Tea, 70s Rock and Doctor Who.

Something I found on another blog.

Thu, 28 Aug 2008 01:57:46 +0200

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.

Comments

The blog that started with Cambridge backstreets, then lead to depression and then onto a plan without meaning to.

Thu, 28 Aug 2008 01:02:37 +0200

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.

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The Messed Up Inner Workings of Nicholin's Mind.

Fri, 15 Aug 2008 09:14:10 +0200

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.

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Mornings

Sun, 29 Jun 2008 20:46:51 +0200

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.

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Growing Pains

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 12:48:12 +0200

I had growing pains yesterday evening. GROWING PAINS. :XX" class="middle" border="0">

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.

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An old career I aspired for.

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 19:05:46 +0200

*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.

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Freedom

Wed, 18 Jun 2008 19:33:31 +0200

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.

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I got this guitar and I learned how to make it talk.

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 00:24:28 +0200

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.

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Officiality

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 22:58:31 +0200

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.

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The Osmonds, Tossers and Other Aspects of Four Day Weekends.

Mon, 02 Jun 2008 00:05:46 +0200

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?

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Straying Off Topic.

Sun, 25 May 2008 00:52:23 +0200

T-SHIRT

I WANT THIS.

And I don't care if you call me sad. Hey, I like Lionel Richee...so much that I can spell his name so wrong

I'm even seeing ALL SEVEN Osmonds in concert on Friday...with my mother and her Donny crew.

AND THEN June 14th - I have a date with Bruce Springsteen at the Millenium Stadium!

I'm one happy chappy.

For all the above reasons, and then fact that I've had a couple of mind-blowing days. I've finished sixth form. So that means...I have no more lessons. I know at Uni I still learn, but not a lot will be in the lesson format that I have been in since I was three. It's really rather bizarrly odd.

The celebrations came about from an awesome BBQ at Graham's house. Followed by some Wii (I came joint first in mario cart *does happy dance*) And then an immense cycle home, which was LOVELY. Furthered by some beer and some cider at the Beer Festival in Cambridge

And I have had a quite simply amazing day today. An eight hour shift starting from 7.30am till 3.30pm and then I went to Corinna's Birthday Celebrations.

VEGAN GOODNESS ENTAILED. I learnt how to bat in Cricket. I showed off my rugby moves. I cheated in croquet. I ate far too many cumen potato wedges. And arranged some flowers. Whilst being photographed and laughing at Jen's hair.

But now that I write all this down, I feel somewhat guilty for being so happy...

My Mum is ill again. Quite seriously.

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Another Maths Metaphor.

Fri, 16 May 2008 22:37:36 +0200

Differential equations. One of the hardest bits of my upcoming pure maths exam. And something I never want to do. In my last lesson with a certain maths teacher today, my brain made the connection between this hard method, and the friends I keep.

You see, with differential equations you have everything together, all messed up, the X's with the Y's. But then you have to seperate them, so on either side of the equals sign, you have X's and Y's. Nice and neat. It's what is called 'seperating the variables'. And then you intergrate to get an similar equation, with the X's and the Y's together again in harmony.

Now, this is similar to my friends because some how I'm getting the feeling that I have to keep my friends seperate. I have to take the X's to one side, and the Y's to the other. Seperate the variables.

For a long time I always thought that I was being stupid. Having two different faces for different people. Then, on one occassion just before these two groups of people came into contact, one person said to me, "Don't take offence, but I don't like her much." Which grated me slightly at the time, but then I thought, 'That's fine, I mean, everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Right?'

However, like I said I hate differential equations, and this seems to be one big one that I have gotten stuck on. I have seperated the variables, but now I can't seem to complete the question, to get one equation with the X's and Y's together.

*sigh*

Again, I am over thinking things. I've been happy so far with this - why should it bother me now?

In other news:

- I now have hot water and central heating. Yey!
- The exam period has started - two yesterday and one next wednesday and then loads after halfterm.
- I'm been a relativley happy chappy.

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Constant.

Sun, 11 May 2008 23:12:29 +0200

That is all.

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Irritation Round #2

Sun, 11 May 2008 15:46:17 +0200

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A letter, from me to you.

Sun, 11 May 2008 13:02:26 +0200

Dear all the men in Cambridge,

I would like to talk to you civilly and make a polite request.

I know that when the sun comes out, people try to stay as cool as they can. However, I would like to know why that means that would give you the right to walk around topless all day long. It's just not decent. There are children around. And even when you don't have the perfect abdominal muscles and they are saggy and frankly not pleasant to look at, you all still somehow think it's all ok to walk around with your top on.

Granted, some of you do have toned muscles, like all you rowers out there, which aren't too bad to look at on my cycle home from college. However, I'd rather you did not have your top off, after all if I get distracted on my bike I could have a nasty accident.

So basically, I'd like to make a polite request. To all the men of Cambridge, please don't walk around topless, because it's either a: indecent and unpleasant or b: too distracting.

And it's not like women can strip off their tops either, so it's just bloody unfair in that respect too.

Thanks for reading, I hope you take my request into account.

Yours sincerely,

Nic.

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Friends are not like Statistics. FACT.

Wed, 07 May 2008 12:56:53 +0200

Ok, so I actually have the bestest friends in the world. The past couple of days have been amazing. Yesterday was my eighteenth birthday, and for that, whilst I was at my Mums at the weekend, they came round my house and did up my garden.

More details of the actual events of the Groundforce makeover can be found here on natashaspqr's blog.

They did it in secret, and I had absolutley NO IDEA. Apparently they have had the idea since Easter holidays when they came to paint my house. (They didn't do that in secret, I asked them nicely for that)

And I still can't believe they did that for me.

But what I found most bizarre was that in the previous three hours in which I spent on the glorious X5 cross-country Cambridge to Oxford bus, I had a revelation about the different types of friends I have, and very much so intended to blog about it with the title "Friends are like statistics variables - either discrete or continuous" and would go on to explain the metaphor. However now I feel I don't want to as it doesn't feel 'right' anymore, because it doesn't matter whether the friendships I have are discrete or continuous as the gratitude and love for them is now undefinable.

They actually make me smile. They are there always. And I cannot possibly think I could live the life I lead now without them.

P.S. - on the last post, I've said how I love being at my mums...but thats before my dog decided to throw up and poo in the kitchen. *rolls eyes*

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The Wonderous Relief of Berkshire

Sun, 04 May 2008 10:55:45 +0200

I'm at my Mums house at the moment. And I love being here.

Firstly, I see my Mum, little sister, Step-Dad, dogs and cats all in one. I get to spend some time with them and forget about the trouble and bother (mostly from Bob) back at Cambridge. In the house, I have less responsibility on the housework and stuff (though I am still helping out and generally being a good daughter) but I'm pushed by everyone to do my homework and when I am doing that nobody annoys me and they even make me cups of tea and stuff. It's relaxing and satisfying. Like right now, I have been given free reign of my Mum's flash laptop with wireless to do my revision, when at home I would have to clean the kitchen before doing anything to do with college. I think it's the difference of living with a house-proud Mum versus a lazy Father.

Yesterday was a great Saturday. It was easy and I got tonnes of revision done, getting above the high ninety percents in my practice papers for my Maths resit. This was after a two and a half hour round trip for my Mum and Step-Dad to get their new posh chav-parent car (or so I call it, when actually it's a Rover 75 estate with cream leather interior) from Watford, and also after I was rudely awoken by Stephen shaking the caravan and throwing the dog inside at 9am.

But then I opened my birthday presents (which included a hologram poster of a Cyberman with a Dalek, the Tenth Doctor and a Tardis in the background, a Doctor Who Encyclopedia and a flash camera) so it was all good.

After all this, we all got ready to go out for my pre-Eighteenth celebration in the evening, in which everyone this side of the family could make it. The people who couldn't make it were my Aunt, Uncle and little cousin nor my older siblings. But to replace them, my Mum secretly invited my childhood best friend, which was so good. I hadn't spoken to her properly in about a year and it was still the same as always. So anyway, the full guest list was Me, Sam, Mum, Stephen, Rebecca, my Grandma, and then my step-grandparents. We went to the 'posh' Chinese and I got the waiters singing happy birthday to me and I received a free ice-cream with a sparkler.

It was a really good day yesterday. In which there was no irritation!

Oh, and I just HAVE to put in this quote from yesterdays Doctor Who which made me LOL.

---
The Doctor: [Wearing a gas mask] Are you my mummy?
---

Brilliant. Just genius.

Well anyway, I think this a long enough blog...and I'll get back to revision with my black coffee, the hollyoaks omnibus and telling the dogs to shut up every time someone walks by on the field opposite.

Oh, I love being at my Mums.

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Irritation

Thu, 01 May 2008 17:55:20 +0200

You know the feeling when someone just irritates you and you can't shake it off for days on end? Everything they do just gets at you, and the same for everything they don't do. You can't help but think that 'my life would be so much easier if you just left me alone to do my own thing'.

One person at the moment has been doing this to me recently, Bob. (Blatantly a codename, for descretion purposes) Bob annoys me. Bob gets in my way. Bob stands over me when I'm concentrating. Bob invades my personal space. Bob gets angry with me when I tell Bob that he's doing these things. Bob doesn't understand why Bob irritates me, which only irritates me more.

I feel down as a result. As Bob and I don't have a mutual understanding and I feel the irritation is getting in the way of me moving smoothly through the period before my exams.

Hmmm...

Maybe me and Bob need some time apart...

On other notes - my two mocks today got me so angry. My maths I finished early. Half an hour early, which scares me slightly since I should take up to a half hour longer doing the exam. My History mock was the complete other way round. I had too little time. My second and third paragraph were cut so short (I think about six lines each) and my conclusion was three lines. I felt like crying when I handed that in. It was the last mock with Mr Peters we were going to do, and so not good if the last one before your exam you completely fuck it up.

You know what - I'm going to blame Bob.

Argh.

Why isn't life that one bit easier?

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The Washing, Chocolate and Gay Love

Sat, 26 Apr 2008 22:45:48 +0200

Right - here's a few similar thoughts on the way of life.

1) Chocolate mousses. I have just finished a Aero trademarked chocolate mousse. Now Aero, the chocolate bar, is unique due to the "Have you felt the bubbles melt?" thingy. Meaning that you get air in a chocolate bar. (A bit of a con, I suppose, but delicious all the same) BUT isn't the point of a mousse is that there's air in it anyway? So if I bought a Dairy Milk Chocolate mousse - wouldn't it be the EXACT same thing?

2) Utility Rooms in two or more storey houses. Think about it. The bedrooms are UPSTAIRS, right? So why bring all you're clothes downstairs to be washed and then drag it all back upstairs. It's just effort! It's not like there's no plumbling upstairs since there is usually a bathroom.
Come on, you residential architects! Give the new housing some innovation please!

3) John Barrowman on EVERYTHING on a Saturday Night. Just wait for the mysterious surprise of him popping up in Doctor Who on time. He would be on our screens for more then three hours! Not that I disliked John Barrowman, he is a LOVELY person, and I intend to have a good talk with him at the Stonewall Youth Event (if he appears this year as he couldn't last year) But there mgiht be a thing as too much John...

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Who knew a fridge could make someone quote Doctor Who?

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 22:45:36 +0200

After a very long and tiresome period of differculties and obstacles to do with my home life, especially the stability or it, I am glad to announce that things are falling back into place.

We now have a permanent house after nine moves total in my lifetime. We have a car. My Dad has a job he actually enjoys. My brother is working hard for his future life. Both me and my sister will be happy with our degrees. We have a huge television. Guitar Hero 3. Wireless Broadband.

However...

Today marks a great day in my teenage life. Today was the day that after nearly seven months of not having such appliances: WE FINALLY GOT A FRIDGE FREEZER.

I can have cold butter and cold milk and not having to buy food every day. I can keep cream fresh, cheese unmouldy, whole chickens frozen for sunday roasts, EGGS, beer and white wine chilled. And, right now with the feelings I am feeling I just have to quote the awesome catchphrase of our beloved Ninth Doctor;

"Fantastic! Oh, fantastic!"

(Despite that actually being a direct quote of a scene where he is saying that dryly, as he's seen the Dalek in Van Statten's Museum, Utah, 2012)

AND tomorrow my Dad says he's getting a washing machine!

Next on the list...that bloody thing called central heating.

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Elephants.

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 23:11:45 +0200

There's an elephant in the room.

Only recently I have come to know what that saying means. But I'm now wondering if the meaning could be something different. Or maybe, to me, it is.

Is it possible to think there's an elephant in the room but just not know what it is? Like there's an invisible friction and you just can't seem to put your finger on it.

Is it better that way? Is the unknown better then the known...especially if it's a topic you can't dare bring up nor might want to bring up? All I know is that there is definitley an elephant, but right now, I can barely see it to realise what it means.

The more I write about an elephant and it's anomisity - the more it sounds like a completely stupid metaphor...

...So I'll list the stuff that's happened.

1) I have the internet in my new house - hurrah!
2) Still no heating and hot water.
3) Exams are looming - and I am forever trying to revise for them.
4) I am now a fully-fledged cyclist. Watch out the streets of Cambridge!
5) Doctor Who - Tim McInnerary (sp?) turning into one of the Oodkind!

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Olde Blogge

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 21:37:49 +0200

Right so this was written a couple of days ago - but due to lack of internet I'm posting it now.

---

21st April 2008 – 1:59am.

When you couldn’t sleep – did you ever just stare out the window at the darkness and find that you been sitting there so long that the trees no longer look like trees – but faces?

Well, at the moment, that’s what I am doing now, along with writing this.

It’s peculiar how addicted you become to things like blogs and Facebook. During this ever-long move I’ve wanted to record my thoughts on events of the days and not having a outlet that gives me that delight. It even comes to days where I think ’Ooo that’s interesting – I must make sure I include that into my blog somehow’.

I wonder if any other bloggers do the same thing?

It’s also true that I don’t like to simply record the events of the events and tribulations of my days either – though that might be included somehow. I like to express those thoughts of what happens when you think way too much. Those thoughts that no one is supposed to hear, no matter how much you want to call/email/facebook someone telling him or her of the stuff that your mind is on.

The problem with that is that you would have to pick someone to shout/cry/mope to and from my experience the response is not what you have hoped for and not what you wanted in return.

That’s the beauty of blogging though, I believe. Because some person who I don’t really know might read this or any other blog and might comment because the thoughts have provoked them to, in a subliminal way. They don’t have to – they can read and move on. But sometimes, the responses you receive are the responses that you want. Maybe because they don’t have the back story or know you personally.

This, to me, is quite a relief. I can get the reaction I want from simply writing down my feelings/thoughts/records of the day.

Maybe that’s being selfish?

Or just a natural reaction to human life?

Who knows?

All I do know is that blogging have certainly made my life a lot less stressful – thanks to the comments I have received.

LONG LIVE BLOGGING.

Over and Out

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Stop it, now. They're just boobs.

Tue, 15 Apr 2008 11:16:46 +0200

Ok so the moving thing is taking it's time. And I am at my Grandma's "checking my school email for new work" since I have missed two days of college now.

The reason for this is that I went to see Joesph and The Technicolour Dreamcoat last night - which was fabulous. Not the west end production, mind, with Lee Mead. But the touring one with Craig, Keith, and Chris from Any Dream Will Do and a bloke from Grease is the Word. It was awesome. Reminded me of times when we were younger and used to see the local panto every single winter.

Anyway, off that slightly nostalgic route, I intend to blog something that has been on my mind for a while.

Boobs.

Yes, that's it folks. I want to blog about boobs. My own infact, and not in a good way.

I hate them. I really do. I hate the way people comment on them. I know they are quite large, but they are also in proportion to the rest of my body. So why make jokes out of them?

For instince, a few lunchtimes ago, one of my 'friends' said "You see Becca keeps hers under control, but yours Nic explode and have minds of there own."

At that moment I looked down to see I was infact wearing an oversized ski-trip hoody, which has a high neck line, and I thought "What is she going on about? They aren't on show, they aren't 'exploding', infact they are safely contained in a bra and two layers of clothing."

ARGH - Rageful indeed.

It even gets the point where I don't wear any low cut clothes at all. I have several v-neck jumpers (currently in holdals) which would be perfect for weather like now, but I simply just don't wear them. And even a £145 dress that my Grandma bought me - I get criticism for wearing it because they are on show.

I know, also, that there have been some moments when I have laughed along with the jokes. Because, on the odd occassion, they are funny.

But honestly people, they are just boobs. Plain and simple. So please, everyone, just stop, because, and no pun intended...

IT REALLY GETS ON MY TITS.

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"Because you're breaking my heart" :'(

Sat, 05 Apr 2008 22:41:39 +0200

Well, since it is part of the title of my blog, I guess I am going to do some sort of post on it.

First of all. Torchwood - Exit Wounds. I cried for about thirty god damn minutes afterwards. It started at this moment...

---
Owen: Why should I do that? Where's the FUN IN THAT! I'm gonna rage my way to oblivion [Yells continuously]
Tosh: [almost whisper] Please stop
Owen: WHY? GIVE ME ONE GOOD BLOODY REASON WHY I SHOULD, ONE GOOD REASON WHY I SHOULDN'T KEEP SCREAMING!
Tosh: [crying] Because you're breaking my heart.
---

Oh blimey, even now I can't stop but well up a bit.

RIP Dr Owen Harper and Toshiko Sato.

It's hard for other people to understand - but I get so involved with TV shows - so much so I mourn their deaths. I mourned Sam Tyler, Rose Tyler, Izzy Redpath, Lorna Clarkson, Brian Steadman, Kurt McKenna, Matt Harvey, Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, and even Captain Jack Harkness in Parting of the Ways somehow, even though he doesn't die. It's hard to explain, but I become so attached to these people, that I can't seem to not feel sad or happy for them. It's like, in Ashes to Ashes, you want for Alex and Gene just to get it on, like in Life on Mars - how many of us were waiting for that kiss between Annie and Sam...?

TV is a strange phenonemon. It's caught me so tight in a whirlwind of excitement and emotions that I cannot live without the drama.

And so this blog moves on...to Doctor Who.

Right, lets get this straight, I adore the acting of both David Tennant and Catherine Tate. I thought they were simply fabulous and make a great pairing. The mentions of Martha! Oh Merlin they were great. I finally felt some recognition from the Doctor of what Martha did for him and the world, which was definatly needed...that's for sure.

As for the storyline...merh...not RTD's best, but I liked it. The aliens were dead cute - reminded me of that pokemon - Jigglypuff.

Then - Rose. Which was a pleasant surprise - though I wasn't like "BLOODY HELL!" I knew she was coming back, and it was just a bonus to see her so soon. But as she disappeared does that mean she's walking between the two universes?

I do have a theory as to how she comes back...but I won't post it, and it contains some possible spoilers. Plus, I wouldn't want to look like an idiot when it's COMPLETELY wrong

Can't WAIT for the next episode. Pompeii!

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Comments about the move.

Fri, 04 Apr 2008 13:19:29 +0200

Ok - so I haven't 'blogged' in a while. But I have a perfectly good excuse not to have been. As said in previous blogs - I am moving. And it's a whole lot of fun. *sarcasm*

It takes such a long bloody time to pack up everything, shift it, and unpack it. As well as being annoying since it can be summed up in one sentence. But right now, I am sitting on a mattress in my old room with my Dad's laptop at lunchtime living out of a suitcase and eating ready meals every night.

Whats more annoying is that becuase I am the one with the holidays I am expected to do most of the painting/moving boxes snizzle at the new house. Something which today I cannot be btoehred to do. It's 13.14pm and I have only just got dressed. For this morning, I have been lieing in bed watching the marvellous invention of internet TV - mainly Sugar Rush, Hollyoaks, Eastenders, Torchwood and a documentery about a woman giving up her hetrosexual life for a month and indulging herself in lesbianism.

I'm not quite sure what to really do now. I should get to the new house and unpack the kitchen, which was my facebook status a while back now, and I will end up doing it. It does need to be done after all. And then maybe I could sit down with a cup of tea and do some Classics work.

Yeah, whatever. Like any of that will actually happen.

Well, I'll tell you when tinternet at new house is up and working.

All I know is, the next time I'm moving house, I'm hiring decorators and removal man. Turst me, it's WAY easier.

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Tea, 70s Rock and the want of Doctor Who.

Thu, 27 Mar 2008 16:32:04 +0100

Ha - I have just realised that I am doing exactly what the title of my blog says. I am listening to some 70s Rock (Little Willy - Sweet), drinking tea and wanting to watch Doctor Who, especially some series one. But sadly, as most of my house has now been packed up - I can't get to my DVDs. Maybe youtube will suffice.

Today I finally made the decision that UCAS has been begging everyone to know. However, as I go to the website to log in and say 'I want to go here' I realise I have forgotten my password to actually do it. I'm going to wait till I'm back at college to see what the careers advisor can do for me.

That's all for today.

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Tea!

Tue, 25 Mar 2008 10:28:38 +0100

I had the BEST cup of tea I have ever made this morning at around 5am. It was, honestly, immense. I don't know how I did it in my dazed state but my word it was fantastic.

Maybe I should make all my cups of tea in PJs at dawn. Oh, and it was in my new Dalek cup.

Although I am working today, I'm feeling incredibly happy and I want the day to continue like this.

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The Average Holiday day

Mon, 24 Mar 2008 17:58:49 +0100

This blog I am just going to write about the events, so far, of my day and comment on them. It a different way for me to approach my blogs, but what the hell. Lets go for it.

This morning, Easter Monday, I woke on the grand old time of 10.39am. I smiled at myself, glad that I had got into my holiday mode already. As I was so comfortable and warm in my bed, I decided upon a good few chapters of New Moon by Stephanie Meyer, the sequel to highly rewarded Twilight. Which was good and I felt so releived when Bella finally figured out what Jacob is. I mean take your bloody time! I worked it out ages ago...

Next I got up and naturally checked my Facebook and Hotmail, both of which had nothing particually interesting so I went downstairs to get breakfast. Tonic water and a slice of bread with just jam. Yum. My big bro, who was then in the living room, suggested we walk to the local M&S food store and get breakfast/lunch as it was then noon. We bought a fry up, and went popped into Virgin/Zavvi and he bought some Top Gear DVDs - the one where they go to the North Pole and the one where they travelled across America - both of which were hysterically funny. Who can forget Hamster nearly being shot for having 'Man Love Rules OK' on the side of his pick-up truck? And the cow on top of Jezza's muscle-murdering car? Then May and Clarkson having a G&T whilst driving in the Artic circle...

Love Top Gear.

Big Bro went off to work and I went back to my room and watching the Torchwood episode Fragments again, and am now downloading 4od which takes it's time. In the mean time I am washing clothes and cleaning my room - sort of. I have de-cluttered my sisters bed into two halves. Important paperwork and notes from college and then dirty washing yet to be taken downstairs.

However, my day considerabley cheered up when I found my David Tennant autograph in the midst of my ever mountaining collection of Doctor Who Magazines and a collection of payslips from Starbucks.

I love holidays.

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Roast Beef and Caesar Salad

Sun, 23 Mar 2008 18:21:23 +0100

I've just come back from our Easter Sunday meal at my brother's pub. It wasn't as joyous as the majority of meals I have had there. Mostly because of the conversation between my family and I on the way there.

My Dad brought up the question of 'Who in the house should do the washing up, do you think?'

This is an ongoing argument/friction cause in the Martin household. When my Dad asks my brother and I a question like that, it actually means 'Why am I the only one doing the washing and why aren't you two helping out around the house? Why is it my responsibility to keep the house clean?'

He is right in the fact that I do not do the washing up everyday, and I admit it. I could always do more, I could always do less. But when I have four/five hours of homework every night and eight hour shifts of Starbucks at the weekend, as well as rugby training, I have less time then he does, especially in the evenings. I said to myself at the beginning of the year that my A-levels and getting the grades for University come first, and it will stick that way.

So overall, in the car on the way to my brother's pub, both me and my brother get in a bad mood caused by my father's 'right to complain'. We get there and Ant starts to work, whilst my Dad and I sit down and order. Roast beef for him, Caesar salad for me.

And then there was silence.

My Dad had bought a newspaper and read that. I sat there thinking my chicken was too tough and how I wish I wasn't sat there, but in my room watching Torchwood or reading New Moon.

So much for a good Easter eh?

But on the plus side, it SNOWED this morning.

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Paranoia

Fri, 21 Mar 2008 20:41:51 +0100

A question I ask myself all the time: Why am I so paranoid?

I always feel theres an inside joke I am not part of. A conversation I won't understand. A facial expression I won't get. This leaves me feeling distanced, as as decribed in an earlier blog, out of touch. I'm that Harry Potter book again.

I haven't changed. I don't think I have anyway. But something has, the dynamics of the friendship group I'm in. They fly by like swings and roundabouts and until now, I haven't felt a swing so dramactically as I just have, at least not on my account. People have gotten closer and I feel I'm being pushed away. It's like, they're holding onto the rails of the roundabout, and holding out a hand occassionally to save someone from the swing, whilst letting me go and take the swing like a slap in the face.

Do I just go with it? Accept the change even though it's made me so miserable? Or do I fight? Be selfish and fight for what I want?

But then again, is this just me exaggerating nothing in my head?

IS THIS JUST ME BEING PARANOID?

So I am asking, anyone out there, what is the right thing to do?

Because, right now, at this moment, I'm hanging from a weak thread of indecision.

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