Tea, 70s Rock and Doctor Who.

1. My uncle once: embaressed me totally by dancing with me at my sister's eighteeth.

2. Never in my life: will I know what to do.

3. When I was five: I drank watered down wine in a resturant in France.

4. High school was: bad at the beginning, but better once I made the friends I wanted.

5. I will never forget: who I am inside.

6. Once I met: Billy Ocean, my biggest claim to fame. He shook me by the hand and said "Hello Nichola," after my Dad introduced me.

7. There’s this boy I know: who I think would be perfect for me, if only I fancied him.

8. Once, at a bar: I made a fool of myself trying to get free drinks.

9. By noon, I’m usually: just waking up.

10. Last night: I was crying, a lot.

11. If only I had: a more comfortable finance situation.

12. Next time I go to church: I would like to feel at peace with myself. But then maybe I need to attend church to get that.

13. What worries me most: my family.

14. When I turn my head left I see: A ppile of boxes and a Doctor Who poster.

15. When I turn my head right I see: Ian McKellon's autograph.

16. You know I’m lying when: I tell you I am. Pretty good liar me.

17. What I miss most about the Eighties is: being in the womb??

18. If I were a character in Shakespeare I’d be: Horatio, he doesn't get murdered.

19. By this time next year: I will be shit-scared for university.

20. A better name for me would be: Neurotic Twatface.

21. I have a hard time understanding: my father.

22. If I ever go back to school, I’ll: talk to the teachers, but runaway if Miss Cannie comes near me.

23. You know I like you if: I want to talk to you all the time.

24. If I ever won an award, the first person I would thank would be: my siblings.

25. Take my advice, never: get your parent's divorced when your nine and the third child. Messed me up for life.

26. My ideal breakfast is: Grandma's Christmas breakfast, but in bed with someone I love.

27. A song I love but do not have is: Jackson - Johnny Cash and June Carter.

28. If you visit my hometown, I suggest you: go punting, proper Cambridge style.

29. Why won’t people: stop buying and selling other human beings.

30. If you spend a night at my house: you'll be on the sofa. Fact.

31. I’d stop my wedding for: David Tennant?

32. The world could do without: wars.

33. I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: become Atheist. I just *can't* see the appeal.

34. My favourite blonde(s) is/are: Georgia Moffett and Jonny Wilkinson.

35. Paper clips are more useful than: bookmarks. As bookmarks.

36. If I do anything well it’s: making myself feel like an utter twat.

37. I can’t help but: be myself. Sorry.

38. I usually cry: at everything.

39. My advice to my child/nephew/niece: 'Look to the future. The past will sort itself out'

40. And by the way: if you've read this far, you must really be bored.

I love Cambridge sometimes. I love the way it feels. I love the presence of the traditional mixing with the modern. I love the quirky back streets. I love the voices you hear. I love the music played.

Tonight, as I was walking down one of the backstreets home from babysitting my Mum's ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend's son, I heard someone playing a saxophone from their attic. Just jamming, late at night, having some fun. Just how quaint and beautiful is that? Somehow, I just don't think you could get something like that in any other city.

It's the little things that make me smile.

And I'm glad, for myself, that I smile sometimes now. For a while I have been feeling pretty sad, and to be honest, actually breaking down in tears most days. From this I do things I don't mean. For instince I told my Dad and sister to both fuck off yesterday night, and then promptly broke into tears in the kitchen.

It's almost as if I'm doing life the wrong way round. Most people are generally happy until something or someone makes that change. But me, I'm generally unhappy, and the little things like the quaintness of the Cambridge backstreets make me smile.

And since realising this, I have decided to do something about it.I'm giving myself head space. Trying not to pressurise myself into too many commitments. For example, I have quit my youth group for the time being, which just releases part of the frustration which inevitabley leads me to saddness because I cannot commit as much as I said I would. That was the first step.

My second step is to talk to my boss to see if me becoming full time isn't going to be too stressful. I'm going to ask whether I can get my days off in the week to be in clumps, so I can see my Mum more often then I sparcely do now.

My third step is to sort out this gap year trip to Australia.

The steps are daunting. I'm not that organised, yet I am determined.

I hate the way I am now. I hate the way I smile, the way I dress, my job, my house, the way I am with family and friends. I'm stupidly disorganised, which gives people extra pressure and stress. I moan constantly about what I have or don't have.

Why can I not just be happy?

It's almost as if I go purposely out of my way to do this. I don't tidy up after myself, I don't make lots of lists telling me what I should or shouldn't do. I leave myself open to get hurt by friends, and take their statements the wrong way. I end up crying at stupid things. Feeling horrible and guilty.

I haven't a backbite either. I never fight back. Why should I if the cost could be losing my friends? But all the same, the amount of times I have wanted to rage into an oblivion because of people's actions is enough to make me an absolute cut-off stone bitch. Usually, then, people think there's something wrong and I just use the excuse of 'I'm missing my mum' because people usually don't ask many more questions except for the 'How is she doing?' thing.

((Not that I don't miss my mum. I do. A lot. But having that is such a relief when you don't want to share, or the person who is pissing you off is asking you what's wrong))

Whenever someone is pissing me off, I always wonder afterwads, why I never just say, 'You know what. Fuck. Right. Off.' and I come to the conclusion that I simply can't. I hate hate hate confrontations. I used to have them with my Dad a hell of a lot. He was my place of blame for everything that was going wrong in my life throughout my teenhood. But because we are so similar, neither of us could let the other win. I would enter my form room in floods of tears and not tell anyone why, because my Dad worked at the same school that I went to, and I wouldn't want it going back to him (even though it probably always did) At another time I ended up in the bathroom with a razor.

These arguements always left me feeling I was the one to blame. So naturally, all arguements I have leave me feeling rubbish and guilty and probably in tears. So I never argue, I never fight back.

And despite this, not arguing and just accepting then apoligising just makes me feel worse. But then that's the messed up inner workings of Nicholin's mind.

So, I wish I wasn't like this. I wish I was different. I wish I was cleverer, cooler, less fat, more attractive, organised and have a quick-witted comeback section in my brain. But I know I never will, because think about it, I'm typing this here instead of telling someone.

I do one thing most mornings now. (Well, apart from think "I should really go for a run and keep up my fitness") Most mornings, it seems to occur that I cry just a little.

To be completely honest I don't really know why. Well, no, that's a lie. I do know why, but I don't know why it makes me cry the way I do most mornings. My mum has bone cancer. And ever as I write this now I can feel my throat constricting as I begin to choke up and the water fighting through at the backs of my eyes. There are lots of saddening aspects of bone cancer. Most importantly is that it's incurable, only controllable. That's it, my mum is going to have a controlled cancer forever.

I cry each morning because I can't help but think pessimistic thoughts. Scenarios in my head appear that make the future life I would lead unbearable. The most common scenario is 'What if my mum dies?' which leads onto much more unthinkable questions like 'Would I be able to speak at her funeral? What happens to us? What happens to my little sister? Who will she live with when my step-dad works away all week? Will she grow up not knowing us so well since my mum won't be there?'

It's horrible. I feel like I shouldn't think these things. I need to be positive for my mum's sake. But behind closed doors, even to my friends, I'm in pieces. I feel as if my emotions are unstable. So much so that things people say irritate me more then ever. People irritate me more then ever nowadays.

*sigh*

Yes, so I cry at home when I'm alone, usually in the mornings, because my heart aches when I think about my mum.

I had growing pains yesterday evening. GROWING PAINS.

I'm not meant to have growing pains. I'm already 5'8 and 3/4" and eighteen years old. Growing pains are not meant to happen to me now. Argh.

So, anyway, as I lay in bed last night, trying to get to sleep. I thought back to the last time I remember having these particular pains in my calves. And it was about five years ago. It was late at night, around half eleven (which is late if you're thirteen) and I couldn't fall asleep and the pain wouldn't subside, no matter what position I put myself in. When my Dad came into my room to see why my light was still on, I told him that these pains were excrutiating, and at that point, my aunt walked through the front door, as she stayed with us three nights a week as she commuted to London for work and it was closer and cheaper from our house then hers.

Anyway, my aunt came into my room, and it was nice. She massaged my legs and we just talked for about an hour. I miss her. She and my Dad have had this massive falling out and now we don't talk to her much. That night was awesome, because she was the aunt who I wasn't that close to (I am much closer to my Mum's sister) and my older sister was much closer to her.

So there I was, eighteen years old, pining for someone to come and massage my legs and make me feel better. And oh boy, did I feel on my own at that point.

My brother was next door with his girlfriend and they are so sweet together. He's completley smitten. Like this morning for example, he went down the local Spar to get her what she wanted for breakfast. I'm so jealous! (But it was good, because she wanted Weetos, which is the BEST CEREAL EVER)

Last night, I just wanted someone there, to cuddle and to be with. Mostly I thought of my present crush. But no, I was lying there alone again.

With very painful calves.

*SPOILERS ALERT FOR THE TIME TRAVELER'S WIFE BY AUDREY NIFFENEGGER*

When I was eleven, twelve, thirteen, the career I wished to succeed in was to be a Director and a writer. It's a field that I have always been interested in, and I sighed up for talks and lessons on how to do this throughout my secondary school life, and even went on to take Drama as a GCSE (I got an A ) At home I read tonnes of movie scripts, even first and second drafts of them as they changed. The one that springs to mind is 'Gladiator' where they changed the script due to an actor dying half way through filming. I read the modern classics; Notting Hill, You've Got Mail etc etc. I even began to write a few of my own, little snipets of storylines I created in my head. Many reminants of them still exist.

My Dad downloaded a programme that you could write scripts with easily for me. He encouraged me. I think it was one of those thing that he wanted to do when he was younger. He even still writes poems and songs and stuff, though in secret, we're not supposed to know.

Anyway, today I got thinking about one of these storylines that I made up so long ago because I finished the book I was reading. The Time Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger (Amazing by the way)

This is because, nearer the end of the book, Henry (the mai character) attains frost bite and loses his feet and there's a small chapter regarding his time in healing and mourning over his injury. He has dreams about it, one of them is running and it hit me that to Henry running every morning is really important, and he's lost that.

This was similar to the most developed storyline I ever came up with. It was about a man, who loses his leg. He was an up and coming football player, with a pregnant wife. He was happy, content, and then this accident changed him forever. The story was about his loss, his grief, the things he treasured, his want and need for him to play football again, and his coming through all the pain to become happy again.

Somehow, I have this want to carry on the story. Actually write it. It'd be nice if I knew there was going to be an end to these means. But maybe, because of my new found freedom, I could actually do it.

Hmmm...I'll think about it.

I'm now free. Free from exams. Free from Hills Road. Free from a huge chuck of my life.

Now I feel I have too much free time.

It's good in some ways. I get up when I want. I learn what I want. I watch what I want. I eat what I want. Which is what I have been waiting for, for two long years. But now that they've come, they feel empty. And when things are empty, I think to much. Then I get paranoid.

GARGH.

Paranoia, for me, is like a disease. It starts small, and if not dealt with quickly, it will then spread and affect my happiness. I drown it out, though, with books, youtube, TV and music. Which makes me feel better. But it's still there, like a cockroach, acting like god and being the superior evolutionary species (something I learned from Heroes)

I feel I'm always missing out on something. And when I ask, it gets ignored, quite blatantly. It hurts. I don't think people realise that. But then I don't think people realise they're making me paranoid either.

This is turning out to be a blog of ramblings. So I'll stop now.

If you don't know who sings that lyric. Frankly, I don't think you deserve to have a good taste in music.

I saw him last night, and oh my word, that man is amazing. He's nearly 59 you know, and he still runs around like a manic man on stage. He couldn't get enough of it. He would go down to the front and let all these people grab his legs. His shows are epic. Every one is a new legend.

I am, of course, talking about The Boss. Bruce Springsteen, and his awesome E-Street Band.

For the first time in a very long time, I felt happy in the company of my Dad, along with the older siblings as well. It was us four, and my brother's best friend, who has been indoctrinated into the religion of Born To Run. I think it was because my Dad was happy. He adores seeing Bruce Springsteen. My Dad idolises him...even got his ears pierced like him (because he's well cool like that) And on the long drive down to Cardiff we listened to all the great classic songs. Thunder Road was on a constant loop, and everyone was singing. It was good. It felt great. And the result of having a happy family was amazing.

So, I thank you, Bruce Springsteen. You've made one awkward relationship between father and daughter that one bit easier.

Three things are official in my life now.

1. I am offically lonely.
2. I am offically a hypocrite. I am the person in my group of friends who gets pissed off at people moaning about their loneliness, and yet here I am, complaining about mine.
3. I am offically crushing on someone, which only heightens the loneliness I feel.

Unfortunatley, emotional scars hinder me from doing anything about this person. So, just be prepared for a lot of moaning, and internal cursing for being hypocritical.

Moh.

It started off pretty good on Thursday. My Mum picked me up from Cambridge, we had McDonalds and went all the way back to Berkshire in miserable weather and traffic jams. My favourite

Friday was awesome. I had the ONCE IN A LIFETIME oppotunity to see all seven Osmonds at Wembely Arena. It was such a good concert. So professional. And I surprised myself by knowing nearly all the words to most of the songs. Scary eh?

Also, it was so polite, so well behaved, because of course all of the Osmond fans now are all getting on a bit. My mum and her two best mates are in their late forties - and they seemed to be the youngest of them all. Sometimes I did think 'What a good advert for Tena Lady pants this is'

However, I really enjoyed it, and I'm an eighteen year old who the music has been imposed upon since I was little. They began with Crazy Horses then went straight into Down By The Lazy River.

Though there was one downside to this concert, and that was all these middle aged women and their fantasies about Donny Osmond. When Donny was doing his solo bits he began to sing Any Dream Will Do, of course, being one of the four main West End Josephs (The others being Jason Donovan, Phillip Scofield and Lee Mead, the legend that is) I was happy enough singing along...and then, on the big screen behind the stage, there comes a scene of the movie where Donny Osmond is wearing *just* a loin cloth.

MY WORD MIDDLE AGED WOMEN CAN SCREAM.

I turned and covered my ears. Much to my mums asmusement.

Anywho, we move onto Saturday, which included a huge trip to Ikea in Milton Keynes, which we bought a Wardrobe and Chest of Drawers for my Mum to go in her new room, which caused some kerfuffle, but all was well in the end. Especially as I refuelled my Daim bar fetish and got bought the odd little trinket. Including a WATERING CAN.

Later on, my Grandma bought an Indian takeaway for everyone. Apart from my Step-Grandad, as he is very set in his ways and likes his plain boring very homemade english food. He's also in very bad health, due to old age. He's blind in one eye, got diabeties, two replaced knee caps and so many heart problems. This makes him a tosser, in my opinion, as he expects eveything to be done for him, and if he doesn't like it, he will complain.

Going back to the Indian. Myself, my Grandma and Becca (five year old sister) brought it back from the takeaway and began getting it old and serving it up. Everyone else, who was eating it, was in the room. So that means my Mum, Step-Dad and Step-Nan also. So Ray comes in the dining room mumbling something like 'youve mad ethe house smell of onion' which is what I caught. Anyway, Stephen (Step-Dad) starts to have a go at him, and he retreats back to the living room. Then my Mum walks out crying, as she's seriously unwell at the moment and quite fragile, Stephen runs after her.

As if someone making my Mum cry is bad enough, Becca then walks into the dining room almost crying saying she doesn't like the shouting, as my Step-Nan accused Ray of being selfish and making my Mum cry. So then I'm holding my little sister, trying not to make her cry along with my grandma whilst my whole family is split up.

The indian was eaten in the end, as we all tried to help Mum feel better about herself. Afterall, she is going in for a week of radiotherapy starting from Tuesday, which isn't exactly pleasant.

Furthermore, when we all went to bed, I went to my room (the caravan) and started to watch some Life on Mars, only to find I couldn't get to sleep. This is because of three reasons: -

1. I had drank a lot of Cranberry flavoured energy drink for tea. Mega caffiene high.

2. I was so worried about my Mum and what could be going on for her in the next six months, along with the worry of not passing my exams, that I cried for about four hours.

3. I really badly needed the toilet, and the door to the house was locked.

This ended up with me having a BEASTY headache on Sunday, and not doing much else apart from a little revision, catching up on Doctor Who and a mega long bus journey home.

*sigh*

Can life just *get* any better?