Home, sweet home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hee hee.

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

You can't always have what you want.

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

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

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

English Lit. - A
Politics - A
German - C

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever may happen, I'm ready for it!

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

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.

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!

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.

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

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!

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.

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.

Yay!

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*

I GOT AN OFFER FROM LANCASTER!

YAY!

*dances around*

SORRY SORRY SORRY!

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*