Some Things I do Like

I'm aware that I spend a lot of time on this blog having a bit of a moan( mostly about cardigans), and I'm really very sorry about that (but not really). So I thought I should mention some things I do like.

Parasols. They are the best Asian fashion accessory ever. In my opinion.

Adam Ant. It's quite a long time since he first toured, but yes, I still love his music, and I still love him, whatever he's been through.

Scones (pronounced to rhyme with bones). Shut up, I'm British.

My little dog. She's called Daisy. Naww.

Sherlock and John. Two of my favorite fictional character, portrayed here in book mark form, a present from HB.

Knitting. Here be my Black Widow yarn. Currently I'm working on an 80s style head band.

This seal. Aww.

A xx

Why I'm Terrified Of Stuff That's Underwater

I love swimming. Like, really, honestly love it. I like sculling underwater, and feeling like a fish, or a mermaid, and knowing that my legs look good in a swimming costume.
But, (isn't there always a but?) I only like swimming in a pool, or in the sea where there's sand. Because I'm really, really scared of stuff underwater.
I can just about stomach going over medium sized patches of sea weed, and some smaller rocks, but big rocks, chains, boats, holes, big bits of sea weed.... they freak me the fuck out. I've always assumed it's because you never know what might be hiding there. Imagine swimming over a rock and then seeing a a skeleton with an octopus nesting in the rib cage? I mean, not that that wouldn't be totally awesome, but you know what I mean. I do not want anything with more than three legs stuck inside my chest cavity.
The worst is definitely chains though. I.e - what are they connected to, whats stuck in them, are they going to shoot out and grab me? Sort of thing.

I used to always dream about going down and exploring old shipwrecks, and finding strange, long forgotten objects left by some long forgotten people. But even in my imagination, whenever I got close to the wreck I'd just end up flipping out. Open a door? Sure thing, but there ain't no way I'm going through it.
Underwater pirate zombies are a never ending problem.

Things To Do With Big Guns

Guns are really, really, really fun. No, I don't mean to shoot (although I am kickass at fair ground shooting ranges). As long as they're big enough, there's a lot of fun you can get up to with  a good gun.
I was in St Ives in summer, and on the way home we went to visit an English Heritage castle, which had been used as a base in the war, to stop ships coming into the harbor. They had left all of the old guns as they were (if very unusable).

I don't know if you can tell, but I used to do gymnastics.

Some of the best advice you will ever get; if you see a big gun, jump on it.

The Saddest Deer You Will Ever See

Look at it. Its antlers are missing.

Don't you just want to give it a hug?

And its fake tan has gone all wrong.

Books I Grew Up With

This is currently a trending topic on twitter, and due to the amount I read, I thought I really should blog about it.

I can't for the life of me remember the first ever book I read. It may or may not have been one of the Magic Key books they used in school, to teach us to read, but I'm pretty sure I was reading long before that. The first book I can ever remember being asked to read aloud to my teach was The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Me being me (of course) I always actually really liked the White Witch. I thought she had a certain tasteful glamour about her. I loved how she knew what she wanted, and how to get it. In a (slightly evil) way, she's been a pretty big influence.

Another old favorite was Alice's Adventures In Wonderland. I still have my mothers old copy of the book, which is now held together with a lot of elastic, as most of the pages have fallen out. I went to my schools one and only fancy dress day as Alice when I was about six, wearing a lace apron Mum had sewn for me the night before. I mostly blame this book for how I turned out - with a no-holds-bared imagination and a slightly sassy response to rabbits. Alice was also my first literary crush. (Plus I get to say that I was into the playing cards/tea party thing before everyone else.)

Finally, I think it's very important that I mention the Harry Potter books. When I was (roughly) seven, Mum bought me the film of The Philosophers Stone. Needless to say, I loved it, and she almost instantly presented me with a box set of the first four books, which I consumed like wildfire. I can remember being eight, and reading The Chamber Of Secrets in two days, then jumping up and down along a train carriage in celebration. I bought the fifth book the day it came out, then promptly had to put it away for six months, due to being terrified of the first chapter (I sneaked a peek at the ending). There's way too much I blame this book for to list them all. I think it goes unsaid that it very much helped to shape who I am now.

So, it's mostly due to those three that I came out this way; with an irresponsible lust for author-dom and the inability to not blurt out stupid/weird/mentally scarring sentences. I stopped reading for a while last year (I discovered fanfiction), but over summer I launched myself back into the book world with no intention of coming back out. I finished Animal Farm this afternoon. I may not read quite as much as I used to, but I sure as hell aren't about to stop. A x

(Apologies for the sheer amount of crap on my shelves. There are books underneath it, promise.)

My Problem With Cardigans

I hate ‘vintage’ cardigans.
There, I said it. Especially the baggy ones. I honestly can’t stand the sight of any lanky young thing wandering around town in a baggy cardigan from an overpriced retro shop. But usually, it’s only cardigans from, say, the 70s onwards that I really have a problem with. They’re baggy. They’re ugly, and usually come in shades of rotting aubergine. And no one in their right mind would ever wear a cardigan from the 60s. Embroidery. Blegh.
I’m not a total bitch, mind. I do like some cardigans. I like the ones from the 50s, which were fitted and small, and pretty, with knitted lace collars. I like those cardigans. I think you’d be hard pushed getting a bloke in one of those, though. Apart from my ex, who had a prettier waistline than me.
Sorry boys, I love you, I really do.
I just hate your cardigans.

The Gym

I've joined a gym.

I say joined... been to.
I say gym... collection of tatty weights and treadmills in the attic of the school sports dept.

But I've been twice (With JW) which makes it official. I go to a gym now. More or less.
The first week was honest-to-god terrifying. When we got there, there were already a couple of girls doing cardio, both who are known as being kind of fitness freaks. Still, we did our stretching, and hopped on the cross trainers, did twenty minutes, hopped off, stretched, did some weights. Enormous sense of self-gratification.
The next week was also honest-to-god terrifying. This is due to Boys being there. Boys are scary. Anyways, they were skittering around doing 'weight lifting' (they weren't very good). I don't know them very well, so I automatically went into 'I must be better than them' mode. By the time they left, I had done 20 minutes on the cross trainer, 20 minutes on the treadmill, 50 curls with 5kg, 40 lunges with 5kg and had got my forehead to touch my knees with my legs straight.
I nearly fell asleep in my next lesson.

It's OK Mum, it Turns Out I'm Just Camp!

Yesterday we had the best media lesson of out lives, ever. We were learning about queer theory.
You can see where this is going.
I should mention that in media last week, I very violently outed myself as a lady lover (I like to say lezbitron, because it makes me sound like a transformer. Hands up who gets the joke.)
Anyway anyway anyway.
So we were sat in media (HB and I endlessly grinning/giggling to ourselves at either the references or the rest of the class not knowing what heterosexual meant, etc.), and we got to a conversation about campness in the media. Que lots of pictures of Graham Norton, Alan Carr, etc, etc. Someone asked what sort of things defined 'camp'. "Well, it's hard to define. It's quite general, it's usually men who are quite bitchy, make witty remarks, have good fashion sense, quite glamorous, you know?"
"Sir, is it only men who are camp?"
"No, women can be camp as well."
Oh my god. I'd never thought about that before. I had always thought campness could only be applied to feminine men, but the more I thought about it, I realized I didn't know any women who may possibly be in Ab Fab. Apart from, well, me. And I realized I wasn't just a bitch with excellent dress sense, I was camp! It was like a light bulb had been turned on, suddenly everything made sense!
This is why I have an affiliation for glitter, small dogs and sarcasm!
Now I've officially come out as camp to my Mum, everything been much easier. She now understands why I feel a need to watch Gok Wan and rip X Factor contestants to shreds.
So, this is my message for the week, if you know you are camp, do not be ashamed! Embrace the campness.

Back To School

I'm finally back at school.
This is my last year at secondary school, where I will finally sit the exams that will (literally) decide what I will do for the rest of my life.
Scary, huh? Tell me about it.
For anyone who's interested, I'm taking Media, Drama and English Language, which makes me sound like a tit retard up-my-own-arse mofo.
Which I am.
But to be honest, I really, really enjoy it, because it gives me chances to do things like pretend to be the plague, and show of my unreasonable knowledge of Marxism, and write essays about knitting. Yeah, I think I'm doing pretty well for myself.
I'm already pretty tired, on top of school work, I'm also doing the play, which is amazing, and getting ready to do my Speech And Drama Grade 7 exam. I'm going to perform The Raven, a monologue from Midsummer Nights Dream, and the introduction to Pirates, an Adventure with Scientists, because I'm strange.
I've finally started using the school gym...