An Outlet for My Mind

2005-08-30T18:06:00.000Z

Guys, I cannot explain to you how crispy I am from Reading. I mean, I got seriously toasted out there. My face half fell off today, I feel like a snake shedding its skin.

Plus I am allergic to Malibu sun mousse SPF 20, which I think has just added to the crunchiness.

But, on the upside, I can literally crack my face with a smile!

And I move to Manchester in 2 weeks and 3 days! Woo!

2005-07-07T18:46:00.000Z

Today has probably been the single most strange day in a fortnight of weirdness, that counts as the oddest 14 days of my life.

London is blowing up, and even though I live in the burbs, I'm still pretty concerned. Though contrary to terrorist belief, London is not quaking with fear, it is just indignant that you chose to attack us.

I don't really know what to say about it all. My manager rang me to check I was alive, and told me to take the afternoon off work. The school concert has been cancelled, and I tidied up a bit around the computer. The confirmed dead figure rose to 37 as I threw away some old envelopes, and I got a package in the post box just before the last collection.

We won the Olympic bid yesterday as well; what's with that? The whole tube network was shut and someone blew up a bus.

I know the world went mad a long time ago, but this isn't madness anymore. This is just nasty. I'm still a bit miffed by the whole thing.

Bah.

2005-05-26T13:07:00.000Z

Earth to iPod users!

Earth to iPod users!

MP3 players have been on sale for a few years now, in sizes up to and including 20GB, some probably more.

Apple didn't invent them, they just capitalised on a growing phenomonem.

Zen, among others, have been selling them for ages.

Go listen to some vinyl!

2005-04-14T21:46:00.000Z

Have you ever really annoyed yourself? Irritated at every word that left your mouth? I usually only suffer this when I go at the Guinness (it takes two, baby), but this afternoon, I kept just pissing myself off.

It started with sighing. I was exhaling like melancholy was a breathing disorder. Then I kept asking people if they were alright. I knew they were alright, they'd said so about 20 times already! I was wandering round the shop looking forlorn, which was wasted for a long time as i was the only person on the floor, then I tried to sort my unruly hair out without the aid of my hands.

What was going on?! I feel much better now, but what was I thinking? How did I put up with myself? I needed a smack, but there was no one there for smacking! I can only attribute it to tiredness and that ruddy broken fire alarm that I had to evacuate for... with my cup of hot chocolate.

As I said, I'm now cured. What changed? Well, it could have been a mediaeval stylee medical treatment - straight after work, I gave blood! Back in the day, it was known as 'blood letting'. Could it be that those middle ageans had a point?

I doubt it. They didn't even have hypodermic needles. Is it hypo- or hyper-? Ah well, 'tis of little consequence now, I've got 1 pint less than I had a few hours ago.

Give blood. Or we'll take it ourselves.

2005-04-10T18:13:00.000Z

I have rediscovered aniseed balls. They and their dark pinky sugary goodness rock. I have also discovered that rape seed oil is carcinogenic. I even found out that the aniseed balls from Cybercandy are the kind with the rape seeds left in. It may shock the more distracted amongst you to know that rape seed oil is made from rape seeds. Can I never win?!

In other news, Archimedes and Pearl are all but water vapour now, but their memory lives on in my phone. I'll post the pictures as soon as I figure out how to shrink them.

Okay, I'll be honest, I'm writing this to avoid doing my English coursework. It's due in tomorrow, and I'm hopeless at it. Thoroughly hopeless! My evaluation is about 10 lines long, compared to the four pages of solid 12 point Times New Roman that preceed it. And don't think this will be the last of my pointless-ramblings-to-avoid-real-work - my exams start in 6 weeks. Whooptidoo with added wup.

2005-03-07T16:11:00.000Z

My darlings, I feel fabulous. Winter is finally over, and the rains are here!

I feel as though winter has lasted for a very long time this year. It started around the end of September and it's been grim ever since. I bear the scars, my dears, I bear the scars. But after that fit of snow that dragged on for two weeks, I think all it needed was for someone to build a snowman and the seasons could feel some kind of Christmassy closure.

Our snowman, by the way, was called Archimedes. Someone stole his head, so we upped his body and reconstructed him as a her around the back of the 6th form block. She was called Pearl.

But I can't understand why I'm in such a good mood - Ofsted are doing our school and were in two of my lessons today, my bus was diverted so I missed the first one, then the one I caught broke down on the way home and I had to walk through the rain, and I have loads of homework due, but I'm happy! I can't remember the last time I felt this good! I love it!

2005-02-14T18:34:00.000Z

I said I'd tell you about my course, didn't I? Well I won't give you the full lowdown just yet, but I'll give a bit about some things I realised while I was there.

1. Romford is, as a town, homophobic.

2. I, hypocritically, categorised people by where they come from.

First things first. One of the guys I was hanging about with for the week was extremely gay. He said he'd 'camped things up,' but I suspect he's very camp in his normal setting.

Thinking of some of the people I know, he would have lasted all of 10 minutes before having the crap beaten out of him in Romford town centre. I've seen it happen, though the guy that got his shit kicked wasn't deterred by it, and still walks proudly around. And so he should! But why should he have been beaten up? Someone I know decided he hated him once he had figured out he was gay. I don't talk to this person anymore.

The same person, however, actively encourages lesbianism. Double standards, did you say? Yeah, I know. It pisses me off. So many blokes round here salivate at the prospect of girl-on-girl, then assume that, because a guy is gay, he must want to bum you because you're male. Get over yourselves! You ain't that pretty!

Talking to the guy on the course, he seemed almost shocked that I had such narrow-minded associates. It depresses me that I know so many people like it. But there seems an odd trend to it - the nearer you get to Essex, the more tolerant people are. The nearer to East London, the more phobic it gets.

That isn't to say that gay people don't come out in Romford, I'm just more concerned for their safety than I otherwise would be.

Secondly, I've been pigeon-holing people, and in doing so, pigeon-holed myself. Because there were people from all over the country, and because girls naturally seek out differences, I found region a good way to find things to talk about to other people. This generally consisted of how different it is between their home and mine, and in some cases, it made for very amusing talk.

I was also hanging about with a girl from central Essex, so we played on our Essex reputation a lot, me probably more so as I'm also from London (I don't really know where I'm from, nowhere wants to claim Romford). I told stories of fights, pregnancies and general misdemeanours, much to the enjoyment of the people from such nice schools. Sadly, I wasn't exaggerating.

By telling these stories, I think people got a regional idea of me, in much the same way I formed a regional idea of them, though my ideas of them involved far less pregnancies. Maybe I thought I knew. I don't know now, because I'm not in direct contact all day with these people now, so I've suddenly lost my suppositions. Maybe they only lasted for the first two days anyway! I'm not sure. But I do feel bad for having done that - instantly assuming things of people because of where they come from. Bah. At least I've learnt my lesson. Who knows, maybe I'm a better person now!

2005-02-13T19:10:00.000Z

Hello my darlings! How are you doing? Well I hope!

Ack, just got back the other day from a 5-day classics course, mucho coolito, I'll tell you more about it later. But yeah, the oldies are always the goodies.

See yous soon then my dears, ta ta!

2005-01-15T19:34:00.000Z

They just played Mosh by Eminem on BBC Radio 2. What's the world coming to?

2005-01-14T14:46:00.000Z

Fuck. That was one shitty wave. We're gathering vital stuff at school rather than just money - we're getting food, blankets, old clothes, all that sort of stuff. If I believed in a god, my prayers would be with them. As it is, I'll just try to help in what little way I can.

30,000 people die a day from AIDS, by the way.

2004-12-21T17:08:00.000Z

I've been spending more time in the pub recently, and it's got me thinking (yes, it hurt):

- Smoking is bad for you
- Passive smoking is more harmful to your health that smoking itself
- Pubs are full of smokers smoking

Does that mean that, for the sake of your health, you should smoke when in a smoky place, as the air you breathe will be less lethal through your cigarette that it will be out of someone else's mouth?

When you smoke though, you don't take every breath through your fag, so you'll still be breathing in some second-hand smoke. But would it still be worth it to smoke so you get slightly less passive smoke? That's assuming you don't try to chug any through your own cigarette. Hmm.

The logical halt to this conversation is to say that people shouldn't smoke. That's all very good to say, but people like their nicotine. The government plan on banning smoking in pubs and restaurants, but smoking will still ensue in other places. I think it's an unhealthy vice that's here to stay, and no legislation will stop that. Plus, the government needs people to smoke - it's how they fund the country.

And finally, kids, don't smoke.

2004-12-21T16:17:00.000Z

On the whole, I hate Christmas. It just doesn't cut it for me anymore. Working in retail has killed my Christmas spirit, and this will be my fourth Chrimbo behind a till.

But more than that, I've always felt guilty for not being a Christian yet 'celebrating' a Christian festival. As far as my beliefs stand, there probably was a guy called Jesus, he probably was a religious leader, but whether he did miracles or was the actual son of God, I don't know. I don't particularly care either, because I doubt I'll ever have proof for it that satisfies me.

Conversely, there is no proof against it that I can draw on. And I don't mean just for a Christian god, I mean for any deity. The world is all very conveniently and cleverly made, and apparently shows design. I still think it could have happened by chance, but my explanation for that is far too long and complicated, and extremely boring.

What did I start off about? Celebrating other people's festivals. In all honesty, I haven't really celebrated Christmas much at all these last few years. This year, I haven't sent out any cards, I haven't given any presents yet, and I've barely bought anything for my family. The decorations only went up last week and the Christmas concerts I was in didn't have much in the way of Christmas music in them. I'm even immune to the bloody Christmas CD at work!

But that can only be a good thing.

If I really meant it all, I'd abstain from buying any presents. I know a few people who did this year, but I feel that I can't because I've already been given some. My problem is that I like giving, and everyone likes receiving.

Why don't we celebrate our half birthdays instead? That would solve a lot of problems. It spreads the cost out through the year, it isn't religious and it means you won't be broke just before you need all your money to get smashed on New Year's!

2004-11-14T16:32:00.000Z

Applying to university is very, very fun. I've not had this much post... ever! Even if you're not going to go to uni, I thoroughly recommend you apply. For £15, you too will feel truly needed in the world.

I would say that you should apply to a more unpopular course. The less people doing the course, the more mail you'll get. It's an inverse proportion, if you like:

Number of Applicants = constant x 1/Amount of Post

Not sure what the constant is; I wouldn't have had to use it if I could find the 'proportional to' sign in the character map. Maths is far too popular a course, while we're here.

I've applied for chemical engineering. Last year, 900 people in the country applied to do it. 18 universities provide it, but this number is dwindling as the funding isn't there any more. Since I sent off my UCAS form, I've had a letter virtually every day, which makes me feel rather loved. I've been invited to 5 open days across the country, and at the two I've been to so far, I've been provided with lunch and guided tours.

If you want the world to notice your existence for a while, this is definitely the best way to do it. It's not illegal, you won't get fined if you don't go in the end, and the food is good. Plus it's all really fast as it's completely computerised.

The moral of all my waffling? A lot of schools are really keen for you to apply to university. Mine sure is. Don't skimp on it though, it's fun and relatively inconsequential. You never know, you may actually decide to do the course!

2004-11-12T16:04:00.000Z

Woah, when did we get all that extra space in our Hotmail accounts? I was quite shocked, I went from 80% to 1% capacity in the space of a day!

And everyone, I thoroughly recommend you apply to university. You get so much mail, I feel so loved!

2004-11-04T19:58:00.000Z

Hello strangers! Sorry I've been so long, there's been an awful lot going on!

Well, how have you been? Good? Good. Everyone seems to have that 'yuppie cold' at the moment, though I'm sure one of them are yuppies, but one of them does snort coke.

But yeah, busy busy busy! I was in Birmingham yesterday, 350 mile round trip, 7 and a half hours in the car. I just got a letter through with an offer from aston too, all good stuff!

Did Bush actually win this election? I'm still trying to get confirmation from my American contacts, if you hear anything first, keep me posted!

I best go now, see you later!

2004-09-08T16:48:00.000Z

Astma research is generally done on animals, because to study it, you either need to cut their larynx open or induce an astma attack, which is, in human terms, assault, and probably murder by the time you are done.

In Farenheit 9/11, Michael Moore, irritating though he is, made the point that only one person in Congress (or maybe the Senate, I can't remember) had a child serving in Iraq.

Do you think an animal rights protester would offer their child for medical research?

2004-08-25T11:22:00.000Z

Guess where I was yesterday?

It was hot.
It was sweaty.
There were a lot of people in a very confined space, and
There was live, loud music.

Me and Nick went to the Kerrang! Day of Rock, and much fun it was too! I had a shower this morning and I still smell of other people.

It was good, though. I thought it might be all 13 year-olds but there was a good mix of all ages. We didn't get in for the first band, yourcodenameis:milo, and we kept getting moved around so we didn't get to watch them on the screens that much either. We managed to be let in on the 4th wave though, we had snuck our way into the huddled queue and were in the last group they let in before Reuben began their set.

And my, my, what a set!

Hustling, bustling, crowdsurfers and my glasses breaking, I haven't been in such a fun pit since Schpunk in June. They're thoroughly fantastic, and if you value good music you'll vote for them in the Kerrang! awards, and ever after too. They really got the crowd going, and though I didn't see them because I was too short, I had a damn good mosh about.

And my glasses? A brightly-dressed surfer clipped me hard in the back of the head, cracking me into the guy in front. My forehead broke one lense out and twisted the frames, making them pretty unwearable. I thankfully managed to find the lense on the flor before anyone stood on it, but it wouldn't go back in for love nor money. I have to go to the opticians today to get them fixed.

In between bands they had a guitar competition, and one of the competitors looked so much like David that it took me a minute to figure out it wasn't him. But bloody hell, if you believe in doubles, here was a living example.

Next band was Minus, a shouty outfit from Iceland who played a short but effective set that ended rather abruptly. I sat this one out, to dry off as much as anything else, but I managed to find a good vantage point, letting me actually see what was going on, rather than pondering what the band looked like. Not my kind of music, but damned good anyway.

Drinks were uber expensive, but then Costa Coffee always is. I only buy stuff from the one at work because I get a 10% discount in there.

Last up was who we had been waiting for: Biffy Clyro. Need I say more? Scottish, stoned and immensely energetic, the only thing that spoiled their set was a couple of wankers in the crowd who kept kicking out despite the small space. Ahh, they were fantastic, and I got their autographs. At some point I'll scan them all in. Mmm, Biffy Clyro. It was even more packed than Reuben, and at times it was difficult to breathe. I'm quite surprised I didn't pass out, it was that hot. My top got soaked and strtched all out of shape, but do I care? No, it was worth it, especially considering the top cost me £2.50 out of Primark.

Gotta love Primark.

After we got out, we managed to buy a copy of Reuben's album about 3 minutes before HMV shut, letting me get my discount on it (yay!). It would have cost £1.20 more if we'd bought it in Virgin instead.

And finally, my list of losses and gains for the evening, something I always manage after gigs and pits.

Lost:
1 bracelet
1 earring
Hearing (since regained)
The integrity and shape of my glasses

Gained:
1 lumpy bruise, lower left leg
1 sore, left shoulder
1 pink stain, left wrist, from a pink wooden bracelet
1 small bruise, left hand
1 neck ache, right side
Dirt on shoes that wasn't there prior to gig
DNA from approx. 100 people
Approx 5 pints of donated sweat
1 BAD smell

I'm definitely going next year, and look out for my bracelets in next week's Kerrang! magazine.

2004-08-04T20:17:00.000Z

Daytime TV will kill us all one day.

You remember about a year ago when that guy decided to tell the world about his 6 wives, 20-odd kids and Mormon beliefs? I think I saw the episode of Jerry Springer he was on yesterday. Deary deary me, what a palava.

I'm not going to lecture about his decisions, what with banging up 14 year-old girls and all the nastiness involved in ruling over all these women who are happy to be subserviant, as that's over the pond. Polygamy may strike a bit closer to home.

A few years ago, I don't know if it's still in consideration, but due to the influx of immigrants who practised polygamy, the EU were thinking about legalising it. Polygamy, by definition, is about a man marrying lots of women, which is sexist. In an attempt to be all equal-ops, the law would have to apply to women marrying many men.

If men can marry many women, and women can marry many men, will we all end up married to each other? The guy on telly said that his marriages were better than anyone in the audience's, about how he hadn't had a divorce and all that sort of thing, but surely if we did all get married, it would take the specialness out of marriage? Won't we all just end up married to each other? And think about the living arrangements, and the divorce settlements!

But what about the children? Their parents may be too busy managing their hectic relationships to look after their children. And what of the father? If she has several husbands, how do you know who the father is? Would it even be seen as important? Would that create jealousy and favouritism in a family?

As you can tell, I don't agree with polygamy. Not for men, not for women, not for anyone. If I marry someone, I don't want him to love anyone else like he loves me. It strikes me as a solution to affairs, like a live-in mistress. Bah. Maybe it's because I've had a nice homelife or something. But the whole concept seems totally wrong, and I hope they never legalise it.

2004-07-18T16:30:00.000Z

There is a cure to the Coopers Disease!

You are well aware by now of what I think of Coopers, and it is a view shared by several people I know who attend the school. But much as they hate it too, some of them still suffer from the Coopers Disease.

There are several symptoms, but not all may be present, and some exist in people naturally.

All-encompassing egotism
Natural intelligence, often accompanied by a sporty flare or the ability to play an instrument
An air of presumed supremacy
The potential to be a real wanker

Now don't get me wrong, I have some good friends at Coopers, or who went to Coopers, and it was seeing a friend who had left Coopers on Friday that prompted me to write this.

Let's call him Bob, and his youger brother Bill. I'm not sure how much they'd appreciate me writing this with their real names. Anyway. I met Bob nearly 3 years ago at orchestra, and could tell quite quickly that he went to Coopers. He was much better than I could ever hope to be at music, he was condesending to anyone he didn't like and had it in him to be a total tosser. I wasn't on the receiving end of anything more than a few funny comments, but it was easy to guess what he'd be like to someone he wanted to make cry. His ego wasn't all-encompassing, but it was quite hefty, and I did feel looked down upon when I first met him.

His brother was much less so of all that. People make jokes and pick on us younger siblings, but it was your mistakes we learnt from, not our own. But Bill: at Coopers, yes, naturally intelligent, yes, tosspot, no. He was still slightly afflicted, but more in the way the French Resistance happened to speak French. There was nothing else he could really have been, going to the school and all that. I talked to Bill much more than Bob, and we both knew that when Bob and the rest of our breaktime group left, we'd be the only two left.

For two years, then, there was the group of us, about 8 in total I think. Me and Helen, Bill and Bob, a girl who had been to and left Coopers because she hated it, and another girl who was from the school the first girl transferred to, and a few others beside. Confusing, huh? It was good, though. At breaks, we'd sit about in the canteen, eat Galaxy bars and complain about all manner of stuff and rubbish. They were mostly Helen's friends, as she'd known them longer, except Bill, who we'd known for the same amount of time. But it was nice, a refreshing change from all the bitching at school.

As with all things, it came to an end. Last year we waved off Bob and both girls as they left for university, and Helen departed for full time work. Bill and I were left to our own devices on Monday evenings in the college, eventually finding a decent spot in the stairwell by the door, muttering "Freaks!" to each other at anyone who gave us a funny look as they walked past.

A whole year passed of this, interspersed with illness and exams, until the concert the other day.

Every 2 years, we take part in a concert in the Queen Elizabeth Hall on London's South Bank. It's all very fancy: black and white dress, boys in bow ties and conductors in their finery. We go up there in the morning, practise during the day, and perform in the evening. All time in between is our own, so we usually play cards.

Friday wasn't much different. We played rummy, trumps, beggar my neighbour, Montana reddog, cheat, chase the ace and a few others. For the rest of the time, we sat about chatting. For some reason, I ended up spending near the whole day with Bill and Bob, and it was in this time that I realised the cure for Coopers Diesease...

Go to university!

Gone was the condescending, self-important occasional arsehole, leaving behind the person I only suspected existed... which was a nice surprise.

Could this miracle cure work for everyone, though? Will all that twattishness be drained away when they face the big wide world? There are some key points to note here:

Bob hated Coopers. He would moan about anything and everything about the school, and cheered when vandals did the place over one night.
Though I didn't know him before prior to his time there, I think the school gave him his pompous edge and wankerish behaviour. He probably wasn't a bad sort before he went there.
He couldn't wait to leave. He used to talk about university loads and how good it was going to be paying a mere £1 a pint in the student union bar.

So was it a case of the patient having to be willing to receive the treatment for it to work? I don't know, as his is the only case I've seen, but I think it may well be. If you're born a wanker, you're a wanker for life. If you become a wanker, there may be a chance that you can be a nice person again, as demonstrated by Bob.

And as for Bill? He applied for a load of different colleges, but his parents want him to stay on at Coopers 6th Form. But fear not, he's already got plans for the place, some including fire, others including silly string.

Mwahahaha!

2004-07-15T20:40:00.000Z

Bloody hell. What a minefield! I'm surprised anyone makes it to university at all! I haven't even finished year 12 yet and I'm submerged in prospectuses.

Bah. Anyway, how have you all been, sweeties? I've been painfully busy and have a backlog of stuff and rubbish kicking about. One school week left, and I'll have a proper bash at it all.

Let's see, what have I been meaning to talk about...

Comic book adaptations. It ain't a love-hate situation, as some are done well and some should have their directors crucified *ahem League of Extraordinary Gentlemen ahem*. But what's with this surge over the last few years?

Some of these films aren't directly from comic books, I know, but they're in the comic book style. And don't talk about graphic novels to me, it's a bloody comic!

We can trace it all back to the fifties, I think. On a wave of superheroistic feeling in America, paper comics thrived. There was an optimism that we could save the world and make everything better (unless you were reading Batman). Criminals would be caught and we would all be alright.

What a load of bollocks that was! Roll on the B-movie, and all that geekish angst was released on a Saturday morning. Dodgy costumes, plasticine models, wobbly sets and unconvincing monsters. It was the bastard child that Hollywood couldn't bring itself to love wholeheartedly. But there was all sorts of stuff straight from the pages of DC and Marvel - they flew, they had X-ray vision, and they fought for the good cause. They were often the nerdy boys in school as well, giving us losers hope!

There was the Batman TV series, radio shows of various superhero stories, the Superman films, a trend in wearing your pants on the outside, it was even reflected in contempory art. Roy Lichenstein drew pictures of the crying girl and the square-jawed hunk with those shading dots, and several other artists produced pieces with a similar basis.

KAPOW! SOCK! POW!

Ahh, you gotta love that non-violent violence.

I'll have to skip a decade or two, because I can't think of much that happened. But to my point!

The first one I was really aware of was X-Men. I read some X-Men a long time ago, but it wasn't one of my regular reads. It had been a cartoon series for yonks, but aired at some disgusting hour in the morning, between Smurfs and Teletubbies on BBC2. But the general consensus was that the film was pretty good. I thought it was, just the right amount of freaky-magnetic-balding-comic book charm.

Unfortunately, someone noticed.

I don't know what order they came in, but others soon followed.

Spiderman - not too bad.
The Hulk - not too good. And why isn't he incredible anymore? He's still green, isn't he?
League of Extraordinary Gentlemen - crimes against humanity!
Van Helsing - cheese with extra cheese on the side. Burn it now.
X-Men 2 - still good.
Spiderman 2 - seeing it tomorrow night.
Garfield - not the same kind of comic, but I doubt I'll be seeing it.
Daredevil - dear God.
Catwoman - after seeing Gothika, I don't think I could bring myself to see another Halle Berry movie.

Even going back a few years, there are ones like Judge Dredd, Batman in various incarnations, The Phantom and The Shadow. All vaguely recently, but not so close together as the most recent spate that started about what, 5 years ago?

Looking at a few in detail, let's take Spiderman. I only saw it for the first time the other day, and was quite impressed. Just enough naffness but the right sentiment with the good-vs-evil thing and the moral crises that you need. Cheesy lines, a scientist who goes crazy, and a spider. Voila!

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. If Alan Moore was dead, he'd be turning in his grave. People who hadn't read the comic thought it was alright, but those of us who had, were horrified. The characters were destroyed, the plot was over-simplified and everything was diivinely convenient. No more! Atrocity!

They seem to be very hit and miss. Watchmen, probably my favourite Alan Moore comic (at the moment at least, it changes regularly) is going to be made into a film, allegedly with the kind of love it needs. X-Men 3 is in some stage of production, and Neil Gaiman's Sandman is in talks as far as I know. It alarms me. Surely some things should be left as they are?

Comic book adaptations, like so many things, need to be done by people who genuinely care. Lord of the Rings was great, and one of the reasons was that Peter Jackson was so in love with the story. Marvel play a heavy role in their adaptations, which may explain why X-Men was so much better than George Clooney's rubber nips. It needs to be out of love, not because the film industry is running out of ideas, which may be one of the motives behind this all.

2004-06-16T18:52:00.000Z

We live in a world of categories. What class are you in at school? What music do you listen to? Where do you live? What colour is your skin?

It helps people form an opinion of you. Not necessarily the right one, as skin colour has no bearing on personality, where you live does not dictate your hobbies, and the music you listen to does not verify your opinions. But it makes it easier for people to digest.

Then we get the cliques. This is more to do with what music you listen to, what you wear, what hobbies you do have and what outlook you have on life. Like with like, we tend to form ourselves into these groups socially. At our school it wasn't so much levels of popularity, but levels of bitchiness, and the real cows ruled the roost. Thank god for 6th form, they pretty much all left, and those who didn't have turned out to be quite nice people.

People often express these things, sometimes through fashion, to make other people think a particular thing. Most people are guilty of it, I know I certainly can be. Some people are worse for it than others.

But you know when, for once, you don't want to look like everyone else? I've had that a lot recently. I've thrown out loads of old clothes I had and bought a load of new ones, including some Tommy Hilfiger jeans, something I wouldn't have dreamt doing a few years ago. It would have seemed far too trendy to my rebellious 14 year-old mind. But stuff it, they're red and comfy, and I like them. I've gone into overdrive making jewellery so I can have something unique round my neck, and have been giving some away to friends when they said they liked them, but each sufficiently different from the previious.

There's no such thing as non-conformity, that's just another category in this shallow society. You don't have to call yourself a non-conformist to prove that you're thinking for yourself, just do it and the people who matter will see it.

And for the record, the reason why I won't wear the following items:
Blazors - 5 years of compulsory education. I may as well wear a green skirt and a school tie to match.
Converse - sometimes used as special shoes for small children with wide feet. I'll feel like a flat-footed cripple again. I wear low-ankle cut fakes instead, because Top Shop shoes are great.
Von Dutch - I still haven't got over flowery cap guy on the bus, and this comic strip.
Adidas - I don't really feel like dressing like the people down my road who throw things at me when I walk by.
Kookai bags - I'm sorry, but I find them hideous. But if it's a nice one, then maybe.
Those Astro Boy tops from Camden - they've spelt Dr. Tenma's name wrong! The most recent translations out write it as Tenma, not Temma. I'd feel silly.
Really pointy shoes - some of my toenails fell off a few years ago because of shoes with dodgy toe-space. It took something like 2 years for my big toenails to be normal again.

I know most of this is excuses, but it's why I don't wear the stuff. That, and I'd feel too much like a wannabe, which I don't want to be, as I don't even know what I'm supposed to be.

Call me what you like, but my name is Suzanne.

2004-06-14T22:24:00.000Z

You know when you read a book and it reminds you of another? Maybe it's the plot, or the characters' attitudes, but you're able to notice a bit of a running theme? It was this kind of similarity that made me ask the question,

Do the fantasy/sci fi genres have it in for the letter M?

This is something I noticed a while ago when I was reading geek fic ten to the dozen: there seemed to be an awful lot of prejudice against the letter M. If it wasn't the place where the evil dwelled (eg. Mordor), it was the name of the baddies (eg. Mord wraiths).

Place names tended to get more stick than names though. As I've already mentioned, the seat of evil in Lord of the Rings is in Mordor, while the Belgariad gives the letter a double whammy with the muderous kings of both Cthol Murgos and Mallorea. I know the king of Mallorea stops his crucifying habits eventually, but he still crucified them!

Now that I'm talking about it, I'm having trouble thinking of examples, but I did notice it when I was in that phase. Might go back, it was quite fun. Geek is good. But did anyone else notice just how much The Wishsong of Shannara was a direct copy of Lord of the Rings? I had to stop reading it, I felt cheated! I thought Elfstones was pretty good though, it was much more enjoyable.

And while I'm rambling on about fantasy, someone read some Holly Lisle! The Secret Texts series is really good!

2004-06-13T19:10:00.000Z

If I mentioned the words 'Von Dutch' to an American, I would get a reply involving spitting and distaste. It is so unbelievably unfashionable in the US that it's... unbelievable.

When Skinny came back from California, before I'd even noticed its existence, she scowled at a shop window displaying the latest imported clothes, ie Von Dutch. "Euck," she said, "I think I'll be sick if I see anymore bloody Von Dutch. If you get caught wearing it in the States, you may as well have leprosy."

Time went on, and I started to notice more and more trucker hats. You know, the ridiculously large ones with the mesh bits? There's a guy who gets on my bus with a flowery one, I pity his parents. And they were at ever-increasingly precarious angles. One gust of wind, and they'd've all been chasing their caps down the street.

Before Von Dutch's spores landed, stupid cap angles had only been associated with wannabes and emos. Proper emos I have no problem with, but it's when you start getting into the realm of wannabe emos that you need to fear. They are disturbed human beings.

So I sat back and watched, as I usually do, as Von Dutch grew in popularity. Ripped jeans, Converse All-Star trainers and blazers became more common as people slipped into this trap of American rejection fashion.

And the crown they all wore? The Von Dutch cap at a dodgy tilt.

I've told my fellow anti-fashionists about this, and they laughed at the gullibility of people. But what we all worried about, as self-confessed Jimmy Eat World fans, was that even an awful genre like emotional hardcore had been turned into a fashion.

It is quite satisfying, when people admire my dungarees and ask where I got them from, to which I tell them honestly,

"Oxfam, 99p."

Long live second-hand clothing.

2004-06-08T19:31:00.000Z

Okay, I think I just made it let you do comments on everything I've ever written ever, so... you can put your hate mail stright on the site rather than filling up my inbox!

And if it looks as if I have no friends from lack of comments, I probably don't.

Ah well.

2004-05-26T10:42:00.000Z

Hello my darling plumkins, I only have 10 minutes to write a note on here, so I'll get to the point as fast as I can.

I was discussing with someon today why she doesn't like several people who she's known for about a year. Don't get me wrong, she used to like them, but she says they've changed beyond her recognition.

So how much can a person change, as i really deep down? Their changes are mostly mouth and no trousers, but some of their values have changed as ell, and I think that's what's gnawing her; they aren't the people she made friends with a year ago.

Apparently I've changed - more confident, I swear more, I'm even more cynical than I used to be, and I've started treating everyone initially with the same amount of respect (I used to be a real lap dog when it came to adults, no idea why). I can tell why I've changed, and I hope most of these changes are for the better, but I'm not here to judge myself, that's what society is for. But some of my values have changed too: I'm more understanding of animal testing, and I've come to the conclusion that socialism would only work if we were all Karl Marx. But I still hold some things: being polite to strangers unless they're rude to me, trying hard in exams stuff like that. If they changed, I just wouldn't be me.

So have these people lost all contact with their original defining features? None of them are less confident now, and I don't think they've grown any more bitchy (that was what year 9 was for). But how much needs to change to know something is different?

I had a friend who, for no reason at all it seemed, started changing. At first it was little habits - he started fidgetting more, he became more confident, he got funnier, fearless and more of an outgoing person. Don't get me wrong, this took about 6 months. He wore different clothes, talked more, and slowly stopped being the guy we knew and became someone similar to, but sufficiently not, my mate. We had some arguments, fell out, and i found out later on that he'd started using drugs. But it was a slow change, barely noticeable at the time, but when I thought back, I could see him changing slowly. Small things, very slowly, but enough over time to make him different.

Bah.

2004-05-12T10:10:00.000Z

I'm sorry my darlings, I've neglected you so. I've got about 5 posts half written that need improving and updating as some are news-related and now innaccurate.

So what for now? There's some serious shit going on right now, what with Iraq, Glasgow, all that. Glasgow is another matter that I don't know enough about to comment on, it so far seems to have been a tragic accident and official figures aren't out yet, so, another time.

But in the meantime, what drives one human being to torture another in the way that we're seeing daily in Iraq? And why weren't the American public more outraged when they first came out? It took a whole fortnight for them to make front-page news. What the fuck is going on? Ordered to kill and humiliate prisoners? Does Geneva mean nothing to them? They probably don't even realise it's a place in Switzerland.

And it isn't just the US, Britain is to blame as well. Mowing down civilians because they were in the way? Bloody hell, what's happening to us?

People were horrified by the stories and pictures that came out from the concentration camps after the war. Prisoners forced to strip and walk naked to the gas chambers, their hair used to stuff sofas and their skin to make lampshades. Tell me how these pictures of torture are any better.

There is no peace in war, it's an oxymoron. Fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity (that's a quote, I wish I'd thought of it). How many more stories of torture are we going to hear from other war zones?

And will the presidential elections be fixed again this year?

2004-02-18T23:39:00.000Z

I'm not really sure what it is that I'm writing about today, but I just need to vent something, and here is the place that it will offend the least people.

Publishing lies on the internet is a sad, petty thing to do. I avoid doing it at all costs as it is so very, very pathetic. I just hope that other people who see what's been written will know that it's a load of bollocks. I find it quite sad that she has to reaffirm to herself what a 'fabulous' life she has by trying to make mine miserable.

It isn't working.

I hope none of you partake in this childish pasttime. I'd like to think that I can have childish fun and still know when to act maturely. You don't see me making up lies and using people to my own ends, I just wish other people wouldn't either.

Grow up.

2004-01-26T21:50:00.000Z

Hmm, haven't been here for a while... bah.

I went to a public speaking competition the other day, only watching, and one of the topics was about high art and low art and what defines each, and this got me thinking.

Yes, before you ask, it hurt.

I'll use books and music as an example, and possibly Grease too. What makes a song or a book good? Working in a bookshop, some people assume that I know the answer to the latter, but I ain't got a clue. A good plot? Likeable characters? Or for music, a catchy tune? Slamming bass?

God knows. I hear a lot of snobbery at work, not only with books and films, but most other art forms as well. Dance hasn't had much of a mention except when Caroline started tap dancing to keep warm, but that was about it. I was scared to take in any CD's for weeks in case I was told that they were rubbish. When I mentioned to someone that Vaugh Williams wouldn't be too bad, I was looked at in disgust. It's the same with books: before giving my opinion on a book I'd read, I always waited for the other person's opinion.

As of Saturday 24th January 2004 though, my faith in music has been restored, and I no longer feel worried to voice my opinions on something.

Which is handy.

We were at Music Tek for the metal fest, and five bands played. The first band, I thought, were so awful that I managed to forget their name (but they used to be in a band with some of the members of Inserenity, who, I think, have potential and an amusing bassist). Some people would have liked it, but not my thing. The second band, who I've seen several times before, were okay to listen to but for headbanging, they lacked bite. I could do housework while listening to them, which isn't a bad thing but I was disappointed as last time they were quite good. The third band, whose name I think is Gore, took a while to get started, and I was dubious at first, but then wham! bam! National Anthem of Goruguay! Fallen Down the Stairs Again! The Handwich! And, my favourite of all, Shattered to Pieces by Falling Faeces. Classic. And their lead guitarist had the best eyebrows since Ashley did a Patrick Moore impression. I liked, they fun. I even parted with my hard-earned cash to buy their CD.

Descent were lucky in that the crowd were bubbling when they got there. We rocked pretty hard, and then headbanged to some Gutworm, who rounded off the evening nicely. Then we went and sat down.

"That was shit."

Ah well. Considering this person hadn't really been up watching the bands, I thought they had no real right to say that. These are performance bands, you have to experience it when it's live, you can't have it as background music really. Cd's you can, but not when there's a sweaty group of beer-filled musicians thrashing about.

But do I have the right to say that? Well, yeah I do, but it's whether I'm right or not that's the issue. I thought some of them were quite good, some were really good and some were crap, but at least I bothered to get up and listen. That's what I was driving at! Don't judge things before you experience them!

Book snobbery comes from not reading other genres of books. I like some crime books, but I hate Kathy Reiches, who is supposed to be quite good. Well, in my opinion, no she isn't. But that's my opinion! I read one of her books to find that out, I didn't just go with the trend.

Westlife. I'll never forgive them for butchering 'More than Words', but I can see why people like them. The thought of them brings bile up in my throat, but Marylin Manson has the same effect on my Westlife-loving friends. People ridicule comics for having pictures, but have these people ever sat down and read 'Watchmen' by Allan Moore? I doubt it. And don't call it a graphic novel, that's just trying to compensate for their snobbery by giving them a poncy name.

My point is that judging things before you really know what you're talking about is blatant ignorance. Going on other people's opinions is weakness. I will defend 'Jack the Giant Killer' to the hilt if someone who hasn't seen it says it's crap. The fact that I only love it because I have a warped sense of humour is neither here nor there, but it's a matter of knowledge and experience. Experience something, and then you really know it. Find out as much about something as you can before passing verdict. Open mindedness in this self-centred world is a marvellous thing, you'd be amazed what you learn.

And as for Grease? Let's face it, the story's rubbish, but no school disco would be complete without everyone screeching 'Summer ni-iGHTS' out of tune at the end of that ultimate musical number.

2004-01-21T18:10:00.000Z

They expect me to pay £1 on the buses as of January 4th, which makes me beg the question, what bus? This morning I waited 20 minutes for a bus supposed to come every 10, yesterday it was half an hour for one that comes every 15, and when you find yourself, as I did, waiting longer than 25 minutes for a bus supposed to come every 5, you begin to wonder what Ken Livingstone is on.

Not a bus, I assure you.

The buses are getting worse. Since the congestion charge was introduced, I've had even more difficulty getting from A to B. This £5 that poor drivers have to pay should be being spent on more buses. None that I've seen! I get a minimum of four buses a day five days a week, and two a day on the weekend, and I can honestly say that I've seen little improvement.

This may be related to our location with respect to London. Since leaving Essex in the 60's, we've been our own entity. After turning our backs on our mother-county, our foster-parent has been less than pleased with our presence. We pay council taxes, which go to housing in Hackney, who pay much lower rates as a result of our contribution.

Romford is truly the armpit of London.

2003-12-24T01:08:00.000Z

Sweet mercy, what is going on?!

If you plan on visiting Harold Hill before the 6th January and value your retinas, wear sunglasses and keep your eyes ahead of you.

But this problem is not confined to Harold Hill, as we drove up my own road, we were nearly blinded.

It is bad.

It is wrong.

It is...

CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS GONE MAD!

This problem has been growing exponentially for the last few years. Possibly the problem this year was the introduction of inflatable 8-foot monstrosities, increasing the volume of decorations without actually having many more decorations.

Now is not the time to be epileptic. Flashing lights, singing snowmen, neon Santa statues, light-up icicles and poor shrubs buckling under the weight of flashing cables that 'decorate' them.

Oh dear. It's all got a bit silly, hasn't it? Mind you, that's not something I can really say with conviction to my American readers (all two of them), who have suffered such festivities plus some real snow all their lives. Thank God for the Gulf Stream, or it could have been worse over here.

Do we need it though? All these flashing lights and inflatable snowmen, all the bright decorations and seasonal cheer? So much energy, both electrical and physical, is wasted on making houses visible from space that people forget about other things. I'm referring indirectly to that couple who were found dead after their gas was cut off because they couldn't afford the bills. I know Christmas lights didn't cause that, but it still makes you think.

2003-12-24T00:31:00.000Z

So I haven't been here a while, I had a ton of homework and then some trouble going on. But I'm back now, pack up the party.

I'll get as quickly to the point as I can. University fees and political correctness, I can't stand either. And when they go hand in hand incenses me more.

So Tony Blair plans to introduce top-up fees. Why? 'Educaion, education, education,' he says. Bollocks! £3000 extra a year at university after he got rid of grants that enabled the less well-off to actually get an education. He's making it for the privelidged again, which is a horrendous after his boasting about equal opportunities.

The man talks out of his arse. It is a disgrace. He says that everyone should be able to get an education, go far in life and fulfill their potential. How are us mere mortals supposed to go far with over £12,000 of debt? He never had it hard, he has no right to make it hard for the rest of us.

In the top 13 universities, 39% of pupils come from 7% of schools, those 7% being the private ones. It isn't fair, and it shouldn't be allowed to happen. But it is, and it does.

Little me, in my comprehensive school 6th form, with my 7 A*'s and 4 A's, am predicted high grades at A-levels and am being encouraged to apply for Cambridge. I'd love to go, I'd love to learn and I'd love to do well, but that will be impossible if I can't afford it. It would have been difficult enough without top-up fees, so I was going to take a year out to save up. But now, due to top-up fees, I would be even more in debt if I saved up.

Go straight in, be in debt for the rest of my life or wait, pay top-up fees and be in debt for the rest of my life.

And then there's another thing. On our provisional UCAS forms it asked if both or either of my parents/guardians had been to university. What right do they have to ask that? So they can gauge if they think we're suitable to go to as well? Neither of my parents went, but I'm not telling them that. In fact, I ticked all three boxes and wrote next to it 'THIS QUESTION IS UNFAIR AND OF NO RELEVENCE'. Bloody social status.

So I told people not to tick this question on their forms, but for most it was too late. Never mind, maybe there would be another opportunity.

"You won't have second lesson today because you're doing Alis tests."

Alis tests, like Yellis tests for GCSE students, predict what grades you'll get. For GCSE there was a literacy and numerousy test. I was all prepared to give the meanings to silly words, but no, you just had to fill in the personal details and future plans.

I stroke my imaginary beard ponderously.

So they want to know my post code, my ethnicity, my parents' occupations, when they left school and what job I aspire to have. They then want to know where I see myself in the future and whether I will go to uni.

I so wanted to write 'BOLLOCKS' in big letters across it, it was unbearable.

But I restrained myself. These things annoy me, so I try not to play up to them. It said that the part about my parents was optional, so I opted out. On the 'where I see myself in 10 years' multiple choice part, it had a line for you to write your own prediction, I wrote 'In debt because of university fees - Most Likely'. For all others I gave the answers 'Unsure', 'Unlikely' or 'Definitely not'. On the section about what careers I would be interested in, I again answered vaguely for all except the one I could write; 'See how it all works out - Most Likely'.

This politically correct, social analysing, working class-persecuting crap really does annoy me. Maybe it's the socialist values I harbour, or maybe it's just that the reality of the situation is seriously flawed. They spout so much about equality, where's the equality in stopping those with less money from achieving what they're capable of?

Stick your top-up fees where the sun don't shine, Mr Blair.

2003-11-12T22:12:00.000Z

Ahh, I feel much better today. Sorry for yesterday's outburst, but I think I kind of needed it.

Thank you for understanding/tutting and saying I ought to be grateful for what I have.
(Delete as appropriate).

2003-11-11T20:14:00.000Z

I hate cutsie forwarded emails.

While I'm at it, I hate having organised religion forced on me, I hate being sent on pointless missions, I hate people assuming I don't go to a lesson because I 'don't feel like it', and I absolutely hate being spoken down to by my statistics teacher when she doesn't teach us the fucking work.

I'm having a bad day. In fact, I'm having a bad week, and it's only Tuesday.

It started on... must have been Sunday. I think I was grumpy Saturday because I had no time to myself all day, what with work and being expected to go out afterwards. No real problem, I think it just made me tired on Sunday.

Monday I had a load of work due in, but I was told that I was going to youth club with Sam and Mandy for some 'thing'. When I get told I'm going to Harold Hill, I expect to stay in Harold Hill. I don't want to go to some Christian youth event. I may be a youth, but I ain't Christian, and don't plan on being so ever again. It was bad enough last time. I lost my religion properly, I don't plan on finding it in some dingy church.

I told everyone that I wanted to go home. They said that now I was there I may as well stay. How about bollocks?

The sum total of it is, I had a shit evening and didn't get home until gone 10. I went straight to bed.

Monday. Statistics. Sadistic. I hate the subject, but I think I hate my teacher even more. She gave us a test the other week, which we all found immensely difficult, and then we got them back to find that she'd marked wrong the basic principles that SHE taught us. She was the one who told us to start at -0.5 on histograms, whatever the situation, she's the one who then proceeded to tell us we were wrong. I told her that she had told us this, she smiled patronisingly and asked me how I could have -0.5mm of a borehole. That would be a lump, but that is not the point. She taught us that, she should stand by her methods or teach us properly. We're going to ask for a new teacher.

I went to my sister's house and had a good old PMT-fuelled cry. I couldn't get in touch with me boyfriend because his phone was missing, which was not helping.

Then I had double physics, to make matters worse. I like physics, I just don't like being taught A-level work off sheets.

Various orchestras then endured, which I only survived by eating lots of chocolate and having a good old bitch with David.

Then this morning, still feeling overly hormonal and sufficiently wretched to warrant throwing a chair through a window, Mancey sent me on the most pointless of errands: tell the upper sixth that they have to sit on the stage. What kind of a stupid message is that?! They'd all already left the out-building, they would know that there would be no room on the balcony, and they would go to the stage because they are not stupid. I walked back to the sixth form block, was told to go back to assembly, locked myself in a toilet and cried. Been doing lots of that recently.

I did not need it, so I went home.

These aren't my only problems, there is another big problem that I don't really want to tell you all, but I was hoping that writing this up would make me realise how trivial it all is. I know this is trivial, two of my friends have parents with cancer, I know someone who gets beaten up by their mum, I know someone locked in a cycle of drugs and stealing, I know someone still trying to come to terms with her brother's suicide. But my major problem is major, so please don't piss me off in the next two weeks until it's sorted, or I may just have to do the chair-window thing for real.

2003-10-30T20:11:00.000Z

Well, I went and got me a job and a boyfriend, so I haven't had much time for anything else recently. Sorry! There will be time soon!

2003-10-03T16:56:00.000Z

Wow, hate mail. Isn't it fun?

I replied to it all appropriately.

I don't really have anything to write, but I felt guilty for not having written up here for ages. I've had quite an eventful time since i last posted anything on here, not anything that I'm going to tell you about, mind. But I have discovered how good a theme tune 'Bat Out of Hell' by Meatloaf and 'Poison' by Alice Cooper are for driving too fast down country roads. Fun fun fun!

Can you think of anything I can write on here? I might have another theological bout at some point, I'm feeling vaguely religiously churned, not sure why. I haven't been burning goats again, honest!

Yeah. Not much for me to write. Updating Thing had to be put on hold or a while, I couldn't think of anything for a few days, and I was having too much summery fun. I'm now having too much autumnal fun as well, but enough of that.

I've just waffled for about 6 inches. Shoot me.

Not literally.

2003-09-14T18:34:00.000Z

That horrendous new Christina Augillermaleria-or-however-you-spell-it song is currently on the radio, and its general impression is that girls are stronger than boys, you can rise up blah blah blah the usual feminist teachings. If a bloke was singing a song for blokes to the same effect, it would be sexism.

So tell me, women may sing about the empowerment of women, but what of the other half of the human race? If Gareth Gates started singing about how men can rise up and get somewhere in the world no matter what, his career would be even more over than it is already. Does that seem wholly unfair to anyone else? And extremely sexist by its own definition?

What are we teaching our children here?

Hi little girl. You will probably face some discrimination for being naturally weaker than your male counterparts, but the law is on your side. Don't let your gender hold you back, you are as much, if not more, than any man will ever be. You go girl, smash that glass ceiling! (I go an all girls school, I have had that speech many times, and most of it is direct quotation.)

Hi little boy. Due to nothing that is your fault, you will have many sexist jokes called after you, you may be turned away from something in the name of positive discrimination, you will be accused of leering, oggling and lusting after women, and you will not be able to retaliate without being called a sexist pig.

Don't whinge at me for being sexist against women, I'M A GIRL. But I am a mildly annoyed girl. I could use my gender (and my chest) to get myself through certain parts in life. In fact, I already have a few times. But it has got to the point now where if a woman goes in for a job against a group of men and she doesn't get hired, she can play the sexism card. That isn't empowerment of women, that's exploitation of men. The two are definitely not the same.

I know that if you look back in history women have had a pretty raw deal. Girls were believed too stupid to need to go to school for a very long time. Even though the country prospered noticably under several of its queens (and smouldered with protestants under others), we are often taught of the follies of kings rather than the faults of queens.

There is a distinct lack of female input in the fields of art and science through history. Marie Curie and thingy who discovered DNA are the only two I can think of right now, and there are only about 3 female poets in an Oxford English poetry book I have, though that was written when women were still getting a lot of stick. This doesn't mean that there were no clever women in history, but it doesn't automatically mean there were hundreds of them hiding in closets bursting with new ideas, either.

One thing I find no justification for is denying women of the vote, and even when that was corrected it took however much longer to get equal voting rights. Yes, women definitely got the blunt end of that pencil.

There is the issue of promiscuity too, whereby it seems more acceptable for men to have multiple partners than it is for women. Why should men be allowed to sleep around but not women? Countless PSE lessons are speaking there. This is an outdated view now, I've found, because half the time everyone is sleeping with everyone else. The pill gave women more freedom, yes, and young mothers are nothing new, Jane Seymor of Henry VIII fame was only about 17 when she had Edward. Just because they're not married doesn't automatically make them irresponsible or a slut. If they are a single mother, that is what we now have the CSA for. But then you get women who exploit that system, getting pregnant whilst claiming to be on the pill, so their unfortunate one-time partner has to pay for something that is no fault of theirs for the next 18 years. This is using sex in the wrong way.

I know there's that whole glass ceiling thing, where you can see where you want to be in life once you get that job or that promotion, but can't because you're a woman, and I know it still exists. But things are getting better remember, for genuine cases there is the European Court of Human Rights, where you can take yor case and shove it up your employer's arse, and all the more for real cases. But people are using this to their own gain, and that just isn't right.

But most of that is past now. Maggie and her Knickers of Steel could never have reigned if discrimination were still as rife as some would have us believe. We can't live in the past because if we did, the inequalities will still exist, but would be more hidden as men get irate from being called sexist bastards or told they think in their pants every time they tell someone they look nice. How often are women scolded for staring at men's arses? And don't deny it, it happens a lot.

The unfairness of it can be condensed into a joke I found once, and I think I used it on Thing a while ago.

What do you call it when a guy talks dirty to a girl?
Sexual harassment.
What do you call it when a girl talks dirty to a guy?
£3.99 a minute.

In trying to become equal with men, some women are attempting to take over the position of dominant sex. Instead of clawing their way up, they are dragging the poor men who get in their way, down. Wasn't the point to get treated fairly rather than treat others unfairly because of their opposing gender? Do the words 'become what they set out to destroy' spring to anyone else's mind?

2003-09-11T03:58:00.000Z

Don't think me rude for not mentioning a certain anniversary today, call it letting the dead sleep.

Talking of dead sleep, I could do with some. I am so knackered. I had the day off school today because this 'flu thing I've had is beating me. I was winning yesterday at about midday, then totally lost the lead I had by 6 o'clock. Now I just feel pooey and can taste stale dribble in my mouth. I think I'll have some ribena.

...

Ah, that's better. Well, since I last spoke to you, I have returned to school. I've only actually had two lessons so far, geography and citizenship, and so far so good. I think. I don't know about today, I've missed my first maths lesson which I was oddly looking forward to as I quite like maths. Never mind, got it tomorrow double.

So. What am I going to talk about to you today? Not too sure really, I'll have a think about it. Let's see...

No, nothing. If you have any ideas, please tell me, as I'm too ill and too tired to work it out.

2003-08-30T11:57:00.000Z

I have really bad backache, be nice to me.

2003-08-19T10:58:00.000Z

Now, I've been meaning to write this moan up for absolute yonks, as the existence of these objects has niggled me since their creation. They are pointless, ridiculous, impractical and generally stupid, and I loathe them passionately. They are a bane on my existence, but offer humour whenever someone who owns them finds themselves in a compromising position, such as stuck in a door.

I am talking about rave pants. I hate them.

I'd better explain what they are to the unknowing of you before I carry on. Rave pants, or octopus pants, are those trousers with the stupid tassles hanging off. Just wasted strips of fabric attached to a pair of baggies. I personally think they look ridiculous, but just about everyone, including everyone who has no right wearing any form of baggies, is wearing them.

What is the point? A waste of fabric, they must weigh a ton, and their potential for getting stuck in stuff is phenomenal! Just imagine when it rains (and I appeal to the baggie-wearing community to back me up here), they must soak up a large portion of the town. The tassles would absorb the rain as it falls as well, adding to the liquid content, making it all the worse. I've walked home in big baggie jeans with half of Romford up my legs, but they must be worse.

And then there's the issue of them getting stuck in things, wrapped around stuff, and tied to things by sneaky people like me. Only once have I been tempted, mind. But let me tell you a little story: in Helen's ICT class, there was a girl wearing rave pants. Every time she stood up, she took the chair with her.That can't be very good can it? What if she'd been in a mixed exam and got up with the first set of people going, and the chair clattered all over the floor? Very annoying.

But why are all these trendy people wearing them? They sneer at the alternative population, then take an idea and mutilate it. It's like when 'In the End' got too much radio play, it was alright before, and then it just got silly. Not that I endorse or even enjoy Linkin Park (see: Reanimation, cross-reference with: Bad Sounding Attempt to Make Money). But do you get what I mean? They mock us then wear baggies. Yes, their baggies are ridiculous, impractical and available in white, which is a big mistake when paintguns are so readily available too, but baggies belong to the alternative scene. You see hip hop people wearing them too, but you shouldn't see wannabe trendy musically flawed hypocritical arseholes wearing them, even if they do have loads of stupid tasselly things on them.

And don't even get me started on the bloody punk revival that currently fills Top Shop.

I won't rant for too long though, because my opinion is outweighed by the volume of the damn things. But I will tell you my cunning plan for rave pants and their owners: you know the Jubilee line on the London Underground? Well at Wterloo there are two sets of sliding doors when you get off the train, one set on the train itself and the other set on the platform. Put as many rave-panted people on the train, then make them all get off at Waterloo. The train doesn't stop long enough for that to happen, so someone will get stuck in the doors. Mwahahaha!

2003-08-09T16:48:00.000Z

That bruise? Still there. It's gone yellow now, so not so cool but never mind.

And what the hell is up with the weather? This is England! Where is our thunderstorm?! And don't say it might be here tomorrow, because the heat is unbearable!

I am done.

Today, for no apparent reason, I feel like promoting till work. Now, anyone who has ever had to operate a till for any period of time will know how mind-numbingly shite it is. Let's face facts, people, till work sucks. It sucks, that is, unless you have a mobile phone and no customers. Today, thankfully, I was only on the till for about half an hour in the late afternoon, in which time I served a grand total of 5 customers. That's an average of 1 every 6 minutes. And the most expensive transaction was £2.68. That is what I call a slow afternoon. In that time I sent and received 10 text messages, keeping me thoroughly alive despite the heat and dodgy music. No, there was no point for any of that, but I'm happy so ner to those of you that I don't like. Barbeque tomorrow, should be something to write about there...

2003-08-03T09:47:00.000Z

Raa! How have you all been? I was good, until SOMEONE knocked me over when we were ice skating yesterday, and caused a large (but very cool) bruise on my chin. Going home looking like you've received a left hook is not the best of ideas with my parents, especially with the size of this lump. Damn you Jonny, you deserve more than a smack in the eye!

And the other day I went to see my friend in a ballet production of Sleeping Beauty in Westcliff, and Sleeping Beauty had just fallen down asleep after pricking her finger, her family and friends gathered round in shocked silence, when a little girl in the row behind shouted out, 'She's dead!' Classic.

But anyhoo, I'm sure there was something pressing that I was going to talk about. Not Wagon Wheels or Nesquik again, but I think it was food related. Or foot related. Hmm.

No, it was dance music. I was going to complain about how dance music just ain't what it used to be. Last night was the disco, and they were playing lots of old stuff, and I mean really old. I'm talking back once again for the renegade master old. And older. Sounds of my childhood! The stuff rocks. I'll be telling everyone that if they're looking for devotion, talk to me, show me show me show me baby. You've got to give it to me give it to me give it to me. Or perhaps not, but I love all that, because it was good and reminds me of tons of cool times.

And then it all went wrong somewhere around '96 I think. Originality went out the window, and all the good DJ's took too many E tablets or something, because it got shit. Now don't write telling me that that's when it got good, because I thoroughly disagree. You are entitled to your opinion, but this is my page so ner. The Hotstepper came and went, we ceased to Jump Around at inappropriate moments (except me and Bill, that is), and loads of good stuff from the days of musical yore was sampled and murdered. I'm talking Loving You for example, which was sped up and mutilated, loads of nice classical tunes were stripped and fudged with, and, possibly worst of all, they found power ballads and... used them. You can take those Broken Wings and shove them up your arse for all I care now! You killed a perfectly tacky song! Unforgivable.

What happened? Did the raves stop? Did ecstacy try floating and the shareholders were too in love with each other to make it work? I don't know. Does an underground 90's dance movement fester in the dark as we speak? Or shall we never again feel the urge to tell the world that we Can't Get No Sleep? In fact, I'm not even sure that that's what that song was called. No! I'm forgetting!

I guess it's one of those tastes and people changing kind of things. I mean, you just don't hear so much Brit-pop indie kind of stuff anymore, but I'm sure it still exists. I get the feeling that I'm one of the only people who actually misses this stuff though... I'm a Dreamer!

2003-07-21T19:17:00.000Z

Lovely people! How long I have neglected you! Well I have actually been quite busy, I do have a few excuses, but not really enough. Several of them involve Christianity, surprisingly. In brief, there were two nights in a tent involving lots of tea and some Christian rock, 50 odd kilometres on foot with two more nights in a tent and a massive rucksack, a sleepover at the youth club preceded by a session of being Bible-bashed (I shall apparently burn in Hell) and then a whole day in a park in Chalkwell with even more Chistian rock!

Godly.

But enough of that, I'll probably write something on Thing about it, if I ever write anything on that page. I went shopping with Helen today, and thought of a few things, so maybe today can be like a super entry. It probably won't, actually, but we'll see how it pans out.

The Problem With Wagon Wheels

We all know that as we grow up and get bigger, some things seem to get smaller. Rooms in other people's houses shrink, stairs become easier to climb, and food becomes less filling. The most pronounced example of this that I and several other people have found, is with Wagon Wheels.

Now I have always had a big mouth. There's a picture from a few years ago with my entire fist in there. I hold a record among my friends for most chip shop chips, most Hula Hoop crisps and most marshmallows stuffed in my mouth... not all at the same time, mind. But when I was about 8, even I could not fit an entire Wagon Wheel into my mouth. Not even I, with my personal black hole could fit a whole Wagon Wheel in my gob, I had to break it first. I still had this problem two years later at the tender age of 10. Then I didn't, for some reason, have Wagon Wheels for absolute yonks.

So there I am, sitting on my mate Cheryl's sofa, when she walks in with a tray full of Wagon Wheels. After squealing girlishly in delight (something only chocolate and a few select other things can make me do), I grabbed two. I peeled back the plastic in anticipation, opened as wide as I could, and pushed the Wagon Wheel into my mouth.

And promptly almost choked.

It fitted! With room to spare! What was going on? That never happened before! I didn't understand. Munching thoughtfully, I considered why this might be.

1. My mouth had grown a lot since I was 10. I'm only a little person (standing at a proud 5'5"), and though that Wagon Wheel-less period covers my growth spurt, it is conceivable but unlikely that my mouth would have grown that much. I mean, that much room to spare? I'm talking about two more Wagon Wheels plus three Gold bars. I think not, which drew me to my second, highly predictable conclusion...

2. Wagon Wheels have shrunk. Not having had the forethought to measure the diameter when I was 10, I cannot prove this, but I am not alone. My own father has declared that they aren't as big as they used to be, and his 'used to be' predates mine by about 35 years. Ponderous. But is there a third explanation?

3. I'm tempted to say something involving space-time phenomena, parallel universes, alien abduction and a vortex for good measure, but that too is unlikely, or at least no one noticed when it happened. Could it be that we have just grown up and Wagon Wheels have stayed the same? I'm leaning towards saying yes, but that would just be boring. Where's the fun in normality? In desperation, I have come up with this third meaning:

Because this is Britain, loads of things were done differently about 50 years ago, which they've only recently bothered to go back and correct, or at least change so it isn't so good for us. Example 1: changing Jif to Cif to be in line with the rest of Europe. Example 2: the EuroMix dance mats only having half as many songs as a load of other coutries. One person in particular was not inpressed when he found out, were you Mr Curry? Never mind. But working on this principle, I reckon, and we're getting into conspiracy theory territory here, that once upon a time we had the same sized Wagon Wheels as the rest of the world, ie America. Then one day, when someone was feeling extra nasty, they decided that we British weren't up to that enormous Wagon Wheel experience, and they made them smaller. Perhaps out of lack of money, lack of biscuit or lack of compassion, I don't know. But this they did to us, hoping no one would notice.

Or maybe bollocks.

Now for the second part of my post. I think all this recent Bible-beating I've been getting has made me realise just how scary and controlling organised religion can be. Not that I have anything against anyone's faiths, except perhaps when those beliefs involve burning black people or beating up women, you get my point. But there is a difference between preaching and crusading, and this has become most noticable in the few weeks a new guy has been running our youth club. It all started to go wrong a few Fridays ago...

Youth club only has about 15 people in it, and half of us sit about sleeping, bitching and not believing in God. It was always Jesus-orientated, but if we didn't believe, it wasn't pushed. It was a kind of "we know you don't care, but on the offchance that you ever do, we're here for you". But when one of the leaders left and we met his replacement, our days of open-minded slouching came to a theologian-shocking end.

We had to talk about our first experiences of God. Sunday school for most of us. Right. There followed a sermon on the wonderfulness of God, which I only listened to half-heartedly. It got worse, though. At the sleepover last Friday, we had to talk about some statements, and one of them was about the existance of and belief in God. Now, as a non-believer, I stood up for myself against the new guy, because the way he put it made it sound as though not believing in Christ automatically made you an ignorant and stupid pleb. So nerr to him I says, telling him that yes I do have beliefs, they just aren't the same as his. Slightly more than 5 minutes of arguing followed as me and Karl, fellow non-believer (he spent 5 years in a church school, who can blame him?) argued our case against his views. Personally, I think we won, as we got the last word.

Maybe he just doesn't know how to talk to young people. Ben, who had been running it before, hadn't pushed the issue. He's a dude and religious, which is a difficult balance to achieve, but he manages with style and a Swedish fiance. But new guy does not! His beliefs seems to involve no personal interpretation of the Bible, only meanings he's been told, and in saving his own soul, he seems soulless. Has his own religion destroyed him in the name of salvation? Or is he just a sheep in the non God/shepherd way?

Please don't send me hatemail accusing me of being a Christian-hating close-minded arsehole, I was brought up a methodist. These are opinions, not insults.

Love you all!

2003-07-09T12:13:00.000Z

Raa! I'm in a public library doing not very much on the internet! All humour sites filtered nooooooooooooooo! It does suck relatively well, but never mind, this is supposed to be used for proper purposes. Never mind. I'm working on updating Thing, but every day I leave it another week of entires pile up. I don't know how that works. Anyhoo, I'll see you all later properly, bye byee!

2003-06-30T21:32:00.000Z

Ok my darlings, just a quick note that I'm telling everyone - eat brocalli and porridge. I am currently anemic and it is not fun. I'm dead tired and bruising like a good'un, and the tablets are nasty. I look like a Fight Club extra on my arms and legs.

I hope you got that kids, get plenty of iron, or you'll end up like me. If that happens...

May God have mercy on us all.

2003-06-29T11:38:00.000Z

Sorry, my computer has been being an absolute bastard. I wrote this 2 weeks ago.

Sorry I haven't written anything these last few weeks, I had exams on 8 consecutive school days. Two left now, and I have until Friday to cram and stuff. Then I'm free!

Since I was last here? Nothing much really. I'm reading the Belgariad again, I thoroughly reccomend it if you haven't read it. David Eddings, he's a dude. And lots of cool websites. I'll put some of them up on Thing when I finally update that poor neglected site.

The world is cooler than you think, even if the soundtrack is a bit disappointing.

But today I'm going to talk about something that happened while I was on the til in the shop, at about half four yesterday. After she had bought three African dresses, I got talking to this lady. She had already mentioned to another lady that she was 63, and she was doing pretty well for it. She complimented me on my folding and asked what I wanted to do as a career. Honestly, I have no idea, so I just said rock sciences. She asked me my birthday, then, with a distant look in her eye, told me that I ought to be doing something with money or computers. She told me that I liked the arts, in particular dancing, and that my personsl standards are too high. She said I shouldn't be confined by the limitations of my siblings before me, and that I should keep climbing until I reach a peak of my own choosing. She said I ought to be in command, and be known. She said I ought to write, but not be confined in a corner, because that would just make me depressed. That was why I shouldn't do science, because that would just bore me, and I need to be around people. She thought that handling money would a vital part of my career, and that I should maybe do something with management. She suggested the fruad squad, because I want to help people and that would give me a chance to use my monetary skills. She said I would marry a capricorn, or maybe a virgo. It was pretty damned scary to be studied quite accurately by a small woman I had never met before.

To bactrack: I'm predicted a quite good grade in maths, I took IT and music as my options, I have dance lessons, I'm the youngest of four, I make up stories for the children I babysit, I don't like being alone for too long, which can be seen by the amount of text messages I've been sending during study leave, and I've always wanted to help people. I know some of these, especially the last two, are quite general and felt by a lot of people, but the whole analysis was startlingly true. I think the only thing that was particularly innaccurate was about money - I hate money, and would lock all mine up in a bank if I had any, and then trade in barter. But she told me all this just by me saying I'm a taurus, and it was detailed rather than just generalisations.

I don't read horoscopes, I've always seen them as cobblers. It is impossible for the entire world to be split into 12 categories and behave that way all their life. Millions of people are not going to experience the same problems in the same ways purely because they were born in the same month. They are always written really vague and open, like 'You will have bad luck today'. Well no one ever has a perfect day! Planets and stars seem too far away to have an effect on us, and I can't think of the last time I got anything useful from astrology. But that's what this was - a horoscope kind of thing. Was it that this woman, who had travelled so far and met so many people, could tell what kind of a person I am from my star sign alone, or am I just plain obvious? I do have a bit of an honesty issue, I wear my moods like I wear hats: bright and noticable, and I make a point of sharing my grief sometimes. Most of the fortunes I've ever had from Mari came from the books she reads about star signs, and bore no resemblance to my personality in the slightest. Is astrology learned from life and not books? I got the feeling that this woman had learned from something a bit more involved than a book, because you can't learn everything from books, and you can't know a person just from their birthday. There was something very rare about this lady, Agnes, but I think I'll remember what she said, because she could tell a lot about me without me telling her a single thing.

2003-05-22T17:26:00.000Z

Well, apart from being a very naughty panda and not writing here for absolute yonks, I've been doing lots of thinking, from the origins of the universe to the hitchhiker's guide to the very same thing. Somewhere in the middle there was The King dying on The Throne, and it all began with a matter of etiquette.

Toiletiquette

When Sir John Harington presented the water closet to Elizabeth I all those years ago in 1589, she was horrified, but who could have predicted the social impact of his simple invention. The lavatory, the loo, the bog, the dunny, the john, the crapper, the porcelain telephone to God and, in Elvis' case, the throne, the toilet has affected every one of us. Every home has one, everyone needs one and we all use them. From the holes in the ground in rural Africa to the holes in the ground in central France, even the porti-cabins in building sites, there is no escaping the loo.

But little did he know the rows that would be sparked from the seat. Wars have been fought over lesser things than leaving the seat up, and I'm sure this battle in the ongoing war of the sexes will never be won. But all these problems could be sorted out with one tiny weigh-up of probability.

In our house there are currently three girlies vs. two blokies. Statistically, not taking into account who may or may not have gone previously as the information is unavailable when you rush in busting yourself, when my father or brother go to the toilet, it is 3 times more likely that the next 'producer' will be female. Therefore, the toilet seat ought to be put down. That is the theory, at least. Many a time have I strolled into the loo, and then nearly fallen in as I realise a moment too late that the seat is up and i didn't notice. It is wet-bottomed like these moments that have caused me to produce this entry.

But if I, my mother or sister go to the toilet, the chances of who go next are equal, and it is here that the logic kicks in. Blokes face the toilet when going, girls do not. The same way that male dogs cock their legs and bitches don't. Blokes see that the seat is down, put it up and get on with their merry business. It is an automatic reaction when you are female to turn around as soon as you get it, so you don't see the seat situation.

The conclusion to this pointless waffling? If you are femalisticly outnumbered, put the seat down!

Yes, the exams are getting to me.

2003-04-27T11:01:00.000Z

I am such a bad person! Since I last wrote on here, there has been the biggest protest in Britain's history, I've been to another Frenzal Rhomb concert, I've played for the queen, there has been a mutiny at school, a war has been fought, I've bluffed my way through Fingle's Cave in front of 200 parents, I've had my eyes gummed shut, SARS has claimed over 300 lives, Easter, and Ronnie O'Sullivan has scored a maximum in under 7 minutes. I'm so sorry!

So, from the top. There was a ruddy great protest in London, you may have noticed at the time. OK, so it was over two months ago now but I've been busy! I've handed in all my coursework now so I can tell you what's been going on in our humble town. This all links in with what happened at school a month later, so here we go. Big protest, right. Photographs show it was 2,000,000 people but the government says 1 million. Not such a bad thing, but it didn't make much difference to the powers that be. I know a load of people who went on it, and they were very annoyed. Two in particular.

Cutting to the chase, on Wednesday 19th March, political upheaval was broiling at school. You could cut the conspirative air with a knife. Planning, scheming and uprising were waiting to bubble over. It was going to be the next day, something big, something loud, and something during assembly.

The school cancelled assembly.

The conspirators would not be stopped. At 8 o'clock on Thursday morning, plans were changed, positions moved and the frontline strengthened with a hail of notes from parents allowing their children to go to the dentist during first lesson. Those of us who could not leave (i.e. Jenny, Vicki and me) sat in the form room, waiting for the 9 o'clock bell, when all hell would break loose.

Well, all hell actually broke loose at about 10 past. We had gone to first lesson, chemistry, which we take at the front of the school. We crowded round the window, watching and waiting for the first hit of the now mutineers. There was a hush outside, then an almost biblical tide of 600 girls surged forwards. Baring in mind there are only 800 girls in upper school, it was quite a sight to see. Teachers tried to form a human shield at the front gate, but they would not be stopped. 300 made it over the fence on the first wave, and 300 returned as The Head came out. One of the ringleaders ran back, waving the wavering to run for it, but Mrs Phillips collared her. Screaming to her that this was for the freedom of her country, our heroine led 200 of those watching out the front. We watched as they ran for freedom, most of them running for home, and smiled as two teachers screamed 'Vive la revolution!' They were later given slapped wrists.

This was not all. With the school down to 300 people, lessons were somewhat deficient. We sat in chemistry and spoke about the war we had heard declared on the World Service and huddled round the wireless for anymore developments. Phillips came in and told the teacher off for not giving the 12 of us any work, which he found rather funny. We got out some textbooks, and carried on.

The lesson was over and we were heading for our benches when the air took on a strange tinge. No more palpable unrest, more a kind of... lighter fluid. The bell began to heave its fire sigh, and we lined up in our forms on the field. The builders had drilled through a gas pipe, and the one day the teachers needed to know who was in, was the one day they had absolutely no idea.

We later found out that about 60 people had protested at the town hall, only 12% of those who ran out. The other 88% had either gone home, gone to their friends' houses, gone shopping or gone and got drunk in a park. As if 500 girls from Romford would go on a protest!

The two ringleaders had gone up to London for the sit-down protest in Parliament Square. One of them was being subdues by a policeman, so she swung her bag round and hit him, and nearly got arrested for it.

Work done that day: minimal.
Things learned about teachers and pupils from our chemistry teacher: enriching!
Moral of the story: vive la revolution!

To backtrack slightly, Frenzal Rhomb were excellent live, as usual, and it was murder getting there by train. The Not Katies are already on P-Rock, so look out for them, and Captain Everything were cool live. On the whole seeing bands thing, I may have seen InMe before they were signed, but I haven't got a clue as to what they look or particularly sound like, unlike everyone else in the world.

Playing for the queen? Well, she came to Romford (strange woman) after someone from Redden Court School complained that she hadn't visited Havering on her Jubilee Tour. I personally don't blame her. So she came, on March 6th, to Romford and to St Edward's Church in the market place, and needed musical accompaniment. Enter us, playing Bach's Concerto for Two Violins very quietly. I was playing so quietly in fact, that I'm not sure if I was playing at all.

Similarly with Fingle's Cave by Mendelsson. We were half numbers in the viola section because one girl couldn't play it (and you think I could, Em?), and the section leader was down the pub. Mind you, I think he deserved that after being enslaved by Mrs Norris for however long... I think it's somewhere near 10 years. Possibly more. So yes, I bluffed my way through that very quietly. But what really annoyed all of us was that we were told to be there by half 7, and me and Helen actually were, but we weren't on until gone 9! How ridiculous is that! Plus we had to sit in the actual hall while it was all going on, so we couldn't even bitch about it. Bah.

I then proceeded to get a cough, a cold and conjunctivitis, so I had snot coming out everywhere. It was bad. And messy. As my MSN name stated, a bad day for facial orifices.

Snooker has since started (muted yay), and Ronnie O'Sullivan got a 147 in the first round, then lost the match. We now support Marco Fu, Tony Drago (though I think he's already out) and Steven Lee because he looks so cuddly. Paul Hunter got through the first round in Battle of the Beautiful People, and our dad's money is on him.

'Tis my birthday on Friday, I expect large presents and cake, party the weekend after possibly - parents going away! All good stuff. Not sure I've had many revolutionary thoughts since my last post. A few thoughts on the impossibility of things, some tea in John Lewis, another story for my little ones and some alterations to the Cosmological Argument. More when I'm free again, estimated around the 26th May. My first exam is on the 8th, then the 14th, and then they really get into the swing of things on the 19th. Don't wish me luck, I'd rather you sent miracles. Toodle-oo and kisses to you all!

2003-02-26T21:30:00.000Z

Yes, you may throw rotten fruit at me, I haven't been on here for so long. But I am drowning in a sea of coursework, so you might not have a very good target as I bob up and down among the waves. I had a brainwave as to what to talk about on my next post, hopefully this weekend, but more later. And sorry about the next survey, I had to change a load of it, so maybe it will also be ready for the weekend. Don't expect much until Easter, and then I can give you a better idea of how much time I'll have to waffle.

Sorry my lovelies, but I'm trying my best.

2003-02-07T18:38:00.000Z

Happy February! Sorry I'm nearly a week late, I've been catching up on my sleep between school work.

So, last Friday was the first snow day for 11 years at FB, and I spent it blissfully at home. There wasn't enough time or decent snow to build a friend for Reginald, but never mind, he won't notice.

I don't really know what to write, I just feel as though I've been neglecting you. I'm actually whacked, so I don't think this will be much longer as I'm struggling with my consciousness. I need to sleep.

The graphic representation of the sandwich survey has takn longer to do than I thought it would, but it's nearly done! For the next post I might do a bit about a conversation I overheard the other day. Do Americans have irony?

2003-01-17T19:55:00.000Z

My my, how long it has been since I actually wrote something on here! I am a bad person.

I did actually write two things to put on here, but neither were very good or in any way interesting, so none of that here. Instead, I'd like to give you a quick update of things and then talk about a conversation a few of us had yesterday.

First of all, it snowed! Snow actually fell! This was on Wednesday 8th, and it was brilliant! I had three snowball fights, including one with a load of kids I don't know, and made a snowman called Reginald.

Secondly I've had most of my mock results back, with a large smattering of A*'s, so I'm very pleased indeed.

I've decided to stay on for 6th form, and had a trip behind enemy lines into Coopers. Eesh!

And finally, before launching myself into possibly the most stupid monologue ever, I just had a big mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows melting in it and more chocolate on the side, and it was delicious.

Now, this issue was raised in an English cover lesson when it was discovered that one of the thesauruses did not have a 'g' section. No 'g' section, you say? No, no 'g' section. The 'g' section was completely missing, but there was nothing wrong with the spine, indicating that it had been made like that. What, we pondered, would the world be like with no letter 'g'?

I hope you figure out how our train of thoughts was rolling, or you just won't get this.

One problem that one girl there instantly faced was that there would be no G-strings, nor any thongs, and the colour green would have a different name, or just not exist at all. No G in the musical scale would really fluff it up, but with no 'g' Mr Glinka could never have cursed the world with his damned 'Russlan und Ludmilla' overture. Everyone would talk like Essex girls, doin' their shoppin' and workin' and stuff. There would be no shag rugs, no shaggy dog stories and no shagging full stop! We would have no genitals, so there would be no virgins, and no G spots.

A severe lack of Greek tragedies would have meant that Romeo and Juliet was never written, while 'The League of Gentlemen' would never have graced our screens. A large portion of the English language would be missing because of the Germanic link, but there would be no languages at all anyway! England would lose a letter (and always lose the football), and the world would forfeit grapes and grapefruits. With no grocers there could be no groceries, and there being no galleons or guns might affect world history a little.

Possibly worst or all: a few of the Monty Python cast would have gone mysteriously missing. No 'Holy Grail' and no 'Meaning of Life', but at least we would still have 'Life of Brian'. But someone else would have to be Brian, as Graham Chapman would be waylaid under a different name.

Harry Potter would be fine, but JK Rowling might have a bit of trouble. Lord of the Rings would hit a rock and become what sounds like an advert for a superior washing machine: Lord of the Rinse. Kirk Douglas could never have played the Spartacus, and Metro Goldwyn Mayer may never have produced all those wonderful musicals with Judy Garland in. Frances Gump would have had no more luck.

We would have no guts, no haemoglobin and no legs, and there would be no gravity to hold us onto the non-existant ground; we would be hollow, legless, bleedin' bein's floatin' in space. Then we would all quickly explode, becuse there would be no gases!

There would be no God, nor could the Big Bang have taken place, so nothing would exist at all, especially not the Romans, who invented the letter in the first place.

So, you see, 'g' is a very important letter, and I wouldn't be exaggerating too much if I said that the survival of mankind depends on its continued existence.

It was a cover lesson, cut me some slack!

2003-01-04T16:36:00.000Z

Happy new year, blah blah blah, loud fireworks, hope you're well.

I'm too tired for formalities.

Argh! I'm knackered! This is what happens when you stay awake until 5 in the morning kids, so don't do it. I wasn't even trying, but that didn't stop my mind from being conscious.

Insomnia. It hurts.

2002-12-29T18:34:00.000Z

I'm currently working on a new survey, it should be ready some point soon. But I won't tell you what it's about - that's a secret!

But it is as pointless as the last.

Byee!

2002-12-27T18:10:00.000Z

This was written on... Monday, so a little while ago.

Which came first? The blonde joke or the Essex girl joke? Unlike with chickens and eggs, I can't argue bacteria, because neither are counted as an intelligent species.

I ponder.

As I'm sure I've ranted before, I live in Romford. Adandoned by Essex County in 1964 and grudgingly adopted by City of London, Romford is the armpit of the south east. No one wants it, but no amount of laser surgery can get rid of the nasty growths that keep springing up here. I don't like this town. I don't like a lot of the people and I don't like their nasty spoilt children that they had when they were in their mid-teens. Essex girl jokes could be localised to Romford girl jokes, because they would be even more accurate.

But which came first? Most Essex girl jokes, I think, can apply to blondes, except perhaps the top-lip jokes.

What's the difference between an Essex Girl and Lionel Ritchie?
- Lionel Ritchie doesn't bleach his moustache.

Very true: I know people who bleach their top lips. But taking a quick squint at the Essex and blonde jokes I have, blonde jokes seem to be more about being stupid and an easy shag, but Essex girl jokes are more about NOT shagging:

What's the difference between an Essex Girl's fanny and a tube of glue?
- You might consider sniffing a tube of glue.

And for any Americans, fanny has a different meaning in this country.

But there are still the common local bike jokes from both:

What's the difference between an Essex Girl and The Titanic?
- Fewer people went down on the Titanic.

What do blondes do in the morning?
- Get up and go home.

Every year around mating season there is a rush for peroxide and in the following weeks the perry population at school increases 10-fold, meaning that the jokes can be doubled up. Having a perry blonde Essex girl increases the potential for amusement by us unpopular brunettes for each new one that walks into assembly in the morning.

Also, Essex girl jokes concentrate more on getting STD's, which isn't surprising because Romford has more clap than Friday Night at the London Palladium. For example:

What's the similarity between an Essex Girl and a carpenter?
- They both have a box of saws.

What's the difference between an Essex Girl and a fish and chip shop?
- You can't get crabs in a fish and chip shop.

What do you give an Essex Girl before you start going out with her?
- A full medical.

... While there are blonde jokes to do with Porsches that just wouldn't work as Essex girl jokes.

Why did the blonde try and steal a police car?
- She saw "911" on the back and thought it was a Porsche.

I don't think that's even right. Ah well.

The problem with Essex girl stupidity jokes is that last year something like 3 of the top 10 senior schools in the country were all girls schools in Essex, and jokes to the effect are not as good. But it seems to be easier to be blonde and stupid - you can't (and just WOULDN'T) become an Essex girl, but many people become blondes, which seems to boost the quota of thicko blondes. You're doing it to yourselves! For this reason, blonde stupidity jokes are more potent, often coupled with a sexual reference, and therefore perfectly formed blonde jokes.

Why did the blonde stop using the pill?
- Because it kept falling out.

Did you hear about the blonde skydiver?
- She missed the Earth!

Did you hear about the blonde who tried to blow up her husband's car?
- She burned her lips on the tailpipe.

It's pretty obvious that Essex girl jokes are English and blonde jokes American, and are thankfully pretty versatile. They both work over here because we have both, with a horrible hybrid spreading. In America, though, they have so far escaped the reach of the East Saxon county, even though in Europe I think it must be second only to Amsterdam, if you know what I mean.

2002-12-20T22:06:00.000Z

Sorry, long one with loads of spelling mistakes. If you find any, tell me. If you know what it was that Simon Rattle actually said, also tell me.

And now it stops.

Mocks are over.

School has finished for Christmas.

I don't have to revise.

I am calm.

I thought I'd better update this as I haven't for a while, so here I am. Just got back from seeing Lord of the Rings, and it was pretty good, but I don't remember much of it. I was conscious for most of it, but I just can't remember. Is that saying something about me, or the film?

Anyways, I thought I might mention something I heard Sir Simon Rattle say in an interview. He is a sir, isn't he? He was talking about arts funding in this country, saying that Munich spends more on the arts than the whole of Britain. Then he said about how there were orchestras in the concentration camps, and to roughly quote him, "Does it take something so beautiful as the arts to make us see something so awful?"

I love the arts. I can't sing, I can't dance, I can hardly play my viola, I couldn't act my way out of a paper bag and my drawing wouldn't even qualify as bad graffiti. I don't even try to write poetry because I feel it would be greatly insulting to those who can, and I'm not to be trusted with a camera. Mind you, that's only because I take pictures of people when they're asleep to annoy and bribe them. Fun fun fun! But I do try, and I usually have something vaguely intelligent or educated to say about art, and even when it is crap I like to be able to say why I think that.

Does it take something like art to make us see the horrors in this world? Television can count as involved in the arts, and the most horrifying images of 2001 were broadcast live across the world on the 11th September. But that was breaking news that had to be covered, and was seen by journalists who had flocked there in the wake of the disaster.

A more potent example is First World War poetry. There are two main types: the poems written before the soldiers arrived ('Remember that corner called England' or however it went), which are very patriotic and king-and-country, and the ones written by soldiers in the trenches - Seigfried Sassoon, need I say more? These wonderfully constructed poems tell of the absolute horror and suffering of conscripts in muddy ditches in France. The line that I think has touched me most in all the war poetry I have read was one by Rudyard Kipling. His son wore glasses and of course, failed the eye test. Being a famous writer, he pulled some strings and got him signed up. Not long after, his son was killed. "If they should ask why they died,/ Tell them, because their fathers lied."

I don't know any music that tells of something horrible or terrifying, but it must exist. I know there's an enormous painting in a Paris gallery that depicts a shipwreck, we studied it in year 9. I think it starts with a 'G', and it is basically a painting of a shipwrecked crew floating near-hopelessly on a raft or piece of wood, and the horror and pain in their eyes... you can see the hopelessness of these men as they cling to their dying crewmates, and stare longingly at the meat on the dead ones. It is based on a real wreck, and only about 14 people survived.

Nasty.

I don't know if it is art that makes us see these things when we otherwise wouldn't, or if it's because it is accessible enough for a wider audience to see, but it does bring thing to the world more than numbers and statistics ever could. With many things I doubt we will ever see the true horror in them if we weren't there, but maybe art makes us appreciate it more than we otherwise might.

2002-12-13T19:24:00.000Z

And I'm sure you'll all be thrilled to hear I just got my advent calendar! Only a few days late. It's the Tweenies!

2002-12-13T19:22:00.000Z

This was written on Wednesday, by the way.

Mmm, listening to Loudon Wainwright III, it'll be Rufus next. I love that man.

Anyway! Sorry I haven't updated this one or Thing for a few days... a few weeks, it's been revision revision revision. Mocks - need I say more?

Eek I SO haven't done enough revision, but you need to have been taught the stuff first right? Well, on the maths paper today, I'm pretty sure I've never seen a good 20% of it before, or I have and glossed over it because it wasn't on the revision list which, may I add, we were only given last week.

I'm going to keep this one short and clip it, with only a few more bits.

1. Superbus - they rock. Listen, misunderstand, and enjoy. And don't complain that they're French. No one ever complained that Rammstein are German.
2. The meanings within meanings of Hallelujah. Consider this and bring your observations to class next week.
3. I should be revising now. I have the music exam tomorrow, and after fluffing stats and IT, I think I'm going to actually revise or else lose the last ounce of credibility I have at orchestra.
4. Never, ever, EVER agree to do three Christmas concerts in 5 days. Last night was the last one, after doing school last Thursday and Magda's on Saturday. I'm still feeling pooped.
5. I might join a travelling freak show with my 3-D skin text. I wowed people at the concert last night by being allergic to myself. I knew I was weird all along, but now I have people who have seen. But I could have used a better word: I wrote 'Hel'. Should have done 'Blob' or 'Raa' or something.
6. And finally, my right hand went dark purple today in the maths exam because the heating was too low and my blood couldn't circulate properly. Have they never heard of warmth? I know they're all machines and stuff, but come on!

2002-11-28T23:02:00.000Z

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.

2002-11-22T20:51:00.000Z

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.

2002-11-17T13:27:00.000Z

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!

2002-11-15T19:41:00.000Z

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.

2002-11-03T15:02:00.000Z

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...

2002-10-29T20:11:00.000Z

Today's topic of conversation is respect. R E S P E C T work out what it means to me, sock it to me baby yeah and so on.

Aretha Franklin had it sussed, but what I'm talking about is that respect that our 'elders' expect to be there automatically just because they are older than us.

Stuff that! I was always taught that respect is something to be earned through actions, words and the way we treat people. And mutual respect, whereby both parties respect each other because they have earned it. This leads to happiness and feeling generally alright.

I moan about this because today, as I stood in the line to get on the bus with Helen I was abruptly pushed aside as two old ladies climbed on in front of me but behind Helen. I had stood back to let them on but they still pushed through like they were determined to get on before me. However, they let Helen on without any problem.

So what's wrong with this picture? This: I was in school uniform, Helen was not. But consider. Helen was clutching her school bag, as was I. Helen is still in full time education, as am I. Helen does not wear uniform, but I do. I guess this is also about prejudice - they pushed past me like I was scum, yet let a non-uniform wearing pupil go without any fuss.

Our school tries to be traditional and prim, and they do this with rules like 'standing up at the start of assembly', 'standing up when a teacher enters the room' and 'standing up when a teacher leaves the room'. This is supposedly in the name of respect... balls! It seems a bit of a power trip to me. But that doesn't mean we disrespect all our teachers. For example, we had this excellent maths teacher for three years running. She taught us well, gave us practical examples and explained things on our level. When she said 'shut up', we shut up. When she said 'do this', we did it. It was mutual respect. If we said 'give us an example', she gave us an example, if we said 'we don't understand', she would make us understand even if it meant her lesson plan went out the window. It was great! Mathematical bliss preveiled and we all did well in our year 9 SATS.

Then we got a new teacher who expected us to automatically respect him and be good. I'm sure you can guess how that turned out. We are still in a bitter struggle with him to be taught properly. No one bats an eyelid when he screams for silence, because none of us respect him. Respect should be earned, it cannot be dealt out like school dinners.

Which brings me back to those two little old ladies. They were there first and I was happy to let them on, but they did not seem happy that I was waiting to get on the bus. I've never seen either of them before, yet they thought I should respect them as they disrespected me while they had no problem with my sister. When we were safely up the stairs, I pointed it out and Helen said she had seen it. She said she had pushed in front of them to get back at all the times that she was metorphorically spat at by nasty old ladies, and I don't know if I can condemn that. But, as someone once said, the young do know everything, the old just won't admit it.

I want to end on a light note... I can think of one thing that's had me smiling since Friday, maybe I'll save that right to the end because it isn't topical or anything. Hmmmm...

Nope, nothing.

And finally, following on from my mad use of capitalisation last week, HE LIKES ME! HE LIKES ME HE LIKES ME HE LIKES ME! Might see him briefly on Friday, I don't know because it all depends on many factors. But I've been boring various people with my starry-eyed happy thoughts since Friday. Maybe next time I'll tell you about the gig, that was really good too... apart from all the sweat. Tatty b-b for now!

2002-10-27T14:52:00.000Z

This was written on Wednesday but something went wrong :s

Hmmm well that was the day that was.

I was supposed to meet people today, but that all went wrong and I ended up wandering the windy streets of Romford. We got to the new hall, the spiritualist church hall, and the lady wasn't there to open the doors for us. And then it started to rain.

I know I don't usually take things like spiritualism very seriously and stuff, but they couldn't have made that place spookier! It's a gorgeous hall, don't get me wrong, but sheesh! The blokes' loos spontaniously flushed, the floorboards creeked like coffin boards and shadowy figures kept passing the windows.

Auntie Charlotte, can you hear me?

I'll take that as a no. But I have finally realised that I'm head-over-heels, arse-over-tit, inside out and totally nuts over someone. He's so cute! But he's a fagend. But be my fagend!

If you are American and don't know what the English general use for the word fag is, I mean cigarette. He smokes basically, but I think I can get over that. And on the unlikely chance that he finds his way here to this site (seriously doubtful but I can try), I LIKE YOU! LOTS! But Limp Bizkit still suck. They would suck less if they got rid of Fred Durst perhaps, or they were less commercial and didn't release cop-out remix albums. That is a cop out. I was actually going to listen anyway, but the headphone got whipped away from me. BUT YOU'RE SO LOVELY! LET ME KNOW YOU! I REALLY LIKE YOU!

Yes, I have just made an immense fool out of myself.

2002-10-22T19:55:00.000Z

This is just a quick note about the following blog: I went out on Saturday, that's when I played the box game and stuff, and I would tell you about it were there not 5 different alibi versions of what happened going around. Tatty byebyes!

2002-10-22T18:02:00.000Z

It's Tuesday, it's raining and it's cold. But I'm in my lovely warm house so I'm sorted!

I just scanned the bag!! I'll put it on now if I can figure out how... Well I know how but I have to get it uploaded first, and I'd have to put it on Helen's site. And Helen is out.

But it's like a deluge out there! I'm waiting for my budgie to be called up for ark duty, it's that bad. Either that or God's wrath has already been extracted against us and we're all going to drown over the next 38 days.

I'm not sure what I'm going to write today, all I've been pondering is how many ways there are to make £1. There's something like 297 ways to make $1, but they have quarters and we have 2 penny pieces. Don't tell me! I'm going to figure it out myself.

But let me tell you the rules of the box game (see Thing of the Day for Saturday 19th October 2002). It is very simple, but can be quite painful if you are not properly warmed up, as I found out. You need an empty cardboard box (preferably a light one), and numerous strange pople with nothing better to do.

There is only one rule to this game: when picking up the box with your teeth, you cannot touch anything other than your feet on the ground. That means no hands, no fingers, no knees, no bums and no noses.

It was my first time playing this game, and I won! You have to pick up the box as described above, and each round you tear about an inch or two off the top of the box, making it smaller and smaller. It got down to an inch and a half above the ground, and Anne couldn't pick it up whereas I could. I picked it up, nearly in the box splits, and promptly fell flat on my arse squealing quietly in pain.

I may never have children!

And it finally dawned on me that I'm interested in meteorology. Food for thought.

2002-10-18T17:37:00.000Z

This one has been a week of technological turbulance. This is being posted at the same time as one a week old.

Plus my site has muffed, very annoying when I'm trying to keep it updated with my wafflings. So many thoughts that I cannot bore you with!

Eeesh, where to begin? I'll tell you that... I went to the St Edward's open evening the other night, and they were so nice! Laura, Jemma and me are going to apply.

So. This week I have mostly been pondering... how we ourselves prove the existance of aliens. The fact that humanity itself exists must tell us something about the universe. That something can actually have life and purpose on an unwelcoming planet (it's cold season here in England, it doesn't usually warm up until May) surely shows that it can happen on any planet where the right gases for a lifeform are found?

I was thinking this in physics today, kinetic energy was doing my head in. That and all the pills I had to take today to a) stop myself from throwing up, b) stop myself from swelling up and going orange and c) make me able to stand up straight despite my uterus trying to eject itself from my reproductive system. But simply the fact that we exist must mean that somewhere out there (no tails of the american or any other kind) other life must exist. They've found organisms at the bottom of dark, murky pits where no light reaches them and all they have for company is slime - sounds a bit like the outside labs - but the point is that they are alive. Primitive, but alive. I don't know if there is intelligent life out there, it stands to my reasoning that there must be, but the point is that there must be something out there. This cannot be it, there must be more.

I take a similar approach to religion. I'm not a religious person. I used to be, but it kind of fizzled out. Basically, there must be more than this. There are people, there are intelligent people, there are 'dumb' animals, there are single-celled things that cannot communicate. But we are not intelligent enough for this world, there must be something greater than this. When I used to make up stories to send Rosie to sleep I would tell her about great gods that knew all and had greater minds than it is possible to imagine. Am I far wrong? I guess we don't find out until we follow the white light.

The tunnel leading to my bright white light would probably have a sign telling me that there were diversions in place and I would have to take the back route, that's the way it usually works for me.

Anyone for waffles?

2002-10-18T17:35:00.000Z

This was last Friday, my computer is dead again.

I feel fulfilled: today I bought 2 packs of candy sticks.

But anyway. This week I've been thinking more about what I want to do yada yada yada. Should I stay or should I go? If I stay, will there be trouble? I'll stop while I'm ahead.

So this week I had my interview with the almighty Mrs. Philips. I went in, I sat down, she said that she would be 'very disappointed' if I left them for another 6th form. Should I be scared by this? Well, I'm not. But I do have reasons for wanting to go.

I have this... thing I guess you would call it. I wake up one morning, knowing that I cannot go on doing something. I woke up once in year 6 and knew I couldn't keep doing their god-awful tests, but because I had to keep on, I went slowly mad. I often do this much less seriously with breakfast cereals, I will wake up unable to eat it that morning. It isn't so much a forbidding feeling as a sense of impending doom; and that is the feeling I'm getting at FB.

The way I described it to Helen was as if I was stuck in a rutt 6' deep, 6' long and about 3' wide with someone standing over me proclaiming "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust" throwing soil at me. I need out. Soon.

It is not that I have no friends there, I have loads of friends. After the recent watershed I feel much more comfortable with them, talking about things I knew that the others could never understand. I do not want to lose these friends, but I trapped in a box by what is expected of me from the others around me.

They say that we will have a 'clean slate' if we stay on, but that is in inverted commas not because it is a quote but because I don't quite believe it. Background briefing (and I mean brief): Jenn wanted to drop chemistry, the powers that be said no. She got annoyed, then annoyed the lot of them by being right. Helen's slate was clean except for 'Jennifer' half scratched out in the top corner. There is no clean slate when people have expectations of you. Even now I am expected to do things and do them well. I am expected to do all this without getting stressed.

Screw that.

But why I feel I really need to get out? That newspaper thing. They stuck me in that newspaper to (and I quote from my planner), "publicly acknowledge [my] achievements with pride." I have no recollecion of being asked if this was all right with me, and it most certainly wasn't. I didn't want to be in that newspaper. I have to get out before I start hating them like I hate Crownfields.

I want to please my parents. I need to please my parents. It is almost my duty, and I love them so much. They have to be happy or I feel I have failed. My mum was so proud when I was in the paper that I almost didn't care how much I resented them for doing it. She bought about 10 copies and sent cut-outs to relatives. My dad has a folded-up copy in his wallet that he shows his friends from time to time.

But this is not what I really want. What I want... is not this. I haven't the foggiest what I want, and I will only know I have made the wrong choice after it has been made. I will never know if I made the right choice, there probably isn't one. I just do not want to stay on.

I do want to take English Language, however, but at this rate I will be kicked off the course: I've started about 5 sentences with conjunctions. Not a crime, but still vaguely criminal!

2002-10-05T20:33:00.000Z

This was written last Thursday, by the way.

So, the day approaches. But I'm not going to talk about that.

Oh, no.

I did have a thing to talk about, but I can't remember it now... something deep and meaningful I'm sure, I'll figure it out soon enough...

Whatifs. What if we hadn't done this, what if we had etc. We had our fist lecture on why we should stay on at FB 6th form today, the first of many methinks, and it set me thinking (oh, no!) about crappy decisions in life.

I hate desicions. Passionately. If it can be left alone, it will be. That's probbly why I came to this school in the first place: because it was predecided. It was virtually my destiny by the time I started in year 7. I had more back-up appeals than a disgraced politician if I didn't get in, but I did so there was no problem. But what if? What would I be like if I had gone to Coopers like everyone at school thought I should? Would I have fit the stereotype to a tee?

Background check: Coopers is a comprehensive that so wants to be a grammar school, but they just aren't. They used to have tests to get in and they would ask questions they weren't really supposed to in the interviews. This was only stopped a few years ago so the people taking their GCSE's this year are still in that super-intelligent clique. A lot of people that go to Coopers have an overly self-confident air about them. Not all, I've met plenty of Coopers people and they didn't all have their heads jammed up their backsides, but a significant number did. And continue to. I don't know what makes them this way, but it's how some turn out. I refused to go there because that was not who I wanted to be. The system would have loved me to, but we all know what I think of the system. Or haven't I moaned about that yet?

So I didn't go there. I never even went to the open evening to reaffirm my non-want. But it is not Coopers that I want to talk about.

At school we have finally realised a situation that we would never have dreamt of a few years ago. We have finally parted company. The group has now become about 2 and a half groups due to one argument after another basically (i's not that simple really, but when is it?).

I don't blame anyone, I think it was bound to happen and it all began falling apart not long after it came into existance. But there was a catalyst I think, someone new that made everyone reassess who they were.

I have a feeling that for legal reasons I ought to make up names, but if any of my friends ever find their way to this site then they should know who I'm referring to. There will be nothing inflamatory on here, because that is the sole function of bitching and there is time enough for that in real life. This is not real life, this is electricity.

To cut to the chase, for 3 years we had sat in our slowly expanding group, gathering friends and being generally happy. Then, not long into year 10, 'Judy' came along. Not much of a stretch really, but I can't be sued! Judy was totally different from everyone. She preached a different religion, she knew another world. She virtually spoke her another language to ears eager to hear. Some of the stuff she said I disapproved of but then I am a boring old fart. The point is, she was a breath of fresh air.

I was not her, we were too different and I knew she would never drastically alter what I did. But that is just me, a stubborn killjoy. Others needed this, they needed this release from the rigours of the group. They became interested in different things, different people and different places. Slowly at first, the cracks began to appear. These were barely cracks, perhaps fractures at most. But they were enough, and slowly but surely spread outwards.

Blah blah blah, the group split, her in one faction and me in the other. It's not like we all hate each other passionately, we still talk to them and they still talk to us, but it has kind of become a 'them and us' situation. But my fundamental question about this is this:

Would this have happend anyway if Judy had never come?

After much pondering and an English lesson not doing much, I have decided that it probably would have. I could give you the 'substance reason', but that is long and boring and would probably cause someone to keel over and die of heart failure. But I think that maybe we were all too different to begin with, we were too blinded by youth to see it. No one wants to be a loner, perhaps this is what we were afraid of. I would have sided with the neutral, middlest group in this situation, but this is what I always do, and after recently reassessing my priorities, I decided I didn't want to do this. Why should I ignore most of my friends because a few people can't get on with each other? So screw that, this time I went where I wanted to go, not where logic said I ought to. I can barely relate to some of the people in the group now, but I don't think I'm bothered. I'm happy, I'm liked, I'm considered and I'm doing what I like to do with people who enjoy it as well. Is that so wrong? Am I anywhere near my original point? I think 'no' is the answer to both of those.

2002-09-28T15:14:00.000Z

Argh! Shite week at school! But enough about that later, I have meaningful things to bore you with!

So this week at school I heard someone say that the day she got married would be the saddest day of her life. There is background to this comment but it's not that that I want to talk about. It is why we do these things to ourselves when we know they will hurt us, why we make ourselves suffer in the eyes of others needlessly. We've all done it, I know I have. But why?

Attention seeking is one reason. As the youngest I naturally fought for attention. I don't think I ever threw myself down the stairs or anything as serious as that, but I did enjoy it when I got my sibs in trouble and I was fawned over. It's natural. But later in life I would put myself under unnessecary stress so people would feel sorry for me but I would still do well. That way I got both ends of the stick plus the bit in the middle.

But was there any point? Yes, people paid attention to me, but then yes, my hair began to fall out. Was it worth it? No. Does anyone care now? No. Do I even care? Not particularly, no. But why do we put ourselves up to be knocked down by our own conscience? Do we seek that security we get from others' insecurity? Why would this girl even ponder getting married if it will leave her in torment? And so it goes on. I'm not here to question other people's ethics and plans for life, but does it come down to the aforementioned insecurity?

So many questions!

Perhaps this is a case of regret. She will regret getting married as I regret stressing myself out. There are many things I regret and that is now one of my look-before-leaping things: 'will I regret this?' Often the answer is yes, so I just don't do it. This philosophy then makes me ask, "But where is the fun in that?!" No regrets? You always did what was right? How boring that could get! Some regrets are bigger than others; never turning down Coopers is a regret of mine, but it had no real life changing effect. I was going to turn them down anyhow, It would only have given me something to boast about, and that could be worse. But what I really really regret is something like not saying sorry sooner to Laura. Condensed, we basically excluded her from the group for a silly reason and though I never genuinely hated her, I sheeped with everyone else as not to make myself an outcast from the rest of the group. That I regret. I don't know whether she trusts me properly anymore, and though she says she does I will never be able to quite believe her after how I acted towards her.

So what can I conclude from this waffle? That I completely veered from the subject, that's one thing. But I think it ended with a valid point (albeit a quite unrelated one), so that's something.

Chew on it, it might never happen.

2002-09-27T21:18:00.000Z

It's Sunday now, but when this will be posted I do not know.

The Survey is finally published! But my computer is muffed. I guess it's a compromise. But today I put my sites into various search engines, I can expect them to be put in the directories in 2 weeks to several months, but it's quicker than my IT teacher marks practise coursework.

So this past week saw, literally, the downfall of the helium balloon. Finally succumbing to gravity, the teddy bear head floated down onto the lecturn in the middle of assembly on Thursday. But not before captivating an audience of about 800 on Monday...

It all began in Kum bay Ar (is that right?) on Tuesday. The balloon had been spotted in various areas at the front of the hall in th week before, floating discontentedly between the panels in the ceiling. These panels are painted the nastiest shade of red known to man, and I don't blame the balloon for being restless. So we stood there singing weakly as we always do, when the balloon began to slowly drift downwards, then towards the balcony, where we were, and the up and away again on the line "Oh, Lord, kum bay ar", this being the only line that anyone really knows. We are supplied with hymn books, but no one wants to sing, really we don't.

So the balloon wafted around as Mrs Tann, she of the deformed toes, gave another of her demeaning, belittling assemblies. I can't remember if this one involved fuzzy-wuzzies or not, I wasn't listening. And neither was anyone else. We were all transfixed by this single pocket of helium in the hall, floating dreamily above year 9. Lucky for us we were on the balcony, so we could watch it all t eye level.

And then it happened. After being told to ignore the balloon, and after ignoring being told to ignore the balloon, we watched, horrified, as it ducked under the front arch of the stage, only to rise again in the panels above, out of our view! Was all lost? Was the saga's ending lost forever? An audible sigh left the mouths of every upperschool girl as we lost, seemingly forever, our morning's entertainment. Never again would assembly be so amusing, and never again would a helium balloon offer us such light relief (ba-dum cha).

Or so we thought.

Thursday met us with the second half of the Africa appeal assembly, which I actually found interesting, but I think I was a minority of 1. But then, suddenly, a glint caught the communal eye. Everyone turned hteir heads slightly and there, wafting in its own, lazy style, fell the balloon, into the lap of Mr Mancey (what DOES he do? No one knows!). He hustled it off into the wings of the stage, spending longer than can be healthy with this balloon, in the wings.

And so the story ends. What fate befell the poor balloon, no one except Mr Mancey knows, and by the amount of time he spent off-stage, I'll be glad if he takes it to the grave.

2002-09-18T19:24:00.000Z

So who was it that made Mondays suck so much? I don't think it was an act of God, I think there might be someone else to blame. The god Mandidgo? No, I don't think it was him either. By the way he is out of an actual thing so you can't steal the name. But despite him being a git, I don't think he was to blame either.

The economy? Was it the powers that be who decided to start the working week on a Monday? Was it the loner that no one likes but no one would suspect? Was it Colonel Mustard in the hall with the candlestick?

Whoever it was, I have a feeling that they are long since dead. Not being a reincarnation person, I doubt they have been born again to torment the world, and if they have it would probably have been as either a traffic warden or a blackfly.

So what have I been doing and thinking? There's the small matter of school, just an inconvenience I guess. But something that really is annoying me is my stomach. On Monday I felt totally crap, so I had one of my please-don't-throw-up pills, and I didn't throw up. Yesterday I had to have one again and I didn't throw up. Both of them were in maths lessons, I thought a pattern might be emerging. But today it was in IT, and I had to take it under the table with a swig of my drink and a bite of sarnie. But why? I don't know anyone else who gets this, throwing up for no real reason. Boys, this will probably never happen to you, and if it does I will be worried, but I'm in an all-girls school and I don't know of anyone else who get it. Why me? I'm disfunctional enough, you don't have to remind me with large quantities of vomit!

I'm sure this post had a point when I started it...

Ah! I remember!

Stoppit and Tidyup, and here's all their friends...
Comb your hair,
Wash your face,
and Hurry Up!
Go And Play (with his favourite toys),
poor little Calm Down,
and nasty little Not Now!
The two bees, Bee Have and Bee Quiet.
Sleepy old Go To Bed, and
Don't do that!
Take Care,
Clean Your Teeth,
and the big bad
I SAID NO!

Oh, how they rule! But I'm sure that's wrong, where are Say Please and Say Thankyou? I know they exist, we have one of the books with the characters on the back. Do you know if this song is wrong? Do you know the other words? Hmm. But hardly anyone I know remembers them, and they are just so great!

But I've finally managed to start the Survey page, I just need to upload the graph now. There will be link in the side bar over there <-- somewhere soon if there isn't one now. Toodle-oo!

2002-09-14T14:55:00.000Z

First week (well, 3 and a bit days) of school is over and what do we have to show for it? A teacher who looks like Hannah Gordon, a ton of coursework and a lecture basically on how stupid we are. Encouraging, I'm sure.

But what is the point of sending us to school at 1:30, just to send us home 2 hours later? There is none! All we got was a planner and rough book - no, 'General Work Book'. What is with that? We don't do general work in it, we do rough work, crappy French exercises and scribble about how much we hate certain teachers. No general work in sight! But that took an hour to give out counting the continual lecture we received, so that basically left a whole hour. Ample time for form tutors to be given locker keys to give out. But no! The school has to do it the complicated way on the second day. Why? Because they're silly.

Lessons, nothing much happened. We went back and heard tales of drunken roudiness from some of our friends while we just caught up on stuff we'd seen and read, rumours about things (like Farscape, how can they do that?!) and working out who was lending what to whom.

There is also a helium balloon trapped on the ceiling in the school hall. We're trying to decide if it's a dodgy monkey or a strange teddybear. But it's on the ceiling and it's showing no signs of coming down.

I'm not going to talk about *that* first anniversary or Iraq bacause I have earlier, instead I'm going to talk about 4 minutes and 33 seconds. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you may as well leave now because I'm not going to explain it.

But is 4 minutes and 33 seconds a show of musical power or dramatic power? No one would have dared speak because they didn't know what was going to happen next, if something would move or play, if this was an introduction or what. I guess by about the third minute they'd have been getting a bit pissed off, but at the start it must have been captivating. And the fact that the conductor had that much power over the audience to keep them curious that long. Then we come onto the whole thing about how there would be no music if there had not first been silence. But that's for another day altogether.

Or was it a display of dramatics? It must have been amazing to watch, no one could look away in case something moved or it finished. Was it even classable as music since there was no noise? Where can we draw the line? But it could have been more of a display of drama than a musical performance. Did the crowd break into rapturous applause at the end, or did they all settle down and whisper amongst themselves about how obscure it was? But then that depends on the kind of people who went to see it.

Mind you, playing a classical instrument, I don't find some of this contemporary stuff very good. We once played a modern version of Peter from 'Peter and the Wolf', an it was bollocks! It sounded awful, I never was a dissonances person. But it was just the way it was ridiculously fast and clashy.

And then there is Berlioz.

2002-09-07T14:37:00.000Z

Not much to report, but you remember Mr Gaud? The mystery householder? He's a doctor! A letter came this morning addressed to 'Dr U Gaud'. Very posh!

2002-09-05T22:09:00.000Z

OK, so 2 little ducks is 22. But at least I admit I'm wrong.

I did have a post for the 3rd, but it buggered again so I lost it. I also had the first bit for my Thing of the Day, but I think I lost that too. And remember, if you have anything good that you would like put on there (including a plug for your site), just bug me. I enjoy being bugged, except by those Spanish weirdos who keep sending me viruses. Quittit!

So what have I done these last few days? Umm... coursework. Maths, and it hurts. Yesterday I had to count words and word lengths in articles about Anna Kournikova's exit from Wimbledon. Oh, the pain! The immense pain! Damn you Edexcel for your stupid coursework!

Counting newspapers. It is completely pointless, completely ridiculous and completely and utterly not going to get me my expected grade.

On a lighter note though, I was on the radio today! I had Drops of Jupiter played on Virgin. I requested it!

So apart from that? I've been making a ... no ... THE bag. It's a beaded thing, peyote stitch round a tube, and it's going to be the best bag I've ever made. Cooler than the Ladybird, funkier than the Snail, this will be the bollocks of all bags!

Maybe not, but it's bloody good and will take bloody ages. When I'm done maybe I'll scan it in to show it off. If I haven't written it already on here, I have a thing with bags. And a lot of bags to feed that thing. About 30 at last count, but that's mine and my sister's combined collection.

Now I'm talking crap, and this is supposed to me talking about what I've been thinking about, hence being called 'An Outlet for my Mind'. I have been wondering who is the real power behind George Bush, because he definitely isn't running America. But I can't really talk about that in case I get arrested for spreading politically volatile infomation. But when he talks he does look like someone has their hand up his backside.

So I guess we can't ignore the up-and-coming 1st anniversary of September 11th. I remember the day well, it had all the qualities of a bad time in the making from about 9am. Bear in mind we're a few hours ahead over here. I had IT, always a drag, and found out that I had knits. Lovely, I know. My head was itching like bitten hell, and I had come on without any pads. Even lovelier. I was behind on my viola practise so would spend the evening playing that. Then I got a text message that America had been attacked. America, impregnable fortress of the west, had been hit. I'm the kind of person who reacts to things like that by feeling physically sick, and when the words '30,000 body bags' were uttered I had to leave the room. I got no practise done because I was glued to the telly, news breaking every moment. Most wanted man in the world hidden in a cave, suicide pilots trained in America, sveral flights still unchecked. It was the nightmare that was never supposed to happen, only in Hollywood blockbusters, where Bruce Willis came and saved the day before it all went wrong. Had Hollywood finally predicted its own destruction like a hell-sent prophet? Everything buzzed round in a whirr of dust and trapped victims beneath the rubble of the World Trade Centre.

And now we get the trashy programmes about it. Dramatic reconstructions and tales from survivors, we are told about how George Bush and Tony Blair engage in a war on terrorism, which they do by killing their own troops in helicopter crashes. No Osama Bin Laden, he's still in a cave somewhere, laughing at the west as they wage war on an abstract noun.

2002-08-31T16:56:00.000Z

Kelly's eye number 1, two little ducks number 2, what's 3 again?

Hello again, I return to spill my mental guts to you, my usual drivel. And if it posted my last one twice, well that's how much this machine loves me.

So the main event of yesterday was my long-awaited shopping trip with two of my best friends. Why was it long awaited I expected to hear you ask (but you remain depressingly silent)? Because I'm a lazy arse... and it was one of them's birthday on Wednesday so I got to give her her birthday present finally. I think she liked it, it was cute and I think she likes cute. You better, Fiona! But I won't tell you about that, I don't thinky you'd be very interested. But I did have another caffe mocha thing, considering I don't usuaaly have coffee that's more intersting for me. Plus it has hot chocolate and whipped cream in it, so I'll leave you to put 2 and 2 together.

But yesterday we got a letter addressed to a Mr Gaud, and our surname being Field, we thought it was another wrong address. There was a time when we used to get letters for a Mr Patel, but that stopped after a while. So wrongly addressed letters are not new. But this one was from British Gas and informed Mr Gaud/us that they would glady supply Mr Gaud/us with electricity and gas, and, though it did not say as such, discreetly told Mr Gaud/us that it would cost the earth to transfer. Well no thank you! My mother wrote a large note in thick black pen on it telling them that she didn't want their electricity. So onto the next letter we move. This one was from BT and told us that we had requested our line to be changed to a different name and if we didn't request otherwise by the day before yesterday, it would be changed. It was addressed a day before we were supposed to complain by, and was sent 2nd class. Good one BT! But we managed to sort it out, we are not the Gauds. But today someone rang to tell us that Mr Gaud wants to move in again. I don't think so Mr Gaud!

Anything else? Oh yes, the results of my survey. I'm thinking of putting it on it's own page, I have to draw the graph yet. Entitled 'One Leg Called George', it has no real purpose but did no harm.

I might also do a page of 'Thing of the Day', which may be a weird word, things not known by very many people, a quote or perhaps an interesting website. If you want me to advertise your site on this page, send your web address to me at soozawooza@hotmail.com and I'll check it out and think about it. But no promises!

Little note for you, the date of publish is not usually the date of writing. So expect a few days between the writing of posts if they're published one after the other. Toodle pip!

2002-08-28T20:44:00.000Z

Look! Second entry! Has it taken long? How often are these things usually updated? I don't know.

But anyway, here I am, back for more. The crowd bays for blood, but I'm afraid all I can offer is a wet bank holiday and Thorpe Park. Let's start at the start:

So the August bank holiday came sneaking round again. Any excuse to do permanent harm to both yourself and your house for many people, but not us. Oh no, we don't 'do' it ourselves, it's very rarely done at all! But next door were banging and crashing all day (and banging all night) so I retrated to my shed. My shed is not any kind of shack, shrine or secret hideout for my Get Along style gang, it's just a shed, just in case you were wondering. Anyway! I was sitting in there apparently doing maths homework, but you know how it is. So there I was, listening to the radio when I wasn't reading, and they were talking about bombing Iraq (like that's anything new!), and I was considering other great out-of-hand intenational pissing contests. Aside from imperialism, the biggest one has to be WW1, that all-encompassing tragedy stretched over 4 years, which saw men shot for not wanting to die - find me the logic - and aimless running into hails of bullets to gain territory. And all because some trigger-happy twat decided to shoot the rich guy!

But I didn't bother listening much in history class, they only taught us crap stuff like what Roman women wore and how underfloor heating worked, and the Tudors! Oh how I learned about the Tudors! Do I want to hear about some fat old man who gets it regular? No! Do I want to hear about how his daughter burned people for believing in essentially the same god but in a slightly different way? No! I want to learn about Druid sacrifices and Greek gods! I want to know how Ghengis Khan managed to conquer most of Asia and then die by falling off his horse! I don't really care that India was basically enslaved by mad dogs and over-dressed English men, I want to know how India won her inddependence from its far off oppressors! Is curriculum history designed to estrange us from the subject, only drawing us back in with promises of school trips to London? History in school could be so gripping, but so much of it will never be used again as long as we live unless we become historians.

Ah, that's better now that's off my chest. But that is a lot of what I was thinking in my shed. Note how I started off with war and ended with moaning. Is that the story of my life?

So yesterday I wake up to be told I'm going to Thorpe Park (a reasonabe-sized theme park by most standards, crap by the standards of those people who have holidays in the sun at any spare moment). So yes, I ended up, at 10:00 in the morning, winging my way down the M25 towards Thorpe Park. I won't give you all the trashy details, and I tell you now I did not go in the shop and buy the complete Thorpe Park production line... I still have a rubber from when I went there about 8 years ago. But they've got that new 10 loop rollercoaster, and there's only one word for it: fuck! Sorry for all those easily offended among you, but that is THE only word I could find to describe it. 'Golly' just wasn't forceful enough. But it's got this corkscrew bit that goes round about 5 times, but I swear the whole thing has more than 10 turns! So off I got, surprisingly steadily. Next we went on 'Detonator', which sounds more like something that throws you into the sky than drops you 100 feet down a skinny pole lined with electromagnets. But we duly queued and were duly dropped 100 feet. I was going to scream as it dropped, because it really was worthy of it, but you can't! I couldn't breathe in or out, we were travelling too fast! Adreneline rushed in to replace the oxygen I wasn't getting, but I don't know what my body was thinking, because it just meant I couldn't walk in a straight line. The only other big shocking thing we wnt on was called 'Vortex', but I was more scared of the horrible girls in front of us in the queue spitting on us than of being spun in a large circle 50 feet in the air. It was disgusting! They were spitting little puddles every time the queue stopped! I would have slapped them all one after the other if it wouldn't have got my hand slobbery. Yuck! Then they exchanged belly buttons rings, how nasy does it get?! What next, live organ transplants with grubby hands? Yuck yuck yuck! Thankfully they didn't spit when we were on the ride, and if they did it would have hit them back in the face. Ha I hope it did.

I've written a lot this time, is that a bad thing? Well, it's called an outlet for my mind, this is my mind and my page so I guess you can't complain. Hopefully next time I update this I will have the results of my one-legged survey proccessed, and may have figured out how to do links and stuff on different bits of the page... well, when my sister can help me. I wasn't cut out for all this web design stuff, I just write. But as soon as I figure out how to put my email address on here you can bug me with nice things!

2002-08-26T17:25:00.000Z

Hey, it's me! I'm the weirdo sitting on the kerbstone, I'm the kid in the sweetshop, I'm the guy that delivers your milk... OK maybe not, but I can try! I'm Suz, this is my Blog (don't expect anything too fancy too often) and this is me waffling. Be prepared for a stream of strange, nonsensical words and phrases, some of which may amuse you and some which may make you back away and bolt off in the direction of the Thames Estury (don't do it! Please God no!). So I may as well start with an explaination of who I really am, and I congratulate you if you've stuck with it this long.

Who the hell are you?!

Suz. Not your milkman, but perhaps the kid in the sweetshop, depends where you are.

Will you bite?

Unless I'm provoked, no. Or if you just happen to be made of chocolate, I may have to.

What drives you?

My mum mostly, why?

What, not who, idiot. But what stirs the passion in your soul, what makes you hold your head up and be proud to say, "I believe!"?

OK sonny Jim, no more cola for you! I'm a pacifist, does that count? I believe in the power of knowledge, wisdom and gossip, and have often found that a good sharp slap in the face clears the mind as effectively as a good night's sleep, but it gives more enjoyment to the administrator. How am I doing?

Satisfactory.

You're not the voice of God, so don't push it italics boy.

Handbags!

I'm not going to fight you!

OK. I've seen you in a bad mood. It's like Jekyll and Hyde, but you stay ugly. But anyway! Where are you?

The idyllic suburbs of London, England. The smell of the falling rain, the sight of the children playing in the streets, the sound of the boy racers going over speed humps at 80mph. Bliss!

What makes you different from all the other people I quiz, apart from you being the only one to call me sonny Jim?

Let's say your comment and mine cancel each other out. Well, there's the birthmark on my-

THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEAN AND YOU KNOW IT

Someone's tetchy today! But there's the whole matter of me being unable to conform with what my peers expect me to be, my tastes, my obscure imagination, my love-come-obsession with jewellery and the making of, yada yada yada and if I think of any more I'll tell you.

OK. So what are you doing later on?

Now you're scaring me. Do you actually have a purpose? Or do you just come across people and randomly annoy them?

I'm annoying you?

Not yet, and I won't get annoyed if you stick to the appropriate questions.

Hmmm. So why are you making this Blog?

Because I know there are people out there who will read between the lines and see what I'm really saying and what I'm really getting at, and we can nod knowingly to each other and tell abstract jokes and talk about things most people wouldn't see the point of.

These lines are quite close together, you know.

Alright now you leave. Shoo!