Hmm. Was going to write several posts of complete amazement at being in the Sixth Form, but honestly, the feeling of wonderment has pretty much worn off after three days.

Ish. I still keep taking double-takes at people because they look so good in their new smart uniforms.

And, to be honest, there hasn't been much to it. These three days have been bonding days, and I haven't had any lessons yet. I have three free periods on Monday, in which I will have nothing to do. I just want to get on with it.

Damn it, I was going to write reams about how utterly fantastic this summer was, as well. I mean, this was the summer of the writing course, of Pride London, of the GCSEs, of my renewed squeeness for Doctor Who. This seems to have been the summer of Barrowman, actually; Doctor Who, Pride London, and a lot of my time on the writing course was spent with Tara and Beth doing a hell of a lot of vocalised appreciation for the man.

(I don't know if everyone gets this, but sometimes I have to stop and take stock; all these programmes I watch and people I've taken to heart, like Barrowman, Tennant, Amy Winehouse, everyone on the Mock the Week, etc - they're all just pixels. I think about people I've never even seen. Well, I clocked John Barrowman, Freema Agyeman and Graham Norton during the summer. It's nice to know I've finally seen them on something other than a screen.)

For me, that was the summer of Pride London. You may remember I posted on it a while back, here, but when I read that back, I felt it didn't really encapsulate how good a day it was. It was definitely the best day of my life so far, and I think about it all the time. To be a witness to something like that, to be marching down the streets of London holding the signs, surrounded by hundreds of people, deafening everyone in the vicinity with whistles...it was sensational. Me and Emma have already said we'll go again next year, and although it'll be great, I get the feeling it'll never match up to that first time.

And the writer's course! That was the best week of my life. I wasn't really sure what I was expecting before I got there, but it wasn't what I found. I'd made friends with everyone within a matter of hours, I'd forgotten people could be that open with each other. I had the chance to meet dozens of incredibly different, incredibly talented people who inspired me and reduced me to hysterics on a number of occasions. My phone and MSN list are full to bursting with new numbers, and I've never had so much fun. We even managed to get some writing done.

Tara, Beth and I have promised we'll meet up again. God, I miss them.

(By the by; Harry Bulman and Ashna Sakar. I'm archiving those names here so that when they become famous as a stand-up comedian and political activist/poet, I'll be able to say that I knew them when they first started out. They'll go so far, those two.)

If all this isn't particularly coherent, sorry; it's twenty to midnight, and I've got this playing in my ear.

Speaking of which, damn. I was so hoping Back to Black would win the Mercury Prize. That rendition of Love is a Losing Game was so beautiful. Amy may be getting into all kinds of shit at the moment, but damn, she can still sing.

...I should really go to bed. Off to Alton Towers tomorrow!

Will post again soon when my thoughts are in order, and I can tell you about my first lessons as a Sixth Former.

Rosby out. Talk soon!