Life Goes On.

Well.
Doctor Who, ey?
The scene in the cafe. Wowzers.
I hate it when his voice does that thing that sounds like he's going to cry (he's the only man I can stand to see cry - any other guy and I want to tell them to "man-up"). It gets to me. And when he was talking about the 'new man' after his regeneration. Jeez.
Bernanrd Cribbins was good wasn't he? He and David Tennant made a cracking pair.
I'm just slightly concerned about the Time Lords returning. Will that mean it gets a bit old-school Doctor Who? Cuz I didn't watch it then, and I probably won't get it. By the way - Timothy Dalton spits a lot doesn't he?
I'm sure it will be stunning though, whatever happens. It's Russel T for Gawd's sake.
BUT I DON'T WANT IT TO END.
I'm going through denial now. (It's like the 7 stages of grief.)
But,
Life Goes On.
Y' see:
My second-best TV show is officially 'Coming Soon.'
Yes, you heard it right guys:
BEING HUMAN IS BACK!
I died a little bit when I saw the teaser trailer, and jumped up and shrieked and got my (thouroughly confused) Nan to roll it back so I could watch it again.
Yummy Mitchell and lovely Annie and sweet George.
Life goes on.
=]

Christmas Viewing...

Well, this morning I sat down with my shiny new Radio Times and made a list of everything I want to watch this Christmas. It looks like a goo-od year on TV! When I'd finished writing the list on paper, I typed it all up on the computer; arranged by date and time, with little a little red 'R' by it if it may need recording. In fact, I'm so proud of it that I wish I could share it with you. The long and the short of it is that I'm going to be watching A LOT of David Tennant. He's on everything! About 14 things (not that I counted or anything.) And Gavin and Stacey will be good, and Top Gear and Catherine Tate...
Merry Christmas indeed.
By the way; here's an article for anyone to read if they love Doctor Who. It's about how RTD and Doctor Who has transformed the BBC:
http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/tv/features/just-what-the-doctor-ordered-how-david-tennants-time-lord-saved-auntie-1842753.html
It's very well written, and I'll show the first paragraph as a kind of advert, and because I think it's funny,
Do you hate David Tennant? Then this will be the worst Christmas of your life. You might as well gaffer-tape your face until January, because between today and New Year's Day, that lanky Scotsman with the Converse tennis shoes and the pinstripes and the great hair-wax explosion will fill more airwaves than Fiona Bruce and the jewellery demonstrators of QVC combined.
It also says that "Fortunately for Tennant, the British nation has fallen hopelessly, madly and devotedly in love with him – and the 900-year-old Time Lord whose hair products he's been using for the past five years." Which is the kind of thing that makes me and Mum tear up.
I also bought a book today which I can't wait to start reading. http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2006/nov/18/featuresreviews.guardianreview31 It's called The Winter Book by Tova Jansson, and I shall read it whilst listening to Sting's If On A Winter's Night, in homage to my faveourite season.
Have a good one lovelies.

A Good Day to Die.

What constitiutes a good death?
It's not a one-size-fits-all, prescriptive answer like many people think.
My RE class (who are studying euthanasia at the moment - the inspiration for this post) have conflicting ideas.
Most of them think dying in your sleep would be 'a good death.' But in Medieval times people used to pray not to die when they were asleep because they thought Satan would take their soul.
The Angry Atheist thinks it would be nice to die 'when you were high. Like a Jamaican.' Despite the shocking racial stereotype there, I don't think I agree.
Alice Arnold says she's going to die from Consumption like a Dickensian heroine, or go mad with love and fall into a river. I like it - but I doubt she's being completely serious.
I know a girl who thinks that it would be nice to die in place of someone you love. Stupid. In the words of Jeremy Bentham (Act Utilitarianist), don't think that a man will ever lift their finger without the prospect of a reward for themselves.
And what do I think?
Well, when they got to me, I wasn't really sure. I only know a few things:
1) The quote "Do not go gentle into that good night/ Rage, rage against the dying of the light," made me cry when I first heard it. That whole poem, a man urging his Father to not slip acceptingly into death really changed my views about the definition of making a good end.
2) There is a passage in The Book Thief where Max Vandenberg watches his dying Uncle lie and wait for death, and he decides that "Death will feel my fist in his face when he captures me." I like that.

That's all I could really say. I think that I want to die brilliantly. I don't want to die acceptingly, I don't want to wait for death, I don't want to give up until I have to.

So maybe I don't want to die in my sleep. I don't think that's a very good death.

A Blast From My Past.

I have obsessions. Dunno if I've mentioned that yet.

It's why I'll never smoke, do drugs, or get rip-roaring drunk every night, because I have an addictive personality. I mean, I will get hooked on things, and for a short burst of time (maybe a month, sometimes a few) it will be all I can talk or think about. When people aren't talking about it I sit and think about how I can bring it back into conversation. Basically I'm sad.

I've been obsessed with:-

Harry Potter - specifically Tonks and Lupin (I love them. I measure men by Remus Lupin's standards. That's how sad I am.)

The Chronicles of Ancient Darkness

Being Human

Doctor Who + David Tennant

Robin Hood.

My Robin Hood obsession peaked at series 2, and I remember I counted down the minutes and hours until the grand finale. This obsession was feuled by a certain Will Scarlett, played by Harry Lloyd, and I became fixated on wether his secret love for Djaq (the cool, feisty girl character who was Marion's (ugh) antithesis. I loved Djaq's character - thought she was wonderful,) would be revealed and reciprocated, or wether the louder and more confident Allan-A-Dale would unwittingly steal her from him...

I think you're getting the idea.

So I talked about him and I googled him and I did other fan-girly things and when he left the show I cried for hours (literally. no kidding.) and then the obsession moved on and he was left in My Past.

But when I opened the Sunday Times this morning, and innocently turned a page...
GUESS WHO WAS THERE??

"He might be better known as Will Scarlett, Nottingham's prettiest outlaw in BBC's Robin Hood, but Lloyd caused quite a stir in the West End revival of A View From The Bridge - and is set to do the same in his next role as a rent boy in The Little Dog Laughed, which openes at the Garrick in January."

I loved that: Nottingham's prettiest outlaw. (He is too.)

And I felt all giggly again, and I got a bit flustered and I'm pretty sure I blushed, just like I used to when he came on the TV on a Saturday Night. And I decided I want to go and see The Dog That Laughed (which may be difficult).

And it made me want to look at a youtube video that I haven't seen in a long time...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9zR-fkoYSk

Oh dear.

Got home.
Checked facebook.
Update from DavidTennant.com about pictures from the QI special.
Click the link.
Open them up.
Shout to mum in other room: "He's wearing his velvet jacket!"
Mum: "The kind of reddy, burgandy one?"
Me: "Yes."
Mum: "I like that one..."
Me: "Mmm, Me too..."
*small moment of realisation*
Me: "We know his wardrobe. We might be too obsessed."
Mum: "*thinks* Mmm."

All the drunks they were singing...

Fairytale of New York.
My faveourite Christmas Song EVER.
Especially when I come from my big Irish family, when me and my mum and my Aunties and Nan sing it - loudly, and off-key.
It's just such a good song - especially the eminently yellable "Merry Christmas your arse I pray God it's our last."
I share this opinion with Alice, so together we made the following video for your dellectation. We were supposed to be revising, and (worryingly) we wern't even the tiniest bit drunk. She was Kirsty Maccoll, and I was Shane McGowan (I have a lower voice.)
Enjoy Darlings!

http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/video/video.php?v=1177133067845&ref=mf
I'm having to post the link because I can't get the stupid video uploaded. You should probably take a look though. It is highly amusing.

Look who's writing again!

I'm busy.  I've started my job, and I have homework and coursework and revision and a crush and many other things that are making my life rush past far to fast.
But, in the little bit of spare time I have got, I've managed to write this.  And... (this needs to be in small letters, just in case someone out there wants to jinx me for thinking it) And I'm quite proud of it.  It might not be the best thing I've ever written, but it's got a little something I like.  It's not autobiographical, except for the Dylan Thomas being amazing bit.  It's not current - it harks back to the 50's or 60's in my imagination.  
Would you like to read it? 
It's here, if you do.
---------
The Winter of My Content.

I remember when I was sixteen and we used to skive off physics and go down to the park to smoke roll-ups and flirt and drink flasks of tea.
Our physics teacher was new that September, and he had a phd – he made us call him Doctor. He had a little black beard and hairy hands, and was probably very clever. He was a terrible teacher though, and he never told the headmistress that two thirds of his class went missing every lesson. Looking back, I think he was just too scared of losing his job.
It was an especially cold Winter that year; it seemed to always be frosty or snowing. That’s why we brought the tea in flasks – to stop ourselves catching hypothermia. I wore two pairs of thick woollen tights for months, and my mum was always saying that if I was cold I should just wear a longer skirt. I think she’d forgotten what it was like to be a teenager.
It was during those stolen hours that I first heard Dylan Thomas, read to me by a tall, earnest boy called Mathew. I would lie on the read tartan rug he’s bring and eat apples while he’d sit above me and the recite the most beautiful poetry I’d ever heard. In between poems he’d smoke half a cigarette and give the rest to me, and I’d let him kiss me. I quite enjoyed the kissing, but that’s not what I had come for – much in the same way as Matthew enjoyed the poetry, but it wasn’t why he was sharing his smokes and apples with me.
Sometimes he’d ask me to meet him outside the fishbowl of our physics lessons, but I always refused. If I had discovered, for example, that at home he wore a cardigan I would never have been able to let him kiss me again. And I expect that he had found out that I had a stuffed teddy bear on my bed called Gregory, he wouldn’t have seen as the mysterious and alluring girl that he said he did.
So we muddled along in the cold Winter of my content, and when I dropped physics at A-Level, I rarely saw Matthew anymore except to smile at in the school corridors. My brief encounter with Matthew may not have been the great passion of my life, but Dylan Thomas certainly was.
----
 
Now I'm not someone who begs for comments, but I wouldn't mind a comment for this, if you liked it.  Or if you didn't.  I'm always dying for constructive critiscism.

In my other life.

I am a ballet dancer.  This girl who (in my mind) is me and isn't me is a wonderful, beautiful ballet dancer.  I am taller and I am gracefull and I am thin and I spend all of time looking elegant in leggings and pretty little ballet flats and hoodies.

I'm a bit obsessed with ballet - mainly because I was one of few girls who never did it when they were little.  Once I hit 10 I did my fair share of Modern Jazz and Tap, but by then it was too late for ballet.  So when we used to do our big show-case things at my old dance school, I used to stand in the wings and watch how amazing the ballet dancers looked. 

I've been to see quite a lot of ballet, and still find it transfixing (December 12th - The Nutcracker yay!), and I devour ballet books.  I think it's the elusive quality to that world that makes me want to find out as much as I can about it.  Granny Dan by Danielle Steele is a very good one - for the record.

There is something quite magical about watching ballet.  The dancers are so completely in control of themeselves and their bodies.  I envy that.  They look a little bit closer to perfect than normal human beings.
So when I grow up, and if I ever decide I want a child, I'm going to make them do ballet. 
Then they'll be just like the girls in my ballet books.
=]

This might just be the best news I'll hear all week.

David Tennant is playing one of the ghosts in The Catherine Tate Show 'Nan' Christmas Special.
Those two together is comedy gold.
Yah-hey!
AND
On Christmas Eve, David Tennant is doing the CeeBeebies bedtime hour.  He's narrating a story about a little bear that falls down an enchanted snow hole and discovers Santa's grotto!
*Collected Awwwww.....*


[By the way, I know a lot of my posts are becoming David Tennant/Doctor Who related, but it's only to be expected what with the upcoming Christmas Doctor Who...]

Blind Eyes Could Blaze Like Meteors...

I watched Doctor Who last night, and I went to bed shaking.
I was that scared.  I'm not even lying.
It wasn't the monster that made me so scared, even though they were very odd, it was The Doctor.  The Doctor not being The Doctor, the Doctor breaking all the rules and doing things that aren't right just because he can.  The Doctor thinking he has that power.  The Doctor talking about 'little humans'. 
Basically The Doctor going a little bit Master on us. 
And that wasn't right, and so, for once, I was releived when he got outsmarted.  When Adelaide shot herself,  I was so releived, because that showed he hadn't got absoloute power.  That he couldn't.
But then... at the end, when he realised he'd gone to far, and he thought his death was coming...
Jesus.  The Doctor scared?  The Doctor being faced with his own mortality? 
That freaked me too.  Freaked me so bad.
I mean, I'm a 16 year old, and if I was that affected by that, what if you were 6?  You tell a little boy or girl that this man is right, and he does the right thing and he's good, and then you show them that?  How much of that would they get?  Maybe I'm underestimating their powers of comprehension, but I think RTD forgot he was writing for a 7'0'Clock show.
And The Ood are back.  I hate the Ood, I had nightmares about them.  I know they are, essentially, good, but when they got possesed... Ugh. 
It was nigh-on perfectly written though.  Really exceptional, I mean, the beauty of it made my heart ache.  The scene with The Doctor walking away and listening to that destruction gave me shivers.  That bit with the 3 knocks literally made my heart stop.
And...
Wow.
David Tennant.  He was chilling.  He may be is the best actor I have ever seen.  The way he can change the mood in houses up and down the country, merely with his eyes.  Matt Smith has a helluva job on his hands.  I can't imagine anyone could produce a better preformance.  The horror of the 10th Doctor facing his mortality and being terrified was... sad.  It was as if everything that has happened to him was finally breaking him.  Like he was finally stopping running.
I can't wait for Christmas.

[Title courtesy of the genius that is Dylan Thomas.]

Lovers Who Turn Into Mothers Who Turn Into...?

I read an article in The Times this morning that made me feel angry, and I thought: I'll blog about it. This may be a bit of an incomprehensible rant, but I won't make a habit of it.

This teacher at an all-girls school said that girls should be taught that they can't have everything - everything being a career and children.
Leaving aside the point that MAYBE, just maybe not all women want children (I know, a reveloutionary thought), and maybe there ARE more things to life than getting a job and then getting married,  I was livid.
How DARE this woman put limitations on me?
How DARE she tell me what I can and can't do, merely because I have breasts?
How DARE she tell girls in her care that they have to pick between things that are considered a Basic Human Right?
This is where me and my mother disagree - she's a diehard 1950's housewife and I am a diehard feminist/suffragist.  But not in 'all-men-are-bastards-lets-kill-'em' way.  Sometimes (like this time) I'm all too patently aware that women's biggest enemy is other women.  And despite the fact that that is sad, it's expected.  I don't really beleive in the sisterhood. 

But I do believe in ME.

I bloody well can have everything, and I'll try my hardest to make every other I ever know girl feel the same way.

So Screw You.

I am using this blog as my post-it note...

These are the films that I want must see:

1) An Education.
    Because Carey Mulligan is perfection and I love the whole look of the film. 

2) Glorious 39
    Because Stephen Poliakoff is a genius, because I LOVE the clothes (infact, particularly the hat featured below.), because Juno Temple's in it, because David Tennant's in it and because it's on my A-Level history syllabus.  (In a vague way.)

3) Bright Star
    Because the guy in it is really handsome and because I think it looks beautiful, and because the picture below made me think of the Robert Frost poem, 'Miles to Go Before I Sleep.'

My Extreme Clumsiness.

I am horrifically clumsy.  At least twice a day I will stumble over and my best friend Alice will catch me and cry "You have weak ankles!"  I recently made a new friend, and the first time I tripped and skinned my knees (I do this regularly) and she was really shocked and concerned as the blood dribbled from my scrape, but me and Alice just laughed and carried on walking.
I do have weak ankles though, I've broken one twice and the other one once, and sprained them both badly.  In a way it's not a joke at all, it's paniful and they hurt and when I get old I'm going to get bad arthiritus.  But yesterday, I was walking down the stairs from my tutor and fell slap down the stairs and cracked my shin on the concrete.
Ow.
And when I say ow I mean explietive-yelling-trying-not-to-cry ow.  I heard it crack for God's sake.  But I didn't bother reporting it, because I'm always doing things like that.
Except, I sat in my lesson terrified that I was going to go faint or vomit because the pain was so bad.  By the end of the day I was limping, and it had swollen to a ridiculous size.  tHen, when I went to bed last night I could NOT stop shaking.  I felt all strange and out-of-place, as if someone had spun me around and dropped me someplace foreign.  When I woke up this morning I couldn't eat anything.  Mom thinks it's delayed shock or summit, and when she went down to the school to tell 'em I wasn't going in they said I had to go and fill out an 'accident report' as a matter of urgency on Monday.
Still. 
I get a day off school.
And a swollen shin.
And no homework.
But some catching up to do.
I'm going off to watch St. Trinians in a moment or two.

(I was going to post a picture of my injury, but then I realised that if I was reading a blog where someone posted a picture of their busted-up shin, I'd think they were pretty weird.)

The Trauma of TV.

I cried on Wednesday.
I cried on Thusday.
I cried yesterday.
Each time I cried was because of a television programme.  That may be making you shake your heads in disgust at me and 'my generation', but, seriously.  It was sad.  A bit more than sad, actually.

On Wednesday Waterloo Road was back for a new series.  Now, I used to love this programme because Waterloo Road was like a more extreme version of my school.  We even had the gun scare.  Waterloo Road was like AHSTC because all the pupils went around saying it was crap to eachother, but the second someone from another school said it, they were like "hang on a second..."  It was just like that.  And this series, loads of snobby kids have come to the school, and they all look down on the Waterloo Road pupils, and thats how I feel at the Grammar.  So I sat and sobbed about how much I miss my old school.  It was very upsetting. 

On Thursday it was the Sarah Jane Adventures, where I cried merely because I knew that David Tennant's time as The Doctor was coming to an end.  Actually, now I think about it, this one was a bit pathetic.  You can shake your head if you like.

On Friday it was Part 2 of The Sarah Jane Adventures.  I cried because it was genuinely sad.  Poor Sarah Jane had to tell this man she was in love with that he was actually dead.  It was so sad - and Elizabeth Sladen did a perfect bit of acting.  Then I cried because The Doctor told Sarah Jane not to forget him, and she responded by saying "No-one will forget you."
Me and Mom were in floods.  I don't know what we're going to be like when he actually goes.  I'm not thinking about it - David Tennant's Doctor CAN'T die, he's too amazing.  Seriously, I have never cried as much as I did at the end of Doomsday, where he said goodbye to Rose. Unless it was the end of Series 4, when he was left all alone, in the TARDIS, all rainstreaked. Me and Mom sat on the sofa, weeping helplessly, and my Dad came in and was just like "ugh. You two." For some reason he is surprisingly immune to DT's charm, wit and good looks.

Jeez. 
Break my heart why don't you?

Something Wicked This Way Comes...

I love Halloween.
It's my faveourite time of year.
I've always loved witches and magic - even wayyy before Harry Potter, I was mad for Meg&Mog and that one about the witch with the Purple and Black socks. 
Today me and Alice went out job hunting, and ended up in Tesco's with there magic Halloween section, so we bought a magic wand a hat each.
As we walked out we (wearing our finery) were behind a Mother and her little girl.  The Mom turned to her daughter and said:
"I think there are some Witches behind us..."
And the little girl turned round and looked at us in total awe, as if we actually were Witches.
I felt good

=]

And It Was Good.

I have a purpose again.
I'm planning my gap year!  Well, actually, me and my freindling Amelia are planning our gap-year. 
I haven't felt so excited about something since I started at the Grammar school, which is sad.  Sometimes I sit in lessons and I think: "How has no-one noticed how miserable I am?"
ANYWAY.
We want to do two main trips.
The first one will start in February 2012 (I know, so long away, but the planning needed is incredible).  We are going to fly to Sweeden to see the Northern Lights.  At the moment the plan is to spend one night in The Ice Hotel, although there is talk of igloo's instead.  Then we will fly to Moscow (my darling Russia at last) and get the Trans-Siberia railway through St. Petersburg, across Siberia, through Mongolia and eventually down to Beijing.  We will see and do various exciting things along the way including:
Living with Nomad Horse Back riders in Mongolia,
Seeing the beautiful frozen Lake Baikal,
Getting drunk with the locals on the train (according to Amelia's sister who has done this route)
Dealing with Russian and Chineese border crossings.

That is TRIP ONE, and has a possible visit to Japan at the end if there is some money left.

TRIP TWO is focussed on Nunavut in Arctic Canada.  We want to go and spend a few weeks living with the Inuit people - something inspired by our mutual love of the Michelle Paver books, and looking at whales and sea-kayaking.  If you go there then you need to have shot-gun training, cuz of the polar bears.  Polar Bears are the only animals on earth to actually set out to kill and eat humans.  They can smell blood from 3 miles away.  We want to go there in June, to see the 24 hour daylight of the Arctic Circle - which will be incredibly mystical.   

Lots of money will be needed, but can you imagine how amazing those trips will be.  The life expieriance that I'll get from doing that...
Crikey.
I might even get to sort my life out.

These are my beautiful Northern Lights.

I Write Because I Am.

I've just remembered to tell you all about my Cheltenahm Literary Adventures!  Here goes:

Sunday 11th of October 2009, I went to see Michelle Paver (author of the Chronicles Of Ancient Darkness) at the Cheltenham Literary Festival.  By the way - you should ALL read those books.  They make you want to run off to Finland and live in an elk-hide shelter and run around howling with wolves. [actually, I'm doing that.  But more about that later.] 
She was very, very good. She talked all about writing the books and all the cool travelling things she has done to research the books. Then we got to ask questions and I asked whether she had any advice for aspiring writers. When she answered she seemed very earnest and looked me in the face the whole time.



She told me:
1) To always keep a notebook with me
2) To always eat breakfast
3) To re-write. She showed me one of her manuscripts, and it was covered in adjustments.
4) To write what I like, not neccisarrily what I know.

It's really useful stuff that.  Honestly, it's been very helpful.  I always kept a notebook with me anyway, but the thing about re-writing has made me go bcak on loads of old stuff and be really ruthless. 
And that thing about writing what I like?
It's so true. 
Then, we queued to meet her and me and Amelia waited at the back so she would talk to us for longer. We waited about an hour and a half – because she spent a lot of time with everyone. She seemed so genuinely pleased to have us there. When we got to her, we both had our photo taken and then she said to me
“I’m so glad you waited, I wanted to talk to you a bit more about the writing.” And then she talked to me a little bit about structure, and said that although she thought I would already know it, the main structure of any story is...


A main character wants something, and there are obstacles along the way.


It’s true, you know.
And then she was talking to me a bit more, the she asked my name and I told her it was Charlotte ------. And she said
 "Well, that’s a name I’ll remember; I expect to see you sitting here one day, signing books for people.”
It was sooooo exciting! She seemed so interested in everyone and what they had to say and asking them questions and answering there’s. She also said she liked my nail-varnish, which was my dark-purple winter-time fare.


Then, she wrote in my book:


“For Charlotte,
With very best wishes, and good luck with your writing.
Michelle Paver.”

And then she stamped it with her cool wolf print stamp.
It was a very good day, and it really re-enforced my ambitions. It’s hard work, but I’ll do it.


Thankyou Michelle Paver.

This Fig-Tree

"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig-tree in the story.

From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and off-beat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.
I saw myself setting in the crotch of this fig-tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."


- Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar.
 
Now this is how I feel.  If only I could have found a way to express it so eloquently, maybe people would understand better.  I don't know...

Who Wants A Fairytale Anyway?

I had to write a monolgue of a fairytale character for English Language, and I thought I would show you.  For no other reason than I'm bored and want to post.  It's about Cinderella after the Happy Ever After.  I think it may illustrate my doubt about lasting love and, well, marraige. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Happily ever after wasn’t supposed to be like this.


Happily ever after is beautiful and sparkling. Happily ever after is... ever after.

It’s not sitting on the floor of the castle you called your home, in the finery you’ve just been told ‘isn’t really yours’, because you never bought it, watching the footmen – the footmen you used to command – carry your trunks out the door. It’s not watching your husband avert his gaze from you as you weep into the sleeve of your dress.


It’s the dress I was wearing when I met him. It’s my fairytale dress. One of the only things I can call my own, because it is my own. I had it when I was still a silly little girl from the sticks, still cleaning and cooking and dreaming of a handsome prince all of my very own. I had it the night my fairy godmother found me and turned me into a girl with glass slippers who felt invincible, who could do anything; even enchant the heir to the kingdom.


D’you know what? I wish I could have a word with Little Miss Fairy Godmother now. She’d have a few things to answer too, I can tell you. The last time I saw her was at the wedding – actually, I was allowed to keep that dress too, as a ‘sign of the Prince’s kindness’ – then she disappeared. What a cow. She was supposed to stick around, so, when things started to go wrong (and they did) she could wave her magic wand and tell me what to do to make it all better.


I mean, isn’t that a Fairy Godmother’s job? To stop me making it all go wrong.


I guess, if I think about it properly, it stopped being happily ever after right after the honeymoon. Yes, we came back all tanned and glossy and relaxed. The Prince had even got dreadlocks. They looked a bit silly, actually, but... well, I didn’t really want to tell him. He was so proud of them. I think he had visions of becoming some sort of new-age hippy prince. Anyway. Once we’d got back, he started working again – and he did have an awful lot to do, ‘cuz, well, he’s a prince – and I had to settle into the life of a princess. The thing is... and I know it’s not what people would expect... but, being a princess is pretty dull. You sit around all day waiting for someone to come and visit, so you can write them a thankyou note after.


I had to practice all that, too. I had to make my handwriting all fancy, and learn to speak like a princess. That meant a man told me I had to start saying Had, instead of ‘ad, and use big words. I can’t stop now. Had. Had. ‘ad. There we go. It’s nice to know I could go back to being how I used too. You know. If I wanted.


I wonder what I’ll do now? Now he’s gone off with his secretary. His secretary! It’s just such an insult, it’s such a cliché! Can you imagine what everyone will say? Bad blood. That’s what everyone will think – that he should never had married me in the first place. A little commoner who turned up to the palace one evening and passed herself off as someone with class.


Well. More fool me. That’s a warning to every girl, I suppose. You shouldn’t try and better yourself, ‘cuz that’s where all your problems’ll start.


I wonder if my Stepmum will ‘ave me back.

Now Mother, what's the Matter?

Isn't it funny how the simple act of my Mother kinda yelling at me 'what have you done with the hairdryer?" can awake such beautiful memories in me.  I also think it's a testament to Shakespeare, David Tennant and my nerdiness that the first thing thst came to mind for me to say was the aforementioned Hamlet quote (see the title.)

I've just ordered my copy of the Hamlet DVD.  This means that I'll have seen David Tenannt in Hamlet 3 times live... and about 3 million times via my DVD player.  And I have the feeling that however many times I watch it, it will always be amazing.  Because his preformance was excellent.  He was funny and engaging and made me cry when he dies.  He made me fall just a little bit in love with Hamlet.  Ohhh....  Seriously, I can't beelive it's almost a year (on October 30th) that I last saw him in real life.  I queued at 7:30 in the freezing cold for two hours just to get that last ticket.  Previously, I'd seen him on my 15th birthday (August 28th) and Sepetember the 15th, with my fellow crazy-lover of him friend.  We met him that night.  He signed out programmes and spoke to us. 

Wow.

I still get shivers.

On a similar note - today I'm going with the same crazy best friend to see Michelle Paver talk at the Cheltanham Litery Festival.  I'm excited.  She wrote my almost-faveourite books.  I'll update you later.

For In That Sleep Of Death What Dreams May Come?

I'm reading my copy of Hamlet tonight.

I find an inordinate amount of comfort from it.  Because.

Because, despite my own problems, Hamlet's life is worse.

My Uncle hasn't married my Mother.  After killing my Father.

My Two best freinds aren't secretly spying on me.

I haven't got a ghost haunting me.

The mere act of typing this is making me feel better. 

Thankyou, William Shakespeare and your beautiful verse;
                                                        your beatiful prose.

& I Said, What About Breakfast At Tiffany's?

Wow!!

For the first time since starting AGS, I have had some glimmer of why I'm there.  It also coincided with a bit of an epiphany on the Uni front. 
But, first to the day.
I got called back in history, (a subject which I've already been told my Summer Project was the best in the class (God, I'm such a little history nerd)) by Miss E, and she said that she wanted to use my first essay on The Coalition Government as an 'example of excellence' to the class.  Well.  I was pretty chuffed, but also a bit awkward, as no-one wants to be a real goody-goody on the first homework.  But then she asked me to make a bunch of changes for tomorrow so she could do it, and I thought, 'well, it wan't that excellent was it?'

But anyway, happiness there.  And then me and Wally were late for tutor 'cuz we'd been eating fairycakes at my house, and so when we went to apologise to our tutor, she told me that she'd read a peice of work I'd done for Language, that Mrs BS had given her, and that it was really good.  She called me a clever girl, (which was, actually, a little bit patronising.)  But still.  I finally feel like I'm making some kind of progress.

And then last night, there was a University Discovery.  I have no-go areas for uni:
I don't want to go to the North of England.
I don't want to go to Oxford or Cambridge (even if I did have a hope in hell of getting even close to the grades)
I don't want to go to London.
I don't want to go to Wales - cuz I don't really like the accent (sorrrryyyy)
I don't want to go to Scotland APART from Edinborough, which is second on my choices.
I don't want to stay close to home.

So really, it's not going to be very easy.  But, one place I've always wanted to go to is Exeter.  For one main reason:
JK Rowling went there.  For me, as you can see from above, that is a good enough reason to want to go, because I'm going to try and emulate her if I can.  Butttt, last night, my Dad discovered two more reasons that I should go:
1) They are 5th in The Sunday Times uni guide for English Lit (the course I want to do)
2) If you study Lit there, you spend the second year at an American or Canadian uni. 

Now, I LOVE America.  I want to live there when I grow up.  I've travelled around 46 states, and I'm doing the rest at Easter.  This would be a dream come true.  So, my Dad booked us a tour around the campus on Wednesday 28th October, so I can get a feel for it, cuz it won't be long till I start having to make big decisions.

As everyone keeps telling me.

God.

This is a long post, and I will sign off now, as I have to go and interveiw my Grandad for my Language Coursework.  I'll let you know how it goes.

We are not our Sorrows.

So says Nerina Pallot on her song "Human", from her new album "The Graduate."

God.  I knew it would be beautiful, after all, someone who wrote "Idaho", a song that made me sob because, when I first listened to it, it seemed to be me, in song form.  But, it really is very, very good. 

It's a bit more poppy than 'Fires', but I like pop, and it's meaningful pop - if you see what I mean.  I think my faveourite song is "Human", because I was in a really bad place yesterday, and I heard that song and it made me stop in my tracks, and lie on my bed and want to cry because it had made me feel so much more uplifted.  Seriously, the lines:

"We are not our sorrows,
We are not our scars,
No, we are only human,
This is what we are."

really, really struck a chord with me.  It helps that she also has a voice like no-one else's (in a good way.)

Another song I LOVED, was "When Did I Become Such A Bitch?"  It was amusing, and catchy, and I sang it all day.  At one point, my best friend turned to me in RE and said: 'You've always been a bitch, now shut up!" 
Ah, that's why I love her.

BASICALLY....
What I'm trying to say is, go out and BUY IT. 
Please.  I can promise you won't regret it.  And I did it legally, with a real-life CD again. 

I feel all flustered...

And it's probably not just because of my stinking cold.

I JUST GOT AN EMAIL FROM MARKUS ZUSACK!!!!

I wrote to him, months ago, at christmas, telling him how much I loved his books (especially The Book Thief) and then never heard anything back.  Now, my email was long and adoring, as he is my ultimate writing inspiration of the modern age.  Seriously, if you've never read The Book Thief, buy it.  Infact, I'll buy it for you.  It will have you weeping so hard at the end.  God, it's truly spectatcular.

So, I didn't hear anything back, and then I forgot.  But THEN...

I logged onto my email this morning, and LOOK WHAT I FOUND:

Dear Charlotte,



I know this comes so so late, but...


THANK YOU!

I've been a bit of a recluse this year, writing and failing, failing more and writing more to get a new book done. And your email has really made my day. I'm so honoured that you would let me know what my writing means to you, and that you like the images especially. That's what I love most about reading and writing - seeing visions of things that give us the world in a new way.


All my very best and thanks for taking the time to let me know all those months agao.


Markus
 
I'm sorry.  Call me a wimp, but I burst into tears.  I mean, he's an incredible writer, and he said that I made his day.  And he's honoured I wrote to him.
 
Wow.
 

Like, OHMYGOD

JK Rowling is on twitter. 

Seriously.  Call me a nerdy little fan-girl, but I just did a little scream-squeal when I discovered.  She says she probably won't update, but I DON'T CARE.  I can follow my idol on twitter.

She's got special font on her name as a sign of my admiration.  Yeah. 

Woweee.  

=]

Sugar daddy but he's just a Munter.

Those are the kind of lyrics that pepper Mika's new album, that particular gem can be found on "Good Gone Girl", which is shaping up to be my faveourite track.  I'm also in love with "I See You."  There's something about the way he sings it that makes it sound so... haunting, I guess. 

And, I love Mika so much that I went totally Old School.  I actually bought it, not downloaded it or got someone else to copy it for me, but went to HMV, picked it up and bought it.  I know.  Radical.

I love having it in my hands, even though if I'd have bought it on iTunes I'd have got bonus tracks.  But it's good.  It's better than good, it's great.  I loved how he kept the Life in Cartoon Motion elements, but kind of upgraded them.  He is a genius =]

Toodles,
xxx

NewBlogNewBlogNewBlog!

I have, a new blog =]

This one is all about my impending trip to Russia with my school.  I'll probably be wanting to post about it a lot, so I created a whole blog about it.  It will, I hope, be a travel-ly version of this one, featuring interesting facts, funny remarks, my fears, my hopes, my excitement. 

Come and take a look, if you like this, I'm pretty sure you'll like that too =]

http://onetickettorussia.blogspot.com/ 

In any other world, You could tell the difference.

I suspect that this has been one of those weeks where I'll look back and think: "Yep, that was a decider."

It has been a tough week. Most nights I've been too exhausted to cry myself to sleep, even though that's what I've wanted too do.

School is hard. And I was really, really considering quitting and going for this job at my Dad's old company. £13,000 a year and my Mum said she'd get me a flat if I took it. Tempting. Horribly, horribly, tempting...

So yesterday I had totally hit this brick wall, and I just thought: "I cannot do this for two years." this being homework, being living for the weekends and merely suviving Monday thru Thursday, being tired all the time. Then, I reconsidered.

I am not a quitter. I really am not. I don't have a history of giving things up because they're too hard. It's not how I was raised. It doesn't conform with my "What Would [insert current faevourite book character here] Do?" way of thinking.

So I'm not gonna quit because I have a bit too much work.

Then, I had bad news about a family member. That knocked me for six, and I'm not hugely ready to deal with it all yet.

But, on the upside, I'm going to Russia. Real Russia. The Russia of my imaginings. The Russia of my childhood dreams. In March, with my school.

So.

Stress, sadness and joy. It has been a tiring week.

DAVID TENNANT DON'T GO!

http://scottishactors.blogspot.com/2009/08/david-tennant-at-v-festival-doctor-who.html

Please. PleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePleasePLEASE.

But if you must go, do it with The Master. & Bernard Cribbins. & Snog John Barrowman. & with all the things I've heard about.

I love you!! && I love Russel T Davies.
[and I met him. And he called me pretty.]

You used to get it in your FISHNETS.

I'm going to see The Arctic Monkeys!!!

My friend had a spare ticket, so I payed her £40, a bucket of salty popcorna nd a bus ticket.

Which is apparently the price of a concert ticket these days.

I AM SO EXCITED!!!!

Ode To Cotton

Wearing my white cotton sundress again today.

Bought it at the start of the summer from Topshop, for £40, and the cost-per-waer must be about 10p by now.

I keep thinking it's the last time I'll wear it but... it always surprises me.

That Was The Week That Was.

I'm going to see Dorian Gray tomorrow!

It looks pretty damn amazing, and I cannot wait =]

My friend who I'm going with has been tricked into going with me by Ben Barnes. I think she'd watch paint dry if Ben Barnes was there.

I'll tell you how it was, tomorrow.

And, in case you're interested, today was a much better day.

Zzzzzz

I'm exhausted. And I'm not sleeping properly.

After two days at a new school, I've got to say that my first day was TERRIBLE. I came home pretty sure I wouldn't last the week.

Today was better, though.

And English Lit looks like it's going to be my faveourite. Othello, The Kite Runner, A Street Car Named Desire, The Great Gatsby, Keats and Hardy.

Yes Please.

And, a nice boy in my lit class & tutor. Whose reading pretty much the same books as me.

Now. How do I get his number?

The Dice Were Loaded From The Start.

Tomorrow, I start my brand new school.

I. Am. Dreading. It.

But, in a kind of detactched, apathetic way, because part of me is still thinking: "What? Me? Going to school tomorrow? Nah."

I've been so unstructured for so long, I don't no how I'm gonna deal with a 8:45am - 4pm day. With, you know, actual bells and stuff. And an alotted time for lunch. What if I want to eat my sandwhich at 11am? I won't be able too, because the teacher will be very annoyed.

The one fabby things about 6th form, though, is that we have a little cafe bit, which means that we get to order hot things like tea.


Ah, tea.

It might just be what gets me through the next two years of my life.

Wish me luck!

Writing a CV is...

Stressfull.



Very Stressfull.

Spin Me Faster, Like A Kalidescope.

Have just come back from a holidaying with friends in the Lake District. My Friends sister came along too, and got us all totally addicted to this song.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=McdqerXrwXE

I was singing it all the way around Blackpool Pleasure Beach, where I totally and completely lost my fear of rides by going on:
1. Bling Bling (totally amazing)
2. Infusion (shit scary)
3. The Pepsi Max (Biggest rollar coaster in Europe. Felt Like It.)

We also went to see The Time Travallers Wife in the ODDEST cinema ever. It had an interval.

I had the best time.

Sweet Sixteen

That's how old I am, as of 10:06pm yesterday.
Wow. I'm O.L.D
But, I had a lovely day, especially after all the excitement of my results. I even got cake for breakfast, although it was my Dad's leftover birthday cake (as his is on the 26th - bit stressfull for my mom that we're so close together). I'm getting my amazing cake at my birthday meal. I will post pictures.
I woke up to balloons and banners and general excitement, and I got:
A beautifull silver locket which is very Victorian.
Various books and CD's
The DVD boxset of Party Animals (yay!)
Some Clothes
Pretty dreamcatcher earrings made by Native Americans
and...
Pride and Predjudice and Zombies from my best friend Alice, who knows how much I hate Jane Austen. Can't wait to get stuck in!

During the day I went shopping, and bought the dress I've been lusting after for months in Warehouse. It's gold and silk and has a taffetta underskirt and makes me feel like a 1950's debutante. Ohhhh, it's so beautiful, and now I own it!!! I'm wearing to my meal on Sunday!

Sayonara!

Results!

I've got my GCSE results!
Thought I was going to vomit this morning, but then I went up to school and discovered I had got:
A* English Lit (So, so happy)
A* English Lang (So, SO Happy)
A* History
A Science ( I didn't do a scrap of work in scienece all year, and crammed teh night before. You see hildren? This is where cramming gets you.)
A German (My teacher predicted me a B! No idea HOW I got an A, but thats not my problem!)
A Maths (hahaha, mean primary school teacher who told em I'd never get any kind of mark in maths!)
A Textiles
A Additonal Science (like a second, harder science qualification)
A RE
B Music (which I thought I was going to fail)

So, lovelies, I'm SO HAPPY!!! I cried a little bit. && I'm gonna be in the paper.

AND, it's my birthday tomorrow!!!

Is this as cool as it gets?

Yes. I think it could be.

Well, my kind of cool. Which means everyone else's nerdy.

I saw this on the cricket yesterday, and I thought it was perhaps the best thing ever, for a Harry Potter-atic like me.

Its Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, arm in arm at The Ashes. When I saw them, they were drinking beer. Wow. I love it.

You're all turquoise ink and Exclamation Marks.

I like nothing better than writing letters. And, wonder of wonders, I had to send out five of them because it is my birthday in a few weeks, and I needed to inform my lovelies of the date, time etc. So, after picking up some marvellously whimsical stationary at Selfridges with a pretty turquoise ink pen, I set about to write my letters.

I must admit, once I'd adressed all the envelopes, I didn't want to send them. They were far too perfect.

It's a terrible shame the art of letter writing is so out of fashion.

It's healthy, isn't it?

Well, we didn't make Battenberg, we made Peanut Butter Cookies instead. I say 'we', because my friend Lauren came round, who is a long-standing baking freind of mine. You should of tasted our Halloween Fairy Cakes. They really were quite stunning. I mean, they tasted stunning. They didn't look too good.

Anyway, we baked. And we baked GOOD cookies. I would love to give you the recipie, but it's only on paper, and I can't be bothered to type it out. Google it. It involves 6 tablespoons of peanut butter, no eggs, some flour, some butter, some castor sugar and vanilla essence. Although not neccissarily in that order.

First we stirred:

Then we added milk: (lots of it)

Then we panicked a bit, because it looked like this, and that didn't look too good. However, it did taste good, and was 100% safe to eat raw, because it had no eggs. I always worry that I might get salmonella when I lick out a cake bowl. Then Loz & I washed our hand very thoroughly (You can't be too sure with all this swine flu) and balled the dough into little patties. Into the ovens for 25mns and....
Well, I don't have a picture to show you of that, because we got quite caught up in the eating of them. I'll suffice to say they were good.
And - we comforted ourselves with this thought - Peanut Butter's good fat. So really, it was a healthy thing to make.

Battenburg on a Park Bench.

I'm pretty sure that I'm gonna make Battenburg Cake tomorrow - although without the marzipan, cuz I hate that. There's a joy in Battenburg cake - I used to eat it at my Nan's. I think it's the symmetry of the pink and yellow squares. They make me feel young.

Me & My best friend once sat on a park bench eating a cheapo Battenburg once, laughing at all the dull people walking past us. That makes me feel young, too.

Anyway, it doesn't look too tricky. Famous last words.

I'll let you know how it goes.