that's why it's taken so long to appear.

It may not be soap suds, but I feel like plugging Catch 22's song 12341234. I haven't heard much of their other stuff, but man, I could listen to this all day... I did when I was ill. It's that good! But if you aren't a fast-paced ska-punking kind of person, never mind.

That does say punking, not puking. OK?

Anyway! What to say, what to say... Just watched the last 'Model Behaviour', I can't believe Nathan won?! No! He's a moose! But at least Camilla won for the girls, we like her.

But I write to you today (all 6 of you) about scrimping. Let's face it, no one likes our year at school. This is despite us being much nicer than the year below us and far less pregnant than the one that preceded us. But no, they don't like us. I'm mainly peeving over music colours. The year below us got them, and they are also getting more prizes tonight. See, we didn't have a prize giving thing last year, and that is what is happening tonight. But it is not only our year, it is all years, even though they had their own. And why now? These are year 10 prizes, and we kissed year 10 goodbye in July. Me no understand.

OK, I'm making no sense to you. The school likes to be traditional. Maybe that should be with capitals... The School. Like The Law, or The Way, or The Voice of God. They sometimes hold themselves in importances like that, it's all institutional big-headedness. But every July in the last week of term, we have prize giving. This is a painful ceremony that involves many a book voucher and numerous sweaty handshakes. There are prizes like 'Attainment', 'Progress' and 'Form Prize'. One is awarded to one person in every form. There are also 'Attendance' and 'Sports Colour' prizes, and last year they introduced a 'Music Colour' prize. Only problem was, last year there were prize givings for years 7, 8 and 9. Year 10? "Who?" I hear you strain? Indeed!

What is occuring tonight is 'Speech Night', and is apparently "the most important night in the school calender", a quote from the horse's mouth, so to speak (they must have a really boring social life). It is usually a day for last year's leavers to come back and collect their certificates, get special prizes and generally have GCSE or A-level closure. That is all happening tonight, along with a handful of other prizes. They are, tonight, giving out a grand total of approximately 15 prizes to us former year 10's. What happened to one in each form? No one knows. There is a single attainment prize, a single service to the school prize and a single music prize. There are numerous attendance prizes as well, which makes up the sum.

Have you seen any of these prizes?

10F Progress 10F Form Prize
10B Attainment 10B Form Prize
10B Progress 10E Attainment
10E Progress 10E From Prize
10L Attainment 10L Progress
10O From Prize 10O Attainment
10O Progress 10R From Prize
10R Attainment 10R Progress
10S From Prize 10S Attainment
10S Progress 10W From Prize
10W Attainment 10W Progress

If sighted, please tell the deserving souls.

But what I'm really picking at is the music colour thing. I've been the entire viola section for quite a while, and I didn't do it for bloody nothing. It just really annoys me. Saying this now, we are bound to be told at some point that we are getting them actually. But let me do a quick sum for you, to show why I think I deserve a music colour, and not only to stop the twitch. I'll count this year as well, I'm not going anywhere.

2 years lower school orchestra + 5 years upper school orchestra + 5 years string ensemble + 2 years junior choir = 14 years of guts slogged for the music departement.

I'm only 15. Facky hell, I didn't go to all those practises just for a pat on the back. Music is one of the things that I feel real doing, because I'm not brilliant at it and I can apply myself and I get the real satisfaction from getting something right and doing something reasonably well that I don't get in many other subjects. I was so pleased when I got my grade 5 because I really had tried hard and I did a lot better than I thought I would.

The few people who are getting prizes really do deserve them, anyone who disputes it will have numerous fists to answer to, mine among them. But this is just another thing that frusrates me. I'm so bored in some lessons, it's silly. I'm slowly beginning to fidget and play up in small ways, especially in maths lessons. I'm sitting there, bored witless considering matters of philosophy. For crying out loud! I found the tree outside so much more interesting today, and I was gazing out the window for most of the lesson. I'm letting time slip because I'm so fed up of it all. This is why I want out. I don't think they really believe me when I say I'm going somewhere else, so many say it without going. But I really need to get away. Thank God it's Friday.

And by the way, 'facky' is my word. Don't steal.

 
Recently, we were discussing various conspiracy theories. Did man really land on the moon? Martian devoutly believes not, I don't know. Who really killed Kennedy? And who's been killing them all since? Then we got onto some even less serious ones. One involved the Pope, but that was just weird. Another involved the Sunny Delight and why they have to test it on animals, and if there are any orange cats wandering the cells of an RSPCA home somewhere. I really don't like Sunny D, in case you hadn't noticed. And then I thought of something that had been bothering me for a while now...

Last night, as I made some strawberry milkshake for my brother, as I often do, I pondered its pinkness. I was stirring it, and I was stirring it, and I was scraping the glaze from the bottom of the mug trying to make this milk pink. It would not go! I sprinkled a bit more in, and it affected an off-white colour. Wondering if there was something wrong with it, I sipped it and could definitely taste the strawberry flavour. But where was the colour?

It has been gradually decreasing over the past few years, a phenomena uncommonly known as...

The Nesquick Conspiracy

Over the past eight years I have noticed that it takes more and more milkshake powder to make the milk pink. It used to be one spoonful and it was a soft pastel shade. Then that gradually developed into one and a half. That has now grown to two plus VAT and you're somewhere close to a colour. They have been gradually reducing the amount of food dye over the years, meaning you put more in to satisfy little Jimmy's want of coloured milk, making you run out faster and spend more money on buying more packets.

This also brings up to the surface some home truths about little Jimmy, if he likes the colour pink that much...

But his teeth! The more powder, the more sugar, the less teeth. Not good when little Jimmy wants to wow all the boys with his perfect smile. Tonight, when I make Nick's milkshake, I'm putting pink food colouring in it. Nick doesn't mind that it isn't pink, but it isn't fair to constantly give him poorly coloured milk.

So next time you make strawberry milkshake, just bare in mind how much powder you're putting into that mug. But the same isn't true for chocolate milkshake, the struggle there is in getting the damned stuff to dissolve...