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.

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!

I'm doing something funny for money!

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.

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.

SORRY.

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.

AS results

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!

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.

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.

"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!

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.

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?

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.

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.)

"You two! We're at the end of the Universe, at the very edge of knowledge itself and you're busy...blogging!"

Tee hee!

Again, the excitement over Doctor Who has (slightly) faded after Saturday. So, as before, here was my initial reaction as posted somewhere else:

Where is everybody? Who am I meant to squee at? WHO, I ASKS YA?

JACK! JACK IS BACK, PEOPLE!

*hopeless flailing*

Jack, holding the Doctor's coat! YESSSSS! Ianto does exactly the same thing to Jack in Torchwood! Multiple times! And now...squeeeeee!

THE MASTER! THE PROFESSOR WAS THE MASTER! The watch, and then the thing...JOHN FUCKING SIMM, PEOPLE!

Jack backstory!

And then the TARDIS left them there! Just...gahhhh! Left! Without even a trailer!

Wait...hang on...wouldn't there be one after the closing credits? Was there one, or not? Maybe I should check again.

And speaking of credits...Barrowman! Barrowman was in the opening credits! YEEESSSSSS!

(Plot-wise; a bit rubbish until the last fifteen minutes, which were brilliant beyond any kind of belief. Yana! The Master! Regeneration! JOHN BLOODY SIMM!)

*runs off*


It was brilliant. Utterly brilliant. I'm even willing to forgive the plot weaknesses for the sake of the final twenty minutes or so. The interactions between Jack and the Doctor were perfect, and we were plied with delicious details about Jack's past, at last. Hurrah!

And...the Master! The bloody Master! I mean, the Master's return was probably the worst-kept secret there could have been, but I wasn't expecting it now! Not at all!

And dear God, John Simm! I've never even *seen* Life on Mars, yet I love him already. Saxon's obviously a total nutcase; that shot of him wearing an oxygen mask with both thumbs up never fails to crack me up. And so deliciously evil...God, I'm looking forward to next week's.

Anyway, moving onto the real world for once, my exams finished today.

The two-year slog is finally over. The baby is born at last, with very few complications. Some of the contractions (I'm thinking Science) were a bit more painful than others, but I expected that. All will be well, I'm sure. Well enough, anyway.

Over. Over, over, over.

To be honest, I did all my excited squealing earlier. For now, all I can say is...whew. I can't believe I'm not filling up the page with capitalised joy, but now that all has worn off, I'm just feeling happily tired. And once that has worn off, I'll get incredibly bored, guaranteed. Still, there'll be plenty to concentrate on after that. (Organising Pride London being one thing.)

The GCSEs are over. They're...done. Complete. No more work, no more exams.

HURRRRRAHHHHHHH!!!! *dances*

...what do you know? I still had a little bit of squee in me.

As to regular posting now that they're over, and given the huge amount of time I have now...I don't know. Watch this space. But you'll definitely hear from me re: Doctor Who, Marie's book, and hopefully Pride London. This is not the end!

(I know Pride London is a long, long shot - but I'm fixated on the idea now. It sounds unmissable.)

Keep checking back, people! (If there's anyone left.) I promise there will be more.

Right, now off to organise my textbooks for handing-in day tomorrow...*wanders off humming happily*

Am typing this in the school library, and it's utterly deserted. I am surrounded by empty chairs and student-less computers. It's rather surreal.

Came out of my Physics exam about half an hour ago; seeing as the rest of the yeargroup (bar six of us) is doing the full triple award difficult-as-hell exams, they have to stay in there till half past. Unlucky things.

I never...ever...ever have to do Science again. Ever. No lessons. No coursework (GAGH!). No homework. No coming out of lessons with my hair sticking up because I've run my fingers through it so many times in frustration. No more blank, staring down at the book not knowing what to write. No more experiments. No more acids, alkalis, moles, elodea, safety goggles, magnets, green sheets, full-to-bursting exercise books. No more science. Ever again.

...I don't think it's sunk in, yet. Otherwise I would go and find Anna and Robin again and just jump up and down and go mental.

No science.

No...science!

NO SCIENCE!

YYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

It's bloody over! I don't have to worry about it anymore! And only one more measley exam and then it's ALL over. No more GCSEs EVER AGAIN!

...but I have to wait until Monday to celebrate that. 'Course, most of the year will be celebrating it within about twenty minutes, because they don't do Drama. Still...hurrah!

And Doctor Who tomorrow! This is turning out to be an excellent end of the week.

I'm also hankering to go to Pride London on the 30th, as well; there's a huge march from Oxford Street to Trafalgar Square, then there's a show hosted by Graham Norton and John Barrowman and THEN, to cap it off, the Doctor Who finale on a huge screen! I *seriously* want to go. It's unlikely I'll manage it, but there's no harm in trying. It sounds BRILLIANT. I'm in the midst of working out the cost.

Anyway, I'd better go; for the first time I have to go back to the gym where everyone else is finishing their exams, and we all get given information about the Sixth Form.

Jesus. I was in Year Nine when I started this blog. Now I've...I've nearly finished my GCSEs!

...if anything, that's surreal.

Six exams down, five to go.

Doctor Who tomorrow. Torchwood episodes on the internet. Cucumber. Amy Winehouse music. Long walks to school (surprisingly enjoyable). Ice creams. John Barrowman. Chinese food. Cinema outings dressed as a pirate.

The negatives are worth it for the positives, I suppose.

Although; it is a tad annoying running the episode End of Days through in your head during a Biology exam without even realising it. Damn the Barrowman. Distracting sex-pot...

I also had this whole sketch in my head in Maths. Is that indicative of something?

It's here! The day is finally here! The waters have broken!

(For those not familiar with the exams/pregnancy analogy, this will explain.)

I'm feeling both relieved that school is over, and deeply nervous about the actual exams.

My first one is next Tuesday. I'll try and keep you posted on how they go.

Eep!

GAGH. When it will be over? When?

Normally, I would be a lot more passionate and capitalised than that on the subject of GCSEs, but that reflects my exact mood at the moment; I am completely exhausted. I really wish it was all over now.

I came up with quite a good analogy of how the GCSEs are making me feel at the moment, earlier, actually. Well, I think it was good. It was greeted with general scepticism from most of my friends, but I'm still sticking to it.

Right, here it is.

Women are pregnant for nine to nine and a half months, if all goes well. Everyone knows that. I often think that if a foetus or a developing baby could think, it would really start to get fed up around the eight-month mark; the build-up and the developing has been so long and drawn-out, and they're stuck in there for what feels like eternity. At around this time they're just waiting, and desperate for it to be over, so they can escape out into the world.

And I think GCSEs are a tiny bit like that. We're the developing babies inside the exam-womb. We've been plodding along with all these subjects since September 2005, and we've done no end of tests, and exams, and coursework, and ever since about January it's been talk of GCSEs non-stop, every single lesson, over and over again. I think Year 11 has got to the stage where the only emotion we have left is total fed-upness and exhaustion, and we're so incredibly close to the finish line, and we just want it to bloody end.

Running for the hills yet? You will be when you've read this bit.

So, anyway; I got quite taken with the womb-baby-exam idea. And that started me off on a few important dates. And quite a few euphemisms:

Conception: September 2005 (Our first term in Year 10 and the introductions to all the courses.)
Waters breaking: 17th May 2007 (When we go off for study leave. Only another week or so to go!)
First contractions: 22nd May 2007 (My first exam; English Lit. This varies from person to person; some people have already started their contractions, i.e. had an official GCSE, although they are ones like language orals or music terminal tasks, which are different to the standard written tests we do in the Gym.
The eventual birth: 18th June 2007 (My last exam; drama. For most people this date is 15th June, but the students doing drama have one final exam the following Monday. Which is annoying, but drama isn't too difficult, so I'll end on a high note. Hopefully.)

As for collecting the exam results on 23rd August...cutting the placenta? I don't know. We'd be getting into quite gruesome territory.

I'm kind of stupidly proud of all that. Gives an edge of humour to the whole situation. And it makes a nice change; I can confuse people by saying, "The waters are breaking soon!" instead of "Thank God it's study leave soon."

Of course, this is probably a confusing mind-warp from a very tired sixteen year old who is sick beyond words of doing science, and is listening to The Fray at very high volume.

Anyway, I'd better go. I'd really appreciate comments; all my other sources have been exhausted when it comes to moaning about the GCSEs.

Rosby out. I should probably make posting a bit more regular after the exams. And commenting on Doctor Who episodes. Evolution of the Daleks was terrible, by the way. It would take too long to go through it in detail now.

P.S. It's been put back a week because of bloody EUROVISION??? *resists urge to kill someone*

Well, I have been forced to get a Google account and *finally* switch to New Blogger, although not by choice. It still has the option of signing you in with Old Blogger, but when you click the link, it just redirects you to something else!

Not sure why I'm writing this. I think it's an obligatory post assuring everyone (and by "everyone" I mean about five people at most, probably) that I'm still around. Just revising my arse off and watching Coupling in the breaks.

Study leave in about three weeks. Eek.

Rosby out.

P.S. The Shakespeare Code - 6/10
Gridlock - haven't seen (I know, I know!)
Daleks in Manhatten - 7/10

To be perfectly honest, not that impressed so far. I mean, come on, Shakespeare! One of the most iconic and intelligent figures in British history and what does the writer do? Turn him into an idiot.

As for the daleks one; I would have enjoyed it far more if there'd been just the slightest bit of tension in the entire episode. And if someone had shot that stupid squeaky blonde. And thought of something better than pig-slaves.

And, for the love of God, changed the episode title!

Anyway, I'd better go to bed. Night, all.