I should be Catholic. If guilt were electricity, I could power Las Vegas for the next decade.

Wearing my grey Levis 544s, black vest top, orange Junk tee, white and yellow trainer socks.
Eating/Drinking muesli.
Hearing Placebo - Pierrot the Clown
Dreamt about Liverpool Derby Moor. It worked in my head. It was a castle, with a winding staircase. Almost comedy gothic - something of fairytales. It was also possibly one of my most disturbing dreams of all time. There was a woman I know well who tried to hug me and tell me how much she missed me. I took a step back and wanted nothing to do with her, despite in real life I greatly esteem her. I looked pained at her and she asked me to remember she cared as she was dragged off. My heartlessness scared even me, not because I believe I am like that, but because it was obviously in my mind (I can blame only myself for my dreams) and presumably I am capable of such malice. I awoke with a start and paced around my room for a bit. It took me ages to get back to sleep again.
Currently reading Andre Gide - L'Immoraliste, Vladimir Nabokov - Lolita.
Present MSN name But I force a smile, knowing that my ambition far exceeded my talent. There are no more white horses at my door.
Talking to no one.
Last text from Bone.
Word of the Day turret


It’s incredibly weird that whenever the through crosses my mind that I shall never write in this blog ever again or that I shall delete it in its entirety, someone messages (very likely the Lesser Spotted Wiggeous) to ask for a new post. Frankly, I didn’t think anyone cared about this anymore. It’s not like I have anything of interest to say. But these are, in a fashion, my memoirs and seeing as I only continue to live and accumulate new memories, more must be written down because if I don’t, they will be forgotten and washed away like footprints in the sand.It’s funny I should mention footprints, because life is getting Godly again.
I started going to Christian Union at school mainly because Ellie has to go and she wanted to be kept company. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d actually enjoy something like that. God’s been pretty absent from my life over the past two or three years for the most part and I haven’t made any real attempts to get Him back. This is for several reasons, such as putting off the moment again and again because it’s worth more than a halfhearted couple of minutes when it’s actually the last thing I want to be doing. Another reason being that I’m not sure where I stand in regards to religion. I don’t know if I’m atheist looking for some deeper meaning, looking for something to believe in, but denying it in my methodical, logical, cynical way to possibly avoid commitment. I don’t know if I’m agnostic. I don’t know if I’m Christian and actually just following the path of doubt to Heaven like every other Christian. CU has really helped me know roughly where I stand (if I don’t think about it for too long). It’s Christians like Crooksy who make the whole thing not seem like a charade, and for the first time, someone, such as she, shows that it’s not an easy thing to deal with; that it’s a constant battle from start to end. I respect her for her honesty and I cannot express exactly how this new influx of ideas and feelings and thoughts is changing me. I can only hope it is for the better and this is not, as I described to her last Wednesday night, just another ‘fix’ that I’m dealing with. The omnipresent and fierce cynic in me says it is. The quiet optimist murmurs something otherwise. I can barely hear it.I believe I can honestly say that at this minute, Jesus is first in my life. For the first time. Ever. Just saying that doesn’t fill me with guilt, but I’m sure it will in time. My most time and mind-consuming thoughts have not been issues for nearly a week. I surprisingly feel at peace, but I pace and prowl at night instead of sleeping because I have nothing to hide behind. I cannot escape to my imagination or fantasies because they’re off limits. In a way, I feel relieved. I don’t feel as lost as I did. I can’t say I’m happier for it, but I do feel… lighter. I spent the past few days in Liverpool with Bone, Sue and Gordon and it has been interesting. I spent some time with Gordon asking him theological questions, not for the hell of it, but because I was interested in the answer. For once, I should have kept to my mildly irritating ignorance, because the answers he gave will fester. I asked him a question that I had not thought was particularly profound but ultimately asks the question about the very idea of God – about how and why and where we lay our belief system. I had asked, of all things, about the flood that caused Noah to build his ark and Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection. It was along the lines of the idea that if God is truly omniscient, then why would He have bothered with the flood? If He knew that He was going to send His one and only Son to die for our sins, then why be surprised and angry at humanity for disappointing Him and destroying the beauty of His creation? Why flood the world to wash it clean of sin if He was only going to do it again (although differently, yes) through the death of Jesus? The answer amounted to two ideas that have divided Christians (on this view), that God is remote and does not intervene, is omniscient and is never surprised by His creation. The opposing view is exactly that. Opposite. That God does not have a PLAN for us and that He can be surprised by us. (I have simplified all of this mainly because I don’t know the technicalities of everything I’m saying, and what I have managed to grasp, I am not explaining very well. Bear with me.)Of course, things brings in the whole question of prayer… and that I cannot have my cake and eat it too. I would like to believe that God knows all and has a plan, simply because it makes Him greater and it makes me feel more secure that if I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going (which amounts to basically all of my waking life as well as some of the sleeping times too), that He does and therefore I have someone looking out for me, whether I feel Him or not. However, if I am to have this view then I cannot believe that God changes situations when we pray, because that means changing plans and rerouting journeys. Gordon used the example of when he was nineteen he had a distinct call from God but was too ignorant to listen. He did not become a Christian until he was into his thirties and now, at the age of forty, he is a Methodist minister. Would things have turned out differently had he heeded the call at nineteen? Would they be the same as now? I’m not explaining this well. It looks like that annoying free-will vs. determinism thingy again (and brings painful memories to the fore of my personal statement, lurking, slavering at the very idea of making me lose sleep over it again) – and seems off topic to the point I was originally illustrating. It really did make sense when he and I were talking about it. It doesn’t now. I shall have to go off after this and have another thinky. I wrote a two page essay about my thoughts on Christianity (Catholism/Judaism/everything else vs Protestantism) and other things and I felt somewhat clear on my view for having written them down.
But despite this sense of clarity that I write about now, I have so much in my head right now that I can barely pause for a second to write it all down.


A while ago I saw a picture on PostSecret and often I find that the pictures sent in are nothing if overly sentimental. Like with adverts for starving children in Africa, I feel nothing. We do just get to a point where we become immune to pain, our own and others’. Or rather, we are so blinded by our own pain that we don’t see others’. Whichever. Despite this, there are ones which break through my immunity. Some make me laugh. Others make me stifle back tears. It rarely happens, I assure you.
There have been two in particular that have haunted me. One, though irrelevant to my circumstances made me stop and stare and I must have sat there for an hour, unmoving, looking at this picture. It was a simple drawing of a little boy and a little girl, both facing each other with pleased smiles on their faces. Each was holding a wrapped gift to the other with a tag coming off the ribbons. The girl’s said, ‘My virginity’ the boy’s said, ‘An STD’. The first-person possessive adjective vs. the indefinite article. One is personal and precious to them; given only the once in a false sense of security that it was right to do so. The other is general, a plague, shows a lack of consideration and will. I believe it is every romantic’s nightmare.

The other picture was simply a statement on a lightly patterned white card:

‘I am the perfect example on what happens when a person finally gives up and settles for a meaningless existence.
What a waste of a life.’

It was another case of sitting and reflecting. I see this statement in my parents, in my friends, in nearly everyone around me. I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to waste what I have. There is so much potential out there, and I can’t understand why it can’t be easier to grasp it. I don’t want to settle. This statement chilled me to the bone. It. Terrified. Me.
It was also a kick up the backside to get me to stop… uh… doing what I’m doing.

There's so much more I could be saying right now.

People don't fall in love with what's right in front of them. People want the dream - what they can't have. The more unattainable, the more attractive

Wearing my grey Levis 544s and my green and black map shirt.
Eating/Drinking nowt.
Hearing Sia - Breathe Me.
Dreamt about nowt.
Currently reading The ABC of Wine Drinking. (I thought it might be good. It's not.)
Present MSN name But I force a smile, knowing that my ambition far exceeded my talent. There are no more white horses at my door.
Talking to no one.

Last text from Bone
Word of the Day essentially

I am obviously too busy living my life these days to write about it. Which is good, and leaves little time for reflection – my poison, because I dwell on each moment until it has been disintegrated into obscurity.

I’ve tried this style before. I’ll try it again. I don’t know how well it works this time –

Last.fm. MSN. Ben. The novelty's gone... Clem. Countdown to Spain! James is coming. Greg is coming. Argue with James. James is not coming. Argue. MSN. Doorbell. James. He cries. I lie. Friends. James is coming again. Time passes. James is half coming. Pissed off. Argument. Pissed off. Clem. Three hour phone call. Countdown resumes. Airport. Straw donkeys-a-gogo! Plane. Greg. Cards. Air hostess. Um… Land. Bump. Granada. Contact lens solution explodes. Keithington. Minbus. Driiiiiiive. Refreshed. Big. Bull. Balls. Hmm? Driiiive. Flat. Night. Mrs Clem. Baby Clem. Food. Am starved. Tired. Blur. May have slept. Lots of lazy days. Jasper Fforde. Thursday Next. Late nights in the garden. Beer. Rum. Forbidden liquer coffee. More of it. And some more. Then more beer. Lots of laughs. Map. One roundabout. Two roundabout. Three roundabout is a no-go. Baby Clem has no idea about basic anatomy. Amusing. She wants to be a Marine Biologist. Upstairs. Crumpled paper falling. Crumpled paper lands. I go sleep. We quieten. Another note. You look like Harry Potter. We laugh. And laugh. Move to pool side. Big hut. Tired. Garden. Another note. Where you gone? Sit. Chat. Baby Clem goes to bed. More notes. All blank. We reply. Leave note outside door. Throw notes at windows and balcony. Next morning. On lawn. No replies. Next night. More notes. Beach was at some point. Very hot. Burning sand. Sunburn. Doomed mission to pink buoy. Baby Clem. Me. Clem. I struggle. James ‘saves’. James drowns. I save. Lunch. Another day. Fuengurola Zoo. Lemurs. Starving. Staving. Dying. Burger. Mingy. Crocodiles. Tapir. Tapir smuggling. Tapir jokes. More tapirs. Leave. Start engine. Try to. Turn key. Turn key. Turn key. Turn key. Turn key. Turn key. Nope. Turn key? Nope. Very hot. Call insurance company. Takes forever. Sit outside next to metal bars. Harmonica. Metal cup. Smoking. Jail. Mañana. Mañana. Mañana. Success! Repair man comes. Turn key. Turn key. Turn key. Turn key. Fooled you! Push car. Wait outside. Ciao! Ciao! Ciao! Taxi. Our taxi? Nope. Ciao? New taxi. Wait for it... Wait for it… yes! Our taxi. Driiive. Clem’s shoulder. Sleep. Wake. Apartment. Sofa. Clooooose eyes. Jolt awake. Go to bed. Boys outside. Baby Clem. Talk. Politics. Newspapers. Literature. School. Music. Religion. Arts. History. More politics. Sleep. More lazy days. Pool. Pool fighting. Shoulders. Gladiators. Baby Clem is fearsome. Attempted murder. Fails. Shame. Still peeved at James. Argue again. Never resolved. I was super cool. Walk away. Like movies. Don’t turn round. More lates nights. Lates mornings. Mornings don’t exist. More like afternoons. Supermarket. Cake in a bag. Frozen pig in a bag. Pig legs. Massive fish. Buy gambas. Buy crabs. Buy sigalis. DIY Mr Whippy. Gave Clem my cone. Sqid casserole. Garlic gambas. Smashed crab. Lurve seafood. Felt very ill. Still, I survived. Batman film fest. Hilarious. Pouting. Impressions. I am Catwoman, hear me roar! A certificate 15!? Val Kilmer of sex. More pouting. Robin and Alfred have it going on. Butt shots. Boob shots. It's all disturbing. Many laughs. Tangiers trip. Ferry. Stamps on passport. Compare. Tour guide. Camels. My camel is drunk. Swaying. James gets ripped off. Fez. Crappy jewellery. Carpet shop!? Nice mint tea. Drugstore? Crap restaurant. Men keeps staring. Boobs on show? No. Stop staring! Fez of Sex. A guy shouts something. Take fez of Sex off. Offered half-smoked cigarette. Decline. More shouts. Really bad street sellers. Raining cats and dogs. They have no idea what they’re saying. James is offered drugs. He declines. More’s the pity. We leave. Ferry back. Sleep. More late nights. Tipsy. Draw map. Regret it. Nights out. Followed dog with bees’-wings legs. Hot shot partier. Beach. Need the loo. Less said, the better. Walk back. Another night, the four of us. James unsociable. Order drinks. Long Island Iced Tea. Tempted by Sex on the Beach. Don’t have enough guts to order it. Heehee. Wave chicken. Fall over. Sandy jeans. Sandy back. Sandy pants. Uncomfortable. James leaves. Greg, Clem and I wander. Bookshop. Bridge. Pizza. Good pizza. No dog. Another night. Sent up welcome note to new neighbours. Take piss. Gregorio. Juan. Diego. Natalia. Babio Clemio. Get reply. PS: Why do you have Spanish sounding names if you’re from Derby? They didn’t get it. More notes. More piss take. Goodbye note. By the time you read this letter we will be gone. … On the lonely nights we will hear the wind whisper 12A… 12A… Eventually leave apartment. Sad day. Goodbye. Long drive to Granada. Granada Palace… or something. Four hour queue. Very long. Very hot. Not worth it. Trees. Walls. That’s it. No straw donkeys. Upsetting. Airport. Board plane. Fly. England. Mr Greg’s-Dad stares at me. He remembers. Greg is the guest of honour at BatParty. He has to be. Blackmail. Sigh. Days of sod all. Go to Kent. Hate The Offspring. Arrive. Puddy seems to be nice. Go to bed. Morning. Go to beach. Botany Bay again. Sit on beach. Walk about. Lunch. Prune arrives. The fun starts. Walk around a bit more. Catch up. Get dressed again. Leave. Drive to Broadstairs. I am in the boot of Prune’s car. Like a dog. But more human. Get some odd looks. Who needs the loo? Some random woman answers. Tres amusant. Folk Festival. I love the Folk Festival. Ironwork stall. Gorgeous clocks. Eighteenth birthday pressie perhaps? Gorgeous things everywhere. Buy bottle opener. Buy leather wrist thing. All good fun. End up buying a hat as well. Have to leave. Can’t go to Albion Books. Mildly upset. There’s always next year. Go home and get dressed. Orange tee. Pink and mustard shirt. Brown waistcoat. Black Levis. Green and orange shoes. Super cool? Maybe. Go to Prune’s. Effortlessly stylish. Seppi is in Switzerland seeing the Stones. Barbeque. Eay way too much. Drink red wine. Gooood stuff. Very full. Chat about old times. Prune’s flatmate was a kletomaniac. Stole a table. Stole many things. Stole sugar. Sugar strike? My dad is showing his age, evidently. Not WWII, though. Bed. Spine snaps. Too full to sleep. Slip into daydream. Sleep badly. Miss church. Go to Maureen and Vic’s wedding. Know no-one there. Awkward. Wedding vows. Stand for the older people. Average age must be about seventy. Mr and Mrs Egg? No. Pegg. Photos. Congratulations in order. Drink three Bucks Fizzes. Bored. Feet hurt. This is why I don’t wear pointy heels. Sinking into grass. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. Go to start dinner. Very squished. Stand for the bride and groom? I can’t. Mildly interesting conversation with cool oldies on table. Drink at least a bottle and a half of red wine. Glass of champagne. Don’t even feel tipsy. Really bad best man speech. Mainly bored. Make a hasty retreat at half past six. Say goodbyes. Go to Puddy’s. Get changed. Make way back to Derby. Listen to some very bad music. Monday morning. Go to V’s. Go to Burton. Find out some very amusing stuff. Trade off. Get a little lost. Find tattoo parlor. Burly tattoo guys. Have to ask about health and safety. Feel very stupid. Guy is nice and tells me. Feel less stupid. Go back to V’s. Chat. Listen to Sia on repeat. Chat more. More chatting. And some more. Boot! Watch Jim Caviezel films. Drool. Sleep. Wake. Leave. Walk to grands’ house. Come home. And this brings us to the PRESENT!

The Holy Quintet of Entendres. Yes, yes.

Wearing my blue/black Levis 544s and my funky blue and off-white splodger top.
Eating/Drinking nowt.
Hearing Eartsuit - Bloodshot Fanatical
Dreamt about nothing, again. Aching dreamless sleep...
Currently reading nothing as of yet, but I shall be rereading Sir Fforde's Thursday Next series again in time for TN5. Wootyville!
Present MSN name Believing the lie that time will heal all wounds -- which is just a nice way of saying that time deadens us.
Talking to no one. :(
Last text from Bone
Word of the Day pooter

I saw MuteMath the other night with V and I must say I had a jolly good time. Bravo! I would quite happily marry those four guys and actually bear their babies because I love them so much. They never fail to disappoint, despite the fact that throughout the whole gig they looked worse for wear - especially Darren who looked more or less comatose - but acting energetic, which was somewhat surreal, but bless him.
Paul was bouncing off anything and everything including the crowd and having a fun time until he got himself trapped by adoring, smothering arms and his squeaky-vibra-thingy strap. He throws out the instrument into the audience, runs about a bit then comes back for it usually, so when he came down off the stage to drop it off, he was just next to me and was completely soaked, heat to foot in sweat. The things he does...

I also managed to secure myself a drumstick by using the tried and tested method of puppy-dog eyes at the Carling stewards who pick up the stuff that the band's thrown about to hand either back to the band or to the audience. I got myself 1 of 3. Well chuffed.

When V and I were queuing for the gig, even half an hour before the doors opened, there was only us and two couples there. One couple (who turned out not to be bf and gf, but friends) got talking to us and we had debates about Harry Potter (not pooter, unfortunately, which is something entirely different) and the finale, where I did not admit to having not read past the... second one, I think, which was when I was in Year 5. To put that in context, I'm basically in Year 13 now. :S Could it have been that long ago?
But I'm drifting from my nub - the point is, we had some good conversations, while in the course of thirty minutes, the queue did not even double. The doors opened and we went in. I was seconds late as I was desperate for the loo and so ran up the road to MacDonalds where I was promptly kicked out by a cleaner of all people and so I ran all the way back to the Carling Academy again where V was waiting for me, we gave in our tickets and we walked through and made our way to the front of the room, just off centre from the main microphone on the stage. I was next to this guy who spent a lot of the time before the gig smoking and using my head as an armrest which I was not best pleased about. I mean, he was about double my height (you think I'm kidding - well, I am, but he was very tall) but even so, leaning on my head was not part of my plan for enjoyment that evening. Usually ina situation like that when people take advantage or piss me off at gigs deliberately I have been known to bite or kick guys in the balls. Well, being 5'2" doesn't do me any favours so I have to show people that I'm not to be messed with in other ways. Asking nicely does not get anyone anywhere. Anyhoo, I had to be nice to him because he was potentially going to save my life. See, at the Carling Academy 2, the lights beat down on everyone at the front and it was that that made me feel as if I were going to pass out when I was there last time to see Aqualung. So, on the metal barriers at the front there are steps on the otherside (nearest the stage) where people usually put their drinks. I, being the short twat that I am, wouldn't be able to reach my drink if put on the step so I had to ask the guys next to me, ever so politely if I could have their empty cups which I would be able to turn upside down and put my cups on top of them in order to make a secondary-step for my water which turned out I would need in the course of the evening. All in all, my head for an armrest in return for my life or my pride, whichever comes first, was worth it.

Speaking of favours - I am in the process of dropping Psychology which seems to be alright with everybody except my parents. Therefore I can get signatures for the 'dropping subject' form from the Holden, Bisset, Gibbs, Seago (why I need hers, I do not know) and my darling Dilly who is as lovely as pie on... any day. Just pie. Mmmmmmpiiieeeee...
But I wouldn't have been able to get Dilly's signature on the form until I'd got my parents to sign it - which would be difficult, of course - and I'd have to wait until the day of Tues for it. However, he was standing in his lovely way in not such a lovely pink shirt doing bus duty with Mr Hancock who is much nicer than his wife - which isn't difficult, I s'pose. But anyhoo, he was there and I asked him and I thought he'd say no, but he didn't. See, I had a back-up plan, if he did say no, I had a rock with me that I'd throw at him and he'd be so mesmerised by it that he'd sign anything I wanted to. So I had the signature and the rock and so I gave the rock to him anyway. Aww, his little face. He said 'one good deed for another - from the Anti-Geologist' (which I have put in capitals because I think it looks jolly cool as a name) and then lusted after the rock for a bit. I told him he could keep it and he told me that it would become his 'stress rock' as it's all smooth. He is so sweet. But too obsessed with rocks. I shall try to find him a new vice.

Last night I was at Clem's again with some of the guys: Bone, Rhebus, Fido, Clem (obv), Jack and Greg. Jack left early and I don't think I actually spoke to him all night which was half on purpose because he ditched us for Lizzie. Again.
We watched Monty Python's Meaning of Life and ordered in pizza from Dominos. The little Polish people there got my order wrong, but oh well. If Dinks was there she would have put it right... But it was a laugh. When the delivery guy came along, we hadn't got the money ready so we all just threw coins and notes at him and he dutifully counted it all up. We were short by some to start off with so we practically offered him sexual favours. He looked scared and after the remaing sum was paid, ran off. Personally, I thought the encounter could have gone much worse.

After the film and pizza and after Jack and Rhebus had left - Bone, Clem Fido, Greg and I had a long chat about nothing in particular as well as the phenomenon known as 'firerape' which is more deadly but less violent than one would think. Of course, none of what we were saying was from experience and so we came up with downright stupid - but hilarious things - such as the positions: the Oven Technician and ... other ones that I can't think of right now. (If anyone knows what the others were, please tell me on comment. Cheers!) That conversation drifted in all sorts of filthy directions, of course, but the best one was the conversation about entendres. There is the commonplace double entendre such as, 'I'd like to double her entendre,' (curtasy of The Todd from Scrubs) but there are in fact the lesser known: single, third, quadruple entendre as well as the entendre. And example of a third entendre would be something like, 'Can you open the blinds?' whereas a quadruple entendre would be something like, 'I'm the Pope,' which may also be taken as a third. An entendre is to simply go up to someone and drop ones trousers in a sexually suggestive manner. But by far the best, and unwittingly actually the most common of the five entendres is the single entendre. An example being, 'You look like you could do with some sex!' Yes, it does happen more than you'd think. Yes, yes.

We said he was, but he wasn't, he also said he wasn't what we said he was and therefore we both agree that he's not what we both said he was, simply.

Wearing a pair of Clem's trews ( :s ) and my Fleetwood Mac feat. Christopher Cross Tusk Tour tee
Eating/Drinking nowt.
Hearing The Mamas & The Papas - My Girl
Dreamt about nothing, as far as I know.
Currently reading Actually. Nothing. I may cry. Still.
Present MSN name Believing the lie that time will heal all wounds -- which is just a nice way of saying that time deadens us.
Talking to no one
Last text from Bone
Word of the Day huuuuuurgh!

I honestly didn’t think people would believe it, but they did. Why would anyone post someone’s death for serious on MySpaz? No, to clear things up: Joe is very much alive and was in on the prank. It was a bit of a sick joke, but it was funny at the time, thought it wasn’t my idea, particularly because we thought that people would have realised it was all very tongue-in-cheek and sarcastic. But no. I still can’t believe it. We, as far as I know were just taking the piss out of Joe because he kept being sick from the time when he was drinking (before midnight) right to pretty much just before we left at midday. Come onnnn… Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time, I s’pose, that’s all I can say about it. Rampant CPR? A pint of vodka? Dead? And the first thing we do is post it on MySpaz? Uh, no.

So, briefly, the party last night was… entertaining. I called for Verity at Sainsburys and then we went to Clem’s where she and I prepared the BBQ food, though we needn’t have bothered because it’s not like anyone really ate any, anyway. I spent God knows how long cutting up peppers, onions and cherry tomatoes for kebabs and preparing nibbles and drinks and to be honest, we had more than enough. That, and the BBQ itself didn’t work and we only succeeded in smoking out the whole garden and the neighbours. I got started on the cider which may have been a bad idea as it’s very deceiving, so I got a bit drunker than I meant to. And paid for my sins.
So, at the party’s maximum, we had Clem, James, Joe (not dead, I promise!), Rhebus, me, Herry, Mike, Fishy, Fishy’s guest (Charlotte), Fido, Emma, Rosie and Gregorious and it was generally pretty close knit and cool, except Fishy and Charlotte seemed pretty shy which wasn’t good but I wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it.

Anyway, the vibrating duck wasn’t in use, much to everyone’s disappointment and we had to make do with the flappy lobster and the spatulas. Ha!
I say ‘we’, but really it was only Fido and Rosie who were making full utilization of the hot tub. Ahem. But nothing really happened there, or so they maintain. Ahem again.
Amy kept trying to pull down my bikini pants, I have no idea why.

I spent a couple of hours with Verity looking after me (bless her, I felt so bad for her) and then when she left, by James (bless him also) while I pretty much laid on the bathroom floor feeling sorry for myself and being slowly warmed by the heated floor. Cider is very deceiving and I think I felt worse with it than I ever did when I’ve been drunk on beer. And, from what I know, I drank less cider than I would have beer. Hmmm. Never again. Famous last words, aye?
James and Verity got me loads of water and then James pretty much put me to bed in the room next door and made sure I didn’t die. Then I felt a bit better and came downstairs and hung out with the guys and made drunken jokes with them about all manner of things. It has been decided by unanimous vote that we shall get Greeny a purple silken box as our leaving present to him. He’ll never understand… or so he’ll lead us to believe.
I looked after Joe a bit and made him drink a few mugs of water and he was sick all night. Great fun.

Some people gradually left before I came downstairs, some people stayed. Eventually, it was just Greg, Clem, myself, Herry, Joe and James, so after much lying around and some cleaning of the house, we made breakfast and then decided to write the MySpaz announcement with Joe’s assistance. After that, I came home and wrote this. I am not to have a bath as I feel scuzzy.
Have fun and remember that Joe’s not dead; we’re just horrible, cruel people.

I'm an evil giraffe covered in BEEES! (My, these titles just get worse and more irrelevant, don't they?)

Wearing white socks, grey Levis 544s, electric blue top, grey vest top
Eating/Drinking water.
Hearing Guillemots – Little Bear
Dreamt about nothing particularly last night, but I had an interesting dream the other night. I have been tortured greatly by a gang of magpies hanging out in the tree outside my bedroom window. They are loud and they have been driving me mad. Especially since they do their aggrivating clicky noice an awful lot between 4.30am and 7.30am which is prime sleeping time. So, I had my window open, and in that state beween sleep and wakefulness, I thought there was a magpie trying to get in my window (I was slightly awoken by the racket they were making) and so I shut my window. Then, my dad came in the room and started rummaging through my curtains and then threw a rather slimy, moudly looking thing across the room with a hearthearted splat. It was a very dead bird. It was all decaying and generally just gross and it had landed on a piece of A4 lined paper. We then tipex-ed over it. Then I woke up and noticed my window was shut and my windowsill behind my cutains was discoloured (actually from bleached and unbleached parts of the paint due to things blocking the sunlight and stuff) and I was confused to how much of the dream was true. I feel the tipex-ed dead bird didn’t really happen though, thank God.
Currently reading Actually. Nothing. I may cry.
Present MSN name Believing the lie that time will heal all wounds -- which is just a nice way of saying that time deadens us.
Talking to Ben
Last text from Fido
Word of the Day bees

I am about to write THE most boring blog post in the history of blogging.

Because I am going to tell you about my exams. Those who suffer from examaphobia may leave now at the exits marked ‘Multiple choice question: pick a door – A or B?’

I have finished all my exams now. Psychology was the opening exam and it wasn’t too bad, but I don’t think it was that nice either. Then followed English Lit and as much as I love the subject, I can never tell how I’ve done. Sometimes when I try reeeeaaally hard, I get the arsiest (I’m writing this on MS Word and ‘arsiest’ is apparently a word, heehee) mark, yet, and the example was my essay review on Memento for my Drama piece for English at GCSE – I spent maybe two hours writing it with no plans and no rewrites and it got full marks, top A* and all the English teachers drooled over it calling it ‘genius’. It’s not a bad piece of writing, but I don’t really see what’s ‘genius’ about it or perhaps I’m in a state of modest denial.

It’s just like how I’m in denial about the recent dancing madly around the house to this dire song that I’m listening to a lot in this day an age, that is so… catchy and happy that it’s impossible to really like: The Magic Position by Patrick Wolf. Yes, I know. The dancing wasn’t the problem, but I was in the conservatory when the window cleaners rolled up and did their ‘divide and conquer’ approach to window cleaning. One of the guys was cleaning the kitchen windows while another took the upstairs bathroom windows (just above and to the right of the conservatory – on viewing from the garden) and he was just pissing himself so much that he just about fell off his ladder. And then I noticed that they were there and I was being watched. So I went and hid in the downstairs toilet because there are no windows in there, which leaves me free to curl up in the corner and rock, murmuring crazy things to myself if I so wished. I didn’t, but I wouldn’t put it past me.

Back to exams, Blodge was on Monday, Units 2 and 3. Who WASN’T dreading Unit 2 – the longest, dreariest and most random selection of subjects – everything from the cardiac cycle to transport of water in plants, to reproduction of humans and plants to the structure and function of the ileum. Um, yeah, makes sense? And if that wasn’t bad enough, the mark schemes are evidently written by stoners because even if you know everything there is to know about a subject, you do have to put little statements into your answer which really have nothing to do with the exam question, let alone actually answer the question. So it’s been tough, but I had a really strong feeling (which I called my premonition, simply because it sounded a little more glam) that Unit 2 would be okay and it would be Unit 3 (the easy topic) that would be the secret, sneaky little bastardy one.
I was right. But I think I blagged my way through it okay, so we’ll see.

Then, Tuesday I took a trip to Derby Moor to see Hilly who had escaped through the cracks in the floor, probably. Or perhaps he was lynched by the evil Year 8s, who knows? Either way, he wasn’t there, apparently. I walked up to the sixth form centre looking super cool in shades, jeans and other clothes and saw Mr Kilgour and Mr Beharall talking outside the doors, so I stood and loitered, waiting for them to finish, which took some time. Loitering any time after about ten seconds does halve your coolality and every subsequent five seconds will also bisect it again. Ultimately, by the end, I should have been about as cool as Cilla Black is sexy, but somehow I managed to survive. Mr Beharall stopped in the middle of his chat to say, ‘Natalie, don’t worry. We haven’t forgotten you,’ to which I became somewhat confused that he knew my name as I have spoken to Mr Beharell exactly NIL times but meh. Eventually I got to speak to Mr Kilgour and asked him where the staff room was. He took me there, but not before showing me how camp he really is. When we walked (I say ‘we’ but you’ll see that only one of us ‘walked’) up the steps of Derwent, he took the lead and literally did this really gay little skippy, prance up the steps. I have to say, I wasn’t that surprised. I mean, the guy bums James Blunt. He’d be the guy at the gigs in the center of the jostling, shifting crowd, staring, staring, staring with a mixture of admiration, awe and lust.

I ended up talking to Mr Hayer the Chemistry teacher who is infinitely cooler than Mr Kilgour.

The Chemistry exams were on Wednesday. Units 2 and 3. Unit 2 was surprisingly pleasant and as was Unit 3. But I think the grade boundaries will go up because they weren’t papers full of buggery. When I saw Dilly after the exam, he asked me what I thought about it. I said, struggling with his car door, ‘It was fine. There was only one mechanism though.’ And then he looked insulted and a little upset. I don’t blame him, I felt the same way. He’s been teaching us mechanisms until we were both blue in the face and then the simplest one comes up. I’m sure his heart broke into pieces when he heard the news from me. He was odd though, he got me to come over to his car to tell him this news while I was on my way home with a series of horn pips and mad waving. Y’know, as you do…

I saw Verity yesterday and we had a good time doing not a whole lot and watching stand up comedy. Eddie Izzard and Dylan Moran are effortlessly amazing and I love them. Highly quotable, too. Some quotes should not be said in public, however. I shall have a try though and see what results I get. Walk through town and say, ‘I’m covered in beeees!’
It could work.

And then just tonight I went bowling with the guys after a long cycly-walky thing with Clem, James and Tindy. The bowling included the aforementioned, Lizzie, Fido, Joe P and, unfortunately, Matt.
To be honest, it was a good night but not blog worthy. And I’m tired now. I will however mention Ben before I go. Just quickly. I sorta found him very recently and he’s very cool and witty and smart and funny and all that jazz. This isn’t supposed to be a suck-up, but I just thought I’d give him a mention, not because he reads my blog, but because he’s just a very nice guy and if he does read this, he will know what I truly think of him. I am surprised I haven’t bored or weirded him out yet though. Perhaps he’s just really polite.

Although it's irrelevant to my post, cricket really is the most pointless sport ever.

Wearing a royal/electic blue t-shirt under a turquoise 3/4 sleeve shirt as well as my black Levi 544s and some black trainer socks.
Eating/Drinking nowt.
Hearing Scott Matthews - Elusive
Dreamt about must've been something drastic. You should have seen the duvet this morning.
Currently reading Judt finished Borrowed Light for the millionth time. Am now reading Junk by Melvin Burgess
Present MSN name Oh yeah - "LA is fake" - what, is it one giant breast implant and we, the people, the silicone within?
Talking to no one.
Last text from BoHo again.
Word of the Day Zazu

I had a pretty long day at work today. Over eight hours, apparently, and in all that time I did basically sod all.
I wasn’t a waitress today. I was supposed to. I was going to have my own box. But it was cruelly stolen from me and I was left doing nothing except fetching mushrooms and bacon and going back and forth with them for about half an hour. I then spent the hour after that guarding the mushrooms and bacon and sausages and trying to sneak bits from the hot plate into my mouth with no one noticing. I did reasonably well, considering.
After that, I had an unsneaked-dinner and following it with hours and hours of collecting glasses before just taking residency at one of the bars where I acted as a bartender for the remainder of my shift and beyond, as technically I did about two hours overtime.
Anyhoo, had a couple of nice chats with the very-much-taken Adam as Will rather spitefully pointed out to me. Therefore I shall not help him get together with any of my mates. Not that I would anyway, but I’m sure my nub is received somewhere. Perhaps in Mumbai.
I was going to do an impression of my nub being received in Dubai, however, in my head, the Indian accent came out very much Scottish with kilt, haggis and a whole sh’bangle of stereotypes and I just don’t think it would work. I think it’s best to leave it aloooooone. It turns out that Adam lives with Coop, my sister’s friend. Adam says it’s a small world. I agreed.

I had a lot to say and now I can’t think of a thing. I’ve seen Vee and Rhebo and Boho lately and they’ve all been cool. And I’m going to Espana in July. With Clem and Robozip – the two most useless twig-people I’ve ever met. It could be very interesting.

Roger, I do believe I bowled you over. You’re out.

Abstraction becomes reality. ... An entire lifetime that comes down to this single frame of life.

Wearing a black tank top under a blue one, my newest Levis and one mouldy ‘white’ trainer sock, the other is a vaguely okay pink and multicoloured-striped sock.
Eating/Drinking nowt.
Hearing Jennifer Knapp – Martyrs and Thieves
Dreamt about cannae remember.
Currently reading the same book as before. Basically finished it though.
Present MSN name All you have to know about men & women: women are crazy, men are stupid. The main reason women are crazy is that men are stupid.
Talking to no one
Last text from BoHo
Word of the Day psalms

I have the least active love life than anyone I know. Seriously, I’m hearing The Sound of Music in the distance again, and I’m sure my t-shirt is getting itchy and… habit-y.
Every time I think there’s someone, it’s usually either someone who I don’t feel the same about, so someone who doesn’t feel the same about me, and very often the whole beginnings-of-a-relationship is in my head.
Every time someone knew comes along, I say it’s different this time, but is it ever?

I’ve been asked out, I’ve been flirted with, I’ve been kissed, I’ve been asked for a quickie (long story) and now there’s a new guy in my life, sort of, and I think he might even be interested. What I am worried about, however, is that I’m just not in love with the idea of being in love more than I am interested in him. Because, if it turns out I am, then it’s likely the whole thing is just turning out how I want it to turn out in my own head – and I’m just interpreting signals allllll wrong. I really hope I’m not. I really want this to work out.

This guy, Adam... he’s older than me by a few years, but he spent the time talking to me smiling and joking about as well as finding out how old I am and what I do. Yeah, it doesn’t sound a lot, but he initiated all the conversation (apart from when we exchanged names) and seemed pretty keen to talk. He’s a bartender. I’ll tell you this, either he’s just a really decent, friendly guy who just chats with anyone or he actually is somewhat interested. The thing is, at Pride Park, no one talks to you, or if they do, it’s solely work related and they just don’t ask you about yourself. The more I think about this, the worse I feel about it. I mean, I’m not trying to do an Imogen-stint over here; I am actually just pretty insecure. He’s a high-shelf t-shirt and I think my original idea ‘High-shelf. Don’t touch,’ was closer to the mark.

Pride Park is doing my head in. Mostly, it’s awful, but then there are some great bits too. Even the dodgy bits. Like the guy who more or less asked me for a quickie.
The issue is with that was that I was dog-tired and the only thing I wanted was to get home to get in bed, not with him as I sorta led him on to believe. I totally led him on and I really regret that. My only consolation is that he was too drunk or embarrassed to ever say anything to me if he ever saw me again, and remembered, of course.

Our conversation would have gone like this:
Him: Blah blah blah blah bullshit blah blah flirty blah blah.
Me: Cut the crap. Just ask me if I want a quickie.
Him: Do you want a quickie?
Me: No.

Then it could have been over and done with in seconds. But no, no, I would have to do it the hard way.
He started off nice, if flirty, and that was fine, because I didn’t have to deal with anything. It was a match day and he’d been invited over to the Mercedes table for some after-match drinks which I brought over to the table – rounds and rounds of them – so no one at that table could have been sober. Yet, to look at them, they all looked as sober as when they walked in.
When everyone had finally cleared off, he hung back and started asking me if I had a boyfriend (but didn’t wait for the answer as he wasn’t really that interested in what the answer was) as well as asking me how I was getting home before asking me if I wanted him to walk me home. For a start, it’s a heck of a walk and I knew he didn’t have walking on my mind. I didn’t know at that point how to get rid of him (which is odd, because I’ve used being ‘engaged’ as an excuse of not having to deal with guys before, which I find hilarious that it actually worked) so I just agreed with him and told him I’d meet him outside the main entrance once I’d finished cleaning up and then signed out. So he left and I thought furiously of what to do. I sorted myself out and got my stuff together and as I was walking back through the restaurant again, he came back in and asked me if I was still going to meet him. I said I was, but needed to be a couple more minutes. What I actually ended up doing was to go up two floors and take a back route out and down which took me out the side entrance and into a turn stile exit thingy. I waited there for my dad to pick me up, and he parked some way away from me. Thing was, the guy (who I may as well admit was fit – fit like you wouldn’t say no, except I would, but didn’t) was standing by the entrance just waiting for me, and so he would have seen me if I walked over to my dad’s car. In the end, I just legged it and told my dad to drive. Just like in the movies. Except there were no cameras and I was avoiding the sex scene as opposed to engaging in that as I would expect there to be in a movie like that. But I digress…

Last night I dealt with the perviest taxi driver ever (miles apart from the best taxi driver I ever had who I got into a discussion about suing Pride Park for not paying me for bloody ages – at the time, they hadn’t paid me at all) who called me ‘babe’, ‘gorgeous’, ‘sexy’, ‘honey’, ‘baby’ and ‘duck’ within about the first ten seconds I was in the car. I tried to make conversation, but he seemed keen on grossing me out, for example, I asked him how his night had been and he said it was better now he’d picked me up. He also told me that he once went out with a waitress and he kept telling me she was really hot. To be honest, I didn’t care and I tried to sidle up as far as I could to the window without actually just jumping out – which I have to say, took a great amount of self-control – and then he shut up for a bit until he dropped me off. I was so glad, but he watched me the whole time I walked up the drive and was at the door step, just smoking is cigarette and looking ever so slightly creepy, more pervy, actually.
I mean, I don’t mind getting male attention; usually it’s flattering, like the recent event in Big Blue with napkin-guy, but there was absolutely no need, I tell you.

I’m going to go for a bit and see if I can stop freaking about this Adam thing. My stomach is in knots right now. Meh.

Roger, over and out.

Said the dead horse, "Please, please, stop beating me!"

Wearing a new top thing, my ripped Levis and some nice black trainer socks
Eating/Drinking nowt. My mouth hurts.
Hearing The Prime Movers - Strong As I Am
Dreamt about nothing last night, though I have been plagued by horrible dreams lately. There was one where iI got into an argument about Blair with my grandfolks and had a screaming match at them and it was really malicious and my grandpa ended up dying. My temper scares me. :(
There was another one were there was a character that was (but wasn't) me and a dude and it turned out after many adventures in this surreal world with this sheep with an earring that this guy killed my sister and I woke up all sad because it was one of those dreams that feel very, very real. I wrote about it afterwards, cos I want to remember it, even if it was horrible.
Currently reading a book that lovely Mrs-Jennifer-Verity's-Mum lent me.
Present MSN name All you have to know about men & women: women are crazy, men are stupid. The main reason women are crazy is that men are stupid.
Talking to Fishington-Smythe
Last text from Leggy (surprisingly)
Word of the Day obfuscate (curtasy of F-S)

Things are not good right now – all over the place. And despite the fact that I can’t be bothered to write this, I’m going to feel bad about it until I do.
And also all this stuff is going off right now, I actually feel pretty distant from it, like I can actually keep my head about water for once, which I take as a good thing. But… even so, a lot of things have gone wrong and dreams have been crushed to pieces and the only thing I feel is – heavy.

I went to a gig the other night. Aqualung were playing at the Carling Academy, and a guy who I met through my escapades trying to get onto the Guillemots forum who seemed pretty decent – but who I guess I always felt was a little arrogant and this was pretty evident through the fact that he rarely ever asks me about me or anything like that, which was sad… we met up and it was so incredibly awkward. Worse than with anyone else who I’ve ever me or spoken with. We were in the queue – him, me, Calum (his best mate) and Fishy from fencing and Calum and I were the only ones really talking and I was the only one trying. Not that I blame Fishy for being quiet, of course… Calum was nice, though.
Anyway, he spent most of his time being weird or talking to Calum and it was just dreadful. Then, when we spoke for the first time since, he asked me if I still liked him or something, but ignored all my questions after that because they are irrelevant to his life, I guess.
Anyway, I get the feeling that we’re going to fade out from here. Meeting him was a bad idea.
I just about fainted at the gig too and had to wander off to the bar to get some water or I would have collapsed, methinks, cos the room was swaying a lot and I thought I was going to fall. Music was good, though. Bit miffed that I got very little change back from a fiver for my bottle of water. Was also miffed that there was no obvious place for ladies to pee, so I figured we'd probably have to use the floor or something. It wasn't until we were about to leave that I saw the ladies' loos. Meh on a stick.

Before that, I went over to Rhebo’s and we had many-a fabulous conversation even if we did (and still do) bicker like sisters about things. Mainly like her being a big lesbian. But I suppose that cannot be helped. Heehee.
We went to Blockbuster in the evening and we got some films out. As it turns out, Rhebo has seen exactly seven movies and they’ve all been ones we’ve watched together. There was this amusing moment in Blockbuster where I was staring at this rack of DVD films and for some reason they just looked really odd to me but I couldn’t put my finger on why (I late realised I wouldn’t want to anyway. I didn’t even want to know where they’d been, being the snob that I am.) Then Rhebes asked me why I was staring at the films and I didn’t know why she asked me that. Then I looked more closely at the DVDs and then it occurred to me that I was staring at the porn rack with such titles as ‘Mature Housewives IV’ and so I got all wide-eyed flustered and walked off very fast which is odd, because I’m not that innocent.
…That came out wrong.

I couldn’t persuade Rhebes to take out the Housewives movie so we ended up with the brilliant ‘The Usual Suspects’ and her appalling choice: ‘Pan’s Labyrinth’ which is a dire movie that only she appears to like.
Enough said about that. I miss her. I feel like I always miss her, even when I’m actually with her. I guess I took her for granted before and I feel awful for all the times I upset her.
On the other hand, we both came to the conclusion that there’s been a lot of sexual tension between us for years and we ought to just have sex and get it over and done with. (Now, I wonder who’s going to think I’m for real on that.)

As for last night – I can’t talk about what’s going on because the one thing this is is not confidential because it’s so open, which I have to admit is sorta the point and that’s why I do it, but on the other hand, it means I have to be careful about what I do write here. But there was the commotion of late with one of my best friends and involves a tight knit of people which is awkward. In all honesty, we probably oughtn’t to know, but I’m glad that I can be there for this friend because she too means a lot to me. I’d like to talk about it, because I’m sick of omitting things in this, but the whole point is I can’t, and I wouldn’t do that to her anyway.

Clem’s in China, so that’s all moot too.
My job is shit. I poured shandy down one of my punter’s backs the other night and it was dreadful and I had to grovel and tell her that I wasn’t able to pay for her dry cleaning, simply because I cannot afford to do so. I was pissed off because it actually wasn’t my fault as I had been shoulder barged by another busy waitress and the drink sloshed everywhere when I was putting down a white wine (medium dry) for this woman. It was god-awful.
I also found out my partner has been sneaking tips and then lying to me about them, so I feel somewhat betrayed seeing as I always let him go early and I look after the Mercedes table because he hates it and it’s the much bigger table…
There’s no point talking about work, although I may get to work the May Ball for school which could be interesting.

And since I’m rushing now, because I’ve lost the mood, I had this awful issue with the Holden where basically I broke down in my review the other week with Ms Seago in the lower common room and had to escape to the top common room’s loos where she allowed me to hide to sort myself out. She also sat me down a short while before she let me do that to tell me that I wasn’t a failure and made me repeat it after her, but she lied, and we both knew it.
She made me see the Holden after that and it was dire because I started off again and really couldn’t stop. I’d come out of English Lit and I said I’d only be half an hour although it ended up nearly the full two hours so that was crap even though I wanted to miss the lesson, so I had left 10 minutes early for no reason other than that.
Anyway, after a billion glasses of water that Mrs Holden kept torturing me with by making me drink to the point where I was desperate for the toilet. She seemed really nice and considerate, although on hindsight, what she had actually told me what more or less that I am not smart enough to fulfil my dreams so I ought to tone them down a bit and look for a degree that requires lower grades… which is hurtful, I think.
From then on (because the Holden left me for about ten minutes to speak to Greenhalgh), Greeny has been quite pleasant to me. I even laughed at something with him the other day. It was slightly forced, but I survived the ordeal… so did he, unfortunately. Nah, we’re getting on okay now we’ve silently worked through our differences even though I figure we both still hate each other.

I had parents’ evening the other night and I spent most of it sulking, mainly because I had to start it off speaking to my English teachers which wasn’t the plan and House was quite nice, so I will not call her Bungalow anymore and she seemed really sympathetic when Greeny was being a dick. He basically said there was nothing special about me and I was a mediocre student. I was so hurt. I try to hard in English. I’m so different from how I was at GCSE and no one appreciates it.

My piechology teachers were ‘blah’ about me. Banga actually got her best brain cells out for a run that day and gave me some useful advice while The Cunning Ham himself was just lovely (in his little suit, bless) and said I was a great girl (and that my folks had produced some really nice girls, which was odd, but okay) and then Chemistry… oh, Chemistry.
I saw Hilly and Dilly and they were both really, really decent and they said lots of lovely stuff before Dilly said, ‘Oh, I just love her to bits!’ where I may or may not have blushed wildly and giggled stupidly while my evil excuse of a mother replied with, ‘Well, I think it’s mutual,’ and Dilly smiled and winked at me while Hilly stared down at the table looking all sad and left out while I inwardly spazzed with embarrassment.
I love Dilly.

As for now, I can smell burnt hair and it’s completely disgusting. I mentioned it to Fishy and she asked me if it smelt like burning bones. I said I’d never smelled burning bones and she told me that she had to burn some for Blodge GCSE. The only thing I can make of that is that her Blodge teacher had a body to dispose of that she thought she could get away with under the name of curriculum. *tut*

There's been other stuff too, like Chemistry courseworks and stuff - one I did badly on and another I did really well on. Meh. We'll see how it goes.

Excuse me, but there's a dead seagull on the table.

Wearing my big yellow fleecy thing, my school trews, a Hollister top, my tank top and some skanky socks with holes in...
Eating/Drinking can of slightly warm Heinken and some chewing gum that's lost its flavour...
Hearing Les Miserables - I Saw Him Once/In My Life/A Heart Full of Love Montage
Dreamt about nowt, as I recall.
Currently reading Jasper Fforde - The Fourth Bear
Present MSN name ...And if you'd like to write jokes for the show, all you need is a crayon.
Talking to no one.
Last text from Bo and Fishy - at the same time. (OOH-errr!)
Word of the Day widget, just because it's fun to say.

I just watched a video on YouTube about what I am to assume to about the effortless ease in which people can be drawn into certain situations due to peer pressure. It was the music video to The Hamster Dance Song, remember that? Well, anyway, it’s scary about what we’ll do for peer pressure. For example, in the video, some snakes in India did not want to dance until the all-air surfing, all-dancing hamsters came onto the scene and, using dancing as their method to provoke the snakes into following their example, changed the snakes’ attitudes and it was scarily swift how rapidly they did.
Advice for the children: don’t do it, however much they dance, don’t do it. Think for yourself – the attraction isn’t worth the bother in the long run. Think of the damage! The damaaaaage!!
That of course could apply to any of the threats of today: drink, drugs, sex… but they cannot even compare to the dangers of Hamster Dancing.

Onto less pressing matters, however, I went to London on Saturday and spent an interesting day with Clem catching the wrong tubes and such. There was also a hairy moment in which we may or may not have gone to Essex had we not discovered that the thing we were about to go and board was actually a train rather than a tube, because, of course, there are no tubes which go to Essex, but just imagine the possibilities of what could happen if there was… *sigh* So anyway, it wasn’t so much of a hairy moment as a slightly stubbly one, or heck, even clean shaven, as the train hadn’t exactly arrived… so we were safe.On the other hand, at that point, we were trapped in Aldern with a Circle Line tube that was going to go the wrong way (which wouldn’t have been a problem had it not been so late, because the beauty of the Circle Line is if you catch one going the wrong way, if you wait a short while, you’ll still get to where you wanted. Hence the name ‘Circle’.

Anyhoo, there was a girlladywoman who we got into conversation with as we both needed the circle line. We found out that she needed to get to Tower Hill as we did, so we agreed to walk it and she asked if she could tag along (which Clem and I translated as her showing us the way). She was a newly graduated lawyer working in a big corporation firmy thing and so when she had enough of talking to me, she spent a lot of time talking to Clem, which was fine, as I had other things to worry about, such as the growing feeling of ‘Ummm… argh?’ due to seventeen and a half years of paranoia from my mother which must have got into me somehow… (I suspect through osmosis – though I wouldn’t like to think about where the martially permeable membrane is as I’m a big prude about these things. Not a prude on a stick, as usual, though, as that would defy the point.)
So off we travelled, through some alleyways and tiny roads and big roads as well as valleys and Mount Doom until we got to Tower Hill where she wished us luck with our lives (which we returned. The luck, that is. Not our lives, as we were born with those.)
We caught the lightrail and scooted off to the Docklands after a small discussion about baby pigs, and when we got off, we discovered that we were sorta lost because Clem can’t read maps and I didn’t like to admit that I can’t either.Eventually, we found Clem’s aunt’s house after asking about a million LOCALS where the road was who didn’t know. Then we had some water and he went somewhere and then I fell asleep on the sofa which was to be my bed for the night.
That was fine and dandy, however, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread that came from my head being in such close proximity of a dead seagull on a table.
I’ll leave that discussion there, however.

Einaudi was fantastic and he did this really cool version of Eden Roc which had some kind of dance beat behind it. I really dadly wanted him to play I Giorni and/or Questa Notte or Bella Notte or whichever one it is that I really like. But he didn’t.On the other hand, I got to meet him and after frantically trying to find a CD to buy, I’d queued and got that CD signed. Wasn’t his new one though; they’d sold out.Gosh though. How cool?
I have further good news though, things are looking up with Herry, and though I hope she doesn’t read this – because it’s weird when you’re writing about someone who is your expected audience – I’m glad that things are gonna be okay, cos I’ve missed her even if we do both evidently piss each other off and now, I hope, know each other a little better from it – even if it is just not to talk to each other when we’re in bad moods/stressed and the like *shrugs* Oh well, it’s over now. But, yep, I’m looking forward to the next few weeks. Though I’m worried about what this has done to mine and Pegg’s frail friendship. But I’ll try and deal with whatever happens.

Moving swiftly on, however, my Biology coursework is coming along. I sat down at 4.30pm-ish and for the exception of having a quick meal and making myself lots of cups of coffee (which my excellent kidneys punished me for) I didn’t really move until 7.15am in which I tried to do some English, but with no sleep, that transition from Blodge to English is not easy, so I got up, then felt faint so I went to eat something, which then made me feel sick (which was a shame because it was honey-nut bran flakes which ar…. *drools*) so I went to bed and told me folks that I wasn’t going to school. I work up at about 2.40pm and then checked my e-mail and bless him, The Ham had sent my coursework back to me with some annotation (I’d sent it him before I went to bed. I wrote the e-mail, then sent it and then realised I’d not send the attachment with it… so I had to send another.) The odd thing was that when I sent the file to him, it was called ‘Blodge – COURSEWORK (CMC).doc’ and when it came back it was called ‘gnat.doc’ which I found ever so slightly unnerving, but there we are…

Anyway, school tomorrow. Fun. And I have wrote the worst essay ever for Greeny, but it serves him right for setting us irrelevant topics to write essays on for our homework. Also, to give him credit for this time, it was about Emilia who is interesting and my favourite character in Othello, but she is not someone who you can easily write an essay about because I don’t think her character has been expanded enough – it means that any essay that you do do is almost entirely speculation. Which is great for me, but not great for my English grade.

*static*

[loud whisper] Don’t tell anyone, but I’m actually an elf... [/loud whisper]

Wearing my coat, pinstripe black trews, red shirty thing and my trainer socks
Eating/Drinking nowt.
Hearing Guillemots - Moonlight
Dreamt about nowt, as I recall.
Currently reading nowt atm. :(
Present MSN name ...And if you'd like to write jokes for the show, all you need is a crayon.
Talking to no one. MSN's being crap.
Last text from Bo-ho-ho.
Word of the Day elf

I met Neil, Paul and Joe at the MuteMath gig and it was incredibly cool. Since Joe’s all married now, he’s a bit rubbish, but Paul was really nice and chatted to my dad then me until it got awkward and then we drifted off.
Then after a brief interval of V and myself floating about, I went over to talk to Neil and catch up with him. He was just like his old self again, still very gorgy, and contrary to the pics on his MySpaz, not camp… though he was wearing this lame little scarf, but I don’t suppose it can be helped.Then after being interrupted about a hundred times, I told him I’d catch up with him and then V and I went to have our photos taken with Paul from MuteMath who was lovely and not as arrogant as I thought when he was on stage.I was so close to them, though. MuteMath, that is. I was squished in on the first row and Paul basically sat on my hands a couple of times when he was bouncing off the walls and doing his acrobatics. The man is talented, yes, yes.

It turned out we were in this crummy little place next door to the big Carling Academy that we managed to queue for and get into… until it was apparent that it was the wrong gig. I have to say, I thought it was odd with the sort of audience that was queuing.

Umm… what’s new on the street? Well, literally; my next door neighbours moved out very suddenly a few days ago without a word to us, which we thought was odd. And then we got some new neighbours who no one’s EVER seen. Not ever. Not once. As far as we know, we just have a couple of boxes and a red car for neighbours. Perhaps we ought to take around a housewarming gift, like a person to use them? I vote we get rid of Danielle. Or maybe Daniel. He needs a home, surely? Why else would he spend so much time at everyone’s houses? He’s definitely a stray. Someone out to call the RSPCA and report a stray guinea pig, cos let’s face it, that’s what he is. One of those little furry ones with all the hair and stuff and when they walk around it’s like little wigs walking across the floor or the ceiling or highway or wherever they just happened to end up. They get around fast. Heck, our Wiggy the Guinea Piggy ended up in Lincolnshire after a short scamper. Haven’t seen him in a while, so presumably he’s either dead or met a rabbit and is busy trying to make friends. God knows why rabbits and guinea pigs are put together. Certainly an odd match. It’s like putting a common or garden giraffe with a lesser spotted dingo. I mean, they’re not even vaguely alike or from the same country even! I will make it my mission (I actually just did a typo and wrote pission… it amused me) to find out why; why in the name of Tom Jones’ fake tan, why?

Moving swiftly on, however, I had to jump out of a window today with Dorian aided only by a stool and… the window. The window being a factor in jumping out of a window does indeed help. Anyway, it all started when I went for my bass lesson, and Mr Gatford was locked in the room and I was locked out, and so I got a key from SuperGlue (w/o cape, sadly) and was let in. I had the bass lesson, embarrassed myself by squeaking at him (early development of guinea pigs? I hope I don’t have anything of the Wig about me… :S ) when he asked my if I wanted his MySpaz addy for his band. And for some reason I didn’t really answer, I just gave him this high pitched noise which he seemed to interpret as a yes. Then I walked out (after tripping over my bass’ bag straps… not a particularly classy exit, I should add) and wandered into C13 where I was greeted by some guys in year 9 or 10 or something. Well, not so much greeted as not noticed. Nonetheless, I was unfazed and tried to get out the door, but it was locked and apparently the key didn’t work. So one of them climbed out the window to try the key on the other side and that didn’t work either. I possibly should have suggested that they may have been using the incorrect key, but it was amusing to watch them with the one they had, until I realised I was supposed to be meeting Dillington and so then I asked them to hurry up. But they didn’t, so I pulled up a stool, handed the year 10 outside the window Dorian and then stepped up and jumped out, straightened my collar and then took my Dorian again and walked off with as much class as I could muster, mainly for comedy value than anything else. So I didn’t look back. When I got to C16 I told Mrs Birchall that the boys were locked in C13 and they could get out, though, apparently she took it the wrong way, thanked me and stormed off. So I ran as quickly as I could to get to the common room because I didn’t want to be seen by the guys and given a bollocking from them for dobbing them in, which I didn’t mean to do. Ah well. No harm done. Though I might want to take an attack whistle and a handbag with a brick in next time I go for my bass lesson, as very often the boys are there as they may actually eat me.

Oh, and for reasons which I don’t want to go into right now, Amy and I apparently aren’t friends. Or so it seems. I’d make a bigger deal out of it, but there’s no point. I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s no point in worrying about it. What will happen will happen and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Yes, I’ve never been so passive before. But it’s her move. I’ve apologised and tried to avoid the argument, but that’s made no difference. So it’s her turn to do something other than pointedly ignoring me. This isn’t a criticism on her, but then again… hmmm. The ball’s in her court, and it’s not my job to run over and retrieve the ball, then run back to my side of the court and lob it over again (or hit it, it would depend on the game. Volleyball? Tennis? Who really knows? On the other hand, if it’s squash then I could easily, as we’d both share the same court, however, I digress.)I don’t want to make too much of a deal of it, because, despite everything, I do still like the girl, even if she doesn’t seem to like me. I’m just sorry that apparently we don’t ‘get’ each other as well as I thought we did.

Hmmm... fencing was on Thursday and it was jolly good. Had a genuinely good time, although I missed Fishy. Mick said it was good to see me smiling and enjoying myself again, Floyd didn’t force me to do epee (or bloody foil, although I did foil anyway and it was good fun, if painful) and Jamie said I had a ‘set face’. To which I replied with what I hoped was a quizzical look, but like I’ve told Clem, most expressions [if held for too long, or he’s doing them] tend to look like one has wind, so it was only fleeting. Not the wind. The look.
Anyhoo, he said that I have a face that looks like I’m about to kill you if you don’t know me that well. And I have about two expressions: my ‘set face’ or a smile and that’s only rare, few and far in between. Something like that, anyway. I wasn’t sure what to think. Then he said he was like that too, and I gave him a grin and he returned it. I can’t remember how the conversation came about. We have some odd ones. Earlier in the evening we were talking about sheep. As one does, of course.

Dilly said today that I wasn’t small either. Actually, that sounds wrong. But I was running after him… hmmmm, *thinks* …wrong again. But then Tinderbox shouted out, ‘Mr D’Elia, there’s a small person running after you!’ or something along those lines, and Dilly joked, ‘Where!? Where!?’ and then looked at me and said, ‘You’re not small.’ So there we are. From the Rock God’s mouth. Looking back on it, I should have said the line of this post in a loud whisper, if only I’d heard it before then. I reckon it would have been quite funny. Though, for all my jokes, he doesn’t find me funny, just a ‘little sweetie’ which I suppose will do.I mean, I told him about the window fiasco and he didn’t even bat an eyelid. He only asked me if I had a calculator (I didn’t) and then he got out with titration tutoring (bless him, I don’t know what I’d do without him.)

Speaking of which, I did some in-class support on Wednesday with Gingey which was good fun and certainly interesting. It was with this year 7 group in D11, the computer room, and well… in all honesty… the horror, the HORROR.I mean, the kids were alright and Gingey was very nice to me. In fact, she even said, ‘Natalie’s very good at spelling. She’ll help you.’ And that was that. Everyone called me ‘Miss’ which amused me. But the reason I say that it was just… horrific… was because… they couldn’t use capital letters for proper nouns or spaces between words, nor the correct use of commas and full stops, let alone brackets, hyphens, semi-colons (which apparently a couple of kids who I spoke to about them hadn’t heard of, so I added them into their work for Gingey to find – after all, I am renowned for my extensive use of them *sigh*) and the like. It was dreadful.
And then they couldn’t spell either… I am surprised that I lasted a whole hour without creeping up to a corner of the room, sitting down with my knees hugged up to my body and just staring – staring and rocking – whimpering about the horror, oh, the horror.I reckon it could have been quite effective, but perhaps not on the first day. Not if I ever plan to ever tell the tale.
There was one amusing if slightly embarrassing moment when Gingey started reminiscing about me to the class; particularly to one girl whom she said was quite good at English, about when I was in year 7 and how I used to write stories and give them to her, ‘real little page-turners’ so she said, and how she used to really like them. There were all these little beady eyes on me, just blinking the word, ‘swot’ in big, beady blinks complete with evil glare. But the kids liked me overall, so that’ll do, Kep, that’ll do.

Erm, I think I’m going back to The Cunning Ham’s class for next week and then move onto Gingey’s year 10 group as well as her year 7 group. Can. Not. Wait. But, I really think this Nottingham Uni thing is going to get in the way, which I’m not happy about, seeing as I don’t really like it all that much. Meh. We’ll see.

Roger, over and out, for now.