I start work tomorrow.

...shit. I know I shouldn't be, but I'm so nervous.

I hope I don't mess this up.

I'm not sure how I managed to avoid blogging about this on Sunday. I should have made the time, I know, but I had a mountain of homework to do, and had to do it all in the evening because I was out all day.

You see, Joe left home on Sunday. Over the previous week he'd been packing all that he needed into numerous, HUGE boxes, and on Sunday, me and my parents went with him to Liverpool University, and came home without him.

I was partially expecting it to be anti-climatic, really; not many words were really said, and the whole affair was very subdued. I barely said a word to Joe, and it felt as if we were just dropping him off on a school trip, or something similar.

It was only when we got back into the car and drove back into the centre of Liverpool that I started crying. God, I felt absolutely awful. I mean, me and Joe haven't been hugely, massively close over the last few years, but...he's my brother. He's been here with me my entire life, and now he's moving on to a whole new stage of his life and I'm on my own at home. He's not here anymore; it's freakishly quiet and empty, and it feels a hell of a lot worse than I thought it would.

Whilst I was walking around Liverpool with my parents (which, incidentally, didn't really take my fancy - or maybe we were just in the dingy area), even after I'd stopped crying I felt so sad, because while Joe's build-up to adulthood has been so slow and smooth it doesn't really have an effect, it hit me on Sunday that he really is, to most intents and purposes, an adult now, and soon I will be too. It was the strongest feeling I've ever had of leaving something behind.

Christ, I never expected to feel like this. I haven't cried since I got back, but I get the feeling I might soon enough. It's only been a day, and already the differences are glaring; when I'm leaving for school, his door doesn't crash open and the floorboards squeak, the door's locked and the house is empty when I get home, there's no music, no smell of pizza. I keep expecting to glimpse him around the house, and fleetingly find myself wondering where he is.

I wish I could tell him how much I'm going to miss him. But we've never been the sort of siblings that talk to each other about our feelings. (Well, not counting the consumption of many Cuban rum punches, of course.)

Ten memories:

• Joe and me clutching onto each others' arms and screaming as we ran down a soaking wet pathway in a tropical storm in Cuba,trying not fall over.
• Watching Pirates of the Caribbean on his laptop, and him swearing every time the screensaver came on.
• Endless games of darts that he always won.
• Our first trip to France; playing spies outside the cottage with our torches, and playing cards in our pyjamas and holding cuddly toys on the floor of our bedroom.
• His brief, but absolute, obsession with WWF wrestling.
• No matter how old he was, the huge grin he'd always get when Nana gave him his advent calendar.
• The overly-competitive table football matches, that started off with him always winning. Within a few months, I was the best.
• Finding him smoking in the garden in the pouring rain.
• Drinking with him and Fran in Cuba, and hearing a hell of a lot of secrets coming out.
• His terrible singing when he was in a good mood.

Gah. I could go on forever.

I know I'll probably see him soon. But for now, I really miss him, and I hope he enjoys it at Liverpool.

*sigh*...

"That's your plan; you BELIEVE you're going to win? That can't be your plan! Unless...oh my God. He's Peter Pan."

"Oh my God, they're gonna put Communism in our kids' drinking water! And then, inject them with The Gay and load them onto Michael Moore and float 'em to Cuba. Open raft, people! Open raft! It's all happening, people. Wake up, America!"

Have I mentioned that I love Jon Stewart inordinately, lately?

I have? Oh.

...well, no harm saying it twice. LOVE HIM!

It is one of my ultimate goals to visit New York and attend a taping of The Daily Show. And The Colbert Report, if I can.

On a totally unrelated note, I'm off to see Withnail and I at the cinema tomorrow. At the cinema! Absolutely can't wait; the only version we have is on a fairly crappy quality video, and it'll be amazing to watch it on the big screen.

"I'm going to pull your head off, because I don't like your head."

(Just had a thought - if I'm seeing it at the cinema, I REALLY hope that I don't start watching it through slash-goggles, as I'm sure many people do. In fact, there's probably an extensive archive of fanfiction out there.)

(Oh Christ. Must not have a scout around and see. Must not. Must not.)

(Goes and quickly checks regardless. Purely for research purposes, you understand. If I was ever going to watch it through slash goggles, I'd have done it by now and would be shipping the hell out of them. I won't be swayed by fandom opinion. Would you call Withnail and I a fandom?)

(Right, I'm off.)

Wooooo! I have a job, at last! And at WH Smith, no less. YES!

*dances*

Also; woooo! The Daily Show won an Emmy!

...and is it wrong that I was weirdly glad The Colbert Report didn't win anything, just so we can see the new material Stephen comes up with on his next show?

(There again, I doubt that "BENNEEEEETT!" will have quite the same effect as "MANNILOWWWWW!")

That seems to be all, for now. School is hectic, but going well. I've been bumped up to Assistant Stage Manager for Return to the Forbidden Planet, aka the massive, epic play coming in November that outstrips anything we've ever done, in terms of sets, lighting, sound, the whole she-bang. Can't wait!

I should really go to sleep now.

"Tonight, we are here to celebrate excellence in film, with me; the fourth male lead in Death to Smoochy. Rent it!"

Hurrah!

...although I am rather surprised. I thought there would be a longer time gap; it was only in 2006 that he last hosted.

Still, I'm not complaining. Absolutely LOVE him. And The Daily Show and The Colbert Report are back, after a two week hiatus! Hurrah! (Looking forward to seeing John Oliver again.)

The tech crew all went to London today, to a massive technical showcase in Earl's Court. All I will say of the day is this; there is nothing quite like being in a minibus with Mr Brunsdon in the middle of Central London. The man is a maniac at the wheel; we went around and around about three times, trying to find the exhibition hall amidst a sea of shops, probably breaking several speed limits, before taking many illegal right turns and careering wildly across the street in a VERY illegal U-Turn to get us into the entrance. The PEDESTRIAN entrance.

(And to top it off, he lied to the security guard that we were two hours late, and if he could drop us off here he'd move off. I think the majority of us were stifling hysterical laughter by this point.)

Also, it could never be a tech crew trip without one of the Year 13s playing Blackjack with a complete stranger in the car behind during a traffic jam. It worked surprisingly well.

Back to the grindstone tomorrow, but all is going well so far. I was struck by how small all my classes are; my Drama class consists of eight people, all of them girls. The teachers really appear to be treating us like adults, which is fantastic. And, God, I love what I'm wearing to school now. I finally look like a grown-up, and I'm so happy!

Anyway, had better go and pack for tomorrow. Farewell!

P.S. If anyone reading goes near Earl's Court tube station; what on earth is the TARDIS doing outside? I saw it as we zoomed past, but didn't get a chance to see what it was. Enlightenment?

P.S. Oh, wow.

I think I may be falling in love with her.

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!