What a spectacular night!
Let's start in the day first. Nothing happened. I prepared myself for the prom to some extent, as far as I styled my hair and took a shower, as well as buying some flip-flops for my holiday and a really nice white shirt that doesn't fit very well from Matalan. I think on balance, Matalan might be the worst place in the world. Sure, Afghanistan has its pit-falls, and Juarez isn't heaven on Earth, but Matalan really is the cesspit of fashion and home-ware. Don't get me wrong; I am appreciative of decent quality and cheap prices, but the sheer ineptitude of staff and the general riff-raff that the place attracts.
I then took a cab to the Town Hall to meet with my friends. We posed for pictures and just chatted for a while whilst the party bus arrived. Before getting on the bus, we let off a chinese lantern (with some persuasion) into the sky and watched it depart. We got on the bus and were pretty much blown away. The exterior looked like a double-decker bus that had been left in Hackney for a couple of hours, because it was totally covered in graffiti and whatnot, making it look particularly... urban. Inside, however, we were greeted with a modest splendor. The bottom deck was seldom used, but it housed a white bloke with dreadlocks, his bed, a fish tank and a fucking intense sound-system. Upstairs (where we were all sat) were two parallel sofas that stretched the entirety of the length; a handful of computer monitors (for whatever reason...) and a 52" plasma television. The journey only lasted 30 odd minutes, but was filled with tequila, blossom hill wine and lambrini, plus (frankly) racist black dancing on my behalf. When we arrived, I entertained the obligatory "Oh you look beautiful!" briefly before entering the venue and marveling at the size of the bouncers. They weren't particularly pleased when Charlie took a picture of them and made him delete them.
The prom itself was uninspiring. Shit music plus too many people that were stoned off their face. The banter was alright and it was nice to chat to teachers in a slightly more relaxed atmosphere, but nothing special. The cabbie took me to the wrong address, but didn't charge me, which shortened the journey and saved me money. WIN.
Have to get up at 5am tomorrow for my flight. I'll try to blog tomorrow but I'll be traveling for about 14 hours. Peace and love xxx
Thursday 30 June 2011
Today was my very last visit to school before I receive my grades. Initially, I was expected to attend Church. Oh what great fun. I gritted my teeth and endured as much as I could, whilst refusing to kneel, provoking concerned tutting from the devout. Most certainly my highlight of the mass; I made a comment about catholic mass and priests, which was overheard by one of the resident holymen. The comment included a comparative between mass and musical chairs, and may have made a reference to catholic priests and their preference of young boys.
This was followed by a free lunch of... I'm not sure. There was definitely cheese in it, but the only way that I could indicate that to the canteen lady was to point and grunt, for the sheer sight of the sloppy mess disabled my capacity to verbalise the horror.
Then, the signing of shirts. This was largely uneventful, to be honest. It is what you might expect. I drew a penis on the back of the biggest, blackest, scariest guy in our year and hope to survive the ordeal. My shirt is covered in encouraging messages... "Good luck you racist atheist", "Good luck fuckface"... it makes me feel warm and cosy inside :).
From then on, I did nothing in particular, but watch the television.
This was followed by a free lunch of... I'm not sure. There was definitely cheese in it, but the only way that I could indicate that to the canteen lady was to point and grunt, for the sheer sight of the sloppy mess disabled my capacity to verbalise the horror.
Then, the signing of shirts. This was largely uneventful, to be honest. It is what you might expect. I drew a penis on the back of the biggest, blackest, scariest guy in our year and hope to survive the ordeal. My shirt is covered in encouraging messages... "Good luck you racist atheist", "Good luck fuckface"... it makes me feel warm and cosy inside :).
From then on, I did nothing in particular, but watch the television.
Tuesday 28 June 2011
What a thoroughly uneventful day...
Well, not uneventful. Things happened, but more interesting things have happened in the past. Today was a day of football. The field was relatively empty but there was a hint of prophetic fallacy in the weather. Even after half an hour, the dark clouds loomed ominously overhead. We were stopped twice by a... I don't know what his job title was. He was a young bloke, first in a car, then in a golf-buggy, who instructed us to remove the football net that we were using. His reasoning? By using one net (not two, as common sense might dictate), we were signifying to the gods of Hackney Marsh Fields, that we were playing an official game; and thus it must be booked and paid for in advance. I won't go into detail of my response to this accusation, but the term "money-hungry cunt" was thrown about quite lacklustre.
We continued to play... netless for a couple of hours. I was in inferior form to last week, but I've been worse, so I can't complain tremendously. The weather continued to deteriorate. The muddy grey hue of the clouds got slightly darker, and the clouds themselves hovered above us. Eventually, the heavens opened and we were completely saturated with abnormally large droplets of rain. I can deal with rain for a short period of time, so I gritted my teeth and saw it through. We got another 30 minutes of a pleasantly warm summer breeze before it pelted again. This time, not only did it pelt, but we were greeted with thunder and lightning; the latter striking worryingly close and inspiring manly screams, though not from myself. After tolerating a fair amount of wetness, I surrendered and left for home, taking the 56 bus.
After that, nothing much happened. I braved Omeagle, but was overwhelmed by the prolific penises.
Well, not uneventful. Things happened, but more interesting things have happened in the past. Today was a day of football. The field was relatively empty but there was a hint of prophetic fallacy in the weather. Even after half an hour, the dark clouds loomed ominously overhead. We were stopped twice by a... I don't know what his job title was. He was a young bloke, first in a car, then in a golf-buggy, who instructed us to remove the football net that we were using. His reasoning? By using one net (not two, as common sense might dictate), we were signifying to the gods of Hackney Marsh Fields, that we were playing an official game; and thus it must be booked and paid for in advance. I won't go into detail of my response to this accusation, but the term "money-hungry cunt" was thrown about quite lacklustre.
We continued to play... netless for a couple of hours. I was in inferior form to last week, but I've been worse, so I can't complain tremendously. The weather continued to deteriorate. The muddy grey hue of the clouds got slightly darker, and the clouds themselves hovered above us. Eventually, the heavens opened and we were completely saturated with abnormally large droplets of rain. I can deal with rain for a short period of time, so I gritted my teeth and saw it through. We got another 30 minutes of a pleasantly warm summer breeze before it pelted again. This time, not only did it pelt, but we were greeted with thunder and lightning; the latter striking worryingly close and inspiring manly screams, though not from myself. After tolerating a fair amount of wetness, I surrendered and left for home, taking the 56 bus.
After that, nothing much happened. I braved Omeagle, but was overwhelmed by the prolific penises.
Monday 27 June 2011
What an boring day, bar a bath-time mishap.
My exams are over until my first batch of AS exams, which is a nice feeling. As predicted, statistics was an insult to my intelligence. The only thing that challenged me was the notion that 'Mular' was the name of somebody, and not a yoghurt. Apparently this is freedom, but I feel trapped inside my own house by this crippling heat. Thank goodness that it should be over tomorrow and return to a modest 20 odd degrees. My day has mostly been filled with nothing. I have continued to imprint my arse upon the right side cushion of my sofa. I may contact Guinness World Records; I may have made some development on whatever the pre-existing record is for doing nothing in one spot.
This brings me onto my next point. The one point of conversation that I can draw from this astoundingly tedious afternoon. I decided that a cold bath may be in order to counter the sweltering heat. Whilst this turned into a hotter-than usual bath instead of a cold point, the temperature is irrelevant. I sat there and was convinced that I heard an odd hissing noise. Perhaps the pipes had a leak or something? I looked over the edge and saw a rather large, fuzzy, cumbersome looking bumble-bee. Now, anybody with a shred of integrity or courage would raise their eyebrows briefly, and continue to stew in their own filth for a bit longer. Not I. Not your great helmsman, with his irrational fear of black, yellow, buzzing creatures. I leapt from my stagnant chamber and proceeded to scream like a 7 year old girl for a second or two, perhaps in jest, perhaps not. The scream was more high-pitched than I would ever scream in genuine fear, but then, I have never screamed in genuine fear ( to my knowledge). I take a more Viking-esque approach and run around with a blunt weapon shouting loudly. Anyway, enough self-plaudits. I proceeded to stand there, eying my foe up. It was moving towards the door. YES. I could close the door on it and devise some method of escaping the battlefield. I nudged in with the door, inducing a slight shudder (in myself) and persuaded it out of the door. Success! Or not. It had hung on and was scaling the door-frame, towards me (despite this being very unlikely, considering that it could fly at me with those wings it has on its back if really did want to get me). It seemed to change its mind and returned to its post on the bath-mat. I took a deep breath and hopped over the bee, slamming the door behind me and grabbing a towel. On the whole, a success. I'll overlook the fact that I left the radio on and my glasses in the bathroom behind me.
I went downstairs and asked my Dad to retrieve them and dispose of the bee. Fortunately, the bee must have died of overheating, and was probably buzzing an SOS to me, in forlorn hope that I would save it. How perfect. I'm not most certainly not a sociopath, but this is the one tendency of a sociopath that I don't regret taking on.
My exams are over until my first batch of AS exams, which is a nice feeling. As predicted, statistics was an insult to my intelligence. The only thing that challenged me was the notion that 'Mular' was the name of somebody, and not a yoghurt. Apparently this is freedom, but I feel trapped inside my own house by this crippling heat. Thank goodness that it should be over tomorrow and return to a modest 20 odd degrees. My day has mostly been filled with nothing. I have continued to imprint my arse upon the right side cushion of my sofa. I may contact Guinness World Records; I may have made some development on whatever the pre-existing record is for doing nothing in one spot.
This brings me onto my next point. The one point of conversation that I can draw from this astoundingly tedious afternoon. I decided that a cold bath may be in order to counter the sweltering heat. Whilst this turned into a hotter-than usual bath instead of a cold point, the temperature is irrelevant. I sat there and was convinced that I heard an odd hissing noise. Perhaps the pipes had a leak or something? I looked over the edge and saw a rather large, fuzzy, cumbersome looking bumble-bee. Now, anybody with a shred of integrity or courage would raise their eyebrows briefly, and continue to stew in their own filth for a bit longer. Not I. Not your great helmsman, with his irrational fear of black, yellow, buzzing creatures. I leapt from my stagnant chamber and proceeded to scream like a 7 year old girl for a second or two, perhaps in jest, perhaps not. The scream was more high-pitched than I would ever scream in genuine fear, but then, I have never screamed in genuine fear ( to my knowledge). I take a more Viking-esque approach and run around with a blunt weapon shouting loudly. Anyway, enough self-plaudits. I proceeded to stand there, eying my foe up. It was moving towards the door. YES. I could close the door on it and devise some method of escaping the battlefield. I nudged in with the door, inducing a slight shudder (in myself) and persuaded it out of the door. Success! Or not. It had hung on and was scaling the door-frame, towards me (despite this being very unlikely, considering that it could fly at me with those wings it has on its back if really did want to get me). It seemed to change its mind and returned to its post on the bath-mat. I took a deep breath and hopped over the bee, slamming the door behind me and grabbing a towel. On the whole, a success. I'll overlook the fact that I left the radio on and my glasses in the bathroom behind me.
I went downstairs and asked my Dad to retrieve them and dispose of the bee. Fortunately, the bee must have died of overheating, and was probably buzzing an SOS to me, in forlorn hope that I would save it. How perfect. I'm not most certainly not a sociopath, but this is the one tendency of a sociopath that I don't regret taking on.
Sunday 26 June 2011
Fuck me, it's hot...
Good. An articulate start to an articulate blog. Fantastic. Honestly, though, it's about 30 degrees right now. White people are not built for this weather, which brings up the very serious question as to why I chose to wear jeans, knowing full-well that it would indeed be this warm. Perhaps what worries me more so is that I still cannot bring myself to put some shorts on. Is something wrong with me (other than my brilliant affliction of genius)?
What else is there to say? Why do I ask so many questions? I may have developed a slight sun-burn. I desecrated my self-imposed alcohol ban and enjoyed a small French lager (Asda selected, of course) with a good sci-fi novel. I say good, I've read 80 pages, and the political and ethical ideology it puts forth deter me slightly. 'Starship Trooper' by Robert Heinlein; but it's well written and easy to engage with. Odd, really... his more popular title, 'Stranger in a strange land' was quite liberal and almost anarchic in its deploring of organised religion (much to my satisfaction). Perhaps I'm missing something. Perhaps it's an extended, highly ironic metaphor. We'll see.
In writing this, I took a break to visit the bathroom. I have since adorned a cool pair of green check shorts. Is it bad that only my bowels can motivate me?
Some background to my current situation: I've just completed about 13 GCSE exams. I've got another one tomorrow; statistics, but that'll hopefully be a piece of piss. On the whole, I think I've done pretty well, and the whole process has been largely relaxing. The ability to come and go as you please really does relieve unnecessary pressure. I'm also very much looking forward to beginning my A-levels. I've picked History, English Literature, Government & Politics and Sociology. They're all in a similar vein and are all conducive to my overall interest in history, hopefully forming a solid academic profile for university. I suppose that's why I'm looking forward to it, but I can tell that my positive thinking is pretty naive. I can be especially lazy and I recognise that my workload will be pretty intense.
This brings me onto my next point. Work. It doesn't exist. It just doesn't; at least not work for under-qualified 16 year olds. Yeah, the UK is essentially under austerity measures, and unemployment is high, but I'm brilliant. Why would the world deny the part-time retail sector of my presence?
In terms of the immediate future, I think it's fair to say that I'm going to circle into a pit of alcoholism and possibly recreational drug use for the summer. I'm off to Mexico on Friday for a week. Fun, a 10 hour plane journey to contemplate life, the universe and myself, then 7 days of unrealistically warm and humid conditions to continue to do so. Seriously, I do appreciate the fact that I'm flying first cla . ss to a 5* resort, but it would be so much cooler if Mexico's alcohol laws were more relaxed. Then I've got a Bad Religion gig to attend. Fun times. Then Halfway to New York, which could be cool. Then I'm off to Ireland to visit my ancestor's stamping grounds (yes, largely pointless, but it's probably not as fucking boiling as it is now). Then Zebrahead and finally Reading festival. Fit in sporadic drunkenness and GCSE results, and that's my summer sorted. Will blog again soon, with considerably less to write
Good. An articulate start to an articulate blog. Fantastic. Honestly, though, it's about 30 degrees right now. White people are not built for this weather, which brings up the very serious question as to why I chose to wear jeans, knowing full-well that it would indeed be this warm. Perhaps what worries me more so is that I still cannot bring myself to put some shorts on. Is something wrong with me (other than my brilliant affliction of genius)?
What else is there to say? Why do I ask so many questions? I may have developed a slight sun-burn. I desecrated my self-imposed alcohol ban and enjoyed a small French lager (Asda selected, of course) with a good sci-fi novel. I say good, I've read 80 pages, and the political and ethical ideology it puts forth deter me slightly. 'Starship Trooper' by Robert Heinlein; but it's well written and easy to engage with. Odd, really... his more popular title, 'Stranger in a strange land' was quite liberal and almost anarchic in its deploring of organised religion (much to my satisfaction). Perhaps I'm missing something. Perhaps it's an extended, highly ironic metaphor. We'll see.
In writing this, I took a break to visit the bathroom. I have since adorned a cool pair of green check shorts. Is it bad that only my bowels can motivate me?
Some background to my current situation: I've just completed about 13 GCSE exams. I've got another one tomorrow; statistics, but that'll hopefully be a piece of piss. On the whole, I think I've done pretty well, and the whole process has been largely relaxing. The ability to come and go as you please really does relieve unnecessary pressure. I'm also very much looking forward to beginning my A-levels. I've picked History, English Literature, Government & Politics and Sociology. They're all in a similar vein and are all conducive to my overall interest in history, hopefully forming a solid academic profile for university. I suppose that's why I'm looking forward to it, but I can tell that my positive thinking is pretty naive. I can be especially lazy and I recognise that my workload will be pretty intense.
This brings me onto my next point. Work. It doesn't exist. It just doesn't; at least not work for under-qualified 16 year olds. Yeah, the UK is essentially under austerity measures, and unemployment is high, but I'm brilliant. Why would the world deny the part-time retail sector of my presence?
In terms of the immediate future, I think it's fair to say that I'm going to circle into a pit of alcoholism and possibly recreational drug use for the summer. I'm off to Mexico on Friday for a week. Fun, a 10 hour plane journey to contemplate life, the universe and myself, then 7 days of unrealistically warm and humid conditions to continue to do so. Seriously, I do appreciate the fact that I'm flying first cla . ss to a 5* resort, but it would be so much cooler if Mexico's alcohol laws were more relaxed. Then I've got a Bad Religion gig to attend. Fun times. Then Halfway to New York, which could be cool. Then I'm off to Ireland to visit my ancestor's stamping grounds (yes, largely pointless, but it's probably not as fucking boiling as it is now). Then Zebrahead and finally Reading festival. Fit in sporadic drunkenness and GCSE results, and that's my summer sorted. Will blog again soon, with considerably less to write
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