Wild and Wandering Thoughts of a frizz-laden loon

Home, sweet home.

2009-09-26T14:05:00.001-07:00

It's twenty to ten, and it smells like freshly-baked cake downstairs; a smell that's wafted its way up here, despite my bedroom door being shut. I'm sitting on my bed, surrounded by minutae; some of it I still need to pack, some not. And in just over nine hours, I'll leave this house for two months.

My mind has been filled to the brim with what I need to do when I reach university; where I go, what I do, who I'll meet. I've been worrying, feeling excited, nervous, giddy - about my new life, my new friends to come, all the little routines I'll work out when I settle in. It's only tonight, as half of my possessions are hauled into the car and I've had to say goodbye to my neighbours and Nana and Grampy and set my alarm clock for seven, that I've really considered that I'm leaving my old life.

It keeps hitting me. I can't wear my big fluffy dressing gown because it's packed away in the car. I won't be able to lie in tomorrow, then pad down to the kitchen and attempt to wrangle something out of our toaster. I won't hear the floorboards creak mercilessly and hear doors banging downstairs. I'm moving out.

I thought I'd be crying, but I'm...I can't describe it. I think I'm in a state of shock, odd as it sounds. It just seems unfathomable that I won't be here for so long. This is my home. I've lived here since I was a weeny little one year old. This little house at the edge of the countryside; with a garden backing onto an industrial estate, and doors that seem to be in sync with each other. The idea that I'm leaving it for such a long time is, really, only starting to hit home now.

This is madness. I'm genuinely having trouble expressing myself, here. If I could, I'd be profound, but I really can't form the right words. It's an indescribable feeling.

I won't deny that I'm afraid. A familiar feeling is cropping up; a childish one that I seem to get whenever I'm far from home, nervous, not having a good time, any one of those things; I wish I'd stayed at home. Stayed where it's familiar, and safe, and comforting. Where I know what I'm doing and where to go. It doesn't matter if I'm in China or at a sleepover somewhere; that feeling has bitten at me a few times over the years. I seem to be getting it now. What the hell are you doing? Stay here!

But I know that it's time to move on. I chose this path, and I'm glad I chose it. And I'm lucky to be able to take it, as well. And I do know that when I get there, when I'm thrown into a new environment, and when I make new friends, I won't pine for what I see as home. I'll be too busy. And I expect that's the purpose of Fresher's Week; to distract you, to keep you busy. I'm sure I'll love it.

But, oh God. I have to leave here. The ropey town centre and the walk through the streets in early mornings and the bus station and the smell of books from upstairs at work and the journeys to see my friends in the next town and everything. I'll be back before I know it, but at this very moment, it's not the nicest of feelings.

I never packed a billion boxes and set my alarm for seven to chicken out, though. Tomorrow I'm off on a new adventure. Which is terrifying, and heartbreaking, when I think of what I'm leaving behind. Like my Dad said earlier, "it'll never be quite the same."

But it's new. It's brilliant. I had to let go sometime.

I'd better stop before this rambles out of all proportion. I'll post (and tweet!) from Lancaster, of course, but I had to get this all out, incoherent as it is.

Goodbye, Cheltenham. Goodbye house. Keep yourselves lovely while I'm away.

I really shouldn't be listening to Peter Gabriel's The Book of Love. It isn't helping.

2009-09-14T11:38:00.001-07:00

I love my family. I love my friends. I love how my life is steaming forward in the right direction. Everything is done! Loan schedule, accommodation (ensuite, at that! It's a bloody miracle.), pre-registration. It's all slotting into place, and any regrets I had past results day have just evaporated.

I'm a giant ball of happiness right now. Sickening, isn't it?

Hee hee.

I'm off on the 27th. I'll be sure to post a picture of my bedroom packed into boxes!

2009-08-20T08:03:00.000-07:00

You can't always have what you want.

I would have loved to be able to break my blog-drought with a celebratory post about getting into Cardiff, but sadly, I can't. It was always a possibility that I wouldn't get in, and I had plans and preparations just in case I didn't, but I still took the blow rather hard.

It started out quite hopeful; I logged into UCAS in the morning to see that Lancaster, my insurance, had given me an unconditional offer, whereas Cardiff hadn't updated at all. I therefore filled my phone with credit and headed out to school, rehearsing my battle plan.

It was fairly clear, once I'd opened my results envelope, what the hiccup was:

English Lit. - A
Politics - A
German - C

German, German, bloody German; always the one that gets me. I re-took an entire AS in German in Year 13, taking up a ridiculous amount of time and stressing me to the bone, and I STILL got a C! Granted, the marks for the modules were higher than before, but not high enough.

So, still very calm, pro-active (if annoyed), I got on the phone and faced about an hour of various engaged lines at Cardiff; finally getting through to the Philosophy admissions tutor, only for my phone to lose signal and die on me, mid-sentence.

(I may have broken down a little, at this point; he'd been saying that there were no places left in English Lit. or Philosophy, and that plus the phone was making me realise the growing reality of the whole thing.)

Nevertheless, I kept trying; eventually got through to him again and had a discussion about grades. He was actually rather sympathetic; he acknowledged that I had the right skills for the course, it was just the C in German letting me down. As it always seems to. I asked about Politics (because Politics was always a back-up plan I'd envisioned), and he re-directed me to the Politics admission tutor; another wonderfully sympathetic man who actually seemed to listen to what I was saying.

Despite all this...well. The best he could really offer me was a deferred entry for 2010 to study Politics. He told me to think about it, talk to my family, then call back in a couple of days with my response, which I will do. I was tempted, and still am, but ultimately, I'd rather not have another year stuck in the same place, and the whole process sounds like a bit of a mess. Plus, the change of course, however good the course may be, is a little sudden for my liking.

I think it was at this point, it began to sink in that, even if Cardiff was going to happen, it would be a ridiculously complex business. I broke my cardinal rule rather spectacularly, then, and cried non-stop for about two hours. It was highly embarassing, but everyone was absolutely lovely; giving me hugs, and advice, and perspective on all kinds of options; both my teachers, and my friends. And my parents were lovely about it, as they always are; congratulating me on the As, and telling me it was my decision, what I did.

I felt lousy for the rest of the afternoon, and still do, to a certain degree, but...I think I'm mellowing out. I didn't get what I wanted; and I REALLY wanted it, if my reaction is anything to go by. I realise now that I was leaning far too heavily on Cardiff, and didn't consider the alternatives quite far enough. But...at least I have alternatives. Perhaps Lancaster isn't as high-profile, as dynamic, as Cardiff; but the university is brilliant, and when you're a student, you make things happen to your own tune. It's one of the perfect things about getting older; the world, once you leave home, is your oyster; if only for a while.

So, yes; I'm disappointed. I'm still upset; I'm sure I've got a year's worth of tears in me, still. There are lots of opportunities I've missed out on, by not going there, but on the other side? There are so many things I'm yet to do, that I'll be able to do once I leave here; I know absolutely no-one who's going to Lancaster, which'll, however bizarre it sounds, be brilliant; I can start over, immerse myself in new people, new places, a new life.

I was a complete mess, earlier, but I'm feeling so much more magnanimous than I was before; talking to my Dad and having a picnic with my friends helped.

You can't always get you want, but I'll still be able to pack my room up into cardboard boxes, to make new friends, join new societies, build a whole new life for my own. It's brilliant, and whenever I get down about not getting in Cardiff, I'll come back and look at this post, and remember that, really, I'm so lucky to have what I already have.

Whatever may happen, I'm ready for it!

(Also, German? Pfft. Won't need that at all for my degree!)

2009-06-18T13:06:00.000-07:00

According to new info, Torchwood appears to be starting on Monday July 6th.

I think, anyway.

I'm thinking of relocating to a new blog; I've almost definitely outgrown this one. I won't delete it completely (for the purposes of nostalgia, if nothing else), but I think it's time to move on from something that was very definitely characterised by my early teenage years rather than the strange, transitional period that I feel like I'm in now. I'm an adult, officially, but God knows when I'll feel like one.

I'll try and sort it out. I think it's time to change.

2009-06-13T13:56:00.001-07:00

Um, hi.

So, it turns out that I never did report on John.

However, I have seen the first episode of Torchwood, series three.

How do I even BEGIN to describe one of the most amazing days of my life?

WELL.

(Feel free to skip through this - it's EPICALLY long and really quite strange in parts.)

I spent all day in London; got up at a ridiculous hour of the morning to catch the bus in. I love taking the bus, because I've taken the M4 route up there so many times (me and Mum used to travel up there when I was younger), that I recognise everything out of the windows when we're approaching London; Windsor Castle to the right, the blue-roofed mosque to the left, and the beautiful statue of the boy and the dolphin near Earl's Court. Sadly, the Earl's Court TARDIS seems to have vanished, and I never found out what it actually was! Shame. Maybe it'll turn up in Cardiff one day.

Anyway, the tube was a bit of a disaster; I knew which way I was going and got there without a hitch, but I'd forgotten how horrible the underground really is; loud and hot and claustrophobic and, well. Underground. No natural light; I'd hate to do it too often.

First destination was the National Film Theatre, where the episode was being aired, and I've just realised that I have no photos, which is deeply irritating because that place is plush! When my Dad was a BFI member it was a grotty old place; it's incredibly fancy in there now; shiny floors and carpets and an incredible bar inside with sofas dotted around. The outside is brilliant, as well; there are huge chairs made out of fake grass, and a multitude of shops. It's lovely and I'd love to go again.

The second destination? Well.

I had to! I was in London; how could I not? I managed to miss it the first time, actually; I found the right road and went halfway up before looking back at the roofs of the houses and realising I'd walked straight past. I found it and had what's known as a geekgasm. Because it's the house from Spaced!

Photos taken with permission from the girl who answered the door; she said I was very sweet for asking, because apparently no one ever does before they start snapping photos of the house from the outside.

I really wanted to sit on the wall (a la Daisy and Tim; God, I'm sad), but there was a little too much shrubbery in the way.

Seeing 23 reminded me of something brilliant Simon Pegg said in the DVD commentary for Spaced; "We told interviewers that the house number was 23 because we wanted the house to be in its 20s too, in tandem with the characters, but in reality it was just bollocks!"

*flail*

It's the front door! Where Brian answers to the agents! And Daisy and Tim get stuck outside in the freezing cold and nearly kiss! And...okay. I love this show; could you tell? This was my warm-up squee for later...

After bidding a fond farewell to the house, I meandered around Central London for the rest of the day; going from Trafalgar Square up to Westminster and to Buckingham Palace (getting increasingly more morose at the utter closed-off nature of Parliamentary buildings and the ridiculously ornate nature of Buckingham Palace. I'm not getting into my political beliefs now, but it was a little irritating seeing it.) I parked myself on the monument rather than looking at the Palace, and wrote for about an hour and a half (having to stop several times to take pictures of tourists, bless them, and send Twitter innuendos to Lucy, who was on the train up.)

Too hot, and with a thumping headache and Diet Coke on my shirt (my doing entirely, that last one), I headed back to Victoria, from there to Waterloo, and met Lucy for the first time.

I'll admit, I was a little nervous; I'm not always great with people I don't know that well, and I was a bit twitchy, but there was no need; at the risk of stroking her ego, she is lovely. Really easy to talk to, and she made me laugh a lot; and she has the Harwood's theme as her ring tone! Woman of taste, that one. We bonded over pain relief, oddly enough, and soon enough Tara was with us; hat firmly in place and talking about how, since she hadn't eaten, was going to snack on a tin of custard during the episode. I am not making that up; she had a tin, complete with opener. That's my girl.

Tara and Lucy got on straight away, which I was hugely relieved at; I hate introducing people to other people! I have a very irrational fear of awkwardness, so I'm glad that was averted. And here is a picture of the lovely ladies at the BFI:

It was at this point, that the squee started.

You know (or maybe don't, which indicates that you're far more rational than me) the kind if you're a fangirl and there's something so brilliant, so exciting, so imminent approaching, that it affects you physically? Your stomach won't stop tickling, you can barely sit still, every other step you take goes a little off because there's this continual realisation that you're on your way to something amazing. My hands were shaking; I was that bad, and I kept making tiny little squeaking noises. I know I'm obsessed, I do; but it was the most incredible feeling; adrenaline and anticipation and happiness all rolled into one. I'd never take drugs, but if I did, I imagine they'd have a similar effect.

Tara was used to it. She's seen it many times before. I'm not entirely sure what Lucy thought, though.

In we went; me squeeing all the way (not that loudly, but still fairly prominently); we met a couple of guys with Bring back Owen and Bring back Tosh T-shirts on, which I absolutely loved, and we got chatting as we went in; the ushers gave us our promo postcard (which I think I may have made an embarrassing noise at), and then we settled down to stew in our own excitement, in seats quite insanely close to the front. It was incredible.

Eventually, the stage door opened and, in my own words, "Oh my God. It's John's Mum. And Dad. And sister." Then, about two minutes later, in comes John Barrowman himself; in grey and pink, looking absolutely wonderful, as always; hobbling on two crutches with a massive cast on his leg. It was lovely to see him up and about.

He was followed by Caitlin Moran and Euros Lyn (I think), and then James Moran (which made me grin like a mad thing, because I'd been hoping to meet him - more on that later) and I was just trying to work out where Gareth might be, when I saw Eve.

Oh, God. I love her. I really do. She is absolutely beautiful in person, and in a wonderfully natural way; she's incredibly freckly, and has one of the most contagious smiles I've ever seen. She, John, John's parents, Russell T Davies (who I now realise really is massive; last time I saw him at Cheltenham he was on a high stage, so I couldn't really tell), Euros, Caitlin and a couple of others all sat in the empty rows in the middle; a stone's throw away from us. I couldn't settle down; it was crazy, suddenly. We were watching Torchwood...with Torchwood! With the brains behind it, and the faces of it! I thought it was brilliant how informal the whole event was; they were suddenly with us for the experience, rather than being the distant stars. I loved it.

A figure within the BFI (Marcus something - I feel terrible that I've forgotten his name; I still giggled at John heckling him as soon as he'd started speaking, though!) introduced the guests and told us to "awww" that Gareth David-Lloyd wouldn't be there. I was a little miffed at first, but frankly, by the end of the evening, I'd had so much fun that I really didn't mind. I suspect, due to something someone said the night before, that he might have had some kind of lurgy from the Torchsong convention, but I'm not sure.

I spent the entire episode clutching Tara's hand in mine like a mad thing, and I think John and/or Eve may have noticed at some point, although I'm not sure. I either looked completely insane and twitchy (which I was), or we looked like a lesbian couple. Or both. Not that it mattered; her arm was just a good squee outlet!

As for the episode itself.

Fantastic! Absolutely, positively brilliant; when I'd first heard about the five-episode format I'd been irritated, but I can see now that it's going to work brilliantly, because you're constantly on the edge. Everything you watch is working towards something; ironically for a thriller, it seems, there's less rushing than in a normal episode to get to the climax. Things are left to unfold and characters and their traits can be explored without a set time limit on how long they have to express themselves, if that makes any sense.

The audience loved it; it was an incredible experience watching it with like-minded people, and I'll really miss watching the rest of series three without them!

Parts, character-wise, worthy of mention (to any blogspotters reading, this may not make much sense due to the assumption that most livejournalers already knew what happened in the episode through other peope):

- Rhys isn't in this episode much, but his first appearance is gold. It had the entire audience, including Eve and John, in hysterics.

- Jack and Ianto's dynamic has been really put in the foreground, and it works brilliantly; the banter snaps between them, and while they're closer than before and, in the words of Ianto and several others, "couple-y", there's an underlying thread of tension and uncertainty, and I can't wait to see how it continues. I'm starting to love this format; there's always more!

- Gwen is superb, here; whilst she was a little over-exposed in series one, the writing of her has improved considerably and she's kept her best qualities for this series; camaraderie, sympathy, wit. She's lovely, and she and Jack and Ianto function as a team incredibly well.

- I thought I wouldn't be able to watch Frobisher without thinking of Malcolm Tucker (they've even got the same accent - it was a little jarring hearing it at first), but Peter Capaldi was brilliant; apprehensive but resolute. In a way, actually, he was similar to Tucker; his actions are reprehensible, but you can't bring yourself to loathe him because he's pressured, he has to do what's necessary for his own survival. Obviously, he and Tucker handle crises different. And Tucker does the swearing for both of them.

- Rhiannon. Johnny. I LOVE THEM! I have a soft spot for Katy Wix from Not Going Out, and she is instantly likeable here, and the typical big sister; cutting and teasing and questioning, but listening to what he has to stay, and chastising him for staying away from them. Johnny is just hilarious; Lucy fell in love with him straight away. When he yelled "All right, gayboy!" I think the entire theatre just died with laughter; can't wait to see it on an icon!

- Ianto's explanation to Rhiannon about his relationship with Jack was one of my favourite parts of the episode; whilst what's between them has been amped up this series, it seems, Ianto's way of telling it was beautifully understated and hesistant; acknowledgement of something, but not something he can explain. (Of course, the moment was ruined/bested by Johnny marching in then explaining the SUV had been nicked.)

- I gave Tara's hand a squeeze and a half when Clem said, "You're pregnant!" out of the blue. Of course, I knew it could happen, but never suspected episode one! Obviously...YAY! Her reaction was spot-on; absolutely bewildered and stunned, and then that smile appears. It's wonderful. I'm still giggling at Jack's, "Ianto! We're having a baby!"

- Rupesh! How could I forget him? Lucy fell in love with him within minutes, and was shipping him and Gwen in even more minutes! The heel-face turn of Rupesh was incredible; nobody suspected it and it threw us all for a loop. I'm not sure who mentioned it, but I agree with whoever said that he was the Suzie Costello of series three. He was wonderful, though (despite his later...activities); so sincere and curious about what was going on behind closed doors; like Gwen at the beginning (as she herself notices).

- I think my heart melted when Ianto hugged Jack after he said he'd died. It was such a random and simple gesture, but so full of heart. I hope we see more of those.

- Just like Ianto with Rhiannon, Jack is incredibly cautious whilst around his daughter. Someone referred to it as "walking on eggshells", and she's right; he seems able to talk to her, but he can't quite penetrate the wall that she's built up around her and her son to prevent him from getting too close. She's like him, in a way; she knows the pain and the discomfort and, frankly, the weirdness that surrounds him, so she keeps her distance to prevent both him and her from suffering, and Jack's been seen as that, particularly around series one; he remains distant and secretive, because if he comes too close to someone it'll be worse for the both of them when the inevitable happens.

Having said that, he is adorable with Stephen!

- Ack, the kiss was too fast! I drank it in but it happened to quickly to even react properly; I can't actually remember what the audience response to it was. But, nevertheless, it shows how Jack feels; even through disaster, he's there for reassurance, for closeness.

- BOOM BADA BOOM goes the Hub, and I can't believe I have to wait another month before I can see episode two. And on my own, next time!

Oh, it was so good. I can guarantee that everyone will love it.

My favourite bits of the Q & A:

- Rusty trying to convince Eve to name her baby "Quincy", and her response of, "I'm not naming this child Quincy T Davies! Maybe the next one, though."

- When asked what it was like dealing with children, the mostly-quiet Euros Lyn piped up, "Electric cattle prods usually do the trick."

- John talking about the accident; how he slipped on the empty pool (Rusty chiming in, "It's a hard life, isn't it?"), and his impression of his mother kicking him to get up. "Go and get me...drink!"

- Caitlin Moran's question to Euros and Eve; "How do you explain the concept of Wales?"

- And, her asking Eve whether she'd found out about her pregnancy the traditional way, or whether someone had just come up to her in Cardiff and smelt her, a la Clem. Cue John and the audience hysterically laughing for about a minute and a half.

- John's impression of Captain Jack on a zimmer frame in Torchwood in forty years time; then he pointed to his very casted foot and said, "It's already happening!"

- Rusty teasing the "blonde lady" in the third row for apparently laughing at the concept of children in danger; "there are kids in bins!"

- Caitlin having to stop herself talking about what happens in episode two, and the rest of us yelling, "GO ON!"

- It emerging that, apparently, Torchwood is Nick Griffin's favourite programme. As a fan...urgh. I feel violated that such a bastard is sharing it. Still, it was fun to listen to all of them insult him.

- "When will we get a musical episode?" John saying that he hadn't seen the Buffy episode and everyone booing him, and then Rusty coming out with another corker; "It's just a shame nobody in the cast can sing!" Then, Eve talking about how it would go down for her; "I'll just in the background, throwing some shapes. I can throw a good shape." She then proceeded to throw a demonstrative shape. However besotted I was with her before this; I think it's doubled.

- Rusty talking about the Rupesh turn-around; "If only I'd written that he killed you with a flip-flop!" Cue John hysterically laughing again. I love how much he laughs!

- John and Eve. Oh, John and Eve. I could have happily spent the entire time watching those two; they're ridiculously adorable together, and it's clear that they're very close friends, constantly whispering and giggling and poking each other. It was so lovely to see them together for the first time.

- A guy asking a self-admitted "sci-fi geek" question about why the TARDIS couldn't pick up on any disturbance, and Rusty saying "that's answered!", everyone goes "Ooooo!", and John, with perfect timing, leans towards the microphone and says; "Touché."

- John and Eve's final exit; they were left behind because of John's hobbling on the crutches (which he was surprisingly adept at, actually; very fast). There was some pantomime jostling from Eve and she eventually slapped him on the arse to keep him moving, and they left to huge applause. Gah. I love them!

So. The night was already superb. But even more than the Q & A, the squee, the collective experience; my absolute favourite part was something different.

I'd had my hand up (complete with red book, and I'm sure Caitlin Moran noticed, if briefly) throughout the Q & A, hoping to ask something about the writing process; and since I knew that James Moran was in the audience, I was going to mention him in the question and say a quick appreciation of some sort. I wasn't called on, but as the Torchwood-ites left, I was hoping that he'd still be around.

As people were leaving, I saw him just above me talking to someone, and thought now or never.

I was so, so nervous. I read his blog all the time, and think he's a brilliant and hilarious man, and he's a brilliant source of info and advice for aspiring writers; he's refreshingly honest and frank about the process; he emerged from an aspiring screenwriter to a well-established film and television writer, and he shares his success with others and is a fantastic voice on the industry.

So, I told him all that. I told him (whilst stammering and probably sounding like a complete tit) that he was my writing inspiration (something which made him say "Oh, blimey." and look rather non-plussed; I'm not sure he's heard anyone tell him that!), and that, as an aspiring screenwriter myself, his advice was incredibly valuable and he was exactly where I wanted to be in the future. I was determined to get it out, and I'm so glad I did.

I mentioned that I read his blog, and he asked me what moniker I used, and he knew me! I was absurdly pleased that he'd recognised me; I'm a sad case, I know. I asked if he could sign my Torchwood postcard, and he did (whilst expressing disappointment that he didn't have one!), writing Writers are the BEST, due to something I'd haltingly said about writers not receiving the recognition they deserve, a lot of the time.

Then, and I can't believe I had the nerve to do this (as I'm a chicken, as previously established, yet my head was still now or nevering):

"How do you feel about hugs, or is that off-limits?"
"No, hugs are good!"

And we hugged, and he encouraged me to carry on writing, "really keep at it", and I literally floated away. I was so happy that I'd told him how inspiring he is to me (and, that I hugged him. Because he is awesome.), and I was just floating on air for hours afterwards.

Out in the lobby, the following people made my life complete:

Crystal and Robert; winning at life purely by posing. I loved them!

Derek, and...oh God. I feel utterly dreadful that I've forgotten the name of the guy on the left, because I made a point of asking him right before I left.

These guys were lovely. We'd talked to them on the way in, and stayed chatting for ages afterwards; talking about wacky surnames, the Torchwood episode, how brilliant it is being around fellow fans, Facebook, and general awesomeness. I'm attempting to contact Derek on Facebook and tag the picture on there; hope we meet again!

I bid farewell to Lucy, promising to see her again; it was wonderful to finally meet her, and I hope we can reunite one day, my dear!

Me and Tara walked back walking on air back to Waterloo, hugging and happy. I'd had one of the most fun evenings of my life; it was truly phenomenal, and was worth the blisters on my feet and the long journey back. I've seen Eve Myles, and Torchwood. I've shared with fellow fans. I've hugged James Moran.

At the risk of sounding soppy beyond reason; I was so happy.

Ow. This post has been two hours in the making. Must actually post it. But 'tis done!

*bows*

...sorry about the rambling, blogspotters. If you made it to the end of that I admire your stamina.

2009-05-27T14:46:00.000-07:00

Just popping in to say; expect a post of considerable capslock and ridiculous excitement and squeeing coming shortly. Because...

...I'M SEEING JOHN BARROWMAN IN CONCERT TOMORROW! EEEEEEP!

Will report back (probably in irritatingly finickety detail) on Friday!

*bounds away*

2009-05-18T15:22:00.000-07:00

I didn't cry at all during the last week; not when we got given our Yearbooks, not when we signed them, not when we had a our last ever lessons. Didn't cry at the Sixth Form breakfast, in the awards assembly, and probably wouldn't have cried at the rest of the festivities if I'd been bloody there rather than stuck in non-A Level exams. I didn't even cry at the Sixth Form Ball. I just got rather hideously drunk, but more on that later.

But, just now, I was looking at the multitude of pictures that Michael, our school's IT technician took of everyone I know, of all my friends and people I've known for seven years, and in some cases longer, and Coldplay's Sparks was playing in the background, and...

...oh, God. I sobbed.

It's over. I've known for a long while; known there would be no more lessons and lunchtimes in the form room playing cards, and sunny afternoons on the field eating strawberries, and chatting to Ben about everything and nothing, and no more snark from Mr Morgan and revolutionary promises from Mr McShane and admiring the amazing hair of Miss Bakharia, but now, it's only just hit me. It's done. It's never coming back, and it's the most bittersweet thing I've ever experienced.

I've never analysed how I've felt about school, because it's been part of my life for so long that I've just become used to it; it's a norm. Now, I'm realising how much a privilege it was to go, to make the friends I made. I love them all so much; the closer I've got to the end, the more any animosity I might have had has faded, and now it's completely gone. We went through it all together, and now that we're going our separate ways, there's no need for ill feeling anymore. It's over now.

I can't write that phrase without my throat burning. It still seems unreal, but it's here. The time's here. Just the exams left, and then we're on our way. It physically aches, as clichéd as it sounds.

Having said that, the Ball was bloody amazing. I really didn't think it would end up the way it did, but it was so; I got absolutely wasted. I'm not by nature a drinking girl (this was only the fourth time in eighteen years I've been drunk), but the wine went to my head and I ended up behaving like a bit of an arse. I'm, apparently, a rather friendly drunk; I was hugging everyone and having conversations with people I haven't spoken to in years. I didn't kiss anyone (thank God), but I was a little closer to people than I would have been.

The downside to that, of course, was engaging in a frankly quite embarassing exchange with our Headmaster. Well, embarassing to me, that is; he seemed to find it quite funny. He's probably used to it.

I went clubbing for the first time, afterwards; had two complete strangers hug me, did shots for the first time ever, had my first taste of constant dancing, caught a fleeting glimpse of Annie Mac at the turntables, searched in vain for Scott Mills but heard his voice through the speakers, and had so much fun. Went to bed still drunk but woke up feeling absolutely fine, despite having drunk a variety of different things of various strengths. I seem to be impervious to hangovers.

Anyway, a photo or two:

Considering the normal state of my hair, this was a huge and beautiful achievement!

You can't see the shoes, but they were lovely too.

Anyone who knows me knows that I have virtually no self-belief; I have low self-esteem, worry all the time, all that jazz. I've never thought much of myself. But...I think I look nice, here. I never think I do, but I did here. And that made me so happy.

Got to go. Mum prowling around. Basically, never listen to Sparks. You'll cry.

2009-04-27T09:10:00.000-07:00

A-levels. A-levels. A-levels. Ack. I promise I'm still around. Doctor Who good but not brilliant. Michelle Ryan's character relentlessly irritating. Missing Torchwood. One month till Barrowman, two weeks till end of school.

Still around, still around!

2009-03-25T15:47:00.000-07:00

I've made my university choices.

Cardiff and Lancaster.

The die is very much cast, now.

...oh, help.

Tomorrow, I will be an adult. To put it mildly; frigging HELL.

2009-03-22T14:26:00.000-07:00

For a long time now, ever since last year, I've been saying that I'm freaking out about turning eighteen. And it was true, to a certain extent.

But, just now, I actually said it to myself. Tomorrow, I will be able to say, 'I am eighteen years old.'

And, for the first time, my stomach gave a huge lurch and I felt absolutely astounded by something that I've known for months, and years before this point. Now that it's imminent, it's...well, is it scaring me? I can't really tell.

I know that, tomorrow, I won't wake up feeling any different. The only things that will change will be official facts, records, rights and so on; things that I can't see. Yet, the roundness of the number, the status of it, the weird finality of it, despite the fact I'll be beginning a whole new life relatively soon; it shakes me up. In a good way, I think.

This will be my last birthday at home, and at school; this time next year (ack, I'll be nineteen! Jesus Christ), I'll be living in a whole new place, with entirely new people, celebrating, probably, in an entirely new way. I'll have different habits and friends and living space (and, I expect, hobbies). It's that thought, I think, which is weighing on my mind so much, and the thought which must weigh on a million minds that are the same age as me.

A new life. Not entirely seperate from the one I have now, but pretty damn different. I can't wait, of course I can't wait. But I have an urge to embrace my eighteenth birthday while I can, because by next year, everything that I'm used to will have been uprooted. No, actually, not uprooted, because that implies that it's being forced away from me against my will. Altered, maybe. Shifted away from the norm. Whatever it is, or will be, it'll be different.

I don't feel like an adult; not yet. I shouldn't, really; I'm still dependent on my parents for a huge amount, and even when I start uni I won't be fully capable of forging my own way financially. Wish I could, but practically, it's not possible. Unless we win the lottery.

Yet, tomorrow, while I'm (hopefully) having fun and larking around, I'll be aware of the odd knowledge that, in every official capacity, I'm an adult. I can drink, vote, have a child, get married (bloody hell), buy what I want, etc, etc. Obviously, I'm unlikely to leap on these opportunities just because they're suddenly available (you won't catch me getting married, for instance; nor binge drinking or buying cigarettes), but it strikes me as ridiculous that I'll be an adult. A grown-up.

Yep, there was that stomach leap again. Sleeping tonight is going to be a prolonged experience; I can tell.

ANYWAY. I shouldn't waste time feeling scared by the natural progression of time. Tomorrow should be fun; providing the nice weather holds out, we'll all be venturing out onto the field at lunchtime for a birthday picnic. My friend Ben's promised to make a cake (with no prompting or expectations from me at all - he's lovely!), and later on, I'll join most of Year thirteen for an impromptu dance-off at our local shopping centre. Long story; don't ask. I'll tell tomorrow, if it works out!

Right, have to go. Will definitely post about birthday-times.

Back when I'm an adult!

I'm doing something funny for money!

2009-03-04T13:17:00.000-08:00

Okay. Let's try and document the growing insanity that is this month:

- Off to see Waiting for Godot, starring Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart. HURRAH!
- A2 module results. Ack.
- Making a sponsored tit out of myself at school by dressing up as Amy Winehouse and singing to an extended crowd on Red Nose Day. Yes, you read that right!
- Open day at York University which should theoretically help me make a choice between York and Cardiff.
- My eighteenth birthday!
- My eighteenth birthday party!

Dear Lord, things are filling up already.

P.S. COME ON, TORCHWOOD.

2009-02-12T10:40:00.000-08:00

Well, Durham doesn't want me, it turns out.

I can't say I'm not disappointed; I absolutely loved it there and was hoping for an offer, even if it was a high one. I knew rejection was a possibility, but I was still hoping for it not to happen.

As it stands:

York - AAB
Warwick - AAB, plus extra B at AS. (Impossible, basically, as I got two As and two Cs at AS level.)
Lancaster - ABB
Cardiff - AAB

Now that I have my four, my two favourites are York and Cardiff (I went to Cardiff for the first time yesterday, and completely fell in love with it without really realising it. Although I've loved all the unis I've visited, Cardiff has been the first one to make me feel truly excited about becoming a university student. It's incredible!), but I can't really choose both York and Cardiff, as they're both offering me the same.

Hmm.

So, if something goes balls-up at exam time and I don't get the right grades, I won't get into either of them. And, if I do get the right grades, I'd still have to choose between them.

The way it's going, I'll either choose York and Lancaster, or Cardiff and Lancaster. It's odd; a week ago I'd never have imagined choosing Cardiff and Lancaster; they were the last two on preference list, after all! (This was before I'd visited Cardiff, of course.)

I'm waiting until I visit York again next month, then I can start thinking it through seriously. I'm dithering at the moment.

Goodbye, Durham! It was nice knowing you. And I'm very glad I know about it now rather than having to wait for months. I've got four offers to work with. I'm lucky.

Amazing what a painted wooden cat can do to your psyche.

2009-02-07T13:26:00.000-08:00

I had a bit of a moment, earlier.

Mum and dad are redecorating the kitchen at the moment, and are sort of in the preliminary stages; I walked in earlier to find everything adorning the walls, windowsills or shelves taken away and put somewhere else (including pictures, fridge magnets, the multitude of notices on our noticeboard...), which completely unnerved me; it's been the same for...years!

Anyway, my parents were out so I'd made myself dinner, and while I was doing the washing up (with Billie Holiday's Blue Moon playing from the other room, which kind of amplified the nostalgic atmosphere, for some reason), I looked out of the window and saw a kitchen ornament sitting on top of this little wood burner my dad keeps in the garden; the ornament itself is an odd little wooden cat that sits with its legs dangling, but instead of arms it has a hollowed out red tray, with Free Bird Seed written on it in yellow letters. I think it's meant to stay in the garden, but we've always had it sitting on the top cupboard in the kitchen.

I saw it through the window, and without warning, there was instantly a lump in my throat and my eyes were welling up. Suddenly, despite UCAS notifications and exams and open days and trains and, really, the knowledge that this would happen eventually, it suddenly hit me like some kind of fatal blow; I will leave here.

Not necessarily for a lengthly period of time; not yet, and not permanently. Essentially, a few months at a time. But, the reality smacked me in the face without me expecting it. Some day, relatively soon, I'll walk out of the door and travel to a new home, of sorts, and stay there. I won't wake up in the same bed I've woken up in for seventeen years, I won't have the same homely kitchen, I won't see the same ornaments and the same pictures and the same family mementos that mean nothing to anyone besides us, that I see every day.

And despite the familiarity of this house, despite the fact that I've lived here for so long that nothing is dazzling about it, to any of us; and despite the other fact that I've got months to go before I leave, I suddenly had an impression of how much I'll miss it when I leave.

And it hurt. I know that sounds like a cliché, but it's true nonetheless; it suddenly ached, knowing how much of my life, how much of my home, I'll be leaving behind. All the things I barely notice, and already take for granted. The cold front porch that smells like newsprint, the faded red carpet upstairs, the odd kitchen table that's attached to the wall and only has one leg. Everything.

Even thinking about it now makes that lump come back, and my eyes sting.

Of course I'm looking forward to university. I can't wait to go; it's going to be the most exciting and liberating experience, I can already tell. To start a whole new life nearly from scratch, surrounded by like-minded people in such huge institutions; how is that not exciting? And I don't want to cling to home, and I hope I won't too much. Transitions have to happen; I have to break away eventually. And I will, of course I will.

But it's only hitting me now how hard that could be, at the very start.

School's probably going to be worse, because there's a definite cut-off point. I'll still be able to visit home in university breaks; my bedroom will stay for as long as it needs to (hopefully!), and I'll be welcomed in. But if I ever visited school again and knew that there was no place for me there anymore, that I was officially a "visitor"...it would mess with my head a bit, I think. The baton will have completely passed; we'll all be outsiders.

God.

Argh, I have to stop this before I get incredibly depressed. It's going to happen, my girl! Big changes will happen in the oncoming months and they'll be refreshing, exciting, definitely stressful, and wonderfully new. And once I get to where I end up, I'm sure it'll be incredible. I'll make sure I have the time of my life.

But for now...it aches. Just a little.

Right, must go and seek out cake ingredients. Sorry for melancholy!

2009-01-12T09:50:00.000-08:00

Offer from York! Offer from York!

OFFER FROM YORK! FROM ONE OF MY TWO FAVOURITES!

HURRAH!!!

You can't see me, but I'm currently bouncing off the walls.

*happy dance*

I am me.

2008-12-31T15:02:00.000-08:00

So, there is an hour and a half left in 2008.

Firstly, I have to say that I'm deeply freaked out that it's the end of the year. It's a complete cliché, but it's gone ridiculously fast. At the end of 2007, 2008 was suddenly gearing up towards the end of the decade; 2007 had been the year; so much had happened, so much had changed, that it seemed impossible that it could be 2008. I was looking forward to Torchwood, was settling into the Sixth Form, and now, BANG! Here I am on December 31st 2008, thinking about the year that's just gone past, and rather than being philosophical and deep about all my experiences, all I can do is scratch my head and think, wow. That was a whole YEAR?

It's been an immensely packed year. I've been more excited than I've ever been before, I've forged friendships that'll remain for years; I can already tell. I've learnt more in school than I ever thought I could before the Sixth Form; things that have helped me find my own way through my education rather than relying on teachers every step of the way. And not only that; what I'm learning and assimilating within my subjects (particularly Politics) is helping me form and shape my own views, my own viewpoint and opinions of issues. I care, more than I ever have.

I've done things that would seem trivial to others, but to me were incredibly important, and have never given me such a rush. Seeing John Barrowman in April with Tara; stupid as it may sound, I've never felt such an adrenaline rush; just being part of that experience, being lost in the crowd, was unbelievably fun.

Pride. Oh, Pride. After last year; the first time I went (when I heard it was a London march, Freema Agyeman and John Barrowman would be there, and Doctor Who would be shown on a big screen), I had such an amazing day, that I never thought anything could top it. How wrong I was! July 4th is going to stick in my mind for years to come; marching through the streets of London, through cheering crowds, blowing a whistle and walking alongside Ian McKellen, feeling part of a movement that truly means something, shouting loud for the whole world to hear, is an experience I'll never, ever forget. It's my heaven; I'd happily do it every day. I'm quite a singular person; I like my own company, and I've never felt compelled to surround myself with people when an evening in on my own would be enough. But, despite that, I seem to do well in crowds; being part of such as large movement of people, all of whom are striving for what you're striving for; everyone celebrating what you're celebrating, is the biggest rush I've ever received.

And of course, China. China had its ups and downs, but I couldn't be more glad that I took the opportunity to go. I'll never experience anything like it again; to be thrown into such a new environment was absolutely bloody terrifying, but it's something everyone should try. Simply by walking down a Chinese street I was incredibly awed that I was so far away from home, and felt so lucky that I had the chance to see the country. The sheer size of it messed with my head; one evening, a few of us congregated in the flat of a friend's Chinese partner, on the twenty-ninth floor looking out over the entire city. I was left breathless by the view, and even more so by the fact that this was one city, in one province, in one country. My perspective was shaken up, and by being in such a new place and doing so many new things (and, making so many new friends), I was able to understand and clarify my own view on my British identity, as well as experiencing a new kind of culture.

We were placed in hotel rooms on the fifth floor, with no lift. Everything was appallingly organised. The food was suspect. I had no end of problems with the language. Often, enough was enough. And you know what? I would do it all again in an instant, without hesitation. It'll be some time before I travel to somewhere truly beyond my life in England, and I'm so glad I managed it now.

There's been highs and lows this year. Plans have been shaken up; my exam results weren't what I'd hoped for, and my work ethic is still in need of a revamp. Still, I have to make sure I don't forget how lucky I am to exist within such a brilliant educational system, and to have the opportunities that so many people don't have. I volunteered for this, after all, and I don't regret it in the least.

So, 2009. Big, BIG year. Massive year. From the small (off to see John Barrowman again!) to the big (interrailing!), to the absolutely fucking huge (leaving home!), it's going to be tough, and it's going to be nerve-wracking.

But it's going to be the most exciting year. I'm taking steps towards my own future, I'm branching off from what I'm used to. It's terrifying, yes, but I'm far from dreading it. I feel like I've forged a more concrete identity for myself, my views and my likes and dislikes and opinions, over this last year; and it's that identity and perspective which will help me through all the tricky transitions in 2009, and make my experiences memorable, singular to me.

My name is Ros. I'm seventeen years old, I snack on cucumber, I can be ruthlessly sceptical and cynical, when I get nervous I chew on my nails and swear like a trooper, and I refuse to let arguments be.

2009, I'm ready for you.

Bring it on.

Delight the future; create happy outcomes.

2008-12-24T11:49:00.000-08:00

Screw a message from the Queen, my new obsession Ben Okri says it all about the beauty of Winter;

And while Autumn dallies
With the West wind and the weeping nightingales,
And while Winter clears its sonorous throat
At the Antipodean banquets
Preparing for a speech of hoarfrost
And icicles conjured from living breath;
I want you to tell everyone,
Through trumpets played with the fragrance of roses,
That a mysterious reason has brought us all together.
Here,
Now,
Under the all-seeing eye of the sun.

Extract is from Ben Okri's poem Lines in Potensis; there's a reading of it on youtube if you look for "Ben Okri".

Anyway, merry Christmas! Have a lovely day and have lots of fun. I'm currently struggling to get a poem finished and wrap up some presents; my brother is making slightly sub-par cocktails for my parents using whatever he can find around the house, and me and my Dad just finished watching Toy Story 2, a film that's very close to both of our hearts, for various reasons.

Happy Christmas! Talk to you soon.

Yay!

2008-12-17T10:09:00.000-08:00

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD THIS IS BRILLIANT.

Right; I was in the library earlier, checking the UCAS website (as I tend to obsessively do), not really expecting anything new, when BAM! I have a conditional offer from Cardiff. Cue flailing and joy on my part, which slighty diminishes when I find out they appeared to have offered me a place for a different course than what I applied for. Hmm. I told myself I would wait for the letter to come, and if it offered no explanation, then contact them and try and change it.

Anyway, I got home and had another look at the site, just to clarify the offer, then left it on screen whilst I watched Survivors on BBC iplayer. My Mum came home about fifteen minutes ago and asked to have a look at the offer; I tried to get back to the page but I'd been logged out automatically.

I refresh, log in, and lo and behold...another offer. From Warwick.

TWO OFFERS IN ONE DAY!!!

I am currently leaping around with excitement; I spend nearly all of yesterday evening complaining about being left in the loop, and I get two in one day!

Happy, happy, happy!

*dances*

SORRY.

2008-12-16T14:32:00.000-08:00

AM AWFUL. AM TERRIBLE. AM AWFUL, TERRIBLE BLOG ABANDONER.

I am such a hypocrite; how can it have been over a month? It's gone by incredibly quickly.

...actually, having said that, I've been waiting so impatiently for more offers that that Lancaster one seems like a lifetime ago. I've had no more since then and I'm really starting to get antsy, despite the fact I can't do anything to speed the process along; the Universities I've applied to for the course I want to do seem to all be very crowded, or slow at replying. It's also doubly difficult when you're surrounded by friends who applied to Oxford or Cambridge and seem to be steaming through; it's not their fault in the slightest, but Oxbridge is placed on such a high pedestal that you feel left out when others benefit from it. I haven't applied to either; it wouldn't suit me and I had no particular desire to go; it would be nice to know a little more about my academic future, regardless.

Anyway, little has happened since then. Jesus Christ Superstar was done at school for nearly a week; I was on the tech crew and had a huge amount of fun, although Jesus' crucifixion made me cry at least three times. I was at a vantage point where I could see the entire stage, head-on, and the impact of the scene and the lighting was incredible. Plus, Dave, the guy who played Jesus, was spectacular. I was in awe of him for most of the week. Everybody is completely in love with him; he's the nicest guy in the world and incredibly modest. Lovely singing voice, too.

It seems like an age since I was tapping away about Mary Poppins. And it IS; I looked over some old entries just before I started typing this one, and startling immaturity and lack of perspective and consideration for others aside, it seems complete incomprehensible now that I ever did what I did back then; I was annoyed about Ben in History lessons, I gushed insanely over Brokeback Mountain, I actually studied Maths, for God's sake. And that was three or so years ago, just three years. Even now I'm still suffering from a lack of perspective. Three years is nothing; one day in twenty or so years I'll look back on now and wonder how the hell "all that" was a chore. God only knows whether I'll look back with fondness or regret, or both. Where will I be? Married, children? A career, or just a job to make ends meet?

It's all a huge mystery. Only seventeen (nearly eighteen) years, and it feels like an age. Perhaps that's because of the changing qualities of it; I've grown up, and done so many different things, and matured so much through those years, that time holds this special, mysterious quality because I'm viewing it through what's changed in my life, year-to-year. Seventeen years will be nothing, when I'm older. My Mum and Dad remember seventeen years ago as if it was yesterday.

I'm at the stage I always wondered about when I was a kid, or just at the start of secondary school; I am "grown-up", on the verge of leaving school, not wholly independent but have a significant amount of freedom. I've forged an identity for myself as a young adult through what I believe (politically and...socially?), what I read, what I listen to, who I am, rather than being a little girl who follows the crowd more often than not. I listen to jazz, I've marched with Ian McKellen through the streets of London, I'm ruthlessly sceptical and I snack on cucumber. I am my own unique self, now, yet I feel I haven't changed a bit. I feel like a fraud, sometimes; tapping through Politics essays, or having running jokes with well-loved teachers, or talking about social gradualism and paradoxes between authoritarianism and libertarianism; I feel as if I'm about to get found out. It's an odd feeling, and I keep wondering whether it'll last.

Next year is the big one. I say that every time, but this one really is! Here's a lowdown:

- Re-taking German AS oral.
- Modules for A2 exams.
- Receive module results sometime in March.
- My eighteenth birthday.
- My brother's twentieth birthday.
- The school leaver's Ball.
- Official "last" day of school before exams.
- German AS retakes in June, the rest of my A2s, and a Chinese GCSE.
- Off inter-railing for three weeks across Europe.
- Exam results.
- Off I go to university.
- The adventure begins....

Exams aren't important in the grand scheme of things, but they're so imminent and so numerous they're all I can think about at the moment. I'm seeing John Barrowman again, as well, at the end of May. Hurrah!

It's going to be a tough, fascinating year. I'm drinking in everything I can when I'm at school; despite so much to do in the next few months, there's an acute sensation of "lastness"; everything we do is "last"; this is the last Christmas we'll have at school, and there'll be plenty of lasts next year. It's all hotting up, and I'm incredibly nervous, but excited as well. This is what it's all about!

I'd better go; it's nearly eleven and I've got a book to finish. I'm also re-reading The Audacity of Hope, by Barack Obama, on the sly. Whilst idealistic, I do love it; it's very accesible, and despite being written by a man who had so much power even then, it's written in a casual and friendly way that can't help but charm. Barack Obama all over, eh?

Rosby out. I'll try not to leave for so long next time.

2008-11-10T11:52:00.001-08:00

I GOT AN OFFER FROM LANCASTER!

YAY!

*dances around*

SORRY SORRY SORRY!

2008-10-30T15:46:00.000-07:00

Marie managed to post from Uganda. I have no excuse, none at all.

ARGH. Lots has happened since I last posted!

- I've gone back to school and am already immersed in Year 13, which is stressful, tiring, busy, and invigorating at the same time.

- After an eternity of dithering and guilt I skipped a lesson to go and get a Stephen Fry book signed, details of which are here at my livejournal. (Yeah, I know.)

- I went to see John Barrowman and Russell T Davies at the Cheltenham Literature Festival, reports of which can be found here and here (complete with audio evidence of me making a tit out of myself in front of both them!). Needless to say, I have rarely squeed so hard in my life. Not in front of John, though. (It was a close one. Dear Lord, his teeth!)

- I went to a Halloween party dressed as Amy Winehouse, complete with, if I may say it myself, an amazing wig and incredibly fiddly eyeliner. It was so fun!

- I finally got my UCAS form sent off, complete with a brilliant reference, to Warwick, York, Durham, Lancaster and Cardiff. No word from any of them as of yet; I've been checking the UCAS website compulsively. It can't be healthy!

- Can I exist as part of the group that wasn't hugely surprised that David Tennant is leaving after the 2009 specials? Granted I was surprised that he announced it now, but the ambiguity of it all convinced me that he'd leave by the time 2010 arrived. I will miss him, hugely, but if I'm honest, the end of 2009 is so far off for me that I'm not really thinking about it that much. By then I will have left school, I will have started Uni, I'll be in a new city. That's so far beyond, for me, that anything included within that time frame remains far off in the distance.

I'm still incredibly disappointed that he and Steven Moffat never got to work together on a regular basis, though. And...gah. When the time comes I will miss him so much as the Doctor. Call it a strange concept, but his leaving will mark, in a way, the end of my childhood.

...yeah, that was a little strange. Ignore that.

- I'm off to see Dylan Moran next Thursday! EEEEE! I'm so excited!

I know it's terrible to condense nearly two months into bullet points, and lots else has happened that pertains to just me, but...oh, I have no excuse. I'm awful. But I am still here, if sporadically. I've had this blog ever since I was fourteen (for shame - I've read those entries and winced many a time), and it shouldn't just dry up.

Have to go now, but I'll be back! In the nice way, rather than Terminator-style!

*shuffles guiltily off*

The play's the thing!

2008-09-02T06:38:00.000-07:00

Post 300!

*fanfare*

I can't help but think that there's been some vanished into the vacuum of cyberspace somewhere along the line, but this is it on the blogroll; 300!

And what better way, on this 300th occasion, to review the theatre event of the year, in a slightly stilted and biased way?

So. The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. The Dane. Mr Tennant. How was it?

In a word, glorious.

In several more words:

I only read Hamlet all the way through very recently, and absolutely loved it, but mere reading obviously never compares to seeing it performed. Seeing it on stage brings the speeches to life; provides meaning for the phrases you don't fully understand, and just gives the play depth and life. This was no exception at all. There wasn't a dull moment from start to finish; it was very slick and fast-moving, and every performance was wonderful.

The set was interesting; the Courtyard Theatre has been extended whilst the main theatre in Stratford is being refurbished, and it still has that studio theatre vibe about it; the stage is very central and almost integral to the audience, and the whole play hits them on a very intimate level. I was on the second-to-back row on the stalls and still felt incredibly involved in the action. The stage was bare for the most part, but the background was made up of tinted mirrors, which opened inwards to allow characters (mainly Cluadius and Polonius as they spied on Hamlet) and sets to move on and off stage.

David Tennant was magnificent. His progression through Hamlet's various emotions was so well played; his first speech, when he was left on stage lamenting his father's death, was heartbreaking; he cries and curls in on himself, and even surrounded by an entire audience, looked so completely alone. Gah. But he soldiered through; the misery leading to terror when his father's ghost confronted him, and "antic disposition" and fear from there on in.

Oh, the antic disposition. I'd read that David brought out the darker points of humour in the play, but I wasn't sure what to expect; he was hilarious! Hilarious with just the right edge of anger to inspire apprehension in the other characters, enough madness to tip him over the edge. As shown by Doctor Who, but proved within a smaller space, he is a brilliant mover; leaping and dancing around the stage and always keeping the audience in suspense as to what he would do next. Having said that, when the madness did tip over the edge, it was terrifying; we've seen angry Doctor millions of times, but Tennant's angry Hamlet is utterly different; chilling, goading, furious, and oh. Scary. The scene between him and his mother is one of the most intense I've ever seen on stage, moving from fear to anger to regret and beyond.

Anyone worrying about David's acting ability needn't; Hamlet is as far from the Doctor as you could reach. Both very flawed characters, excellently acted, but it's easy to differentiate between the two. Having said that, it was lovely (and exciting) to see little mannerisms, David-isms, I suppose, that are occasionally seen in Doctor Who; there was at least one "Well!", rubbing of the neck, and the Converse! Oh yes, and, SO MUCH HAIR-RUFFLING. ALL THE WAY THROUGH. It was glorious to behold.

And, on a completely shallow note, dear Lord he's good-looking. The screen doesn't lie - in fact, I don't think it does him justice; he's lean and angular and agile and lovely and has fantastic hair. I had to supress wriggling in excitement whenever he was on stage because he...oh dear. I'm gushing, aren't I? My Dad was calling it "hero-worship" and although he's wrong...well, he's not entirely wrong.

The other performances were fantastic as well; Patrick Stewart doubled up and played King Hamlet and Claudius (although I was more compelled by King Hamlet, to be honest), Oliver Ford Davies was hilairous as a bumbling, well-meaning, rambling Polonius, and Mariah Gale broke my heart; her progression of feelings was as good as David's; from sweetness to fear to utter dispair. Poor thing.

Oh, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were brilliant, too; they were exactly as I imagined when I read the play, and played the fools with aplomb, it was great. I'm itching to read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead, now; I've heard great things, and would love to see their backstory!

Whew. Terrible review, I know, too much Tennant and not enough of everything else. But it was all wonderful; scrapping, realistic-fights, typically teenage behaviour, atmospheric lights and sounds; the techie in me was infatuated with the whole thing. My parents were incredibly impressed; my dad went to see the full Kenneth Branagh Hamlet when he was younger, and was blown away by that; nothing has beaten it so far, but he loved this one.

Ow, my fingers.

School tomorrow! I have to go in this afternoon, as there's a rehearsal of Jesus Christ Superstar that, as stage manager, I should really see, as I haven't been to any so far.

Have borrowed a shiny new copy of Brideshead Revisited from the library; I'm the first one to have it! Yay!

Right, had better go. Talk soon!

To thine own self be true.

2008-09-01T06:43:00.000-07:00

Hamlet tonight!

I feel quite ashamed, really; I'm not excited just because David Tennant is playing the Dane, but it is a significant part of my jumpiness about this evening, and I'm already feeling latent paranoia that he might be ill tonight. Honestly. I love the play, completely, and have never seen it performed on stage, but I still feel so fickle.

Nevertheless, the dress is laid on top of the bed, the tickets are on the table - hurrah! We're off!

Will report back tomorrow, hopefully with a modicum of calm. Also, the way my blog posts have been laid out, this is my 299th, and a Hamlet review will be my 300th post! It's fate!

Write tomorrow!

*wriggle of glee*

AS results

2008-08-14T04:33:00.000-07:00

English Lit - A
Politics - A
Theatre Studies - C
German - C

I wasn't in the least bit happy when I first saw the results, and I'm still not, really, but I've had time to think things over and calm down, and it could have been a lot worse.

I'm very pleased with my As for English and Politics; they're my two best subjects and the ones I'm keen on continuing to University level. I knew I'd messed up German, but didn't think I'd done that badly, and I'm just pissed off about Drama; I knew that my performance mark wasn't the greatest, but I REALLY thought I'd make up for it in the written papers.

Still, I've been planning on giving Drama for ages now, so that's out of the window and gone. I'll have to retake German, I think. Urgh.

Right, had better go; I'm typing this on a computer at the theatre because my internet is still broken, and the "n" key keeps sticking. Farewell!

2008-08-09T10:04:00.000-07:00

ARGH.

Believe it or not, even though it is the holidays, I am currently very very busy.

Mini-hiatus, I think. Back soon!

*dashes off*

In which I do not fulfill promises.

2008-07-18T14:40:00.000-07:00

Well, I never wrote about Pride London. Nor Doctor Who. I know it's stupid, but I feel very ashamed that I haven't; Pride was a sensational experience and so much better than I'd anticipated. It's not complete apathy that I haven't posted about them; I've been incredibly busy doing school work, even up until the end of term, and preparing for my school trip to China. I should've found the time, though. I was determined not to write about Pride without photos; they tell half the story and Lucy took some brilliant ones.

I WILL tell all, I promise. Just not now; I'm leaving to go across the world tomorrow for two weeks, and I've been packing and fussing and buying too much to think about much else.

(Also, that accident I had on Wednesday has had me distracted; I've never hurt myself that badly before and was seriously scared; even now my shoulder is really hurting and I'm on painkillers. I'm fine, really, but it was a scary few hours that were all new experiences, and it was a very inconvenient time to happen. Again, I'll go into detail soon enough. Probably once I've stopped yelling "Ow!" every time I try and open a door/reach for something/pick up anything, with my right arm.)

God, I sound depressing and moany. Sorry. I feel like my creative juices have run a bit dry. Still, am SO excited; term ended today, for good, and I'm off to China tomorrow, for fifteen days! Eeeeee! We're going to Kunming, in the west, which is fairly near Burma and Vietnam. We were originally slated to go to Beijing, but the Olympics ensured that no one else was let into the city after a certain date. Grr. Still, it doesn't matter, we're seeing the real China. We're staying in a hotel and studying at Kunming University. I've spent all evening packing my suitcase, my room a complete tip. Mum has been flitting frantically in and out, offering further medical supplies. She's been twice as paranoid as usual since I hurt myself, which is sweet, but deeply annoying at the same time. I suppose it's better than her not caring at all.

RIGHT. Sleep. Not leaving until the afternoon, but I should get some rest.

Stories coming soon. All I'll say is this; we marched alongside Ian McKellen. And I mean alongside; inches away from him for about an hour, following his lead, being watched by thousands of people. It was inspirational beyond all belief and had us reeling with the brilliance of it. Nudge me mercilessly when I get back and don't talk about it.

Right, I won't be around until August 2nd. Off to widen my horizons!

Rosby out. I'll take pictures. Farewell!

2008-07-16T15:52:00.000-07:00

Oh my sainted Aunt, what an evening.

I have no idea why I'm writing this down, but I'm too tense to sleep and it might make me feel better. There again, I can only type with my left hand and it's ten to midnight and I'm exhausted and upset and oh God I have to sleep.

Basically, it involved a fall, a partially dislocated shoulder, an prolonged embarrassing panic on my part, my first ever trip in an ambulance, a long conversation with a paramedic about Amy Winehouse and an eternity of waiting. I'm fine now, I think, but my right arm is still throbbing like hell and I'm still weepy and miserable and reeling from the newness of it all.

Shit, I know it was nothing, but I was so fucking scared. That's never happened to me before, not once.

I've got to sleep; I'll probably regret writing this in the morning, but I just had to get it out, you know?

2008-07-02T13:23:00.000-07:00

ARGHSOBUSYSOBUSYARGHARGH.

Hence the lack of posting about Doctor Who. But this was my reaction, verbatim, typed up a little later:

TEN POINTS OF CAPSLOCKY SQUEE.

POINT THE FIRST - Agnfhgkshfdgjv; Jack losing contact with Martha made me all go all wibbly. Just the desperation of it.

POINT THE SECOND - WILF WITH A PAINT GUN. I LOVE YOU, SIR!

POINT THE THIRD: GWEN! IANTO! Need I say more?!

POINT THE FOURTH: Okay, clearly I can. Rhys mention! Loss of dignity! The coat! Met a soldier in a bar! GOING DOWN FIGHTING LIKE OWEN AND TOSH. MA'AM. HE CALLED GWEN MA'AM. EEEEEEEEEEE!

POINT THE FIFTH: Oh Sweet Lord, it all links together. Russell, you clever bastard; that was brilliant. The bees, the lost Moon! *is in awe*

POINT THE SIXTH: THE DOCTOR SPOKE JUDOON. That may be the cutest thing I have EVER SEEN.

POINT THE SEVENTH: Jack fancies Sarah Jane! Gwen fancies the Doctor! Donna fancies Jack! Ianto...what the hell did Ianto say? I can't work it out, no matter how many times I watch it.

POINT THE EIGHTH: DAMN ME FOR SEEING SPOILERS; I knew that the Doctor was going to be shot before he reached Rose. Grr. Am currently facepalming at how I ruined the surprise for myself.

POINT THE NINTH: DALEK CAAN. That was SO creepy.

POINT THE EVERLOVING TENTH: WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON NOW? WHAT? HOW? WHAT THE...WHAT???

CAPSLOCK UNTO INFINITY.

...actually, I am slightly calmer than I am usually; mainly because I've had time to collect myself but oh my LORD, that was epic. EPIC, I TELL YOU.

But, okay. I have a confession. Everyone seems to love this bit, and I absolutely hated it. I rarely hate things in Doctor Who to the level that others do, but this I hated, even if it was a small part; that Ianto-O'Grady thing. What? That was...*what*? Completely out-of-character, and just urgh. I feel horrible for saying so, I really do, because I hardly ever spout vitriol about Who and Torchwood, but I winced when that bit came on and it did dampen my squee for a while afterwards. Just the...yuck. I hated it, basically, even if it lasted about two seconds. I'm awful. Sorry. I may have to skip over that when I watch again.

There wasn't even a trailer! Gah, nothing! And Jack left Ianto and Gwen hanging in the loop, poor things!

(Yet again, their brave faces and silent stoicism gave me a lump in my throat. Ianto's little smile...oh, they've been separated from Jack far too often.)

*squeak*

Eeeeeeeeeeeee!

Anyway, must go and get provisions.

GAH. CANNOT POSSIBLY WAIT UNTIL NEXT WEEK. AND I WON'T EVEN SEE IT UNTIL THE SUNDAY EVENING, AS I'M AT PRIDE LONDON.

*skips off*

So, um...that. It was good. Except for the part which I will never mention again.

Talk soon!

2008-06-27T13:08:00.000-07:00

Oh dear. I think I have Gareth David-Lloyd on the brain.

2008-06-24T14:13:00.000-07:00

As I may have mentioned, this year in English we're studying The Wife of Bath from The Canterbury Tales. We haven't really started yet; we're doing some background work on the events of the time, like the Black Death, and John Wyclif and his contribution to the Reformation, etc. Today, though, Ms Reid gave us copies of the prologue to the tales. I've flicked through, and...what?

No, seriously. WHAT?

I knew how it was written, but dear Lord, I thought that I'd have SOME clue of the meaning, just by looking at it. It looks like a bizarre mixture of English, French, and Swedish, and I can't fathom it out at all. And I thought Pride and Prejudice was difficult; this is going to stretch my brain somewhat. Can't wait until we start studying it properly.

Joe's off to Glastonbury tomorrow. He will be where Amy Winehouse is, whilst I won't be. I've never been more jealous of him in my life.

Still soldiering on through War and Peace; I'm on page 403 now, but I'm saving it for the eleven hour plane journey to China next month. I figured it will eat up a large chunk of time. I love it; seeing the play was fantastic, so it's incredibly interesting to see the proper backstory to all the characters I fell in love with, as well as others who weren't included on the stage. Still, certain parts feel a little off; possibly the translation. Nevertheless, I like it.

Also, I have fallen head over heels in love with Billie Holiday, and have been listening to Blue Moon and God Bless the Child for several days. GAGH. How did I not listen to her before now? She is sensational, and I can understand the influence she had on Amy Winehouse; both on the music, and the reckless pattern of her life.

Mama may have, Papa may have, but God bless the child who's got his own...

Pride London soon! Still not fully arranged, but significant movements have been made and it should be finalised within the next few days. Mr Barrowman is in Canada at the moment, so he will be absent, but I really don't care. Just to be part of it, to be members of that crowd; it'll be sensational. Better dig out my Pride whistle!

Right.

Is it time for Doctor Who yet?

It's only Tuesday? Really? Damn it.

*retreats back into cave and waits*

Doctor Who - Turn Left

2008-06-21T13:15:00.000-07:00

Okay. I wrote the following immediately after I'd watched it.

HOLY JUMPING TINKERBELL JESUS.

PREPARE FOR CAPSLOCK AND INCOHERENCY. DEAR LORD. FUCK ME SIDEWAYS. OH YEAH, AND SWEARING.

ROSE.

BROKEN, STRONG, BRILLIANT DONNA.

THE LABOUR CAMPS.

BAD WOLF.

...okay, I've got to stop that before I annoy anyone who may wing their way over here. But JESUSHELL. That was epic and brilliant and moving and absolutely terrifying. Catherine Tate is amazing beyond words.

Oh GOD, I can't believe I never thought about that; the consequences of one lost action by the Doctor. He dies, the whole Earth slowly destroys itself. And it was so real; when the family were being taken away in the van I was holding my breath, and just burst into tears as soon as Gramps did. Oh, God. Rusty, the things you do to us. Ow.

(I'm really not sounding my cleverest. My veins are currently alive with squee, I'm telling you. My arms are tingling. God, I'm sad.)

Anyway...

As SOON as Rose said a little team were up on the ship, I instantly thought Torchwood, and lo and behold, YES! SHE SAID THEIR NAMES. SHE MENTIONED GWEN AND IANTO. I had to pause, I was so surprised and flaily. And Jack! Oh God, poor Jack, stuck up on the planet alone, again.

AND ALIGUYJGHKSDP; BAD WOLF. I KNEW IT WAS COMING A SPLIT SECOND BEFORE IT DID, AND THEN...

So, whew.

And so we come to the trailer of wonderment and joy that will render this post a capitalised, brain-dead with excitement, slightly hysterical squee-fest. Prepare yourselves, people.

HOLY MOTHER OF ALL THINGS COVERED IN CHOCOLATE.

JACK! IANTO! GWEN! IANTO IN A WAISTCOAT! CUDDLING IN THE CORNER! GWEN AND IANTO WITH BLOODY MACHINEGUNS!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

AND SARAH JANE. AND HARRIET JONES! AND ROSE, AND MARTHA!

...I'd been looking forward to this trailer all day, but my speculations didn't even come CLOSE to what we got there. GAGH. HOW ARE WE MEANT TO WAIT UNTIL NEXT WEEK?

I am so very, very, very hyper right now.

I will be more coherent in time, I promise. Right now I'm off to guage other people's reactions, as I saw this episode late and haven't seen what people have thought yet.

*dashes off*

...so yeah, that was my reaction. Jesus, I am actually insane and far too obsessed. But, come on!

The wait for next week is going to be interminable. Also, just noticed, the BBC's Youtube account has BAD WOLF BAD WOLF BAD WOLF written on its user description space. Ha!

Okay, got to go and try and calm down.

2008-06-15T09:50:00.001-07:00

As I'm going back to school tomorrow, for the first time in what feels like ages, I decided to have a massive clearout of the school-y section of my storage space in my bedroom, as it was getting to the point where there was such a huge pile-up of both junk and important things, that I couldn't locate the latter when I needed it. I've finally found that copy of Antigone that I thought I'd lost. Anyway, there's currently a massive black bag filled with out-of-date forms, practise exam papers, and books from GCSE year, of all things.

I realised several things amidst my massive tidy:

Like my Dad, my nostalgia gets in the way too much. I retain schoolbooks that are fairly useless to me now (such as History exercise books on Russia and Nazi Germany, from last year), because I did so much work that I can't bear to get rid of them. Plus, I keep convincing myself that they'll be useful. All the junk in this bedroom that is completely useless fits that description, and those reasons. Our attic is the same. We've lived in this house for sixteen years, and our entire life history is stored up in the roof; old LPs, books from when Joe and I were kids, ancient computers, boxes of Christmas decorations, etc, etc. Mum has been nagging Dad to clear it out for years, but he never has. I think me and my Dad are one of the same when it comes to clearouts. We're useless at them.

I have done so much work over the past three years at school and, without meaning to boast, I am SO proud of myself. Especially this year; I started studying Politics without any real knowledge of what it would entail, and now I have a year's worth of work stuffed into an overflowing folder; work that I never would have understood a year ago, and work that I'm so proud that I did. Similarly with English; I had to delve into the strata of poems and books and notes that have accumalated over the past couple of years, and I love what I've done. From Keats to Donne, from Death of a Salesman to Paradise Lost, it's all been brilliant. Chaucer and Measure for Measure now. I can't wait!

Oh my God, Oh my God, OH MY GOD, this room is an appalling mess. To the naked eye, it looks fine; could do with a hoover and some heavy-duty dusting, but it seems fine. Delve underneath the service and everything turns to crap. I'm going to need a bulldozer to rid myself of some of this. I started tidying my school stuff, and it brought to light how desperately the rest of it needs a clean. I need a long-haul tidying session. I may have to dedicate next weekend to cleaning. (Having said that, you should have seen Tara's room when I was last round there. And my brother's room. I'm almost tempted to take a picture of it; ever since he came back from University, it's been like Dresden in there. Urgh. It's smaller than mine, and has a little less storage space, but still.)

I need to hoover, and dust, and spray, and clear everything OUT. Preferably when everyone else is out of the house.

I'll stick to the school-refuse for now. But I'll kick some bedroom arse next week. Or possibly over various nights this week, if I don't have too much homework.

Rosby out, with a massive black bag of bad Science lesson memories, and terrible handwriting, dancing to the Glenn Miller CD that's playing in the background.

P.S. Also, an entire shelf is dedicated to University prospectuses. There are dozens of them. HELP ME. PANIC.

Less of a review, more of a mad expulsion of WORDS. Oh, and SPOILERS. LOTS OF THEM.

2008-06-14T13:57:00.000-07:00

AJSHDGJHSKJH;;; DOCTOR WHO OH MY GOD.

That was absolutely terrifying, and claustrophobic, and weird, and OH DEAR LORD THERE WAS ROSE ON THE SCREEN AGAIN.

ROSETYLERMARTHAJONESDONNANOBLETARDIS.

Oh, sweet Lord. I haven't checked any reactions yet (as I've only just watched it), but if anyone complains (as I'm sure they will), about the lack of action, or coherent threat, then I won't care; that was superb. Showing the ugly side of human nature, and just by using something like repetition, it becomes twenty times as chilling.

And Jesus Christ the Doctor, when he was repeating; painful, tears in his eyes, unmoving. Christ, Tennant, you magnificent bastard. When the Doctor warned Donna "Don't." at the very end, I got chills down to my toes.

*shudder*

And Lesley Sharp! Oh, I can see why Russell likes her so much. She was magnificent all the way through.

Dear Lord, that episode gave me an almost visceral reaction; I was on the edge all the time and gasped at everything; when Rose appeared, when she began to speak at the same time, when she overtook him, and....ohhh.

So, all in all, brilliant and wonderful. I loved it. I'm still jittery; that was terrifying.

Oh yes, and...

FUCKING HELL, THAT TRAILER. OH DEAR LORD. THE DOCTOR'S DEAD? ROSE? HERE ALREADY? SOMETHING ON THE BACK? UNIT MEN? SHE'S GONNA DIE?

What the hell is going on? And, more importantly, how the hell are we meant to wait until next week?!

*flails around like a mad thing*

Right, right. Okay. Possibly coherent, intelligent-sounding review coming later. For now I'm going to flail in my corner about that episode, the trailer, and all that's still to come OH MY GOD YAY.

Three quick trailer-points:

- When the hand came out of the stretcher, for one insane moment, I thought it was Ianto. A thought which makes no sense, but evidently I've been enticed by the suits.

- Speaking of Ianto, I was shamelessly looking out for him; I still have no idea if that rumour that Gwen and Ianto appear is true or not, so I'm scanning everything like the Welsh-totty-obsessed thing that I am.

- Donna was wearing a long, grey coat at some point in that trailer, with the sleeves too long for her arms. Jack's coat? Possibly?

Right.

*attempts to calm down*

*fails*

Eeeeeeeeee!

2008-06-08T13:56:00.001-07:00

Oh, God.

The 2008 Gloucestershire Cheese Rolling is a featured video on youtube today; consisting of reckless, stupid people dashing down a hill, breaking their legs and ankles chasing a bloody cheese. A couple of years ago somebody broke their neck, apparently. Or did some serious damage to it, anyway.

I've lived in this county my whole life, but I still find this tradition the stupidest, most idiotic thing around. Call me a kill-joy, but that's what I think.

As a representative of Gloucestershire, I'd just like to put it out there that we're not all that thick and desperate for attention.

(Also, incidentally, the village in Hot Fuzz is portrayed at being in Gloucestershire. And Cheltenham Ladies College is filled with "pretentious shits" according to St Trinians. AND, whenever Gloucestershire seems to be mentioned on television, by comedians, there are always references to stupid farmers and West-Country idiots. Again, kill-joy, but I didn't realise quite how we were regarded. Still, I suppose there are sterotypes for cities across the country. But, frankly, videos of idiots chasing bloody cheese doesn't help the image.)

Review of Doctor Who coming up. Bit too pissed off to write it now.

2008-06-05T09:41:00.000-07:00

The exams are over! Hurrah! Huzzah!

The sense of finality is much smaller than last year, if there at all, as I had to do a quarter of the amount of exams, and I'm going back to school to start A2 courses in a couple of weeks. Still, no more revision, no more tests, and lots to look forward to in the coming months. Yay!

Overall, I think they went relatively well; English and Drama were excellent, Politics wasn't too bad, although I did fall down on certain areas, and I'm slightly worried about German because it was a lot harder than I thought it would be. Particularly the oral; I went in very prepared and filled with useful phrases, then got too nervous and fluffed the whole thing by stammering and running out of things to say, and generally being a bit rubbish. People kept telling me that it probably went better than I thought it would, and I hope they're right, but at the moment I'm not feeling overly-confident about it. I don't want to retake anything, really, but I may feel the need to if I under-perform. I don't know. I'll know in August.

Anyway, it was the loveliest feeling in the world waking up today; I don't have to go back to school until the week after next (as next week is devoted to work experience), so I have three and a half days all to myself, which very neatly coincide with suddenly hot weather, and the Cheltenham Science Festival, which is already in full swing. Having said that, I was extremely miffed that I missed Richard Dawkins; I'd somehow convinced myself he was here today rather than yesterday. Damn. I loved The God Delusion. Still, I had a mosey around the Town Hall for a while looking at all the exhibits, and I've booked to see Mark Watson on Saturday; hurrah! I love him; he's not very well-known, but he's completely hilarious, and is doing a one-off show about his carbon footprint.

Also, keeping to my word, I went out a bought a shiny new copy of War and Peace! Having seen it done so brilliantly on stage (and written about the play in my Drama exam), I wanted to read the book and find out more about the characters. It's going to be tough going; this copy spans over 1358 pages, and I'm on page 37 at the moment. Still, I love it already, and it's going to be slightly easier knowing who the characters are, and the events that happen. I've just read the part when Pierre sees Dolokhov balance precariously on a window; drinking rum and everyone around him praying that he won't fall, and it's just as tense and atmospheric as it was in the play. Wonderful.

My next task is to organise Pride London, which is going to be slightly difficult, but not impossible. I'll be damned if I'm not going. In a slightly sadistic way, I'm looking forward to seeing how Boris is received, as he didn't seem to be too popular in London drinking circles fairly recently.

Speaking of which; urgh. The Daily Show did a segment on the Tube drunkards recently, and I felt so embarassed; I actually agreed with Boris on this one, and the fact that so many people humiliated themselves and caused such a mess and behaved so stupidly, just proves what alcohol can do. I mean, yes, it's good to stick it to politicians; I've done it before, on protest marches in Cheltenham, but you'll get precisely nowhere and get yourselves extremely bad press by acting like that.

There again, this comes from a non-Londoner and a non-drinker, so God knows where I stand. I just wince when I see footage of it, and I have the urge to explain to The Daily Show audience; "We're not all like that! We're not!"

Right, had better go. Farewell! Enjoy the sun, if you've got it.

P.S. Torchwood is a week-long affair next year, apparently; and as soon as I'd do anything finishes, the entire media is taken over by stupid, sodding Big Brother again. I think Doctor Who is a saving grace at the moment.

2008-06-03T13:29:00.001-07:00

Oh, hell.

I think I'll have to review Silence in the Library after the next episode; I'm insanely busy and there's always something that urgently needs doing before I can sit down and get it all out. Sorry. But, needless to say, it was excellent and has left me buzzing with hundreds of questions already. Who is River Song/Doctor Moon/the child? What happened to Donna? Why is she saved? What's CAL? Who will be ghosting next?

Also, although I wasn't scared of the dark after this one, the phrase Who turned off the lights? has been bugging me all day. Scary...*shudder*

SO MUCH GOING ON. Is this what it is to be an adult; constantly arranging things and having people never reply to you? God, it's driving me mad. Also, I have one more exam left that I haven't done nearly enough revision for, and that would be tomorrow. Here I am blogging when I have an exam tomorrow.

Fuck. Fuuuuck.

I really need to go.

2008-05-31T12:32:00.001-07:00

Right, I missed Doctor Who due to dinner with my brother and his girlfriend in company, but the BBC iplayer has just delivered, so it begins.

I have some fucking jaffa cakes in my coat pocket, and am ready to be terrified.

MOFFAT, BRING IT ON.

P.S. Is something happening vis-a-vis Boris tonight? I heard something was up...

2008-05-25T13:20:00.000-07:00

Similar to the mind-altering excitement I've mentioned before, but not nearly as extreme, you know when you love something so quickly, and so utterly, that the glee rises into your throat and you just laugh with the brilliance of it?

Two words: Frank Sinatra.

Oh, my God. Already loving the song Beyond the Sea beyond reason, I bought a Sinatra album today to listen to the rest of it, and I'm only on track 4 (Luck be a Lady), and I've fallen totally in love with his music already.

The best is yet to come, and babe, won't it be fine?

Oh, oh...! This is happening right now, at this very moment; the song Bewitched just came on, and it's the song Posner sings in The History Boys; gah...*falls even more in love*. I had no idea Frank sang it! And how Posner changes the lyrics; worshipping the trousers that cling to him. Oh, you lovely boy.

Eeeee! I can barely get the words out, I love this so much. I am undergoing a Sinatra-influenced transformation. Does that make any sense? Didn't think so. I don't care, somehow.

Oh, dear. I was meant to make a meaningful, political post, and Frank Sinatra has thrown that out of the window. The Good Life just came on. I'll be over here in the corner, bathing in his voice and the saxophones and violins, like the bobby soxer I've suddenly become. All I need is a poodle skirt, and I'm set. Honestly.

So long, sailing, bye-bye...

2008-05-24T10:04:00.000-07:00

Ow.

Right, things I have to do.

Find out if 19th June is free, and if it is, book train tickets to Durham.
Find out if July 5th is free, and if I can get it off work, then book tickets to Pride London with the consent of Tara, Emma and Lucy.
Call work experience lady and arrange interview.
Fill in visa for Chinese trip.
Lead a non-lethal rebellion against David Cameron...ahem. Possibly not. Maybe if I was a bit less busy.

Right, now I must go and do.

Gah.

2008-05-20T11:59:00.000-07:00

"My entire career has been a Secret Plan to get this job. I applied before but I got knocked back cos the BBC wanted someone else. Also I was seven. Anyway, I'm glad the BBC has finally seen the light, and it's a huge honour to be following Russell into the best - and the toughest - job in television. I say "toughest" cos Russell's at my window right now, pointing and laughing."

Hurrah!

We finally have confirmation, and yay!

I may have not mentioned this before, but I mildly hero-worship The Moff; he is a fantastic writer and absolutely hilarious with it. He created Coupling, now he'll be the frontrunner for Doctor Who! Hurrah once more!

(I love Russell, no question, and will miss him, but he's chosen an excellent successor.)

Gah, I can't believe we have to wait two weeks for Silence in the Library, all for bloody Eurovision. EUROVISION. How that manages to take precedence over Doctor Who, I have no idea. Hmph.

Still, I have plenty to do in the meantime. I have an English AS exam tomorrow, which I am pretty confident about (as English is by far my best subject and I love everything we've been studying - particularly John Donne), but the exam nerves are still there, just fluttering beneath the surface. I should be OK.

Anyway, time to be off!

2008-05-16T15:19:00.000-07:00

I've just returned from watching a production of War and Peace by the Shared Experience company, and oh my God, I will never see theatre like that again. That was the most incredible play I have seen in my life.

I didn't know War and Peace before I started watching; all I knew was that it was a massive, massive book; so huge that the play was spread over two evenings due to the length. Didn't know a thing, but I instantly got completely sucked into the world of Natasha, Pierre, Napoleon, Andre, Marie, all of them. It was epic, very stylised; actors played multiple roles and sat on pianos, lurched out of huge frames posing as open windows; there was crying and screaming and kissing and an odd yet brilliant scene between Pierre and his fiancee where they simulated sex, but not quite, as if to convey his torn feelings, his indecision, whilst Napoleon looked on and encouraged him to take the plunge.

I'm not being completely coherent here. I just...I was bowled over. I was sunk into every single second of the play; it was violent, and passionate, and dynamic, and moving, and very funny in certain parts. We'd done a workshop, our drama class, with one of the actors the day before, and he'd told us about the physicality of the play, the sheer effort that goes into it. I wasn't prepared at all; I was exhausted just watching it. God knows how tired out the actors get.

The actors were lovely, too. They came out and did a question and answer session with the audience afterwards; a tiny audience, unfortunately. I felt oddly ashamed at that; a production as epic as this, such a famous text, and only about a quarter of the theatre was filled up in the end. This is theatre, proper, serious theatre, and our town seems to be showing itself up as philistines by selling out to crap murder mysteries with characters all played by soap actors.

I have to see that production again. Somehow. And, come to think of it, read War and Peace. The characters are absolutely incredible, all of them.

I'm rambling, and have much more to say, but it's half past eleven and I have to get up for work tomorrow. More then.

Thank you, Shared Experience. That was sensational.

P.S. I had my first proper AS exam today, as well, but more on that tomorrow.

2.99 a gallon...

2008-05-14T15:36:00.000-07:00

Oh my God!

2.99 Cent Blues, by Regina Spektor

I don't think, in my life, I've heard a song so perfect.

...well, maybe I'll look over that statement later and take it back, but for now, oh. You know when you discover a song that you cannot believe is real, it's so brilliant?

This was recorded nearly seven years ago, but I am still in awe.

*listens to it again*

2008-05-12T13:31:00.001-07:00

Oh, bloody brilliant! My vague hope has been confirmed by the Pride London website:

We are delighted that Boris Johnson, the Mayor of London will be addressing the crowds this year. As well as that a host of speakers from all the main political parties and groups will be mixed with the best of today's entertainment.

I cannot wait to tell Lucy this; she's coming along this time, and we're both in the same Politics class, and both pretty vehmently anti-Boris. We've spent a while speculating how exactly Boris would pull off a speech to a three thousand-strong crowd of gay people giving that he's, y'know...Boris. Now that he's been confirmed as appearing, as Ken did last year and has previously done, I can't wait to see him.

I'm by no means certain that he'll screw up in any way; he's the Mayor now, and must be used to the duties that come with the job. I'm just looking forward to seeing the mop-top in person and seeing how he performs. He's got a lot to live up to; Ken was superb last year. There again, his speech was made all the more rousing by the bombs that exploded the previous day; his speech had a real kind of relevance and gravitas behind it because of that.

I wonder who the other politicians will be? I'm guessing that Brian Paddock would be an ideal choice to the organisers, but he hasn't been specifically named. Ken again, perhaps? Whoever they are, I'll be looking forward to paying attention to the political side; Harriet Harman spoke on stage last year, and she was very impressive as well. I suppose she'll wing her way over again...

Anyway, we have Boris. Barrowman hasn't been listed as appearing, which had me a little miffed, but the website claims it's still being updated on guests, and he was only a small part of the experience anyway. I would be the shallowest person in the world if I went along to the march, if I walked through the streets of London with all those people, with all that noise, all that passion, just to see some bloke off the telly. A lot of people who knew I was there thought I was only going to that reason, and it really irritated me. They were quite surprised when I told them why I was actually going...

Incidentally, a lot of people have been asking me if I'm really bisexual at the moment. With emphasis on the word "really". I don't understand; I never really came out, so to speak (a boy in my yeargroup who I've never really seen eye to eye with took it upon himself to do that for me while I was still dealing with the fact myself - lovely man), but...do people think that it's a joke? That I'm not serious? Or, worse than that, that it's just a phase? I hate that phrase with all my being; it's not a bloody phase; it exists, it's what I am, and I'm proud of what I am. Hence the Pride march. I also have people asking me very intimate questions about it, as well; how I know, and how it works, and whether I've done anything about it. I just...GRRR. I know that, statistically, only one in ten people is gay, but it's not a novelty, people, stop asking me about it! Would you go up to a straight person you didn't know very well and start bugging them relentlessly about their way of living? No? Didn't think so. Yet with a bisexual or homosexual person, nothing's wrong with a little interrogation.

Maybe I'm overreacting, but I hate the reactions I get from certain people, and how it's talked about in ever so hushed tones. Again, that's why I want to keep going to these marches; to make as much noise as I can with thousands of others. To be heard, to not keep it under wraps.

Anyway, I digress slightly.

No John Barrowman so far, but...

WE HAVE SIR IAN!!!

Seriously. Ian McKellen! I love him! He is a fantastic actor and has incredible class. He's presenting part of the music show; can't wait to see him!

The whole event sounds fantastic again, and I can't wait for July! Tara wants to come this year, as well, which will tally up to four people; me, Emma, Tara and Lucy. Actually, come to think of it, that's an interesting mix we have; me and Emma are bisexual, Lucy is gay, and Tara is straight. Well, she thinks of herself as asexual, but she does have a boyfriend, called Alex. It's complicated, I think. We had a very long discussion about it on the train after the Night of Barrowman. Anyway, we'll make a varied, and squealing, group.

Eee, I can't wait! I'm using July 5th as my looking-forward-to point during my exams and work experience. I just hope I can get the day off work. I probably should if I swap with somebody. And if July 5th is as glorious as it is at the moment, it'll be wonderful! Last year it was pissing it down ALL DAY, which was one of the reasons me and Emma didn't go and talk to Barrowman; we were both soaked to the skin and wearing unfetching raincoats. Plus, I think our hearts had stopped with surprise. Unexpected Barrowman inspires a surprisingly physical reaction, as mentioned in the Night of Barrowman.

Right, had better go. Roll on Pride London! Hurrah!

2008-05-09T16:06:00.000-07:00

OKAY. I ADMIT IT FREELY. I think, after watching Trick or Treat, I have developed a massive crush on Derren Brown. I've suspected it for a while now, actually.

Is that weird?

I can't help it. I know he makes a living out of influencing people's minds and performing strange experiments, but he's incredibly calm and clever and sarky while he does it. Plus, y'know, gorgeous.

Hmm. I would give anything to meet him and see him in action. I find Trick or Treat fascinating and faintly terrifying - the impact on the people involved must be huge.

(I get the feeling I would fall very easily for one of his tricks; every time I watch his programme I look out for clues that he leaves early on, but I always miss a couple, and I know that it must be completely different when you're actually caught up in the moment.

David Tennant is due for a Trick/Treat soon. Christ, both of them on screen at the same time; that'll make my Friday!

Come on, Mr Brown...surely there must be some kind of experiment you could play on a group of teenagers? (I have friends who are dying to see him live and prove he's not faking it. You can never know until you see it, after all.)

(And I say the word experiment in an innocent, Derren Brown-style way, obviously.)

2008-05-04T17:01:00.000-07:00

Oh, Christ. I just read a bunch of entries spanning from late 2005 to mid-2006. I'm sorry. I am so sorry, for inflicting all that rubbish on you.

*is ashamed*

2008-05-03T11:19:00.001-07:00

I'm torn between the trivial and the important.

Hmm.

Oh, hell. DOCTOR WHO!

Criticisms first:

Was I the only one who missed half of the dialogue? Music and rapid-talking and under-enunciation seemed rife this episode.
Donna seemed a lot less consequential this time round, and a lot less strong which, although it was because she was near her family, became rather grating after a while.
Her mother annoys the living hell out of me - Jackie was motherly badgering, but she pulled it off as natural and endearing; Donna's mum seems to contain virtually no redeeming features so far.
Slightly dodgy acting from Rattigan, although he managed to keep the accent in place.
Heavy on the melodrama; the waxing and waning fumes, the news alerts, the countdown-unexpectedly-reversed-at-the-last-mintue; it tended to get very samey after a while.
Sontarans = unimpressive. In my view, anyway; the kiddies probably loved them.

This was very much a reference episode; we already had the Sontarans, and it was lovely to hear word of the Brig, and a brief mention of Captain Jack, and The Empty Child!

Oh. And, when Rose appeared, I may or may not have leapt about a foot in the air. Metaphorically, at least. I'm seriously looking forward to seeing how this arc is going to play out; the subtle smatterings of Rose so far seem less obvious that the arcs we've had in the last two series, and I'm twitching to see how it all fits together. Soon!

Overall, I liked it; it was nice to see an explanation for why the Sontarans didn't just nuke Earth and run away cackling, the moments between Martha and her clone managed to mix bizarre and touching and somehow make it work, and the Doctor was his usual, technobabbling, hair-ruffly self. I loved his attitudes to both Donna and Martha; both very different, but respectful towards both of them when it came to their actions within the episode. And, in turn, their reactions to him; when Donna thwacked him on the arm before sitting by him and Martha, it just worked, without needing words.

Next week's looks...deeply, deeply strange. Russell T Davies has said that this one is likely to cause fan revolt, which just makes me want to see it more; there is nothing funnier than watching Who fans rant, frankly. I mean, I love the show as much as the first person, but I don't take it seriously enough to get enraged when events don't turn my way. It's a children's show, for God's sake; if the target audience is just enjoying it for what it is, why can't the fans? I feel the same about obsessive Harry Potter fans. There again, I tend to avoid them more often than not; they can get scary sometimes.

So, to sum up, roll on next week. And the week after, and the weeks after, until we reach the epic multi-character fest, which must be deeply risky for everyone involved. I cannot wait. If Ianto and Gwen get a look in, my neighbours have to acquire some earplugs. Bweeee!

Anyway, I mentioned the trivial and the important; the important being, of course, the recent election. I'm hesistant to get too politically passionate in here, really. I wrote last night's post in a slightly angry state of mind, which I still am when I think of Boris Johnson; but I really can't politically rant when I, in no way, am astute in recent matters as I make myself out to be. I have been following the election, and my politics classes have helped me take a further grasp on my political stance within the options we have, but I'd never confess to knowing everything, and assuming my view is the most prominent.

I'll be honest, I'm still not entirely sure where I stand. All I know is, I am not Conservative. Yet, for all my scepticism of the media and efforts not to be influenced, I still seem to take notice of the individual rather than the party in question; yesterday I had an extensive debate with a guy called John in my yeargroup, in the Common Room just before last period; when it was happening, I thought we were arguing Liberalism vs. Conservatism. It was only afterwards that I realised we'd only covered David Cameron, who is only a tiny part of the whole establishment.

My honest opinion; I don't like him. I think that he is intelligent, but that he lacks substance and embodies the archetypical traits of the leading politician to the extreme; point-scoring, Punch and Judy politics, and advocating his party as not a good party, but always better than Labour. Everything he says seems to have an underlying thread of bitterness, and when he makes speeches, he doesn't say anything. He makes bold statements that aren't fully explored. I know that's a common trait, I do that, but I am not running a major political party and attempting to get the chance to run the country. Long story short; he irks me more than Gordon Brown does, and I can't help but feel that the Conservative majority this time around is indicative of events still to come. Even if it is due to disillusionment with Labour, and Gordon Brown, support appears to be growing. Which, in my book, isn't good, but my book isn't the Bible.

I know a lot. I know a lot more about politics than I used to. But I don't know enough, yet. I'm not entirely sure what point I'm trying to make here. Basically that I'm going to full-on rant and rave until I know the full ins and outs.

(I say that, but I did just get het up about Cameron, didn't I?)

RIGHT. Sorry for those random trains of thought. I was going to talk about Martin Horwood's visit to my school, but my coherency levels are lacking tonight, I'm not sure why. Exhaustion, possibly. I'm off on study leave on Friday; it won't be a moment too soon. Still, at least I have Monday off.

Talk more soon.

And, before I forget to ask...what do you think?

2008-05-02T15:58:00.000-07:00

Oh, God.

I was half-expecting it, but it doesn't make it any less comforting.

It's been a very politically-orientated day, actually; I managed to question an MP who was visiting our school, and me and my friends have been following the council elections all day. I just had to check who ultimately won London before I went to sleep.

I'll say more tomorrow, hopefully (my brain has been buzzing with views on this all day), but for now, my main reaction seems to be summed up thusly; nearly a year ago I went to Pride London and saw Ken Livingstone step up on stage and do a fantastically confident, moving, rousing speech to the crowd, clearly written at the last minute due to bombs having gone off in London the day before the march. Rhetoric or not, it was definitely impressive.

Can we really see Boris doing that? Or acting like anything other than a fool?

I'm disappointed, in short.

Evidently London feels differently.

2008-04-30T09:51:00.001-07:00

Well, bollocks. Apparently Mr Tennant isn't appearing at the Literature Festival anymore. I should've known it was too good to be true. I'm a little miffed, but I really don't mind all that much; Hamlet! I cannot wait until September. It'll be the perfect end to the summer holidays. My Dad says that he's envious of me, because when I read (and see) Hamlet, it'll be an incredible literary experience that I won't forget. I'm inclined to believe him; so much of the play is already iconic and the depth of language, and imagery, that I've come across so far, is wonderful.

I always hoped to study Hamlet at school; we did Othello this year, whilst the other two classes did King Lear and Hamlet. Shame, but Othello is fantastic to study as well (although it was hard for me to regard Desdemona in anything other than a 21st century regard - which, as a result, made me very frustrated with her. I suppose that's a sign of effective writing!), and I'm sure David will play Hamlet brilliantly.

So, yes. Pity about the festival, but I'll go and see the others that wing their way over. To his own schedule be true.

ANYWAY. One day I'll write a post which culminates in a promise I intend to keep. Eep! I left the Barrowman Show hanging a bit last time.

Interval arrived, largely uneventful; Tara and I stuffed ourselves with overly-expensive theatre ice cream and conversed with the ladies next to us ("You enjoying it so far?" "OH GOD, YES! He is *amazing*, isn't he?" You may be surprised at which of the two pairs of us said that latter sentence. It was so sweet!)

At this point, despite the fact that the previous, stomach-churning excitement had abated now that we'd seen the man, I started to get seriously jittery, as I'd heard from lots of other fans that John tended to begin the second act with Feelin' Good, sung backstage at first. Feelin' Good; my favourite song sung by him, EVER, and the one that always makes me melt and renders me pretty much useless for a while. So, for the last five minutes, I had to control my impatient twitching for the second half to start. The word sad has been mentioned previously, right?

The lights dimmed, the band appeared again to enourmous cheers (John Barrowman's boys - they really were fantastic; funky and talented and very funny. John had a running joke throughout the show that his drummer was a closeted gay and spent half the time flirting with him, telling him that by the end of the show he'd be "out and proud" - along, according to him, with the rest of the audience. But I digress.), the chords I recognised from my mp3 player, from youtube, from everywhere, rang out, and...

"Birds flying high, you know how I feel..."

Christ. I went insane. Silently, of course. I think my excitement was conveyed through my shaking Tara's arm repeatedly. And let me tell you, the sight of John Barrowman striding through the smoke, singing one of my favourite songs in the world, is one I won't forget easily. I'm planning on recalling it during the imminent exam season, when I get completely demoralised. I've already had to, actually. But more on that later.

I'm not sure of the exact order of the songs from then on, to be honest. At one point during the second half he introduced another "friend" on stage; another dummy with a spangly Elvis costume over it; cue John bursting into hysterics, because the dummy had its back to audience, and, "I can't turn it round. The guys backstage, they've done something to it - there are children in the audience!" Turns out the crew had put a massive black tube in the pants area to, er, flesh out the dummy. John retrieved it, still giggling, and threw it to a member of the band, saying, "I think this belongs to you!"

I didn't recognise the suit, myself, but it turns out it was a costume John wore on his Dancing on Ice days. He waxed lyrical about how he practised, wore the costumes, had so much fun..."and then I got voted off." He's still bitter about that (and somebody called Robin Cousins who was responsible, apparently), but he hammed it up for the audience and made a few pointed (and bitchy) comments about toupees. Hee! He then sang, I couldn't believe this, The Road to Amarillo, claiming that he'd had so much fun dancing it he wanted to sing it himself. At this point, my admiration of him quadrupled because somehow, inexplicably, John Barrowman can sing that dirge of a song and make it good! Seriously! I actually found myself enjoying it, instead of wanting to beat myself over the head with something heavy, when I usually hear it.

There was audience participation, as well, as we all sang along and joined in the "Sha-la-la"s in the middle (amping it up when John told us, "That was shit!" in the instrumental). There was also a brilliant moment when John sang completely the wrong words at the wrong point and almost lost it, but recovered quickly. It's gratifying to know that professionals make mistakes. Plus, he is so cute when he laughs. He told us, at the end, that he'd been on tour for two weeks and that was the best he'd heard it done - hurrah!

About halfway through the second half, having hinted at it earlier, he brought on Daniel Boys, one of the Joseph finalists from Any Dream Will Do. I'll admit, I wasn't particularly keen on the idea (I hate those programmes and wanted to see more of John, to be honest), but Daniel was fantastic; he sang three songs (I am a terrible person and can't remember what they were, but one was a Josh Groban song and one was from Hercules, to my recollection) and was adorable with the crowd; "Woo!"ing back whenever he got cheers, and being lovely and modest. Plus, he's a brilliant singer; he's in Avenue Q in the West End, and I can see why he's doing so well. John was incredibly complimentary of him; bringing him back on stage for a massive hug and more audience appreciation.

(And before you ask, yes, there were jokes about how nice it must be to have Daniel's hand up...there. Mind in the gutter, that bloke. Mind you, nothing less than what we were expecting. There was a little stand-off with the band over some misplaced Preparation H as well; "Who's got piles?!" He was adorably filthy-minded all evening, and we loved it!)

Following Daniel Boys, there was a groovy little session with the band, who he introduced one at a time whilst they all did their little riffs on their instruments (the man who played percussion was brilliant - I wish I could remember his name. *shame*), and he danced along. The band were lovely all evening; so talented and on the ball, and shamelessly flirty and teasing with John. John called them his family, and you could really see why; they all seemed really close, and it must've been a shame for the tour to end.

John then performed Moonriver, which was absolutely beautiful, and then the song Please Remember Me, which was dedicated to Sandie Gill, his partner's sister, who died of brain cancer a few years ago. The whole theatre went absolutely silent to hear his story; her husband had already died of cancer a few years previously, and her and Scott's brother, in a horrible irony, couldn't help her, despite being one of the top brain surgeons in the country. Sandie exceeded the life expectancy given to her by her doctor, but sensed that she didn't have long; the night before she died, she rang up everyone she knew, and when she spoke to John, she said, "Please take care of my brother." She died the next mornings, and the song was for her; what John imagined she wanted to say to her kids. The story, and the way he told it and sang it, makes me choke up just writing about it, and had both him and the audience in tears by the time he'd finished. It's so rare to see John so vulnerable like that, and it really affected everyone watching. To the girl who shouted, "We're with you, John!", that was so lovely, and he definitely appreciated it.

There was a lovely little bit of business with a hanky that was thrown on stage; John gave a massive comedy nose blow then handed it back to her, saying, "Thank you very much. Here, six hundred quid on e-bay." Which led to possibly my favourite exchange of the night.

"It's close to my heart now."
"Close to your heart? My bogies?"

My memory of the evening gets a bit muddled around this point, because at some point there was a flurry of presents being put onto the stage, but I'm sure it was before Please Remember Me, or maybe in the first half. Anyway, one lady put some roses on the stage, which led to another, and another, until the front of the stage was heaped with gifts, leaving John pretty bemused. I now understand why his ego gets a little out of hand sometimes; when you've got women throwing roses and cards and knickers at you (and yes, knickers; there was a whole bunch chucked on stage, to his delight), then your self-esteem is bound to give a big leap.

The woman sat next to Tara deposited a bottle of alcohol of some kind, and John leaned down and said "Give us a kiss!", and she, to our great amusement, lay several smackers on him that left him reeling backwards. I had to admire her; I'd never have the nerve to do that! She sounded a little embarassed afterwards, saying, "I know you've got Scott..." to which he replied, with a grin, "Well...never say never!" She practically bounced to her seat, and we spent a considerable amount of time later, in the scrum at the exit, telling her quite how envious we were of her.

Whew. Fingers hurting again, but I'm damned if I'm letting this span over three entries. Anyway, the following exchange preluded his next song.

John: Now, Portsmouth, I'm gonna tell you a little secret.
Audience: Oooooo!
Random Audience Member: *yells something*
John: What was that?
RAM: YOU'RE STRAIGHT!

Whereupon John cracked the hell up for about a minute and a half. It was glorious! Then he came back, with:

"I remember when I was first getting into the business; I'd meet with all these executives who'd be whispering, he can't be gay, he just can't be! I thought, back then, when I'm forty-five, I'm definitely gonna come out as straight and freak everyone out!"

Following that, he sang the song I won't send roses - which, according to Scott, is him down to a tee, which surprised us all, really. He seemed quite embarassed singing it, but it was a beautiful performance and you could tell that he meant it, despite having performed it dozens of times before. I have to admit, even though the song was about him and Scott, halfway through I turned to whisper at Tara, "Jack and Ianto!" because to my ears, the song seemed to scarily fit them. This is what comes of being involved in fandom for a while...

After that (and raucous applause), John donned a sparkly jacket, and I instantly knew what was coming; yep, I am what I am, and oh, it was so good. That song has gone down in folklore as John's signature song, and it was sensational. He put his all into it, and the audience were on their feet by the time he was done. He went off, then came back with an encore about thirty seconds later. He thanked everyone; the stage crew, the band, the organisers, and us (which...well, you can imagine the "you're welcome!" we supplied him with).

He ended by getting on his soapbox a little and talking about advancing music programmes in schools (the speech's effect was slightly marred by him saying "I know you care about sport, here in Portsmouth...", and that comment being greeted by a massive laugh), then sang the song Heaven, which he said represented what he had with Scott, and what his parents have after thirty-odd years of marriage (we, promptly, melted into puddles for the fiftieth time that evening), and finally ended with That's Life - the absolute perfect, cheeky, brilliant song to end with which, again, had the audience on their feet and giving him their all. He stayed on stage for a few minutes, thanking everyone through their applause and shaking hands with the front row (lucky bastards) before he finally, finally, left the stage.

So. There it was. The best evening I've possibly ever spent; I don't know about Tara, but I'm convinced the whole thing gave me some kind of drug-effect. I was on a massive high from it until halfway through the next day, whereupon I arrived back in Cheltenham after yet another long and rainy journey, and just went...sort of flat. Later that evening I went to see Dara O'Briain with some friends, something I'd been looking forward to for ages, and I just couldn't get into it. Is that a normal feeling? I felt I was still recovering; I wasn't in the right mindset. Plus, he wasn't as funny as I'd been expecting, and we were being bugged by several drunk, Welsh hecklers just down the row. But, another digression.

The journey back to Pokesdown from the Guildhall was a bit fraught; we ended up in a completely empty, freezing station, bashing a vending machine to make it dispense some goods before hopping onto a train set for Bournemouth that turned out to take forever to get back - still, it gave us a chance to have several long conversations about writing, slash, and relationships. And sluts we know and love. And also hate.

(Also, to the man who stared at me as I swore repeatedly at the vending machine when it refused to accept my money; I was hyper! I needed food! Give me some credit! The damn thing hated me, although it suited Tara fine.)

I left Pokesdown at eleven thirty, in the pouring rain, but frankly not in a tearing rush this time. It was horrible saying goodbye to Tara again, but we've promised to meet for Pride London on July 5th, so we've got that to look forward. Going to the Barrowman concert could never have been half as fun as it was without her; her excitement was infectious, and she also helped calm me down when I got a little too into it. I'll miss her, but we speak on the phone a lot, and hopefully she'll wing her way over here to read this.

*waves*

So...that's it. I went straight back to school, and straight away, the shit has hit the exam-fan. Remember last year's exam woes? Well, they're making an unwelcome return, and have returned in bulk rather than gradually. Ack, it's not good. I have a German oral AS next Thursday, off on study leave the following Friday, and my first exam is on May 16th.

However evil GCSEs are, AS-levels are doubly evil. I have three-hour exams with tiny breaks in between them; exam boards clearly think we are either robots, ambidextrous, or just incapable of being exhausted. Perhaps they've been watching Skins and think we're running on Ecstasy. Bastards. Have they ever tried writing about the intricacies of electoral reform and constitutional sources for three hours? It's fascinating stuff, sure, but three hours in the Gym doing that? Yuck. Still, it has to be done.

RIGHT. MUST GO. My fingers hurt now, but I'm glad I wrote all that up. Hopefully it wasn't too boring. It was...so good. I can't begin to describe how much I love that man, and how good he is onstage. He is, as I always suspected, spectacular. Here's hoping for a Pride London reappearance.

Better go.

Rosby out, feelin' good. I'll keep you posted on the exams of doom.

P.S. How on earth did I live seventeen years without discovering this song until now? It's insane, wild, bewildering..and utterly brilliant.

2008-04-27T12:25:00.000-07:00

I didn't manage to get to Gloucester, in the end. Still, I don't mind especially; I'm seeing David Tennant in September anyway, and I've some friends who got a kick out of being so close to the filming. Gloucester cathedral's getting pretty popular for a filming location, isn't it?

Anyway, I looked at the blog today and realised that I still haven't written about the night of Barrowman. God knows who'd really be interested, but writing about it is a kind of a self-gratification exercise as well as for the interest of other people; it'll serve as an archive for a fantastic experience that I can look back on in the future, and writing is a brilliant exorcism.

So. It took me several hours, by way of three different trains, to get down to Pokesdown to meet Tara, who I hadn't seen in six months and had come up with the idea of the concert in the first place. I don't think I've mentioned Tara in here, which is a shame; I met her on the writer's course during the summer, and she is already one of the best friends I've ever had; she's wacky, she's kind, she's so creative, and we have masses in common. She is incredibly funny and very excitable - the PERFECT companion for a Barrowman night out!

Anyway, three trains, many stations, lots of rainfall, and a long and involved discussion about Torchwood and John Barrowman with some lovely fangirls on a train later, I reached Pokesdown (just on the outskirts of Bournemouth) and had a lovely reunion with Tara - it was fantastic to see her again, pink tights and messy bedroom and all. Within two minutes...

"Tara?"
"Yeah?"
"D'you realise that in three and a quarter hours we will be seeing John Barrowman live on stage?"
"I KNOW!!!"

Whereupon we jumped up and down and had our first screaming attack of many that evening. This is what John Barrowman does to the two of us.

We caught up, we surfed the net, we killed ourselves laughing at Eddie Izzard ("I'm Darth Vader, I'm your boss." "What, you're Mr Stevens?" "Who's Mr Stevens?" "He's head of catering." "I AM NOT HEAD OF CATERING!") , we got dressed into our finery (in Tara's words, looking "goddamn sexy"), and we headed out, in a considerable rush and high panic, to the train station, where we nearly missed the train out due to underestimating how much time we had.

(In retrospect, it may have been a bad idea to both dash down the street in high heels, waving at the men at the bus stop who were staring at us and shouting, "Barrowman, we're coming!")

All I seem to remember of the short train journeys to Portsmouth that followed were me constantly panicking that we were going to be late and not let into the Guildhall, and Tara telling me, in no uncertain terms, to calm the bloody hell down. I've unfortunately inherited my Mum's penchant for travel paranoia; I love going on excursions, but everything has to be meticulously planned and time left in case anything goes wrong. It's in the genes, and it does begin to irratate people after a while.

Still, as predicted by lovely Tara, absolutely none of the worry mattered, as we reached Portsmouth half an hour before the concert, and the Guildhall was literally right next to the station. I felt a wee bit sheepish after that, but my worry served an excellent purpose, as I'll shortly explain.

(I've read through all this, and God, it sounds very dull, not in the least bit creative. I'll try and spice it up.)

For those who haven't seen it, the Guildhall is incredible-looking from the outside; I posted a picture last time, but it really is brilliant; it's incredibly ornate and stretches up to the sky; looking over a massive plaza; pillars and statues at the top of (what seemed to me), about a million steps. Tara and I (and a couple of her friends who we'd bumped into at Southampton Station), all let out a collective breath of amazement when we rounded the corner and saw it looming, in all its glory.

I knew, right then at that first glance, that we were in for a spectacular night.

The butterflies began as soon as we went inside and saw the queue, and the Barrowman paraphenalia being sold. I began to realise that this was it; we were actually here. A vague plan made months ago had come to complete and total fruition, and we were poised on the edge of utter brilliance and incredible excitement. Everyone knows the feeling of delicious anticipation; it stirs in your stomach just as it begins and you realise how much there is still to come, and relish. It's a bloody brilliant feeling.

That anticipation was heightened when we entered the auditorium, which was smaller than I expected, until I saw the stage, which is bloody massive; it's very wide and stretches very far back, and when we filed in, it was all set out with instruments for the band; saxophones and keyboards and guitars and drums and percussion.

That was when it started.

Have you ever been so completely excited that it takes over your entire body, and brain? That you're taken aback by your own reactions, by how much it utterly absorbs you, from the roots of your hair to the edges of your toenails?

That happened to me.

I had never felt so excited, as me and Tara sat in our designated seats in Row K (which were wonderfully close to the stage), than I did in that half hour of waiting. In my head, it seemed, all the worry about trains and lateness had been replaced with this bubbling, happy, almost hysterical excitement. I know it sounds sad, but it just overtook me; my stomach contained a million butterflies that wouldn't stay still for a moment, my breaths took on a shallow edge, and I couldn't stop laughing in amazement, a little thing I do when I'm excited. Everything seemed to trigger me; the sight of the stage, the fans, the seats slowly filling up, the background music, it was electric to me. Tara thought I was adorable, and in retrospect, I must have looked a little insane to someone watching me closely, but I managed to keep it in check. Just. I did a lot of seat-wriggling, though.

(Tara was also ridiculously excited, as well. In fact, she probably deserved to be so more than me; she's never seen him live before, whereas this was my second time in a year. She bit my arm at one point to try and contain herself - I know that sounds very weird, but it was perfectly acceptable under the circumstances.)

Finally, finally, after half an hour of increasing excitement, of happy discussions with the ladies on our row, of frantic capslocked texts sent to friends and my Dad (who replied Get a grip, you wally!), half past seven arrived. The band came on stage to cheers from the very packed audience, the lights dimmed, an unknown voice rang out "Ladies and Gentlemen...", at which point Tara and I grabbed each other so tight it's a surprise we didn't suffocate, "...Mr John Barrowman!"

Then the theatre erupted, we whooped and clapped, I peered over someone's shoulder, and there was John Barrowman coming onto the stage. As gorgeous and as large-as-life as he appears. We went crazy; I'll never forget Tara bouncing up and down in her seat. The butterflies took off and exited me in the form of screams.

John Barrowman had entered the building, and was causing a storm of excitement in his wake. Lord, do I love that man!

He began straight away with the Latin-American themed It had to be tonight - which, after research on my part, is apparently a Michael Buble song. And this may be a redundant statement, but John Barrowman can fucking sing. He is brilliant. He gave the song incredible life and was clearly enjoying himself, dancing away during the instrumentals and providing the audience with some arse-wiggling (which we *greatly* appreciated). After that he moved straight onto You're so vain, which I didn't recognise until the chorus. I'm not a massive fan of that song, but John can make anything sound good (as evidenced later on in the show), and it was, again, bloody wonderful. Afterwards, he greeted the audience (to explosive screaming), and told us about how he'd been rung up by Carly Simon and asked to do a duet of that song, and he described the experience as completely surreal. He also did an impression of Carly that had the audience in total hysterics.

There's something about John Barrowman, and being a fan of John Barrowman, by extension; despite him being a lovely, cheeky, entertaining man, there is a certain disconnect when you're viewing him on television. David Tennant is very much a "bloke"; despite being so famous, he's reassuringly normal and charmingly bewildered at all the attention he gets. John Barrowman is different in that respect - perhaps it's the American in him; the massive, loud personality, or the fact that he's done so much, but it's often hard to imagine him living a normal life. He gets everywhere, and sometimes you think of him as just a star rather than just a bloke. On stage, there is still an element of this left (I spent half the concert thinking, sweet Lord, John fucking Barrowman is right in front of us), but he makes up for it by being absolutely absorbed in what he sings. Whatever song it is, he means it absolutely, and is so involved and so brilliant that it's infectious. Performing musically is when he is the most sincere, and throughout the concert, we got to see further depths of John Barrowman rather than his personality on all the shows he ends up on; the funny, giggly, banter-y one which joked and flirted with the audience and the band, and the serious and touching side, which doesn't come out very often and moved us considerably. Long story short, he may seem unreachable, but when he sings, you can see more of him, somehow.

ANYWAY. His next song was Milly Molly Mandy, a song he sang when he was five in Scotland, accompanied by childish dance moves which made us all laugh and go, "Awww!" It was adorable! Following that, he brought on a dummy with Captain's Jack's coat draped over it (eliciting a staggering response from the crowd - the coat!), and dedicated a song to Jack Harkness from The Wizard and I, except he changed some of the lyrics and called it The Doctor and I - it was a lovely dedication and we all went a bit nuts over the defabrication request. I was half-hoping David Tennant might appear, but I was obviously underestimating his schedule.

Following that (although I'm not sure of the exact order) was Every little thing she does is magic, and Time after time, accompanied by a heartbreaking story about a friend in America who tested positive for HIV, and his father, not finding anything to say, sent him a package with this song on cassette, with a note saying the song said everything that he wanted to say. It was an incredibly emotive peformance and moved a lot of the audience to tears, including me. After that was Weekend in New England, a Barry Mannilow song for his manager Gavin ("A big gayer, like me!"), and he did a hilarious impression of his first "meeting" with Barry, when he saw his jet plane fly over his hotel and jumped up and down yelling, "HI, BARRY!"

Then there was Anything Goes, a personal favourite of mine that had me squirming in my seat with glee, followed by Where is love from Oliver, (although he caused hysteria by imitating Nancy in a cockney accent at first. And don't get me started about the jokes involving the word Nancy.) The first half ended with Man of la Mancha with him saying he would love to play Don Quixote one day, as "he's a little crazy, like me."

Whew. My fingers really hurt from typing now, and God only knows how long this entry is already. I may come back to it tomorrow. It's becoming lacklustre as I get more tired.

More tomorrow, I promise, if you haven't died of boredom already. Plus, my thoughts on Doctor Who. Watch this space!

2008-04-22T12:04:00.001-07:00

GAHAJGHJHDLNH;;

*flail*

THEY'RE FILMING DOCTOR WHO IN MY OWN COUNTY. GLOUCESTER CATHEDRAL.

*gulp*

I should get down there.

2008-04-20T14:15:00.000-07:00

Concert report coming soon, I promise. Just as soon as I can properly articulate the words. It put me on such a massive high, then low, that I'm still recovering.

Yes, I am that sad.

Complete fangirly indulgence ahead!

2008-04-17T08:57:00.001-07:00

OH SWEET MOTHER OF MERCY.

DAVID TENNANT IS COMING TO THE CHELTENHAM LITERATURE FESTIVAL. WITH CATHERINE TATE.

DAVID TENNANT IS COMING TO MY TOWN! HE'S COMING HERE!

CAN'T STOP CAPSLOCKING.

...sorry. But SQUEEEEE! Hurrah! It's not until October, and for all I know he could cancel (he's a busy man, after all, and after the fiasco we had with Russell Brand I'm not completely trusting), but if I manage to get tickets then I will see him twice in two months; first at Hamlet, then in Cheltenham. Seriously. HE'S COMING HERE. SERIOUSLY.

Christ; been a fan since mid-2005 (before Doctor Who, contrary to what a lot of my friends think), never seen him in the flesh, then twice in two months! I am dashing to the box office as soon as I can and finding things out. Those tickets will go like hot-cakes.

I could never miss out on that. Imagine how I'd feel if I did! I'd go the whole day thinking David Tennant is less than a mile away from me, and I won't get to see him! I hope it's not on a Saturday; I won't be able to take any more days off work.

ANYWAY. Drifting. It's not until October; I have time. Still, super-excited! Bweeee!

Had better go and pack overnight things for tomorrow, or as I'm calling it, Barrowman Day. Ohohoho. This is going to be good. I did some probing, though, and it turns out that he doesn't greet people stage-door on this tour. I was a little miffed, but it's my fault, really; I underestimated the size of this tour. I mean, I'm seeing him at the Portsmouth Guildhall, and I had NO idea what it looked like until yesterday. Look! It even has pillars!

If John appeared at the stage door he'd be mobbed. I didn't realise how massive all of his venues were. Still, I don't really care. Live! Seeing him LIVE! And from what I've heard so far from other fans, it promises to be a brilliant show. And, with any luck (although my original plan of asking him for confirmation has now been scrapped), he'll be appearing at Pride London again, so off on another trip! Tara will come with me and Emma this time, so God knows what's going to happen to Barrowman when we've finished with him.

(Psh - finish with him. Who am I kidding? We'll just stand in the middle of the street with our mouths open like we did last time. Still, we weren't expecting him last time, so you've got to allow a little mitigating circumstance for the frozenness.)

RIGHT. HAVE TO GO.

Will report back mid-Saturday, possibly with pictures. Wish me luck, people! I'll see you on the capitalised side.

This is going to be spectacular.

2008-04-06T07:57:00.001-07:00

Doctor Who is back, people!

And, I must confess, I was so involved in Torchwood that I didn't notice it coming - then BAM; straight after thirteen weeks of solid Barrowman, we get thirteen weeks of solid Tennant. With Barrowman mixed in near the end. Hurrah!

Overall, I loved it. I missed the first ten minutes due to spaghetti boiling (which had me flicking frantically from room to room until I gave up and concentrated on the pasta before it overboiled), but it was easy to follow. Due to, great shock, being three years older than when it started, it's impossible to take Who seriously, but I loved it all the same; the little fat-babies were absolutely adorable, and Miss Foster, although seeming like a complete characature to me, was deliciously evil enough to scare the little kiddies. Plus, it was refreshing to have a motive other than destroy/take over the Earth. It's good to have a villain who cares.

(Lord, that sounds like some kind of advert.)

And Catherine Tate! I'll admit, I was one of the ones who was slightly annoyed by the addition of Catherine Tate; she's a great actress, but I found Donna relentless irritating in The Runaway Bride, and didn't think I'd enjoy that for thirteen straight weeks. However, I really enjoyed her in this; her experience with the Doctor has definitely changed her; she seems to have become more assertive, has a more meaningful perspective on life, yet she's still very ballsy and down-to-earth. Also, I love the relationship she has with the Doctor; they work very well as partners in crime, and the contrast between them is played out very well.

Time will tell if she'll capture the hearts of the public, but she seems to be doing brilliantly so far. I've read that the relationship between the two is more matey this time around, which seems to bode well; from what we can witness with Martha, unrequited love for the Doctor clearly doesn't do a lot of good. Not that it can be helped, I'm sure. I was glad to hear the Doctor expressing his guilt over his treatment of Martha; hopefully it'll lay a nice foundation for when we see her later on in the series. Hurrah!

So, all in all, good episode; a nice, ridiculous, fun-filled romp for an early Saturday evening. The new time-slot is irritating, though. What is it with the BBC and scheduling? Torchwood was completely all over the place; is that going to happen with Who as well?

Also, that bit with Rose?

I may have flailed. Just a tiny bit. Out of surprise. Bwee!

As for Torchwood...gah. I cried. I was completely spoiled for the deaths of Owen and Tosh, but I still cried. The episode itself...ehh...I loved it, but I was really hoping for something a lot stronger, and which made a modicum of sense. Also, the actor playing Jack's brother Gray was diabolical, to be honest, and the whole premise seemed very squashed together, and there wasn't enough room for any real development of the character, or of his relationship with Jack.

Still, James Marsters took another winning turn (although, as with Gray, the accent was a bit off. I haven't seen Buffy before - does his British accent fluctuate in that, as well?), and there was good acting all-round, especially from Naoko Mori and Burn Gorman. God, I'm going to miss Owen and Tosh. And Torchwood! This series has been a million miles better than last series, and the future of it is very uncertain. Still, I have thirteen episodes to enjoy at my leisure, and Jack will be cropping up very soon!

(And I'll be seeing John Barrowman live before that. But that's for another day.)

In addition, as read in Deathray magazine, Gwen and Ianto are meant to crop up in Doctor Who as well! SQUEEEEEE! God knows for how long, but it's been said more than once, and...oh hell, I don't care. IANTO! AND GWEN! IN DOCTOR WHO! YAYYYYYY!

...ahem. I'm rather excited about that.

RIGHT. That's the review done. Doctor Who is back! I'm going to miss the next episode, though, which is annoying; I'm off tomorrow to Turkey for a week, which promises to be fun. I still haven't packed, though. Next week (I think) is James Moran's episode, so make sure you give him some nice feedback on his blog; he's a lovely guy and hilarious with it.

Had better go and pack my suitcase. Will definitely post when I get back, on the second episode. Also, if you come back here after the 18th and see several posts filled with incoherent capslock and the letter "e" repeated many times, that means I've seen John Barrowman. And talked to him. And gone mental.

Bye!

And many more...

2008-03-23T10:52:00.000-07:00

Today, I am seventeen years old.

I started writing this blog when I was about fourteen years and three months old.

*blinks a little*

I wish I could have looked forward and marvelled about the years afterwards. So much seems to have changed, yet if you look back, most has remained the same. I'm still at school. Still good at the same things, bad at the same things. I'm just that bit more mature and have a more realistic and practical view on the world.

My provisional driving license has arrived, and soon I'll be getting lessons, so if you hear about a car pile-up on the M5 caused by someone with an L plate, that may be me. The whole thing is freaking me out slightly, but it's another step on the road to adulthood. Dad's been looking forward to this for years; I'll finally be able to give him and his best friend a lift home from their annual piss-up at the Postlip Beer Festival. I told him he shouldn't get his hopes up for this year. July 2009, perhaps. God, by that time I will have left school! This is all piling on, people.

(And I am exceedingly thankful that my birthday will never be on Easter Sunday again; nowhere is open, all my friends are with their families, and none of the banks are open until Tuesday. It's probably just as well I'm not part of a religious family; it must be very odd sharing a birthday with the supposed rebirth of Jesus.)

(And is it wrong, blasphemous, and disrespectful that I keep referring to him as "Jeebus" in ordinary conversation? Hmm.)

Anyway, there is chocolate that needs to be eaten, driving documents to be stored and films that need to be watched. God speed, people!

Seventeen-year-old Rosby out. In a car, soon. Watch this space.

2008-03-13T14:02:00.000-07:00

Ahem.

I may have just yelled, "CONTACT ME, YOU BLOODY WASTE OF AIR!" at my laptop screen.

Oh dear. This woman is making me lose it. But, come on! My work experience is in question, here; I've e-mailed her and phoned her multiple times and SHE WILL NOT REPLY! Even school's had trouble contacting her.

GAGH.

Sorry.

You're not the only one

2008-03-03T12:09:00.001-08:00

Ganked from Lisa:

A new blogging book is being released to raise money for WARCHILD.

Entitled You're not the only one, the book is a collection of blog entries from across the sphere about the journeys and progressions people have made through their lives. The deadline for entries has been extended until the 9th March.

Do submit a piece of writing, if you can; it's for a good cause, and you'll have a chance to read some brilliant stories.

Torchwood - A Day in the Death

2008-02-27T14:52:00.000-08:00

Thought the first: Oh dear LORD that was brilliant. I have completely underestimated Burn Gorman; the man is fantastic.

Thought the second: The Torchwood fandom is about to explode into its usual, self-righteous, moaning wank over a little moment between Jack and Gwen in the trailer. Just thought I'd prepare the popcorn now before the angry capslock starts flying.

*sigh*

I'm about half the age of these people and I act with about double the maturity. On matters like this, anyway.

Longer post coming up.

2008-02-20T13:33:00.000-08:00

*waves a blunt, heavy instrument in Take That's direction*

Gagh.

2008-02-11T10:54:00.000-08:00

Forget exam stress and Drama annoyance and school driving me down, forget it all; one of my e-mails was read out on The Bugle.

And John Oliver laughed.

SOMETHING I HAVE WRITTEN HAS MADE JOHN OLIVER LAUGH.

It sounds stupid, but I am so, so happy. I LOVE this podcast, it's the funniest thing in the world, and they read out my e-mail! Almost word-for-word! And I made John Oliver laugh!

*sigh*

If you're interested in listening, you can listen to a stream of the podcast following from the link above. My e-mail starts at around 22:44, but the whole podcast will make you laugh; they're brilliant, both of them.

2008-02-07T13:42:00.000-08:00

I really have nothing to say, I just wanted to enjoy this.

2008-02-05T13:08:00.000-08:00

If I don't post for a while, it means I'm a) Dying from stress, b) Already dead from stress, c) Watching Torchwood, or d) All three. Torchwood negates the other two, see. It's an odd but effective antidote.

(I'm doing Drama for AS. We perform in nine days. Did I mention dying of stress?)

2008-02-02T13:32:00.000-08:00

You know how so many people listen to a song that just slays them?

I think I've found mine.

I can't listen to it without feeling emotional. It got into my head at work earlier and I started welling up just as a customer was approaching. It's heart-felt and jazzy and beautiful and bittersweet and so real, somehow.

And, annoyingly, I have no idea where it comes from. It's live, and from a few years ago, and it's not one of her songs, or on any of her albums. But it's lovely.

Torchwood - To the Last Man

2008-01-30T15:17:00.000-08:00

...I can't. I actually can't. If I start typing I will never stop, and it will be capslocked, and it will contain numerous recurrences of the letter "e".

Also, I may start crying.

God, I'm so immature.

2008-01-27T14:26:00.000-08:00

Re: My previous post.

I may or may not have used a stream of swearwords, pounded the laptop in frustration, then started crying.

Fuck it; what the hell is University going to be like if I can't cope with this?

2008-01-27T12:44:00.000-08:00

Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. I have a large Pride and Prejudice essay to finish, a house to comb for Drama props, countless other things to prepare for, and that pesky internet is luring me in with its countless gems of wonder.

As is John Barrowman's autobiography, which I bought earlier today.

God. I should have a stronger will than this. Why on earth did Torchwood have to start in the midst of a schoolwork pile-up? I feel like my head's about to explode.

I keep saying to myself that if I manage to meet him in April, I'll chide him for exacerbating my procrastination. But that's shite, really, because I'll just end up stammering and may accidentally hug him without saying anything.

MUST GET BACK TO IT.

(Also, the "z" key on my keyboard isn't working particularly well. I AM DOING A PRIDE AND PREJUDICE ESSAY. This does not bode well.)

2008-01-22T14:48:00.000-08:00

Heath Ledger dead at twenty-eight.

I know this isn't the sort of story that should really rattle my nerves, but...Jesus. Twenty-eight? And Christ, what was he doing? Drug overdose?

I still have a poster of Brokeback Mountain on my bedroom wall.

God, I spent all that time obsessing over Brokeback Mountain, and admiring him and Jake Gyllenhaal, and wishing that I could meet them and thank them for affecting me so much, and now this happens. My stomach gave an odd lurch when I saw the headline and it still feels incredibly weird. He's got a little daughter, as well; she's two years old, poor thing.

(I shouldn't be affected by this, I know, I'm not one for obsessing over celebrity deaths, but that film and its cast was so ingrained in my consciousness that I've never really forgotten it. If I look back over the blog I'll find dozens of references to him.)

I'd better go to bed.

2008-01-17T11:34:00.001-08:00

Oh dear.

I may or may not have watched this scene about twenty times since I first watched the episode.

Gah.

The high-frequency pitch sounds have gone by now, but...hmm.

Coherency and rationality pending. Watch this space.

2008-01-16T13:46:00.000-08:00

Right.

According to my laptop, it is 21:49. I have been sitting doing English homework whilst the Torchwood fandom melts beneath me. Or above me. Anyhow, it's somewhere where I'm not. Frankly, I think I've shown remarkable self-restraint.

(I couldn't see the start of the episode because I was out at Tae Kwon Do.)

Homework is done, floor will be cleared momentarily, the mobile is next to me (I already have two texts from different people in capitals, to which I responded, "For God's sake, don't tell me anything!"), and the DVD has done its magic. Hopefully. If it hasn't recorded I will kick the sodding thing.

21:51.

Here goes nothing, people. I'm about to step into the pathetic flaily fangirly abyss. Wish me luck!

(I'll be back with a reaction soon.)

2008-01-12T13:35:00.000-08:00

WHAT?

Oh, come on!

...or am I the only one?

2008-01-02T15:37:00.000-08:00

Hello there, you insanely brilliant piece of work!

I am officially squeed and flailed out since finding out about this this morning.

I know it's sad.

But I don't really care.

TWO MORE WEEKS.

*goes back to doing something more important*

2007-12-29T13:43:00.000-08:00

Just watched the Christmas special of Extras.

...oh, help.

2007-12-24T14:04:00.000-08:00

To quote Marie, this blog is also dying. It's obvious. The thing is...I can't really permanently stop writing in it. It serves as an archive to what I now call my formative years (even though they were about three years ago), and I think if I keep writing, I'll be able to look back and observe a maturity progression. I'm already doing that, anyway; I keep looking back at various entries and wondering how the hell people could stand reading them.

Well, it's Christmas Eve; the festive season has completely passed me by due to long hours at work and mountains of homework from school. I've noticed it, of course, (how could you not?), but it hasn't affected me, at all. Not the slightest, smallest twinge of excitement at all. Not anymore.

This time was bound to come, of course. I'm still feeling pangs of loss, though. Christmas was such a exciting time of my life for about fourteen years, and the last two have seen me mature to the point where I can see through it. But, I'll never feel those twinges again. Dad's told me that Christmas is fun when you have young kids, but who's to say I'll have children? I haven't exactly warmed to the idea so far.

This is maturity. This is approaching adulthood. When I was young, I thought being an adult would feel grand and fine and important; from what I'm experiencing, the beginning of adulthoodm seems to be comprised of contemplation; "...so that's how it is."

And so it goes.

Joe's back. He came home a few days ago. I never did tell him how much I missed him, and I doubt I will. We're the typical siblings; we'll probably remain stoic to the very end. I've barely seen him, but it's lovely to have him home. We suspect he'll spend New Year up in Liverpool, with his new friends. Either that, or stay home and get blind drunk with some of his old ones still in Cheltenham. Either way, there'll be booze involved.

I'm tempted to a full year round-up, even though I still have a week left. Anything could happen. But...this has been the year. It's had everything. GCSEs, writer's course, gay pride, new and old televisual obsessions, sixth form, new friends, old friends, politics, love sickness, love confessions (well, it wasn't love, but I confessed its equivalent nonetheless. Also had it confessed to me.), Stewart, Colbert, Barrowman, Aygeman, Norton...

I grew up this year. Not completely, absolutely not completely. I still have a large streak of childishness left in me; anyone who was at Diana's party last night can tell you that. Doesn't everyone? No one ever completely grows up. But last year, I was on the cusp; I've moved forward off the cusp about a hundred miles. At least, that's how I feel. It's terrifying, and a little sad when I think about what I've left behind, but at the same time it's exhilarating and unknown and liberating.

The adventure's beginning. Next year I turn seventeen. I'll drive, I'll do AS exams, I'll (hopefully) go to China, I'll visit universities, I'll choose universities. I will, at some point, say the hardest goodbye to someone I think I've ever had to say. But again, that's good, in a way; we need to be unhappy sometimes, to grow up. Isn't it all part of the process?

Plus, I'll do all the less important things as well; I'll keep beating people up and being beaten up at Tae Kwon Do, I'll be glued to the telly, I'll eat my weight in cucumber and biscuits, I'll keep teching and attempting to understand why the tech crew eat chocolate pudding from Farmfoods. I'll have fun. It all balances out.

I'm sorry if I'm rambling, but I've been thinking about this all day. It's been brought on by the Christmas fandango surrounding everyone, I think.

Better go. The radiator is becoming cold, and I ought to be sociable and finish watching Pirates with my parents. Plus, I need to put Joe's present under the tree.

Have a good Christmas, everyone. Enjoy yourselves, and enjoy the new year! (Watch Mr Jools Holland, if you can.)

Rosby, almost-an-adult-but-not-quite, signing off for now. Talk to you soon.

2007-12-19T09:35:00.000-08:00

OH MY GOD.

LOOK AT IT!

SQUEEEEEEEE!

*jumps up and down*

2007-11-29T15:19:00.000-08:00

Is this what going mad feels like? I'm sitting on a bed desperately trying to finish a ferociously hard Politics slideshow on the effectiveness of Parliament, my Dad's laptop keeps performing bizarre actions without me pressing any buttons, and I have the loathed Kate Nash in my head.

It doesn't sound particularly mad, but my head may explode before midnight.

2007-11-23T15:54:00.001-08:00

It doesn't matter how many times I listen to Amy Winehouse's Valerie on repeat, or mull over the impending production at school on Monday, or even just get ready for work tomorrow.

I'm still not going to be able to sleep.

2007-11-17T10:26:00.001-08:00

PHILL JUPITUS IS A GOD AMONGST MEN.

SO ARE THE BLOCKHEADS.

That is all.

2007-11-02T11:58:00.000-07:00

So. I've been working for WHSmith for about five weeks now, four and a half hours every Saturday, with a fairly large sprinkling of extra hours in between. By rights I should have earned over a hundred pounds by now. Checked my bank account today; turns out I've been paid for three weeks of work.

...yes, that is the sound of me seething. How did you tell?

Oh, GOD. I mean, admittedly, there was a tiny mix-up with the pay, as they told me, because they somehow didn't know which hours I had worked, despite the fact that THEY asked me to work them. Nonetheless, I went and recorded them in the appropriate place, and they said I would be paid on Friday. Naturally, I assumed I'd be paid for all the hours I'd worked, including the regular ones for five weeks. Evidently I was a little too hopeful on that account.

Fuck. FUCK. I made a tiny mistake; why the hell has this happened?

Shit. I'll have to go into work tomorrow and sort all this out. Methinks they won't think too kindly of me talking to them again. But...I haven't been paid, for God's sake!

Once again, fuck. Angry.

...and, as it turns out, my Dad probably is too. Just got off the phone with my Mum; turns out the Meatloaf concert they were due to go to in Birmingham is cancelled. I am NOT looking forward to seeing how disappointed he'll be when he gets home.

Also, did I mention that school is attempting to steal my soul?

Even this can't cheer me up.

Well...maybe just a tad.

2007-10-29T07:22:00.000-07:00

HELP.

2007-10-25T08:34:00.000-07:00

What?

What?

WHAT???

Season 7 starts tonight?

Where the hell did all that time go?

Season 7! Tonight!

YAYYYYYYY!

*dashes off*

2007-10-21T10:08:00.000-07:00

Christ, I need to post more. I really do. Ironically, this is one to say I'll be out of action for three days; the Bournemouth trip worked out and I'm off tomorrow. Hurrah!

2007-10-17T07:57:00.000-07:00

What was a simple plan to go and see a friend at half term is quickly turning into some kind of nightmare. The only route I can find from Cheltenham to Pokesdown by train, I have to change twice at Bristol Temple Meads and Southampton.

And bearing in mind I haven't really travelled alone by train before, that doesn't settle the nerves.

Crap. Why didn't I do this when I was younger?

GAGH.

That is all.

2007-10-13T11:11:00.000-07:00

Ten thoughts:

GAGH. I am never watching The Shining in the dark ever again. Christ, it gets scarier every time I see it.

School is confusing me a bit. I seem to love it and hate it on alternate days; on one day I'll be swamped with work, triple-booked for everything and absolutely adoring it, and on other days, my hair will be standing on end and my fingernails chewed to bits. It's tough going. Still...I'm a student. Not a pupil, a student. How on earth can you beat that?

Happy Belated Birthday, Lisa! Hope you have/had a great time.

I am sans internet, and have been for about a week. I can't quite begin to describe just how irritating that is. My laptop is just not connecting to the network, for no reason at all. This is being typed on my Dad's laptop, which I commandeer every time he's not using it. Like now, for instance.

Work is going well. I'm on my third week and haven't been sacked yet, so I'm counting that as a positive. I'm learning things quickly, and I'm making less of an arse of myself every time I go in.

Speaking of arses, I have learned due to permanently full hands at school, that they are fabulous at opening doors.

I'm seeing the beginnings of Christmas in the shops. Not full-blown, but just little hints of what is to come. Gah.

Hmm. Anyone think he's been liasing with Jeremy Clarkson?

Damn, damn, and furthermore damn Russell Brand. We were all set to go and see him at the Literature Festival, and he went and cancelled with two days notice. Still no sign of an apology.

I would really, really, really, really like this book. Hugely.

Right, had better make full use of the internet whilst my Dad is in the kitchen. Will update soon. If anyone's reading.

Rosby out.

"When God made the arse, he didn't say, 'Hey, it's just your basic hinge, let's knock off early.' He said, 'Behold ye angels, I have created the arse. Throughout the ages to come, men and women shall grab hold of these, and shout my name!'"

2007-10-01T05:20:00.001-07:00

Oh Christ, help me. I think my brain's about to explode.

2007-09-28T16:18:00.000-07:00

I start work tomorrow.

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

I hope I don't mess this up.

2007-09-24T14:51:00.000-07:00

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."

2007-09-21T11:08:00.000-07:00

"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.)

2007-09-18T14:37:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-09-12T10:53:00.000-07:00

"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?

2007-09-08T15:49:00.000-07:00

P.S. Oh, wow.

I think I may be falling in love with her.

2007-09-08T15:21:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-08-23T13:35:00.000-07:00

Oh Lordy, it's been a good day.

Contents of the envelope?

Drama - A*
English Lang. - A*
English Lit. - A*
History - A
Maths - A
Science - B
Science - B

Luckily, the photographer exited in time to fail to capture my rather loud scream of joy.

Hurrah! HURRAH! All that work paid off! I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am with all of that. A* in Drama! B in Science! A bloody A in Maths! Three years ago that would have been complete unimaginable. I am all set to rock and roll in September; everything is sorted, and I have more that enough points to get in and do the subjects I want to do.

Such a good day. Me and Kat stuck around school for a while saying hello to people and waiting for Tash to arrive. They both did fantastically; a string of As and A*s for them.

The rest of the day was spent in what I called "exam result afterglow", which basically meant Kat and I wandering around in the blazing sun and eating extremely unhealthy food. That, and lounging around in Montpellier Gardens with a bunch of boys throwing sweets at each other.

...oh, and eating cream doughnuts whilst reading Jane Eyre on a park bench.

Anyway, my parents and grandparents were very pleased, and I was taken out for haddock and chips to celebrate. Once again...hurrah!

In less than a year's time, it'll be AS results. Eep. Still, at least there'll only be four.

(They'll just be about four times as hard.)

Anyway, had better go. Farewell!

P.S. I never did get round to talking about the writing course, did I? Check this out...

(I have two shots near the beginning, and I deeply apologise for the second one; I'm doing some kind of absurd mime and my braces seem to be inhibiting my speech. Plus, my hair is crap. I don't usually look that bad!)

(Oh, and in that last shot, I'm the one kneeling in the front row at the end, with the short blue skirt.)

2007-08-19T13:23:00.000-07:00

Just a very quick post to apologise for the lack of updates. One of my friends is in Peru at the moment and I can't contact her, so my mind is billions of miles from anything else, including here, to be honest.

I'll post my GCSE results on Thursday, promise.

2007-08-11T05:58:00.000-07:00

You know, I never thought I'd say this about Catherine Tate (I don't watch her on television much, after all), but damn, she looks good there. As does Mr Tennant, obviously. Although his hair does seem to be undergoing some kind of canopy effect.

Gah. I was going to write all about the write4kicks course, but I'd need at least an hour to go through it all. All I'll say for now was that it was the best week I've ever had, and I made so many new friends. More to come, I promise!

I should go out. I'm feeling a bit boxed in.

Marie, bloody huge congratulations! I haven't bought the novel yet (for shame), but I've flicked through it in Waterstones and it looks fantastic! Really looking forward to reading it all the way through. I cheered when I spotted it.

RIGHT. Must get out of the house. I promise I'll post about more important things, and in more detail, soon. I'm feeling a bit apathetic at the moment; I've tried incredibly hard and still haven't been contacted for a job, and am waiting on tenterhooks for my results. I feel completely lazy and useless. Must not go into a downward spiral from here...

Got to go. Try and post soon!

P.S. I have tried and tried, but the huge block text o'doom will not separate out. Must have something to do with the picture. I'll try again later.

2007-07-28T01:36:00.000-07:00

I'm typing this from the spare bedroom in my Grandparents' house; Mum and I have been staying here for a few days and we're leaving in about an hour.

Running water! Showers! Baths! Clean clothes!

I feel a lot better now.

Anyway, Dad claims that our internet is down at home, so if I can't get access when I return later today, this is just a post to let you know that's I'm going away for a week and won't be back until the 4th August. I'm off on a creative writing course in Somerset - hurrah!

Have a good week, people. Farewell!

2007-07-25T14:14:00.000-07:00

You know, I like running water.

I know that's quite a controversial opinion for public webspace; just thought I'd put it out there anyway.

2007-07-24T05:47:00.000-07:00

Well, The Gloucestershire Echo has gone with the headline Water water everywhere, but not a drop to drink. Predictable, no? Anyway; it's been raining for about three days straight, monsoon levels, and now we have no running water throughout the county.

The words bloody massive irony spring to mind.

Gagh, it's a disaster. Cheltenham seems to have mostly dried up, which is a relief, but Tewkesbury is still pretty much underwater, and there is more rain to come. We were even graced with a visit from Gordon Brown, although I'm not sure what part of the county he flew to. It definitely wasn't here; we've come off lucky. Still, the town is without water for an indefinite anount of time, and it's...a bit of a pain. Just a tad.

I know people always say this, but it's so true; you never really pay attention to the mod cons until they're gone. We're coping fine without water; we've saved a fair few gallons, which are taking up the whole kitchen in various bottles and containers. But still, everything becomes so much more complicated without it, and I keep finding myself being ashamed at being affected by it; countries in the Third World are incredibly worse off by comparison. We in the West are so used to having things done for us, that we become flustered when things are taken away.

If there is ever an apocalypse, 28 Days Later-style scenario, we're not going to do well, are we?

ANYWAY. We should regain water in a couple of days, according to the newspaper reports. Thankfully we still have electricity. Mum has said that if our power fails, that'll be it; we'll uproot and go and stay with my Grandma for a few days. So far, that seems unlikely.

...I should really go out. Mum's told me that now the whole town's out of water (it was only select areas, including here, yesterday), there won't be any shops open, but I have to get out. I feel like the walls are closing on me.

On the plus side, it hasn't rained today. It was even warm, earlier. I can see patches of blue underneath the clouds.

Right. Must go out before I snap, barge into my brother's room and tell him Deathly Hallows secrets. Or something. Anything to pass the time.

Rosby out.

2007-07-21T16:50:00.000-07:00

Well, it's quarter to one in the morning, and I have just finished Deathly Hallows after almost a straight day of reading it.

My immediate reaction:

WHAT???!!!

Whether that's a what of enjoyment, anger, amazement or total bafflement I'm not sure. (Probably a bit of all of them.)

More on it later on.

*collapses*

2007-07-20T12:39:00.000-07:00

It's already a well-established fact, but I thought I'd give it just a little more oomph; I AM AN IDIOT.

I had a job interview today; lovely little shop on the Prom that sells gift cards, ornaments, all kinds of things. It looked like a lovely, friendy place to work, and I was called on Tuesday to say I had an interview this morning.

And, oh Lord, it was awful.

The day didn't start off well with the two-mile slog through absolutely torrential rain; by the time I got there my jeans were soaked halfway up both legs and were dragging in the puddles. Lovely. Thank God I had an umbrella.

There were two people interviewing me; a woman, and an older man. It started off marginally swimmingly; I told them about myself, and about my family and how I'd finished school. Then, completely out of the blue, the man asks, "What's 15% of 200?"

The words "totally thrown" don't even cover how surprised I was. I mean...why? The more I think about it, the less sense it makes. I can appreciate that anyone working the tills has to have a basic knowledge of Maths, but when on earth would they need to do percentage calculations in their head? Or am I being naive?

The horrible thing was, I was so surprised, I drew a complete and utter blank. Urgh, it was so humiliating. I sat there for about a minute trying to work it out and failing miserably. After a while, he just said, "Okay, you don't know..." in a horribly patronising and extremely unsympathetic way.

I managed to get one eighth of thirty-two, though. Even crippling unconfidence and fear doesn't take away any fraction skills.

The rest of the interview, I'd rather not go into. Basically, rapidly draining confidence + uppity, cold interviewer = disaster. I don't know if it was my lack of confidence that caused him to be such a bastard, or it was his manner that made me uneasy. I think it was a bit of both, to be honest. But from the very start, he made it clear he wasn't impressed with me, and made no effort to make me feel comfortable.

Oh, God. I mean, despite lack of experience, I'm very aware that interviews for jobs are not designed to be sunshine and rainbows; they're meant to ascertain a candidate's full potential, and sometimes you can't go easy on them. But, for God's sake, it was an interview for a sodding teenager, for a little shop on the Prom. Since when did that give him cause to put me on the spot like that, and basically look down on me and make me feel two inches tall?

I'm fully aware that I didn't do brilliantly either, but I honestly don't think I'm entirely to blame. I went for an interview with another shop a few weeks ago with a guy called Daniel; he was about twenty-three or four, and he treated me like an equal, and made me feel comfortable and at ease. And as a result, I performed a lot better; although I wasn't offered a permanent job, I am top of their list, and I'm told that he was very impressed with me.

I'm rambling now. I just think that I was treated unfairly. And I'm not only saying that because I didn't do well; I know that I must have looked like an idiot at least once. But Mr Spectacles-Maths-Interrogator's attitude did anything but help. He was a positive hindrance. I wish I'd been interviewed by the woman; she was friendly and tried to talk to me, instead of at me.

So yes, it was a disaster; I headed straight out into the rain, found the nearest wall and collapsed against it, muttering, "Shit, shit, shit!" for about five minutes. I felt like I'd been ritually humiliated. And this is my complaint; surely there is some kind of rule against doing that to minors?

I had to get a cookie to cheer myself up. Didn't work. Then I walked two miles back home in even heavier rain to find my brother still in bloody bed, with a full dishwasher and wet washing in the basket. I was in such a dark mood I ended up hammering on his door and yelling at him to get up.

Cruel, I know, but needed. And it worked well; he ended up getting up and emptying the dishwasher. He was incredibly pissed off with me, though.

Well, another interview bites the dust. On the plus side, Mum and Dad were both sympathetic, which I wasn't expecting. They both said that, judging from the interview, it probably wouldn't be the best place to work anyway. And I starting to agree with them; for a little shop, they appear to be taking things a little too seriously.

God, this is not good. School has officially ended for everyone, now, and I still don't have a job. Not for lack of trying; I must have handed in my CV to every shop with a Vacancy sign in the window. And so far, nothing. I'm close to munity.

I'm Daisy. When I grow up, I'll be Daisy Steiner, I just KNOW it. And, as much as I do love Daisy, I don't want to be like her very much. I keep watching Spaced and getting startled at sudden similarites that just fling themselves at me.

(Hmm, maybe I'll be a weird mesh of Daisy and Tim; like Daisy, but with Tim's geekiness and fandom-involvement. Although with Doctor Who instead of Star Wars. Oh God, have got to stop this. Do not want!)

I'll give it a go tomorrow, I suppose. I might be meeting the-guy-I-really-like for a coffee in the afternoon, so that can be an interlude in amongst the job-hunt.

(Spent almost all day with him yesterday. 'Twas glorious, and not only just because of the weather.)

I'm still *so* pissed off at that man. Although at least I've passed the stage where I just want to flail hopelessly yelling "FUCKING FUCK FUCKETTY FUCK!" That got seriously tempting earlier. I think Michael Jackson music (Billie Jean is not my lover...) and bacon sandwiches helped.

And Jack/Ianto-related material. Ahem.

It's been pouring for twenty hours straight, and almost every street in Cheltenham is flooded. If there is a God, I think he gave our school a perfectly sunny day for Charity Day on the field, then gave us torrential downpour to make up for it. *sigh*

Harry Potter tomorrow! It totally slipped my mind until last night. I'm such a hypocrite; I maintain that the whole franchise is totally overrated and causes too much fuss, yet I'm desperate to find out how it ends. It gets into your head, see. My parents haven't even read the books, and they know the names of the main characters.

(My Dad was going to call me Hermione when I was born; I can't even begin to thank my Mum for intervening, especially as I look like her. The character, not Emma Watson, anyhow.)

My brother has promised to buy this one, seeing as I've bought the last three. What do you think the chances are of me venturing into town tomorrow, visiting guy-who-I-really-like (I'm not sure how to refer to him) who works in a bookshop, and somehow not finding out the intricate details of the plot before I get home? Very thin, I expect. I'm definitely avoiding several of my haunts on the internet for a few days.

(Note to self; when you start to call them haunts, you're online too often.)

RIGHT. MUST LEAVE NOW. If I keep typing I'll never stop. I'm listening to I Can't Decide as I type this. I'll say this for Rusty; he managed to create a perplexing, weird, and very confusing series finale, but he did manage to introduce me to a Scissor Sisters song that actually ISN'T awful.

Rosby out. Congratulations on the review, Marie!

2007-07-14T12:09:00.000-07:00

Just had a quick read of this interview.

That pretty much confirms it; John Barrowman and James Marsters will be getting, how shall we say, rather personal in Torchwood series 2.

I know bugger all about James Marsters, and could count the episodes of Buffy I've seen on one hand, but OH LORD, YES.

Ahem.

...I'll be over here wibbling helplessly in my corner if you need me.

God only knows how you're going to cope, Lisa. (I know you're a Buffy fan, after all.)

2007-07-11T05:27:00.000-07:00

It's a stupid idea, obviously. Completely insane; the sort of thing you get in slushy films starring Hugh Grant.

Very stupid idea.

But so bloody tempting.

If I was going to do it, I should do it now. I won't see him much after today, after all.

I really want to do it now, but it's the sort of thing I plan and never have the nerve to do. I'm too scared of his reaction.

I could do it today if I saw him; it would be over in a minute or so.

RIGHT. Am at least going to give it a shot. If I dither for too long I'll lose the nerve.

(It's obvious I'll get there and chicken out, but damn it, I've got to at least try.)

I'm off. Will report back later.

(Sorry for being cryptic and annoying - it'll keep you guessing, anyway.)

2007-07-08T11:29:00.000-07:00

Well, all is relatively normal in the household of Rosby this Sunday evening; Joe is being grumpy and playing deafening music, Mum is watching Big Brother (for reasons that I can't even begin to fathom), Dad has retreated to his cave, and I'm sitting here and remembering that it's been over a week and I still haven't reviewed Doctor Who yet.

Right. Here we go.

...hmm.

See, it's far more difficult to do this one, because my reaction was so different to what it usually is. I definitely remember exactly how I felt whilst I was watching it, so it's not a case of forgetting (it was 2am, after I'd got back from Pride London, and seeing as I'd been disappointed on the big screen front I was determined to watch it before I went to sleep), it's just...I honestly didn't know what to make of it. Still don't, really.

Let's break it down. What I liked:

- Martha finally getting to do something consequential; after all this emphasis on her being a medical student, clever, bothered by her family, she hasn't done a massive amount except run, scream, and panic. It's nice to see her being the one who sorts everything out. Freema's acting was much better this time, too.

- John Simm. Oh, John Simm. From lip-synching to the Scissor Sisters to dying in the Doctor's arms (by way of serious wife-snoggage and mad, evil genius dancing), he was brilliant. Absolutely fantastic as the Master; it's so good to have someone who can match up to Tennant. He definitely stole the show in The Sound of Drums, and kept it up for this one.

- On a completely superficial note; Jack covered in grime, chained up, getting to shoot things, and returning to Torchwood. Hurrah! (More on Jack later, though.)

- Every weeny little bit of Doctor/Master interaction. Those two work superbly together, don't they? There was totally convincing chemistry between the pair of them (and no, not the shippy kind, although that hasn't stopped the slash fans going mental), and I was crying along with the Doctor when the Master died in his arms. Wonderful.

- The Toclafane being revealed as Utopia-bound humans; not only was I proved right (as were many other people), but it wrapped up the story in Utopia very nicely. Plus, the face in the metal ball was creepy and disgusting enough to give the little kiddies nightmares, which is always something.

- "This is me, getting out." I'm sad that Martha's leaving, because I do like her despite some dodgy acting moments, but I did love the way they dealt with it; people have been complaining so much about how she keeps going on about her unrequited love for the Doctor, but...why shouldn't she love him? It makes a very nice change from the Doctor and Assistant being in love with each other and never saying anything. Plus, I am *deeply* familiar with the "getting out", distancing technique. And it hurts quite a bit, so I do feel for her.

- The Titanic. Pure win.

Right. Hmm, I seem to have thought of a lot of positives for this one. Now for the negatives;

- As much as I liked Martha being the central figure, I just wasn't very impressed with the reveal that all she'd done was talk to people. I mean, I know that was the Doctor's plan, but I was all set for a combat, kick-ass Martha who's hardened and stronger than she used to be. Finding out that she's just been talking does take away that element of her personal growth. I don't know. I'm not making sense.

- The Doctor/Messiah telepathic floaty nonsense. Granted, I didn't hate it quite as much as Marie did, but it's such an easy way out. My favourite Doctor by far is flawed Doctor; he's certainly a hero that travels around the Universe saving people, but he is by no means perfect, and is often forced to make decisions that aren't for the best. Thinking about it now, that's one of the reasons why the series 1 finale was so good, and why I loved Eccleston so much; remember "coward or killer"? He chooses "coward, any day", and you admire him more for that. I think the same about Jack in Torchwood. Presenting the Doctor as this perfect saviour being who saves the day thanks to people's prayer takes away that novelty. Plus, it's totally transparent. Chibnall did exactly the same thing in the Torchwood finale, and it doesn't work.

- Doctor in a cage. I don't completely hate this, but I'm veering towards the negative. It's just so...*weird*. Scares me a little.

- Magical Reset Button. The ultimate Deus Ex Machina, and too bloody easy, once again. It's the perfect way of putting things back to normal, and it's insultingly simple.

- Jack. Right, this is where I really start ranting. As glad as I was that Jack came back for those three episodes, he may as well not have bothered. Asides from a couple of minor reveals, and a delicious scene with the Doctor in Utopia, there has been no point in his presence. He was left on Earth for over a hundred years, and there is no hint of confrontation with the Doctor, no apologies, no real closure. The Doctor has been completely dismissive and not bothered to deal with how Jack must feel being trapped in linear time after all these years. Jack's main role in these episodes seems to be wandering around looking gorgeous and shooting things. Which is always good, but we need more. All us Torchwood fans hoping to find out more about him, hoping for some kind of explanation, or for Jack to get to grips and accept his immortality, are distinctly miffed. Russell simply inserted him into the finale, realised he'd have to do something with him to avoid a fan mutiny, so tacked his big reveal onto the end of the episode. Oh, speaking of which...

- The Face of Boe. This has divided the Torchwood fandom into three sections; the WHAT?, the HA!, and the NOOOOO! I am part of the NOOOOO section, myself; what the hell was he playing at? It's as if Russell visited the nearest livejournal and found the most ridiculous speculation he could find. It completely takes away the mystery of Jack's eventual fate, and it just doesn't make any sense. Plus, Jack's obviously shown that he is a very social and physical person; he life revolves interacting with people, with running around trying to save the world, and not least, intimacy; he is widely-known to be a pansexual man-whore. (Ahem). He is *not* going to be the kind of person to end up as an unmoving head in a big jar. He just isn't. I don't know if I'm fan-wanking or not, here, but that's just how I feel. It's the most pathetic and paper-thin reveal. I'm in the process of trying to erase it from my mind; it probably won't be mentioned when Torchwood returns, so I can forget about it.

- I have absolutely no sympathy for Martha's family whatsoever. At all.

...I'm well aware that those explanations are incoherent and not very deep. I'm just letting the words come out without really thinking about them.

SO. That's what I thought. It was brilliant, but Rusty tried too hard to make it unusual and different, and a lot of things are very jarring as a result. And the lack of Jack was just infuriating.
As for new companion news...gah. I have absolutely no doubt in Catherine Tate's acting ability; she is an RSC woman, after all, but I HATE Donna's character. I really do. If she spends the whole time acting like she did in the Christmas episode, I may stop watching. With any luck, she won't. That's all I'll say on that for now; I'm reserving judgement until I actually see her do it. I've been proved wrong numerous times on this kind of thing.

(Plus, I hate The Catherine Tate Show; "Am I bovvered?" repeated a million times does not constitue comedy, in my opinion.)

RIGHT. That's it. Doctor Who is over for another year; and I have enjoyed it exceedingly. Freema Agyeman did have quite a few dodgy acting moments, but overall she did well. I loved all the episodes, bar the Dalek two parter and The Shakespeare Code. I've had fun squeeing at things, and I'm looking forward to the next series.

I'm really not doing a good job reviewing this, am I? I'm trying to stay positive, so I have less to type about. My fingers are killing me. Maybe I should try another time. I'll talk about it a bit more soon, I promise.

*sigh*

I miss it already...