Wild and Wandering Thoughts of a frizz-laden loon

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.