Land of the Free

I'm squeezed on a cramped economy seat about to take off on the flight back to sunny Wales as I reminisce about my amazing, whirlwind holiday in America. It's been an absolutely incredible 4 weeks visiting my family in New Jersey and Wisconsin. (I'm half American, if you hadn't gathered from my weird accent. Actually though, hardly anyone can actually place my accent. I've been asked if I'm from countries like Ireland, Scotland, Canada and even Dubai!)

Before I continue with my holiday tales, I need to explain something once and for all. I am English and American, not Nepali, even though I was born in Nepal, as I have dual citizenship of England and America. What I love about having dual citizenship is that I can live in so much of the world easily - pretty much all of the EU and America. Also, because my family is so spread out throughout the world, I can visit loads of places that my family have access to because of their local knowledge, which I love.

Well I was just about to take off, but we’re being delayed as the New Jersey airport (I’m flying from Milwaukee to Newark to Heathrow) has been closed for some mysterious reason that they have failed to disclose to us poor souls. Great.

Anyway, this holiday has probably been my favourite holiday in all my sixteen (almost seventeen – 1 month!) years of life. I’ve done so much and have so much to be thankful for. I have cantered through forests, window shopped in fancy malls, actually shopped in cheaper shops, swum in lakes, met a Native American and found out I'm related to him, paddled in a water fountain in Chicago, got interviewed for a news channel, canoed along rivers, sunbathed on Jersey shore, ambled through Central Park, laughed with my cousins and cried with my Grandma.

It’s been amazing to catch up with my family and see where they are in their lives now. I’ve never had relatives live nearby so any time I spend with them is so precious. In fact, I love my family so much I think you should meet them, so here’s the lovely photo from our family reunion (this is my American side by the way.)

 Okay, so I'm writing the rest of this post a few weeks after I arrived back. I got way too tired on the plane to think straight. 

I have no idea how to put any structure to my crazy holiday, so I guess I'll summarise it chronologically. Here goes.

Firstly, we managed to choose just about the worst possible day to fly to New Jersey. We had to land in a random military base and wait for 2 hours because a runway in Newark airport had been struck by lightening. We flew over the worst thunderstorm New York has seen in a long time. Drama seems to follow me wherever I go!

I find travelling quite a surreal experience, even though I have done so much of it. It's so weird to step in a metal cylinder, watch a few films, try and swallow some chicken that tastes like plastic, watch another film, step out of the metal cylinder and BAM - you're in a new country with new culture, a new language (American is practically a whole different language) and a new time zone to adjust to. I think I would've suited living a century ago much more, where you take a two week voyage to discover foreign lands, as you have plenty of time to process the idea that you're going to a different country. But I digress. 

We experienced a lot of very stereotypically American things whilst in New Jersey; Bill Bryson would've had a field day. We went to a baseball game, shopped in malls, had countless Dunkin Donuts and drank a lot of coffee, due to the tea in America being absolutely revolting. Seriously. Even the Twinings English Breakfast 'British Blend' was different. Twinings, I expected better.

I insisted that we had to go into New York city, as the last few times we've been to New Jersey my mum has been put it off, as people from New Jersey have a pretty negative view of Manhattan. In the end I went twice, which was incredible. Manhattan is such a busy, vibrant city - I'd always heard people saying how full of life it is, but until I visited I never realised how crazy it was. I would probably end up in a mental asylum if I lived there, but it was fun for 2 days. 

On my first visit with my cousins, we went to the Museum of Modern Art (or the MoMA to you arty people out there.) I love art museums. They're always so quiet and peaceful, and I  love the spaciousness of the big, white rooms with the big, white walls decorated with a painting or two, even in the middle of Manhattan where space is so sought after. Some of the art was pretty weird, but most of it was beautiful. 

I saw loads of art that I had analysed last year for my AS exam (yes, you do do writing and thinking in art) - Warhol, Lichtenstein and Wesselmann, as well as other famous artists like Dali, Van Gogh, Monet and Rothko. If you didn't recognise at least 3 of those names, please google them. Then you can feel as cultured as I did, strolling around, saying "Oh look,  The Persistence of Memory! How fabulous, darling!"

My second visit was with the family. I was determined to see the Alice in Wonderland statue, so we traipsed the length of Central Park to find it. On the way, we had lunch at a cute little lakeside cafe. As we were ordering, Beth, like a magnet, was drawn to two chihuahuas sitting with a woman. 

For those of you who don't know Beth, she is animal crazy. She loves all animals, but has an infatuation with dogs. Seriously, she goes on walks with my mum to meet dogs that are out on walks with their owners. That kind of animal crazy. You can imagine her delight when my grandma announced she was going to get a dog in January. The dog, Molly, was not as excited as Beth was, however, as every waking moment was spent poking, preening and picking up Molly. (Exhibit A, our family photo at the top of this post.)

Being the responsible older sister that I am, I went along with Beth to meet the chihuahuas. Inevitably, I ended up making polite conversation with the woman while Beth cooed at the dogs. 

As most of you know, I don't like dogs. The only dog I will ever love is my grandma's dog. This woman obviously lived for her dogs (she was breaking off bits of her bagel and giving it to the dogs. Ew.) To tell her I didn't actually like dogs would've probably deeply offended her, so I obligingly patted the dog on the head when she insisted, thinking I was too shy to ask. 

As we filled the awkward silence, however, she told me how her dogs visit children in hospital, and how the bigger dog had found the littler dog in a bin. Cute stuff. People in Manhattan fascinate me.

We also ventured into Times Square, which is amazing. I looked like the typical tourist; neck craned looking at all the massive buildings and screens and taking pictures of anything and everything, which is why Hello Kitty targeted me, I guess. 

I was taking pictures of Beth with Elmo and a Smurf, not realising you were meant to tip these people, when Hello Kitty barged up to me, grabbed Beth, and in a chinese accent shouted 'Picture, Picture!' I obliged, even though I don't like Hello Kitty, and then took Beth's hand and carried on walking. 

I suddenly felt an urgent tap on my arm, and the same voice in broken English demanding a tip from me. If you have never had a giant Hello Kitty demanding money from you, you cannot being to realise how scary this is. 

I've never been good at saying things under pressure, and had no idea what to say to this terrifying cat with a square head, and so blurted out 'no-money-ah-blueasdfhjasdhgf' and ran off with Beth in tow. 

Sorry, whoever was underneath that awful costume. I'm sure you were just trying to put your kid through college or something. 

Then we ventured into Wisconsin to visit my Aunty, Uncle and cousin. We did loads of great things, including many fishing trips where I caught my first fish, stayed on my Aunty's parents' horse ranch, went to a beautiful hipster coffee shop called Mama D's, had countless McDonalds 50 cent cones, and toured Chicago. 

I definitely felt a connection with Chicago - I loved everything about it. The old buildings mixed with the new buildings, the Starbucks at every corner, all the art and music schools and the beach at the edge of the city (not the sea, as I originally thought, but Lake Michigan.)

One of the surreal parts of my visit to Chicago was this wall in Chicago. I'm not sure if it has an official name, so I'm going to call it the Wall of all Walls. It had bits of famous walls and buildings from all over the world stuck in it, as you can see below (my cousin is such a poser!)

The wall stretched for ages with stones from the Great Pyramids, the dome of St Peters Cathedral, etc. As I was looking along the wall I suddenly came across this stone. 

It was so odd so see something from Wales stuck next to something so famous. I felt rather patriotic and proud as I saw it though - the strong Welsh spirit must be getting to me.

I confess, I bought far too many edible and drinkable things (okay, mostly Starbucks) whilst I was walking about 500 miles around Chicago. I always find it funny ordering things in restaurants or cafes in America, because you can see people around you pricking their ears to try and inconspicuously listen to your accent as you order.

Whenever I ordered anything, I would always play up my English accent, as my theory is that they enjoy serving British people, and sometimes give you free food. I once got a free Starbucks in America after the Barista complimented me on my top (it has a marshmallow roasting over a fire, with the caption 'Working on my tan' - I found it hysterical.)  I doubt that he gave it to me because of the shirt, though, I reckon it was my accent.

So there I was, in one of the million Starbucks in Chicago, buying a coffee for my cousin. I'm so kind. I asked in my poshest accent "Can I have an Americano, please?" 

The barista chuckled and loudly exclaimed "I'm an Americano, you can have me!" 

I politely laughed, wishing I hadn't promised to buy my cousin a coffee. 

As I took the coffee, he asked me where I was from in England. I explained that I was actually from a little country called Wales in the UK (not technically true but I'm wasn't going to tell this guy my life story!) 

He told me that he lived in Wigan for a year, which apparently is near the Welsh border (I nodded politely, not knowing where the heck Wigan was, but not wanting to show how bad my geography of Britain is), and, leaning on the counter, drawled in his american accent 'schlan-vayre-push-gwin-gish-gogely-schluwen-droberth-lanty-sillio-go-go-gogh' with a look of triumph. Grabbing the americano, I corrected his 'll' sound, said bye and hurried off, not wanting to seem to desperate to get away. Bless. At least he tried.

On that note, I conclude my whistlestop tour of my holiday, not that you probably cared to know any of that, but hey, you're reading this, which means you either read it all word for word (pah!) or you skipped to the end after you glanced at each photo, wondering how I would awkwardly conclude another blog post (this is the hardest part, bar starting the post.) And so, I conclude with my cousin's little film project that he did around Chicago with us - it was a lot of fun, as you will soon see. Enjoy!

A Month of Madness

I can't believe it's been a month since I last wrote, so much has happened in my life! I did my AS exams (which by the way I have decided not to tell anyone my results as I don't like the whole system of everyone asking each other what they got) and had almost 3 weeks of holiday which were filled with many, many adventures! 

Since it was my second day back in school today, which was day 2 of our UCAS induction (which was incredibly interesting, especially Debs' talk yesterday in which she used a consistent sporting lexical set throughout to link UCAS applications to the olympics) I thought it would be good to sum up the last 3 weeks. I had a number of things in mind for my 3 weeks of madness...

1. Camping with Tash (and Dad)

I have been persuading Tash to go camping with me for the last 4 years, so I was delighted when she finally broke and agreed to come on the condition that I bring her tea in bed in the morning. Being the organising freak I am, I planned out in great length where we could camp that was also in walking distance of a horseriding centre. 

I finally found Llangorse Lake in the Brecon Beacons, and so we were all packed and ready to go when I thought we should check we would be allowed to camp by ourselves. Turns out we weren't (even though we are probably 'sensible and responsible' they couldn't risk it) so in the end my lovely Dad came with us. We had wonderful weather as shown in the next few photos, and so the afternoon we got there we decided to hire a rowing boat and go out in the lake. 

Being the good dad he is, my dad rowed us out into the lake so we didn't kill any of the swans swimming around (or the hoards of kids in kayaks) and then let Tash and I take turns rowing the boat. I think it's safe to say I got the gist of the whole pulling-two-oars-together-at-the-same-time business a little bit quicker than Tash, who, despite her continuous mocking at my lack of balance and general awareness of gravity, was actually the less co-ordinated of us (exhibit A).

Tash's concentration face

That night we had just settled down to go to sleep (on a side note, I absolutely hate sleeping in sleeping bags. It's horribly constrictive) when we heard this scuffling, nibbling noise. We both dismissed it at first, but it carried on and we could hear the sound moving around to right outside where our heads were, like a horror movie in surround sound. 

I should have probably said that Tash hates mice and rats to the extent that I hate bugs, so when we heard this sound she sat bolt upright, eyes round and dramatic (what a diva) and started crying. We first tried scaring the creature away with various loud 'scary' noises, but to no avail.

Oh, and by this time we were both desperate for the toilet. Not good.

Being the brave person I am, armed with a flashlight I ventured outside, much to the chagrin of Tash who thought the creature was going to come in through the zip as I opened it. 

I never saw the creature, but what met me when I crept out of our bedroom was a pot of honey. Turns out Tash didn't realise that sticky sweet food would attract unwelcome visitors, so her personal pot of honey that she brought around with her while we were camping (weird, I know) turned out to bring creatures instead of comfort!

The next day, after packing everything up and Dad giving me my first driving lesson around the field (such fun!) we went to the riding centre. When we were offered the choice of having 1 hour for £20 or 2 hours for £30. Being the savvy money saving girl I am, I thought 2 hours was a good deal, so off we trotted (literally), but not before we were assigned horses. This is how the conversation went:

Horse Lady: Have you got riding experience? 

Tash: Yeah I rode when I was younger...

Horse Lady: Okay, you can have Whitney. 

Although Tash was telling the truth, I think Horse Lady may have thought Tash was a little more experienced than she actually was, as once Tash was on Whitney she realised she had been given the fiesty little pony that wasn't well trained yet, hence why only "experienced riders" can ride her. I was perfectly happy on my slow, ploddy horse Dante, and felt quite smug when I was ambling through the countryside whilst Tash was constantly having to grip the reigns so Whitney would walk and not constantly try and graze. 

I blame Tash's "experience" for the series of events that happened next. Horse Lady said we would have a go trotting (which is absolutely horrible and does not do favours for the backside) and so off we bounced.

Whitney doesn't just trot though. Whitney isn't trained enough to trot with all the other horses in a nice line. Oh no, Whitney likes cantering freely. So off she canters, and Dante was suddenly not the slow ploddy horse I thought he was, but a wannabe Whitney, so off he canters too. Before when we were trotting, I thought I was about to fall off in a very ungraceful manner every 2 seconds, so needless to say I thought I was going to die when Dante bolted and started dashing across the field, ignoring my feeble effort at pulling the reigns. 

Apart from me waving at someone who I thought was my dad but was actually just a butch woman (she was far away, okay?) the rest of the horseride was pretty normal, although if you are ever offered the choice of a 1 hour ride or a 2 hour ride, always choose the 1 hour. 2 hours sufficiently bruised our backsides to the point that once we got off our horses we could barely walk.

And so our fun packed 2 days had come to an end. I think this next photo sums up how much fun it was (Tash'll love me for including this beauty of a photo).

I was planning to write about my other adventures, but seeing how long that one took to write about, I'll finish this blog post another time - ooh the suspense! 

Also, I have brownie camp this weekend (as an leader (Eagle Owl, nice to meet you), not a brownie, before you ask) and then the week after I have my D of E practice expedition (oh the joys!) so I'm sure I will have plenty to write about in the next few weeks! 

When I told Mr Blanche a while back I wanted to be a journalist, he asked me what I wanted to write about, to which I replied my life. He laughed and said sarcastically "Today I had beans on toast for breakfast..." but the amount of weird situations I frequently get myself into prove that I could probably write about my life and might possibly be able to get away with it. We shall see. 

I'll leave you with a piano piece that I have almost finished learning, it's absolutely beautiful. I play it a bit differently to this recording, but you can get the gist.

Vegetarianism

Right now I'm lying in bed with a bin overflowing with tissues beside me and sipping a hot cup of tea, trying to remember what I have done this past month.

One significant thing, I suppose, was my decision to become a vegetarian. Not forever, just for a month to see if I could manage it. Most people looked at me strangely when I told them I was doing it to challenge myself, but I think it's good to challenge yourself now and then. 

For example, in December I made up my own advent calendar and stuck to it quite rigidly. Granted, I didn't do everything on my list (I still need to make a cloth wreath) but I was pretty faithful to my challenge. I also came across an facebook conversation I had a while back when I put on a bracelet and tried to go 21 days (don't ask me where this figure came from, I have no idea) without complaining. If I complained, I would swap the wrist the bracelet was on, and start again.

The ironic part of this challenge, I suppose, is that I write frequently in this blog about things that frustrate me. A few friends have picked up on this, one telling me 'I like the way you moan about things'. Trust me, this was not my intention when starting this, but there we go. There are some things that need to be vented.

The trigger for this challenge, however, was because I was countlessly being mistaken as a vegetarian. I have absolutely no idea why, but so many people have challenged my meat purchasing over the past few months especially, thinking I was a vegetarian. Even people I have know for almost 5 years. 

When I questioned them as to why they thought this, I had a few funny responses, such as that I seemed like a 'caring person' but the most memorable was my friend saying with the utmost sincerity 'It's, like, something you would do'. Emphasis on the you. I'm not sure whether to be flattered or not.

Anyway, this month's challenge went of to a flying start. I celebrated my last carnivorous day with the best sunday lunch I have ever had, and then embarked on the challenge. At first, it was quite easy. I didn't miss meat much at all, and my mum was very kind and made vegetarian food all week so I wouldn't have to cook for myself. But school was where it was hardest.

Those of you who have the pleasure of attending the best school in Bridgend County Borough (no sarcasm intended) will know that despite the good academic results, the food results in the canteen aren't so great. 

Don't get me wrong, I love our school dinner ladies, they're amazing. Every morning, several times a day, Tash and I cue up, and as soon as they see us they say 'tea laave?' and give us tea without waiting for a response. Their school dinners are a different story, though.

I don't know why, but they feel the need to put sweetcorn in everything they make. I know that this has nothing to do with being a vegetarian, but I really don't understand it. I can justify sweetcorn in tomato pasta, and at a stretch bolognase, but baked beans and sweetcorn as a pasta topping? I don't think so.

But besides the sweetcorn problem, there was literally nothing to eat except a cheese baguette and a cold tomato and basil pasta (with sweetcorn added, naturally). I chose the tomato and basil pasta (which was foul just in case you were thinking of buying it), since I don't eat raw cheese. And yes, there is such thing as raw cheese, a.k.a unmelted. Trust me, I have met many that find the concept of raw cheese hard to understand.

I didn't really miss meat much though. The point when I suddenly wanted to stop being a vegetarian was when I saw a picture of  Haribos on Facebook somewhere, and suddenly craved gelatin and everything meat related at once. 

And so, Sunday came around, mother dearest took the roast beef out of the oven and I decided to end my week of vegetarianism. It may not seem much, and I may not have completed the full month, but meat has never tasted so good.

A little side note, you may have noticed my new snazzy blog title. I'm very proud of it, as I struggled greatly with the concept of trying to put a few images and some text together. You wouldn't believe how long it took me to make it (including the little teacup sketch of mine that I scanned) so appreciate it. 

To end, I'm leaving you with a song I stumbled across. They're a relatively unknown band, so I suppose I'm quite 'hipster' for liking them. Enjoy! 

Breaking the Preconceptions

I've been wanting to blog about something for a while, but have never felt that the time was right. However recently I've been experiencing it more and more and so I have decided to come out with it.

Just because I am doing A Level Art, I am not dull.

For some reason society has this ranking order of different subjects in school, and immediately categorise people for the subjects they have taken. 

For example, I know plenty of people (my brother included) that have taken all sciences or maths for their A levels, and because of this, some deem themselves to be a cut above everyone else. I find it irritating when people ask me what subjects I have taken, and then when I answer English, German, History and Art I get the 'that's a nice mix!' response, or 'nice creative subjects then!', but when someone answers 'Physics, Chemistry, Maths and Biology' the asker is overwhelmed with how intellectual said person must be to take such demanding subjects.

Don't get me wrong, I find those subjects hard. I did triple science last year, and apart from Dr Wellington's amazingly dry wit and the banter that accumulated between our table and my biology teacher (who hates anyone associated with drama in any way) I didn't enjoy those lessons at all. Dr Wellington thought I was a joke, and a clumsy joke at that, as I sliced my hand open somehow in one of the controlled prac assessments. And don't get me started on Mr Lawson, who probably thought I was in need of a trip to the psychiatrist when he, along with the rest of the class, caught me showing Zoe what an awkward whale looks like. Whoops.

But I wasn't bad at science. I just didn't enjoy it, which is why I didn't take any sciences this year. I love writing (hence the blog), playing piano, looking at pretty things like cherry blossom trees, painting, trying to become fluent in German (I know the word for hermaphrodite so I figure I'm almost there) and baking, amongst various other activities that I partake in. Just because I don't enjoy measuring leaves (one of the biology pracs we did last year, complete with safety goggles) or solving simultaneous equations does not mean I'm not the sharpest tool in the box.

Imagine a world without creative people. A world full of 'intellectuals'. What a dull world it would be! Sure, we need our doctors and engineers and astronauts, but what about our poets and actors and artists and musicians? In my mind they are of just as much worth. Deep, I know.

In other news, I've had a lovely easter holiday so far. I have actually been quite productive with my time, and amongst other things, I have restored a vintage bike.

Some of you that follow me on Twitter will already know this. If you don't, you should. I don't tweet incessantly, I promise.

But anyway, two weeks ago my next door neighbours left an old bike outside their house, with a sign saying 'Scrap Metal'. I was immediately drawn to the bike and decided to cart it off and inspect it, and found that it was a vintage Raleigh. When I say vintage, I mean 1970s, but I'm counting that as vintage.

I cleaned it up with some special liquid that was ironically called 'Gunk' and, after a lot of hard work and scrubbing with wire wool and this cream stuff, I derusted most of it. For those of you who aren't in the know about DIY as I am, wire wool is literally wire that has been woven into wool. 

I was amazed when I saw it, but not so amazed when I started using it and found it sheds fibres like real wool, but unlike real wool these fibres can stick into your skin. Ouch. Thankfully, Papa Pickett (has a ring to it, don't you think?) is a bit of a DIY connoisseur, and helped me put together my beautiful bike (thanks Dad!) 

But this is when it gets interesting. When I saw the bike, I named her Clemency Rose straight away. 


(Since I will probably never be allowed to name my child Clemency Rose I figured I might as well use it for a different purpose.)


So when I was cleaning her up, I was amazed to find a postcode and the name 'Rose' printed on the bike. Incredible, I know. It's like fate, Clemency Rose and I are meant to be together. 

I've since bought a wicker basket to complete the vintage look, as you will see in the next few photos. I wanted to do a before and after kind of thing, but the whole rust bucket look doesn't come across as much as I was hoping in the before pictures. 

Happy Easter!

PS I would LOVE if you retweeted or shared my blog on Facebook, you know, if you feel like it.

Before 

After   Isn't she beautiful?

(the imprint of 'Rose')

Wuthering Heights

It has been almost a month since my last post, and what a month it has been! So much has been happening in my life, and although as always it has been busy, I have had so much fun. Valentines Day has come and gone (this year I had a lovely candlelit dinner with Corrie - I bought her roses and everything – wouldn’t I be the perfect boyfriend?!), and most recently, so has the Eisteddfod.

I love the Eisteddfod. I know most people hate it, and sit there the whole time counting how many light bulbs there are in the Grand Pavillion ceiling, but being involved in it is always so much fun, as well as proudly watching my friends sing their little hearts out! Last year it was taken much more seriously by Morgannwg, as we were determined not to come last for once, but after winning last year, we became a bit more complacent this year.

Okay, a lot more complacent. For those of you who had the decency to look up from your avid light bulb counting, you may have noticed an “emotive and powerful dance, which told the tale of Cathy surrounded by souls on the Yorkshire Moors” (Okay, slight exaggeration to Miss Maddy’s adjudication, but that was her gist.) Yeah, that was us.

I know you were all deeply moved by our powerful and meaningful portrayal of Cathy’s love for Heathcliff that looked like we took weeks choreographing the dance, but in fact it was concocted on the Wednesday night before the Eisteddfod. Joe started playing ‘Wuthering Heights’ by Kate Bush, I started leaping around to the music jokingly, and, soon enough, our dance had emerged. The cloaks were just the icing on the cake.

I think the reason that I enjoyed the Eisteddfod so much this year is that we didn’t take it seriously. With that kind of competition, if you take it too seriously, it isn’t enjoyable for either you or the light bulb counters (oh, and by the way, if you were wondering how many light bulbs there are, I have been informed that there are 280.) I genuinely enjoyed leaping around on stage in cloaks, and by the sound of it Tash, Cath and the rest of the hecklers in her row at the front enjoyed watching it, much to the chagrin of Mrs Evans, who kept pursing her lips in their direction.)

However, there was a part that I didn’t enjoy. Most of you know by now that I am not particularly stable when both my feet are on the ground, so imagine my horror when I was told that since the girl that was meant to be doing the lift didn’t have her costume, I would have to do it. I freaked out. We practiced it quickly once, before we went on stage, but then it was the real thing. When the time came, I tentatively placed my feet on the boys’ hands, and was raised up into the air.

I was absolutely terrified. Now, I haven’t got a phobia of heights, but I don’t like them, and even being raised a little bit off the ground freaks me out, so once I was up there I went with my instincts. I knew I wanted to get back down, so I practically jumped off the boys’ hands, much to their surprise, which is why I think they kind of dropped me. I say kind of because I don’t want to blame my clumsiness on them, but I do want to clear the record and say that I didn’t fall. Honest. It was more of a jump that ended with me crouching on the floor. Silly gravity.

I think the most random and bizarre thing that came out of the Eisteddfod was brother told me (it’s nice to have siblings in high places) that I had come second place in the English Bard competition. The reason I found this so hysterical was that I had written half a poem about ‘Goldie’, which was a twist on goldilocks in a chavvy welsh dialect, as our theme was Welsh Gold (thanks Miss Raine for the idea!) and so for me to have come second makes me wonder what the other poems that were entered were like...

On a parting note, I am about to embark on the D of E training weekend (why I signed up for D of E is beyond me), so wish me luck, I’m going to need it!

And finally, what you have been waiting for - the dance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CYNNPfdUmE&feature=share

The Art of Circle Walking and Rubbish Tea

I haven't blogged in almost a month again. I'm sorry, I know you have missed scanning through my ramblings about my life. But I have actually had a genuine reason, and that reason being that I have been incredibly busy recently. The type of busy that makes you so sleep deprived that as soon as you get home from school on the last day of the half term you fall asleep. Yep, my life's been fun recently.

That isn't sarcasm either. Although this last month has mainly consisted of a lot of work and countless hours of rehearsing for Fiddler on the Roof (the school show I have just been in), I have thoroughly enjoyed it. 

Well, most of it at least. I don't think many people could find a silver lining in staying in school  'til 5.30pm on a Friday afternoon, walking around in a circle slowly for most of the 2 hour rehearsal whilst constantly being told to be quiet as 'this is the easiest thing you've been told to do', but there we go. That circle walking definitely paid off. The show was a success and by the end of the show I understood the plot, which is more than can be said about Les Miserables last year! 

January has been an exciting month for me. I've learnt a few important things, which I have listed below:

1) Islands do not float. Not even the little ones. 

2) Dogs do not like me. Especially not Jon's dogs, Molly and George. According to Jon, this is because I give off a dog-hating vibe, but I think it may be more due to the fact that I accidently kicked Molly in the face the other day. Whoops.

3) There is a really famous street artist called Banksy. Apparently everyone has heard of him, but I only discovered him on Stumbleupon recently, to which I bounced into Art the next day, excited about a new artist that I found out about, only to be met with incredulous looks, as I had not indeed been the first to find out about him, but rather, it seems, the last.

4) People actually read this blog. I know this may sound stupid, but I am still amazed to find out that people actually read this. I am incredibly grateful to anyone who has read any of my blog posts, especially if you read them all the way through. I love finding out when people have liked what I have written, or even if they haven't, why they haven't. So if you have any feedback, whether it be good or bad, please share with me! Even if you don't know me, I would love to know.

5) Most people hate the name Clemency. I heard this name teamed with the middle name Rose the other day as a possible name for my friend's sister's baby. I loved it, but most people that I shared this view with were horrified, especially when I told them the shortened name of the version, Clemmie. Apparently it sounds like Clammy. Obviously people just don't appreciate classy names these days.

I've also learnt to read instructions on an open day timetable, as otherwise it can land you in situations that make you look stupid. I learnt this on a delightful trip that I took with the languages department of the school to Swansea University, on an open day for languages. It was probably a waste of time going, as I am not looking to study languages in Uni, or go to Swansea Uni for that matter, but I was told that there would be freebies and that I would miss double german (oh, the irony) so I happily went along.

When we arrived we were ushered into a foyer filled with students wearing printed 'Routes into Languages'  t-shirts and an 'I'm friendly and here to help you' smile. My attention, however, was focused on the neatly stacked teacups, box of tea bags, hot water dispensers, milk jugs and mini packets of biscuits. Needless to say, I was first in line to make myself a cup, and after taking two packets of biscuits, using the 'one for now, one for during the lecture' rule, settled down to drink the delicious beverage.

Delicious it was not. It tasted like sewage that had been fermented, dried and put in a tea bag. I was revolted not only by the tea, however, but also by a fellow pupil who failed to see what was wrong with it and went to get a second cup. 

Despite this, however, the first two lectures were quite good, although this may be more due to the fact that I accumulated a free water bottle and a folder containing a timetable, a notepad and a pen, and so spent the next hour or so doodling various pictures of owls and other random creatures whilst listening intently to the lectures.

Then it was time for the third lecture. We were ushered by our teacher through to a 'language lab' where Luke (my german buddy who also liked the idea of skipping double german) and I seated ourselves in front of computers and listened to a short, rather plum Spanish lady telling us about language interpretation in Swansea Uni. Then she instructed us to put on our headphones, start the software and translate the passage we heard, first onto paper, and then into microphones to save as a sound clip on the computer.

Fine, I thought, as I happily put on my headset, which was one of those ones that you see pilots wearing in the cockpit of a plane (little things...) and opened the software. It soon became apparent that it would not be as easy as I had hoped, as the options for the languages to translate were Spanish or French. As I know absolutely no Spanish, and did French until year 9, I clicked on the French option, and hoped that miraculously some French would come back to me.

It didn't. I sat, listening to a french man prattle away, trying to recall some words, but all that came back to me was 'Quelle est la dat de ton anniversaire?' (thanks, Miss Rees.) Every time I took off my headphones to try and convey my confusion with Luke, whose computer was broken, the Spanish lady who was watching me like a hawk would motion for me to put my headphones back on, which I did, sheepishly.

Finally, when she came round telling us all that we should be speaking our translations into the microphones, I plucked up my courage and tentatively prised the headset off and raised my hand. When she asked me what the matter was, I said 

"Here's the thing...I don't speak any Spanish or French..."

She looked at me like I had just slapped her. After coming round to her senses, she, with great difficulty, asked why I was there in the first place. Naturally, being the good student I am, I blamed it on my teacher. Always the way to go. For the rest of the session, I enjoyed myself, watching everyone else struggle under the wrath of the Spanish Lady.

And the best part of the day? I got a free lunch out of it all, which was large enough that I didn't eat any dinner either.

Before I sign off, there are a couple of things I need to mention. Firstly, my friend has recently started a blog, and it would be cool if you could check it out - http://anoldheadonyoungshoulders94.blogspot.com/

Also, another love or hate artist, who I feel the former way about, has come into the limelight. If you haven't listened to her yet, do. She's amazing. 

Annoyances

I have an apology to make to you all. I have not written in a month and 3 days, as I have had the worst writer's block - or blogger's block if you will - that I have ever experienced. I have been waiting for inspiration to leap out at me, and have been waiting, and waiting...and still nothing. Zilch. Nada. 


Despite this, however, I have decided to write a blog post anyway, to ease myself back into normality. Those of you who know me well will know that I write lists for everything. I list things in school, I have to-do lists (Yes, really. You only thought middle aged mothers do that, didn't you?) and just generally organise my thoughts using lists. Those of you clever readers out there will realise I just wrote a list. See? It's in my nature. 


And so, just for you dear followers, I have compiled a list of things that irritate me. This could be used to annoy me purposely, or you could realise that some things that you do annoy me, and stop doing them. I'm hoping you will choose the latter.

1) Invading My Personal Space - If you're standing so close to me that I can smell your breath, then you're too close. Also, take a hint, if I am slowly backing away to regain my precious space, don't follow me. I heard someone give a girl advice once to pretend that everyone has a personal bubble around them that you're not allowed to pop. Write that one down, kids.


2) Bad Spelling & Grammar - Please don't think that I have perfect grammar and spell everything correctly, but if you mix up too/to, they're/their/there or it's/its, I will correct you.


3) Polystyrene - This is not just an annoyance, but also almost a fear. It makes me feel physically sick. The sound of polystyrene rubbing together goes through me more than anything else ever. Scrape your cutlery on your plate, fine. Scratch a chalkboard, whatever. But polystyrene, no. 


4) Hollister - The concept of Hollister irritates me. How the image is so manufactured, and how people still think they are being original and fashionable by wearing Hollister. Let's cut to the chase; you're not. Wearing Hollister, Abercrombie, Jack Wills etc. says that a. You are a sheep and b. That you have alot of money to spend on clothes that, lets face it, all look the same. Be adventurous, don't just wear what your friends wear, explore your own style! Sounds incredibly cheesy but I mean it.


5) Facebook - Although there are many reasons why I think Facebook is great, some people on facebook shouldn't be allowed on. You know, the ones that include extra letters/emoticons/words in their name eg. T@niquaaa x Chaantellee x Supastarrr or the ones that constantly send you invitations for CityVille and all the other mindless games found on facebook, and even when you decline the request, they don't take the polite hint and carry on sending requests...you get the picture. 


6) Unenthusiastic People - I understand that we all have days when we don't want to do anything, and are depressed about life in general, but it is draining to be around someone that has no energy, motivation or drive in life. I don't understand it, there is so much to be excited about! Be happy!


7) Fake Harry Potter Fans - There is an unwritten rule amongst those of us who are true Harry Potter fans, that if you haven't read the books, then you are not a true fan. Sorry, but seeing a few of the films does not qualify you to exclaim that your Hogwarts letter was lost in the post, nor shout 'Wingardium Leviosa!' whilst waving a stick (misprounced, I may add.) 


I have a confession. I have read all the books at least 8 times through. I told this to the 12-year-old girl in year 8 set 5 that I mentor as part of a reading scheme, and she looked at me like I was a patient that had escaped for Glanrhyd. Whoops, so much for being an inspiring role model.


8)  'Phobias' - So many people claim to have a phobia of spiders, heights, or claustrophobia, but I'm certain that most of these claims are exaggerations. If you really have claustrophobia, you feel like the walls are closing in on you, find it difficult to breathe, and can experience heart palpitations. Google it, I did. Most people aren't fond of enclosed spaces, but they deal with it. 


9) Photography - Being able to take a few 'artistic' photos with your super cool snazzy camera does not mean that you are a photographer. Neither does taking photos of sunsets, as beautiful as they are. I'm not saying that you shouldn't take photos, as cameras are wonderful things, but just don't think that you are the next Ansel Adams.


As you may have noticed, this list ends on number 9, which is very unsettling for me, but I didn't have any more pet peeves. I suppose that slightly counteracts how cynical and scathing I have been over this last post. Despite what you may think, I am actually a very happy and optimistic person. 


Now something completely unrelated, I overheard something in the school toilets today which made me laugh, so I thought I would share this intelligent little snippet of conversation with you.


Little kid 1 : Look there's an empty packet of paracetemol in the sink! Someone must have taken the whole packet! Yuck!
Chorus of rest of small children : Ewww! 


I was fascinated hearing this, as I firstly wondered why they automatically assumed that just because the packet was empty, someone had taken all the tablets in one go. I was also very worried that they were more disgusted than concerned at the thought of someone taking a whole packet of paracetemol, as anyone with an ounce of common sense would realise that this would kill you. Wow.


On a final note (quite literally) I just saw this and thought it was genius, so I thought I would share it with you lovely people. Enjoy!