"Everyone say whiskey at the count of three. ... 1, 2, 3 ..." "TWO GIRLS ONE CUP!"

I told you guys I made an awesome card for my mum yesterday.
http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a253/jangosnuffles/For%20graphics%20making/Mothers_Day_Card.jpg

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Now playing: Mika - Lollipop
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The rhythm of our conversation

A few more things I forgot to mention earlier, here.

Earlier, I went on the BBC website, as per usual. I discovered that Prince Harry has returned from Iraq. I never knew he was even out there. I got two news items out of one. It's like killing two birds with one stone, only I don't get a meal out of it.
Also on the BBC website was news of this guy who has thus far spent £47,000 I believe, on souping up his car. Here are the pictures. It's pretty hot, really. Still, with 29 speakers in there, you'd think he could have rounded it up to thirty, just for the sake of having an even number, right?

My dad surprised us somewhat this week by informing us that he would going on a business trip next week to Sicily. I say 'business trip' in the loosest sense of the phrase; for a start, he doesn't really know who he's going over there to meet, let alone what he'll be doing there, other than looking at oranges and lemons (I told him to be careful about getting his head chopped off). He knew about it a month ago, but hadn't really thought to go on it back then, as he thought it would be a waste of time, but then his boss told him to go, which is nice of him, really. Still, those are gonna be some lazy five days. Sicily is the island south of Italy, and when I visited Italy in February of last year, I went to Pompeii, which is in the south of the country, from where we could see the Bay of Naples, and the weather was gorgeous enough then, so slightly further south, and a month onward, he is gonna get some beautiful weather out there. I'm just gonna make sure he brings me back some limoncello.

That's all for now.

The other woman

Last night I watched the latest episode of LOST, which was very very sweet at the end. I've always loved Penny and Desmond, so the ending of The Constant made me very happy, but I was also shaking from worry. What's more is that Desmond's time-travelling took him back to when he was in the army, and thus lovely and clean-shaven and short-haired. He just looks a bit weird with his skin-tone, considering he's spent most of his life in rainy ol' Scotland, but I guess Henry Ian Cusick can't help being part Peruvian now, can he? What I don't get is how Daniel would know that Desmond would be his Constant. I mean, if Daniel were to time-travel back to a point before 1996, then he wouldn't remember Desmond back then.

I'm also really excited about the next episode, mainly because it is Juliet-centric. It seems that in her relationship with Goodwin, she was 'the other woman'. One of the things I loved about this week's episode, though, was her bluntness with C.S. Lewis. I mean, I'm loving Charlotte at the moment too; she's got a lovely British accent (and Rebecca Mader's from Cambridge, so not far away at all!) and she's tomboyish, so no doubt she can kick a bit of arse. But Juliet was totally impatient with her (while remaining so serene, of course) in the last episode, and it cracked me up.
Anyway, I'm all psyched up for a lovely Jacket moment in this next episode, quite possibly in the middle of a nightly rainstorm (from what I've seen of the sneak peeks, but that could just be to mislead me), and even though I'm determined to maintain that Juliet is on the Losties' side, I still can't help but think that she's simply got Jack wrapped around her little finger.
Also shown in one of the sneak peeks was Kate becoming very very suspicious of C.S.Lewis and Dan, finding them still holding onto the gas masks and about to question them when Charlotte knocks her out with the butt of her gun. Let's face it, Kate is no wuss. She's the most action-oriented female on the island. Juliet is very capable (she shot Danny; yaay!), but Kate's the one most likely to shoot some dude in the kneecaps as a torture method, so considering C.S.Lewis knocks her out ... well, Kate ain't gonna be happy about that. That just has me craving more information about Charlotte, too. Like, what the hell is she playing at, and what 'work' does she have to do on the island?
Last thing I have to mention about this upcoming episode; Juliet's flashbacks all occur on the island, so why the hell does Charles Widmore, Penny's father, appear in them?! Not only was he a bastard to Desmond, but he clearly has more to do with the story than that.

Right, that's enough LOST-ness, I swear. I just had to get it out of my system, and at the moment, Elliott and Andrew are the only people I can talk to about it. Seeing as they're not here ...

So, how has everyone's Saturday been so far? I was asleep until midday, when I went downstairs to discover Dad and Alec were just about to leave for Cambridge. I asked Dad to get my some shampoo, conditioner (mum's refusing to buy it for me, saying that I should spend my own money on it *shakes head*) and some more of my seaweed facial wash from Body Shop, as I've a feeling I'm gonna run out soon. So, I got back into bed and read book 10 of the Wheel of Time until about 1:45, then eventually got out of bed just after 2. Both kitties were in my room! That is a privilege.

Also, am I the only person who wants to be able to sit/sleep/live in a washing machine? They should make really large ones so that that would be possible. I remember always being really fascinated by our washing machine at the flat in Croydon. Those things are so cool.

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Now playing: Mika - Love Today
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I'm so horny, but that's okay; my will is good

Oh! What's this, I ask? Could it perhaps-- well, maybe-- you never know-- I mean, of all the things-- but quite possibly it might-- no! really? well, if you insist. I guess, just maybe, it might be the--
START OF CHAPTER TWO OF THE AFTERLIFE RPG [BONANZA]

Stepping around the man, Felix bent down, crouching beside him, but being careful to not touch the pooling blood. "What--?" he started. "Are you--? how--?" He shook his head, totally unsure of what to say. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on the man's arm, trying to alert him to his presence. "How did this happen to you?" he breathed.

The man continued to drag himself along the side of the road, crawling on his stomach, his clothes soaked from the blood from his wound, and from trailing in the muddy pool he was knelt in. Felix jumped back up and strode round to stand in front of the man, blocking the path he seemed to be heading along.

"Please," he said. "You need help. Can't you tell me what happened to you? Where are you wounded?" He crouched down again, but could not see into the stranger's face, for he had his head down, as though it would cause too much pain to even bring it up and see where he was going. Then, just as Felix was about to say something else to him, the man's body shook violently for a split-second, his head jerking from side to side, his torso twitching, and then his upper body crumpled, falling to the ground as his arms gave way. Bloody, muddy water splashed at Felix's ankles, and he felt it soak through his trousers, reaching his skin and chilling him to the bone; the knowledge that another man's blood was mixed in there was what haunted him.

The man was still moving - twitching mostly - but he had stopped trying to crawl his way further down the road now, and his face was buried in the mud of the path. Felix remained frozen, rooted to the spot, still crouching and staring at this pitiful creature.

Here we go creating another fable

Japan has really cool manhole covers.

I've been up since 6:30 this morning; I got up early so that I could continue with my Film Studies presentation and script. I never managed to finish it, though. I left the house at 8:06 this morning (hope you're reading this Charlotte) and upon entering school, rushed up to the Study Centre so I could print off my script, or rather what I had so far written of it. There was quite a congregation of people from my Film Studies class up there, all for the same reason as I, even though most of them weren't on the roster to present today. Elliott and I were walking to Film when we saw Andrew ahead of us, so I called to him "Andrew, how long is yours?", right across the picnic area, before realising that I should probably change it to 'how long is your presentation?'
Elliott's presentation on chroma key was first; then there was Andrew's, which was on the relationship between Hollywood and foreign films, which I found interesting, mainly because of several new things I learnt (but I've forgotten them now, damni-- oh, no, I've remembered one of them now); then was Adam's, but his overran into second period a little, so he didn't get to show any of his clips even. I'll be first on Monday, which I'm pleased about. I have no issue with doing a presentation, but I was so desperate to not do it today, seeing as my script was still incomplete. Also, going first means that I don't have to rush it like Frances and Adam did (... I'll ignore that).

Because first period overran, I was late for Philosophy and found the classroom empty, so I went up to the Study Centre to find Ru emailing Haslam to ask if she could have the rest of the day off to continue writing her synoptic essay >___<. I sat down at a group of desks where Kat and Rosie were seated and started making notes on my essay. We had break, then we returned (I had another Philosophy lesson, which is always up there anyway), continued working during that period, then Kat and I stayed for our free as well, during which Charlotte joined us and had many many difficulties with some question she was trying to answer in her Maths work. It turned out she'd got the wrong number of 'x's. So yeah, I spent three hours on my bloody synoptic essay, and somehow managed to avoid seeing Haslam about it (although she came over to me at three different points to ask how I was doing and to inform me that I could go see her when I was done with what I was doing). I should probably make sure I'm prepared to see her tomorrow, really.

It was the Matt-Nat-Scott-Rosie-Sophie lunch today, an anniversary of the one where we had a big argument about Patrick Mankins. As per usual we just played cards. Well, apart from Natalie, who was worried about her exam statement of entry.

Last period I had Editorial Writing, and we finished the practice essay we started yesterday. I had plenty of time to work on it today, considering I wrote so much yesterday, but I was still over the word count by about hundred words, 'cos I didn't know what else to cut out.

Then I walked home all on me larry, 'cos Charlotte had to go to the bank where the woman who wanted to seduce her was.

Now I'm bored because nobody's online, I can't be bothered to watch Notes on a Scandal, and Mill and Nietzsche's views on conventional morality are just not what I feel like describing, illustrating or evaluating, right now.

All you youngsters care about these days is that cake-emu

Kat has weird dreams about old grandmas complaining about the cake-emu. Admittedly I too have weird dreams, in which I'm pregnant, and Kat knows it thanks to a bloody MSN conversation we had (I really put my foot in it, but she does have some pretty darn good detectin' skills to be able to work that out several months before I go into labour). Charlotte just has sick dreams where we all die violently.

I just had to change what song iTunes was playing, because my dad came up and I don't think he would appreciate hearing sweary words, mention of sodomy and, well, the title 'Violent Pornography' says it all, really. Now he is gone.

I panicked a little during Philosophy today, but it turned out all was well. No point going into detail, but essentially, I think Haslam is cool about where I'm at with the synoptic essay. In Film, Charlotte Wright and Frenchy gave their presentations, but there wasn't time for any more, as there were technical setbacks at the beginning lesson; potentially, I might not even be fitted in on Thursday, even though I was initially supposed to be first on that day. In English, the class once again succeeded in defiling children's' literature; we analysed a short children's' story from the 1950s, which admittedly was pretty shocking to start with, but only because of the inherent sexism; the fact that the kids were rowing about in the sea in the middle of a storm, at night; the fact the young boy was barefoot for the entire story; the fact that their granddad appeared to grow younger by about twenty years; and that they set fire to the lighthouse. Okay, there are more examples of how insane it was, but those are the most shocking. All we had to do was make the young boy and his sister, Bess, incestuous; decide the grandfather was a drunk and give him a younger sailor drinking partner who became his imposter (that explained why he kept changing and where his bandage disappeared to); and turn the lighthouse into a huge cock. The moral of the story? What happens in the lighthouse stays in the lighthouse. And in case you were wondering, Greaves was - once again - completely complicit in this entire conversation, and eventually accepted Rob's suggestion that the granddad was a drunk.

Then I had frees, so Matt gave me a lift into town, dropping me off in Waitrose carpark, and I made my way to the library, where I proceeded to read book 10 of Wheel of Time for about twenty-five minutes (I found their copy of it and decided I might as well go back to reading it). I also got my mum to get out two DVDs for me; Notes on a Scandal and Where the Heart Is. Then we went for lunch at Kim's Tea Rooms, or whatever it's called.

I dilly-dallied around on the internet for a few hours, upon returning home, and then I watched Where the Heart Is. My reason for getting it out? My lovely Natalia (of the Portman variety, not Nat). She played a seventeen year old pregnant girl left by her boyfriend at Wal-Mart, where she is forced to live for six weeks, until she gives birth to her baby there, and then the film follows the next five years of her life. I was also pleased to see the always wonderful Stockard Channing, and Joan Cusack, who always seems to have amusing roles. It also starred the guy who played Paul Raines in season four of 24, who was alright, although it's his ex-wife I care more about; when my beloved Michelle died, and Nina -- well, Nina died too, but it was her betrayal that cut me deep; she didn't betray Jack, she betrayed me -- I found comfort in the development of the lovely lovely Audrey (she wears reading glasses!!), who was Paul's ex-wife. I went through the whole of Where the Heart Is wondering where the hell I'd seen the guy before.
It wasn't the most amazing movie, but it was enjoyable enough, and enchantingly feminine in some ways, and hell, I love Natalie Portman, so to see her when she was still just a lovely eighteen year old, driving the entire plot of a movie; I'm cool with that.

At dinner just now, we had our mandatory 'film and TV' chat for probably half an hour. Today we were trying to list our ten favourite films each. Mum and I didn't bother, as we knew we haven't seen enough good films to be able to compile such a list, but Alec had no issue with doing such a thing. Dad simply listened, but then that's dad.

Yay, film talk dominated this entry.
And aren't I amazing for updating? Love me.

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Now playing: System of a Down - Holy Mountains
via FoxyTunes

I lookz like Patrick Stewarts

ZOMG, Maya nabbed Luke! I feel like I should actually say something substantial here, but I cannot write spontaneous blog entries. In fact, I am hopeless at writing entries in general, but I have been told to by various people, and seeing as at least one of them is in this same room as me, I feel compelled to do so, or else I shall be seriously decked in ... like a DS Lite.
There is a very nice house in Leeds, according to the news on the TV. And the OSCARS are contrived, but then everyone should know that by now.
Today was more cardingz playing. I didn't win at all, which was annoying. I learnt that Frances was at the Music Man party on Friday and was sick in Emily Jones' bed because she had too much cider, and then she was sick again, in her mum's car (but she had a bag that time. I hope it wasn't a Tesco bag. Those just let all the sick drain out through the holes). Scott was being a clitoris.
In the words of Samwise Gamgee; "MO NAKED HOES; mash 'em, boil 'em, stick 'em in the stew."


That is all I can think to write.
Told you I was awful at crafting these things.

Why so serious?

It's not gone to print yet, but here's my article for issue three of Brown Paper.

THE DARK KNIGHT

AN IMPORTANT, AND PERHAPS UNEXPECTED, MESSAGE

You know what wouldn’t surprise me? I have this really strong feeling that a lot of people are going to see The Dark Knight, like, a million times each, this summer, simply as a result of Heath Ledger’s – admittedly very shocking and sudden – death.

For this month’s article, I was initially going to be writing about the films of 2008 that I, for one, am looking forward to, in order to give you all an idea of what films you should be intending to watch. However, I unfortunately do not control the world, and thus the unexpected occurred, and ruined my plans; if I were to totally ignore Ledger’s death and what it entails, then that would simply make me appear slow and uninformed, and then nobody would view me as a credible writer, and so – even though it now makes me look like someone who just HAS to follow the crowd, and swoon and gasp at how hunky and gorgeous he was (sorry, but I’m just not keen on him) – I have found myself unexpectedly writing about his death, in order to give you all an important message.

You see, it’s strange how events like this provoke guilt trips or an excessive sense of sympathy within people. Of course, I would be hypocritical if I were to say “don’t watch the film!”, seeing as I encouraged everyone to do pretty much the same thing in my Waitress article in issue 1, when I wrote about the death of Adrienne Shelly. I dislike Heath Ledger, true, but it would be heartless of me to try and desensitise his death, or be cynical about it. I simply think that The Dark Knight is now unarguably going to be about the Joker. Even if that’s not the film-makers’ intention, the public are going to make sure that that is the case.

Batman Returns was a great film – not just a rehash of the1990s’ entries to the franchise, but a dark retelling and an actual decent film – and many (including myself – please don’t misinterpret my standing on this film. I really do want to see it) have been looking forward to this sequel. Casting Heath Ledger as Batman’s craziest – and probably most famous – nemesis seemed like a strange choice at first, but if you’ve seen the images of him in his costume and full make-up, no doubt you’ll agree that he seems right for the part. This casting choice has thus far perhaps brought the most publicity to the film. With news of Heath Ledger’s death suddenly sucked up into a maelstrom of media, this publicity is going to get an even bigger boost. If foul play is suspected – which, at the time of writing, it is not – then The Dark Knight could potentially have money pouring in at the box office.

Simply, I urge you to see this film for the right reasons. If Christopher Nolan’s track record is anything to go by, it’s going to be a great film. Christian Bale has already succeeded in portraying Bruce Wayne and his alter-ego very well, Michael Caine is always great fun to watch, the fantastic Maggie Gyllenhaal has replied Katie Holmes as Bruce’s childhood friend, Rachel (thank God)—oh, and it’s got Gary Oldman! But yeah, seriously, don’t go to see this film because you feel guilty about the fact that a young, talented actor died way before his time. Go because you like him as an actor, because you want to celebrate his life, or simply because you know you’ll enjoy the film.

By The Duke

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Now playing: Fiction Plane - Cross The Line
via FoxyTunes

My article for the Christmas issue of Brown Paper ('Wrapping Paper')

HAIRSPRAY
By The Duke

I've never been a fan of hairsprays, to be honest. They never seem to work in the fashion that is detailed on the bottle label; you end up getting disgusting white sticky things in your hair, and then you're simply left with no choice but to wash it again. This hairspray, however, is awesome. I figure that most people's main reason for going to see the film is that they want to see John Travolta in drag. This is fairly understandable; Travolta has played a multitude of roles - some great, some probably rather crap - but never before has he played a woman. A fat woman. Perhaps everyone is just as disappointed by this sad little fact as I am, and so decided it was utterly vital for them to run along to the cinema and give the film a watch. As for me, I don’t think I’ll ever regret going; I foot-tapped my way through the entire film and – it sounds cheesy, but it’s true – I really did laugh at every joke made. The cinema itself actually had a great audience that night, although there was a woman in front of us who had the loudest laugh ever, and also the somewhat annoying tendency to turn to her young son every five minutes and inform him that the large, jovial woman on screen was in fact a man (can you imagine if the poor young boy became terribly confused by this, and then was falsely led to believe that all people who appear to be women are in fact men, and perhaps even vice versa? How tragic that would be.)

Hairspray is simply there to enjoy. It’s bright and colourful, with wonderful recreations of 1960s hairstyles and clothing, but it’s also not afraid to hit the more serious notes, such as racial integration; Tracy (newcomer Nikki Blonsky), our heroine, becomes friends with some ‘afro-tastic’ coloured kids in her high school, who she later joins in a protest march, in an attempt to put a much-needed end to segregation. There is a lull in the jokes here, as Queen Latifah sings the heartfelt “I Know Where I’ve Been”, but then Tracy bashes a police officer with her protest sign, and it’s all back to good ol’ blown-way-out-of-proportion humour, but without making the audience feel awkward about the fact that they’re laughing right after a very poignant scene.

You don’t have to like musicals to like Hairspray. You just need to like music. Let’s face it: it’s not often you get an awesome film which encourages its viewers to not be afraid of being ‘different’ by playing them music (what a way to convince us all). The songs have fantastic lyrics full of the most ridiculous sexual allusions, and James Marsden, the guy who you may recognise as the X-Man who can shoot laser beams of death out of his eyes suddenly appears on-screen as a guy called ‘Corny’ who thinks he is an aeroplane, and keeps grinning cheesily at everyone (he’s great, though).
The DVD and soundtrack are both out now, so if you’re fed up of the Christmas tunes blasting out the radio and want something different to listen to, go out and get your hands on Hairspray and then jig around the living room (or cha-cha, if you’re listening to Michelle Pfeiffer’s rather spiffing “(Legend Of) Miss Baltimore Crabs”) and wile away your Christmas holidays in a fun way.

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Now playing: Weezer - American Gigolo
via FoxyTunes

Waitress

Well, I'm bored, and as I was writing my Hairspray article earlier for Brown Paper, I figured I might as well start posting the articles that I write for the publication on this blog as well, seeing as they are technically 'creative writings' of mine. (Note that this is the original article, but for the actual publication, I had to cut it down by about a third, as I was only permitted one A5 page, and in its original format, it took up one and a half pages.)
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If you want film related articles, you will get film related articles. Be ready for them. There should be one every issue, and even if you're not a big fan of films, you might as well read them. You might learn something. Hell, you might even gain an interest in the subject. I hope nobody expects me to summarise or review these films for them, though. That’s not my job. There are plenty of magazines, newspapers or websites you could check out for that sort of information. My purpose is to talk about the films on a more personal level, and put them into context a little for you. Hopefully you’ll then find a good reason to watch them.

Waitress
Who it's for: people who like pie, Nathan Fillion, comedy, romance, southern accents, or just seeing the good guy/gal win without it being horribly cheesy and clichéd. Also for people who are bored or for those who just happen to like to watch lots and lots of films
Who it’s directed by: Adrienne Shelly
When it came out: 2007

There are a number of perfectly valid reasons as to why you should see this film at some point in the near future. Firstly, if you’ve got heart, you’ll be going out of sympathy. Adrienne Shelly - writer, director, and co-star of the film - was killed last November. Some 19 year old Ecuadorian kid got a bit upset when she complained to him about the noise he was making in the apartment below her; he punched her, and - believing her to be dead - hung her from her shower-curtain rail, which strangled her, all in an attempt to make her death look like a suicide. Obviously he got found out eventually, though. Shelly’s performance as Dawn is haunting to watch; knowing that the woman on the screen is not only dead, but murdered - and so recently, too - makes you feel slightly uncomfortable, even though the character is sweet and thoughtful and makes you laugh at her simplicity. You owe it to Shelly to watch this film, her last project.

Another thing: the film stars Nathan Fillion. His may not be a name you’re particularly familiar with; he’s no A-list celebrity, certainly, and he’s definitely not a household name (unless you mean specifically in my household, anyway), but the difference between he and many of those who are is that he deserves to be more well-known. In the words of Empire magazine, he is “a man who improves any movie by 27 percent with his charming befuddlement”. That’s rating him highly if you ask me. If you’re a fan of LOST, you should remember him as Kevin, the police officer Kate was married to, shown in flashbacks in the season 3 episode ‘I Do‘. Alternatively, if you love the Joss Whedon ‘verse, you may remember Caleb from season 7 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. His most well-known role, however, is Captain Mal Reynolds in Whedon’s [sadly cancelled] TV show, Firefly (later, a film - Serenity - was released as a follow-on, in which Fillion reprised this role). It’s impossible to not love Mal; he’s bumbling, cheeky, funny, sweet, and essentially a bit of a rogue (read: Han Solo-ish). Nathan Fillion brings many of these qualities to Dr. Pomatter, the gynaecologist who has an affair with Waitress’s main character, Jenna (played by Keri Russell). If you’ve never seen Fillion in anything before, you might as well go see this. Even though Dr. Pomatter has zero valid reasons for having the affair, the whole point is that for Jenna, it’s acceptable; her life and dreams are crushed by her husband, who treats her like property, and who cries like an absolute baby whenever she does something to displease him. Jenna is made a free woman when she starts the affair, albeit intermittently, and because he’s so nice, and treats her so much better than her husband does, we love Fillion’s character (and, really, who can blame her for liking him?).

This film genuinely deserves a lot of credit. It was snapped up at the Sundance film festival earlier this year, where it received a standing ovation, and has been lauded by critics. Some are passing it off as this year’s Little Miss Sunshine; it’s original, funny, and - most importantly - real. It’s not a Hollywood movie; the main character’s life is not perfect by the end; and she does not become a princess, or marry a prince, and have lots of beautiful babies/Dalmatians/fine, exquisite clothing (there’s just one baby). Russell is the main focus; Jenna has a lot of problems in her life, and although the characters of the supporting cast have issues too, none of them equate to hers. But the fact that these people do have problems makes the story so much more believable: a weird, spontaneous poem-spouting blind date, who won’t give up on Dawn, despite being unwanted; a baby that - despite being unborn - is already unloved; Becky’s wonky boobs; and, of course, the gorgeous gynaecologist (that should be a book title, really). If any of the things on the who’s it for list apply to you, you’d do well to watch this film. Go on, go for it.

Written by The Duke

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Now playing: The Police - Walking In Your Footsteps
via FoxyTunes

Acerba Sorte

There was once a time when Virginia applied the ancient adage of 'it's the small things that matter' to her life. She always insisted to her relatives and friends that it was no trouble at all to help them out, whether they required books to be collected from the local library on the way home, or needed someone to mow their lawn. Of course, they all loved her. When I think back on her memories, I can see how they looked at her; she wouldn't have noticed it – she was too modest – but they knew she was good. They envied her generosity and kindness. “She has a beautiful heart,” they used to say about her, clearly unaware of how sickening their display of affection was.

What a horrible shame it is, then, that her beautiful heart could not save her. She had been planning to visit her grandmother that evening, 'grandma' being a bug-eyed old woman with a crooked back, and had bought her some pork chops for her supper. Perhaps it was just a random attack; perhaps it was simply that her blood had a particularly attractive smell that night; perhaps her attacker had been stalking her for months. Regardless of the reason behind it, she was sired that night. For a week, I watched her family fall apart, revelling at their weakness and wasted tears. I did not kill them; that would have been too merciful. Instead, I let them worry. I could not enter their house, but I did not need to; from the balcony, I could hear her mother's awful sobs, muffled by pillows. I marvelled at how all these lives had been ruined by a single action, and aspired to achieve something similar. I drank from the boy next door one night, whose blood was particularly delicious – youthful and energetic - and abandoned his drained corpse on the doorstep of his parents' house, and then I left that street forever.

It was an immense temptation to reveal myself to everyone she had ever known. Utilising her memories, I could remember them all: the first boy she had ever kissed; her best friend from University; even her favourite teacher at primary school. Often I imagined the looks on their faces when they saw what they thought had been the young woman they loved suddenly transformed, stronger than they could imagine, faster, and – it cannot be denied – much better looking. I dreamed of meeting them all, and telling them of how Virginia was tragically no longer with us, and then gliding forward and sinking my teeth through their tense flesh with the sweet, red ecstasy gushing forth into my mouth, and I would wake from these dreams excited and anxious.

People would see Virginia's demise as a terrible thing, but in my eyes it is simply a release from the frailty of human life, and the path to something greater. Her soul is gone, and I am sent to replace her; it's the cruel things that matter.

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Now playing: Weezer - Crab
via FoxyTunes

This was part of my Editorial Writing homework; don't think I've got my creativity back yet

In Cheddar Gorge; at Charterhouse; on camels

Until the 13th Century, much of the south-west pocket of England was covered in large bed sheets of water; it’s inhabitants lake dwellers. Then the land - funded by the powerful abbeys of places such as Glastonbury - began to be drained and built upon, and now it is recognised as the stunning scenery of the Somerset levels; the Mendips; the caves and gorges that are scattered throughout the country. No matter the season, and regardless of the weather, nothing will detract from Somerset’s sheer beauty, short of building hulking grey cities all over it. If you’ve stayed in that part of the country before, then no doubt you’d go back there in a second, and if you haven’t, then you should be packing your suitcase right now, and reading ahead to find out exactly where to visit.

Charterhouse, the Mendips
Perhaps one of the less well-known spots, but most certainly one of the loveliest, Charterhouse is rife with wildlife, views and ancient history. Located in the heart of the Mendip hills, the landscape there is of bountiful variety, parts of it limestone rocks, while other areas are layered with coarse grasses and shrubs. Charterhouse marks the area where the Romans used to have their lead mines, and upon closer inspection, some aspects of that archaic civilisation can still be seen. Bring the children here for some great time spent exercising in the fresh air, as they run about over and under the rocks, and for the ultimate experience, bring the dog too, so they can chase the odd rabbit.

Quantock Hills
Camel trekking is the sort of exotic activity you would usually associate with some such far-flung destination as Central Asia, or Northern Africa, so it is often a surprise to people that such a thing can easily be carried out in our own country. The Bridgewater Camel Company operates from a farm in the Quantock Hills, in western Somerset, and offers guided tours of varying lengths, ranging from an hour-long, to overnight, which is advised if you want the full experience. Almost anybody can ride a camel, including some people with certain disabilities, so you can go as a whole family, and make a full camping trip of it.

Cheddar Gorge
If you can’t afford to visit the Grand Canyon, then Cheddar Gorge is the next best thing. The limestone cliffs tower four-hundred-and-fifty feet above the road surface, which lasts for three miles, and you have the choice of driving through it - at the bottom - or walking along the cliff-tops, taking in the fantastic views that completely surround you, immersing yourself in the environment of old. In some ways, the latter option is more rewarding, as you don’t have to face the depressingly vast plethora of tourist establishments along the road. However, nothing will ever compare to the first time you drive through the gorge, staring up to watch the roaming goats nimbly leap about on the perilously steep cliff-faces, or see the odd rock-climber hammering his climbing hooks into the rock. As you drive into the town of Cheddar, you will be faced with a last rock, at the end of the gorge and high above, that looks almost like the face of a lion, surveying his grand kingdom, and shaking his fiery mane pityingly at the extent to which we humans try to make a profit out of it.

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"You'll be so high, you'll be flying"

End of the world?

Tsunamis. Tornadoes. Earthquakes. We've got a whole lot of disasters heading towards us. Half of them have already hit us before. Us Brits might be safe for now. Soon, though, more immigrants will be rushing in. They'll continue to take over our country as theirs are raped and robbed by freak weather.

People always moan and groan about global warming killing animals and destroying homes. But we shouldn't be caring about that. We should be bothered by the effect it has on us and our nation.

Millions of foreigners will want our land when theirs is gone. We've already got too many people in this country who don't belong here. And if there are more floods and tornadoes around the world, there will be more immigrants coming to take over.

Before you go bashing me in on the head, I'll let you know now that this was an exercise I had to do in Editorial Writing today. I had to pick an issue (such as global warming) and write about it as though I were writing a focus article in a tabloid newspaper such as The Sun. I went for the whole 'sensationalising' shebang, considering what aspects of global warming might worry Sun readers most. It's only natural that they'd be able to link it to immigration somehow. So, yeh, I'm not racist. Or stupid.

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Come Unto These Yellow Sands

I feel really tired. I got home about an hour earlier than usual today, because Mrs. Smith, my Editorial Writing teacher, wasn't in. Even so, the time has passed very quickly, and I feel tired and cold. I think I may go downstairs to make a cup of tea in a moment.
Today's Wake Up Writing exercise was to set a timer for 20 minutes and write anything with the title 'The Sleeper' until the alarm went. I was bored enough to attempt this. Now that I read over my text, however, I can see how patronising it sounds. I tried to go for a little twist ending, but I honestly don't know how effective it was. I don't really care, though. I just need to keep writing until I'm ready to go back to my stories. Today, I thought of a few more characterisation aspects for Elayne and Dorcas that sort of just appeared, and I was moving some papers in my room this morning when I came across a sheet of information about Doreen, which I vaguely recall writing a few weeks back. Apparently she hates her handwriting, and has an older half-brother who is half-American. I didn't remember any of this, so I'm glad I found the sheet.
Wait, damnit! Doreen is supposed to be an only child. Does it really matter? Goodness, now I have to think all of this through again.

The Sleeper
The library was old and grand, and quite remarkable in an architectural sense. It was dusty too, though; not because it was unused, but because nobody could be bothered to clean it. Row upon row, bookcases were covered in thick, grey fluff that fell to the floor whenever books were pulled off shelves, and muffled the footsteps of those who walked down the aisles. Some parts of the library were visited regularly, others were utterly abandoned. For example, nobody knew what books were kept at the back, for nobody had visited there. Because of the area's seclusion, it was easy for strange things to manifest there without ever being noticed. All sorts of fanciful creatures rested in the dark, safe from the outside world where predators of all sorts lurked, before leaving to make a new home elsewhere. The Sleeper, however, had been there for a very long time, since before the library had ever been built, centuries ago. The Sleeper had crawled into a space and fallen asleep there, and when the humans had decided to build in that area, they unwittingly built around The Sleeper, unaware of its presence. The Sleeper was unique, unlike any other creature, and it had one marvellous ability; it created Dreams. The Sleeper was constant, unwavering, and always had been, and thus the world has never been without Dreams. Even when awake, The Sleeper transmits images to all sleeping creatures, showing us what has happened in the past, what will happen in the future, even what is currently happening in other worlds. The Sleeper has a sad story, though. Thousands of years ago, it started to lose a grip on its power. Some people had started to investigate the Dreamworld, analysing it, trying to pick it to pieces and discover how it worked. The more that was uncovered, the less mystery The Sleeper had, and thus the less power it had. It grew tired and weak, travelling at a slow pace for several centuries, unable to carry out its job as effectively as it once did. And so, eventually its only option soon became clear to it; The Sleeper would have to fall into a deep slumber so that it could feed off the Dreams of other creatures. It stopped moving, and fell asleep where it was, unconcerned by the changing world around it. And now, thanks to The Sleeper's great sacrifice, the World of Dreams is self-perpetuating, and each and every one of us is under the watchful eye of The Sleeper, guardian against Nightmares.

That is an example of how not to write a History essay.

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Wake Up Writing

Because I really need to get back to writing (I haven't done anything for about a week, and I have all this stuff in my head, and I just can't put it down on paper in words) I figured I might as well carry out some of these exercises. I've only done one so far. I just wrote non-stop for about five minutes, without going back to edit anything, and I'm pretty pleased with what I came up with. This was the exercise I had to do:
Use any of the following to start a piece of fiction or non-fiction. If you’re feeling like a challenge, rather than just choosing the one that appeals most to you, see if you can actually complete a 500 word piece of writing on all of them (they don’t have to be connected - but of course if you can do that ….go you!)

1. It was humid the last time I saw ………
2. Despite the clinical cleanliness of the rest of the room, there was a dark stain spreading out across ………
3. Putting her hands on her hips, Mildred sighed deeply. “Count to 10″ she told herself as she looked at the ………

Here's what I wrote in response to the first prompt:
It was humid the last time I saw my brother decline the offer of pudding. We were in Troyes, France, in early August and the weather had been particularly hot that day. All four of us had beads of sweat forming on our foreheads for the most part of the day, and in the early evening, when we left the cool, air-conditioned safety of the hotel, we stepped out into the street only to be buffeted by the heat wave. We walked down the road to a church, and within minutes, my feet started to burn up. I took off my supermarket-bought pumps and walked along the pavement barefoot. The church cast brilliant shadows; it’s walls were dirty and grotty, but the general shape and composition of the building was magnificent, ancient-looking. It was at least four centuries old. As soon as I stepped out of it’s shadow, however, my feet started to burn on the hot concrete of the pavement. I hopped around, alternating between shadow and bright, red-hot ground surfaces.

We spent at least an hour walking around the town that evening, and it took us a while to settle upon a restaurant at which we would have our evening meal. The road we eventually decided to eat along was busy; many places had tables and chairs outside, so that we all ate in cramped conditions. Even once sitting down, a cool pineapple juice in hand, I felt extremely hot. Shorts and a tank top was all that I was wearing, and yet I could not have felt any different had I been wearing jeans and a ski jacket.

The meal was delicious, I know that much, although I do not recall specifically what it was. My parents got talking to two elderly British women at the table next to ours, and they mentioned Vimy Ridge and Arras, where they had stayed at the start of their own trip; I had been to Vimy Ridge before on a school trip, and at the mention of the place, I felt a sudden urge to visit there again. Once we had all finished our main course, the waiters came around again, and proffered dessert menus. My mum decided upon a chocolate ice-cream of sorts, but when it came to my brother’s turn to choose an item on the menu, he merely let out a groan and shook his head.
“It’s too hot to eat anything else,” he explained.
“Have you gone mad?” I asked him, surprised by his reaction. “When was the last time you turned down food?”
He did not answer. He ran a hand through his hair irritably and looked at my dad. “I just wanna go,” he muttered. “It’s too hot.”
He’ll probably never refuse pudding again. It must have been the weather.

Now that I read over it again, however, I realise that it's really not the most interesting of pieces. I'm pleased with how easy I found it to write, though; it pretty much just poured out, and - heck - at least it'll serve as a diary entry.
I have an idea for the second scenario, too, and that one is less anecdotal; it'll be a more fictional piece, inspired by a particular location in LOST (The Staff, the medical station that originally belonged to the Dharma Institute).

Seriously, though, I've been looking over the entries in this journal and although - admittedly - there really aren't that many, this place does still need a bit of humour injected into it. It's all dull and ... glum like Hull (I've honestly never been there, but I've heard bad things). Of course, the London attacks aren't really the sort of thing you should joke about, so I'm not saying that entry needs improving on, but currently this blog isn't really a reflection of my personality now, is it? It's hard, though, when I don't have an audience. Perhaps I should force some of my friends to join so that they can comment.
Or not.
They'd probably get a bit fed up of me making them creating loads of new online journals all the time.
Fine then.
Whatever.

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Returned from the dead (how cool would that be?)

Obviously I haven't updated this blog in over two years. The main reason for that is because I kept forgetting about it, but also I was generally just too lazy to bother, even when I did remember about it.

Too much has happened between July 2005 and now, and I'm not going to bother trying to fill in the blanks, because that would take far too long. Besides, I have a few accounts of what I've been doing since then in several hand-written diaries that I keep, but also on my greatestjournal, which gets updated the most often; see the link to the side if you're mad enough to want to read it. Of course, you do have to be added as a friend to read my blog over at that site; I don't want weirdos advertising dating sites and giving me numbers to call for getting college degrees in less than two weeks, which is what I discovered when I came back here. Do people really have that much time on their hands?

Seeing as this is a sort of 'breaking the ice' entry, I'll leave it as it is, for now. I'll post more personal entries afterwards, although I'm honestly not sure if anyone is even reading this. Ah well, I like the layout and the design, so that's a good enough reason for me to continue using this blog.
Byesabye.

My experience of the London Bombings

Woah, that was close. I kinda missed those bombs, just. I was doing Work Experience. My dad and I were on the train with Jane, and just before we reached Tottenam Hale, she got a call from her mum who told her to get off at Tottenham Hale with us, instead of London Liverpool Street because there was some sort of explosion (Sarah, Jane's mum found this out from Jane's step-dad, Michael who had discovered that the tube network was closed upon arriving at London Liverpool Street (he got the earlier train than us)).

So we were all going to get off at TH, when a voice over the intercomm said that the tube was closed, so to stay on the train until it arrived at London Liverpool Street. When we got there, we weren't quite sure what to do. Jane got a call from Michael who said that the tube was closed because of an explosion, but at that point, they thought that it was some sort of power surge or something. Jane wasn't working too far from where my dad and I were working, so we decided to walk all the way, and drop Jane off, because she didn't have a clue how to get there. She's working at RADDA (a drama school) near Tottenham Court Road or something, and we're down Drury Lane. So we had to walk all that way from the station. I'll cut out a lot. We saw loads of jam-packed buses ... now this is scary, because any one of those buses that we saw could have been the bus that shortly afterwards exploded upwards and outwards because of a suicide bomber on board.

Later on, in my dad's office, we sat there for half the day. We listened for news on his radio, which he just so happened to have, purely because he wanted to listen to the cricket. We discovered that four bombs had exploded, and all of the were pretty close to places that we had walked past on the way to the office. We had missed each bomb by a matter of 10-15 minutes or so. My dad made lots of calls to his seperate shops to see how they were coping with staff being missing or whatnot. Then he got a call on his mobile, from my mum back at work in our hometown. She was worried sick, as one of her colleagues had come into work and told her that some bombs had exploded in London and my mum had tried calling my dad's mobile but received no answer. This was later explained, as it turned out that many people in London were using their phones, and the lines were blocked. Also, some companies shut down their lines for a while, in case any of the bombs had been triggered with a mobile phone and there were still bombs waiting to be detonated using the same method.

I couldn't eat anything. I drank an abnormally large amount of water (way more than I usually drink) and tea, and felt sick for most the morning and early afternoon. My dad, myself, and the few office workers with us were all listening to the radio, wondering how everyone we knew was. I personally was worried about Jane, as we had not seen her all the way to RADDA, rather to a road that she recognised, which was near RADDA, and so I therefore was not sure what the last part of her journey had been like.

I'm not going to go into detail about how we managed to leave the city. We walked some distance, over the river Thames, to Elephant and Castle, where we managed to get a bus, then later another bus, to Thornton Heath, where my nan lives (fortunately, we had already planned on staying at my nan's which is much closer to London than my own house). Later on that evening, I spoke to Jane on the phone, who said that students from RADDA had seen the bus explode and had come running into RADDA in tears. They were locked in the building, and not permitted to leave and so they had resorted to watching the news unfold on the television in the common room there. Jane was in her car, as I spoke to her.

She and Michael had met up and walked the 4-8 miles distance to Stoke Newington (spelling?) where Sarah had picked them up (Jane and Michael went to some old friend's I believe, as they used to live in that part of London). So yes, her journey was longer than mine. I was worried about her for much of the day. I was also wondering how some other girls from my school were coping. They are not girls I like, but I have seen them get off at Tottenham Hale for their Work Experience several times recently, and I am not sure how familiar they are with London (certainly Jane and I did not have a clue where we were, and if it weren't for my dad, we too would have been lost, and could have unwittingly run into one of the crime scenes), but I have a feeling that those two girls may have been lost and worried, so in a way I was concerned for them.

Everyone please support Live8

So, I've actually had quite a fun day. My mumsiekins and I visited Cambridge, mainly because I needed new clothes/shoes. I have Work Experience in the next two weeks, so I kinda needed new smart shoes, a nice blouse and another pair of black trousers ... got some REALLY GROOVY shoes (I chose them, and they're so funky), a nice white shirt, black trousers, and a nice summery green top ... I need more summer clothes. It's depressing, people my age get new clothes, like, practically every week, and I have so few clothes. Anyway, nice girls day out. I planned on getting Pokemon Leaf Green, but I only saw a used version, and didn't want that, so my mumsie said she'd order it online. We listened to the Live8 concert in the car on the way and on the way home (Pink Floyd are playing soon!!!) and I'm still listening to it ... yaaaay. Ooh, we went to Borders too and I got volume 10 of Fruits Basket (Kat told me it came out the other day, so I decided to buy it). It was only £6.99 ... that's the first volume of FB I've ever bought ... lots of Haru goodness!!

Ooh la la

Well, I joined because I wanted to comment in Lily's journal. I guess I should start calling it a blog. Hmm, okay, so I joined so I could comment in Lily's blog. What a lame excuse! Ah well, really I shouldn't have done, because I already have a livejournal (which I hardly ever update now) and a greatestjournal. This is smart, though, so I guess I don't mind using it. Well, there are TONS of games that I want right now. It's not fair. Half of them haven't even come out in England yet, and I can't afford those that HAVE. Bummer. I shall have to scrounge for money.
I hope that my first entry is fairly interesting to read, even if it's not exactly inspiring. Fare thee well!