Sunday 30 March 2014

Home Sweet (New) Home

After a hiatus of three exceedingly long and WiFi-free days, I'm finally back online and have since made an oh-so-dramatic return to the one place where I am always welcome: my beloved blog. How I've managed to sleep as soundly as my semi-drugged kittens (or so they appear to be whilst engaged in a highly fascinating dream) whilst living without an internet connection or even Sky for several days, that will forever remain a mystery, though focusing on the task of unpacking - at long last, the nail-biting stage of putting all my cherished possessions into three hundred and thirty one or so boxes has been completed! - everything has all but been consuming my time which, when not spent in my new and squeaky clean en-suite (more on the cleaning-till-my-hands-were-raw-red business later), has mainly been dedicated to peeking sadly at the semi-empty cupboards in the kitchen.

Yes, you can pretty much declare that I almost had a panic attack when I realized that my family had only brought along the half-eaten remains of a Christmas cake, leftover soda bread and roasted monkey nuts in the car on Friday, the day of which we moved over one hundred and fifty miles to our new home; however, the food-related issue has just been sorted out thanks to a late night trip to Asda where my starving hungry (and mad, if you cared to glance at the deep purple bags beneath our drooping eyes) brother and I piled as much food as we could find, determined to avoid another day with hardly anything remotely hunger-quashing to eat. Even the salted pretzels which I stopped buying several months ago returned with a vengeance - despite proudly declaring that I have a rather small appetite (weighing out my muesli is proof of this, though the weighing scales have yet to be discovered in one of the kitchen-titled boxes), I couldn't bring myself to resist the giant size variety because they always satisfied my hunger pangs within a single mouthful - but I'm already starting to settle into our new home, having gone for a walk around the village with my brother yesterday afternoon.

As I've only just gained internet access on my laptop and am dying to test the much-discussed theory that broadband speeds are significantly slower in more rural areas - unless you got the idea into the head that I'd just become of the many inhabitants of a loud and constantly bustling city, I'm living in a village which greatly reminds me of the British TV soap opera, Emmerdale, minus the farm and once-a-year whodunnit murders - I won't chat nineteen to the dozen for too long, especially as today is Mothering Sunday after all. Although rifling through the boxes and rediscovering our possessions has claimed the title of being main priority at the moment, even moving into our new home two days ago would probably not be accepted as a valid excuse in order to avoid peeling a bag of parsnips in preparation of today's roast dinner, but after several days of indulging on spicier-than-aromatic-gingerbread takeaways and almost chucking up the small remains of a horrible meal at the local pub, I just know that I will never ever take home-cooked meals - and treats, if my sudden dislike for packets of supermarket-bought biscuits proves my beliefs - for granted in the future.

Even before our marathon of dining in McDonald's and getting our first and last taste of the Dutchman's chips around the corner began, I have always appreciated my mum's out-of-this-world cookery skills, which I envy to hone to the maximum level as I get older. Yet getting my 5-a-day hasn't counted as one of my daily missions for the past week or so because I've been struggling to keep my stress under strict control; but, as my bedroom's appearance shifts into one of which I proudly admire and the stack of boxes start to decrease into a square of valuable space, my ability to breathe and forget my issues is becoming more natural and easier for me which, as my skin has significantly suffered thanks to my lack of beauty sleep (and vitamin-rich vegetables), will help me return to a sense of normality within no time.

And, whilst I bend my legs into a position which even the most experienced gymnast would struggle to perform to an Olympics-style level on my bed, I feel all the more happier by simply jotting down my thoughts in one of the few outlets where I can truly describe my current state of mind and find a comedian-inspired quip for every single hassle and dash of pure-as-fresh-air happiness - spitting out an overcooked chunk of expensive steak included - which I've come across since uploading my last blog entry on Thursday.

Without being compelled to sit on my bed and get spooked by birds swooping past my window every five minutes - whether I still have a long way to go until I completely catch up on my precious beauty sleep, it is still unclear as to whether these birds are a figment of my overused imagination or not - down below is a list of almost all things I've done within the space of three days, which ought to give you a fairly accurate idea of how hectic my life has recently been. As a token of my appreciation for my cherished-as-Cherished-Teddies readers, I've specially left out my chore of scrubbing my new en-suite bathroom because, whether you spend almost half the day in there or not, hardly anybody is willing to hear about how and when you scrubbed it to an inch of its life. And the fact that I cleaned it all without a pair of protective gloves to hand would not be music to one's ears in the slightest...


  • Thanks to the removal firm arriving to take away the majority of our possessions the day before we moved, my spaced mind forgot to ring any alarm bells until after my coat and scarves - which, despite Spring having recently arrived on our doorsteps, I continue to wear on a constant basis due to my lizard-like body temperature - were added to the removal van and driven away, which opened an unnecessary and deeply unwanted can of worms for everybody. However, Little Miss Forgetful (a.k.a me) shortly discovered the true meaning of Daft Punk's Get Lucky when my mum bought a new beige Burberry-style mac and a warm leopard print scarf for me whilst visiting the supermarket. Hurrah! And my much-regretted mistake didn't prevent me from washing my hair for one last time in the bathroom, either, so I really cannot complain about having an extra and more Spring-suited coat to wear as of when. So, along with gaining an en-suite of my dreams and a satisfactory broadband speed, I well and truly got lucky!
  • I almost danced with delight (as much as one typically could whilst being squashed by a basket containing two wide-eyed kittens and my handbag which weighed a tonne) when the car drove past our old house one final time, relief flooding through me as I realized that seven years of leaks, broken boilers and endless problems had reached a close. Unlike a lot of people who often break down or wipe away a tear of sadness when moving away from a much-cherished house, it was absolutely the opposite for myself which has made this move a lot easier to deal with - and who, if one had been placed in my position, wouldn't complain?
  • My newly-reignited passion for the lemon-flavoured fizzy drink 7 Up returned when my family and I stopped off at a service station over halfway to our destination, which provoked me to gulp the larger-than-my-leg bottle with an excitement which I'd never quite known. And my brother and I got another taste of KFC at the station for the third week in a row, though this recent establishment is likely to cease as three hour car journeys (one of which included Bart and Benny, who never uttered a single cry nor cowered in the corner of their Kermit-green basket) will be reserved to when we return to our dentist for appointments every three months. Kentucky fried chicken can only been appreciated so many times, do you not think?
  • On our very first night in our new village (just when will everything stop being so new?), my family and I learnt a valuable lesson which will definitely not be forgotten in a hurry: regardless of the monster-like groans which your stomach makes and an out-of-the-blue to consume anything remotely swallowable in sight, never eat in a pub. As it is often referred to in England, there surely must be a reason for which food served in a pub is called pub grub; just like the name, the food doesn't taste as good as you hope. And, unlike a Big Mac or serving of fries, pub grub leaves your pocket emptier than an unfurnished house - so yes, tucking into a bland and unsatisfactory meal at a pub really is a mistake which one ought to avoid at all costs. Believe me, I'm not kidding!
  • For the first time in years, I have woken up to the glorious tune of birds singing for joy, which has so far not failed to put me into a good, ready-to-do-anything mood. After growing used to the headache-inducing rumble of cars racing past my old house and local residents barking as loudly as their dogs, it is undoubtedly going to take some time until I adjust to this new change, which has already been welcomed by the rest of my family. 
  • Instead of stumbling out of bed for the pure sake of doing so (and calling dibs on the box of cereal before my brother latches his unwashed paws upon it), I'm now itching to get up because I cannot wait to experience the day and happily get on with what needs to be done. OK, cleaning out the remains of what I believed was either a Cadbury's creme egg or caramel bar in a cupboard wasn't exactly my idea of fun - in fact, I feel as euphoric as one would in nightclub by writing here right now - but nothing can possibly beat the wave of satisfaction which hits you after finishing something which played a role to gaining happiness. I'm happy now that my family can put away the plates, food and yet-unopened bags of pretzels into the cupboards without fearing that they will come into contact with nasty germs or stomach bugs, and helping others out during a highly erratic time makes me feel pretty proud of my ability to offer a helping hand whenever it is needed. 
Within the space of less than a week, my life has been caught in a whirlwind of change, yet I've come out on the other side with my lips curved into a smile which displays all the excitement, thrills and indeed happiness that I'm currently feeling. Erratic and stressful this move has been, but it hasn't been different in the slightest to anybody else who has found him or herself in this position, and I'm eternally grateful for the opportunity to turn a new leaf which will inevitably start one of the many chapters in my life. 

As for my skin starting a new routine, I'm not quite so sure, but it definitely helps that I'm in a happier state of mind - so long, cardboard boxes and all the stress which goes into moving away!

Thursday 27 March 2014

Thursday Playlist: Songs to Distract Me From My Impending Doom

Just as I finally allowed myself to settle into the warmth of my cushion for one final time before packing it away (like everything else which brings me any hint of comfort), I decided to leap out of my chair and write here for one last time before Doomsday turns up on the doorstep tomorrow morning, awaking me from my final, not-so-restful sleep in this house which I've called a home for the past seven years.

Unlike yesterday where I discussed my anxiety over starting afresh in a new, yet-to-be-explored area, today I'm going to upload a few videos which play a few of my current favourite songs - a.k.a the ones which have given me the perfect distraction from Benny the Hissy Kitty almost collapsing into my box whilst leaping onto my window ledge. And who wouldn't grow tired of hearing the oh-so-irritating music commonly featured whilst attempting to contact the electricity company after ten minutes? These songs, however bizarre and out-of-this-world they are, have managed to fulfill their end of the deal by keeping me sane during these past couple of hectic weeks, and I'm glad to declare that they can be easily accessed through the internet, unlike my collection of CDs which haven't seen the light of day since inhabiting one of the many cardboard boxes a fortnight ago. 

Despite this entry possibly being the shortest one which I have ever uploaded (a full-on disaster is on its way, I can tell!), I hope that these songs may remind you of me as my nauseating headache reaches an all-time high and I take my first baby-like steps towards setting up a new life and new identity - no, no, I'm not changing my name or personal information - the process of which begins from the moment I awake tomorrow. If you had to ask me at this particular time, I'm a crazy, undrinkable mixture of excitement, nerves and exhaustion, which hasn't been especially helped by my recent lack of deep, nourishing-as-cocoa-butter sleep.

Anyway, let's get on with the main part of the show - enjoy these tracks as much as I do! Meanwhile, I'll turn green with envy whilst failing to have access to an internet connection tomorrow; how will I ever survive being stuck in a car with an annoying-as-ever little brother and a massive basket containing two wide-eyed kittens squeezed against me?

1. Lady Gaga - G.U.Y



2. Madonna - Fever



3. Janet Jackson and Luther Vandross - The Best Things in Life Are Free



4. Foster the People - Pumped Up Kicks



5. Sade - Cherish the Day

Wednesday 26 March 2014

The Last Goodbye

Despite the title probably send chills of panic down your spine in fear of my declaring an all-final goodbye on here, I plead that you stop hyperventilating like an overwhelmed fan at a Lady Gaga concert and take your first steps back to Planet Earth: although my temper has flared more dangerously than a live flame in recent days and it still amazes me how I've even found some precious stress-free time, there is no possible way that I'm quitting this blog because it has all but been a lifesaver as I've fought a hair-raising battle against dealing with the hassles of moving away and starting a new, yet happier life.

If the bags underneath my eyes drop a hint over my current state of emotions, I am both physically and mentally exhausted from putting almost all of my possessions - books, make-up, ornaments and sadly my copy of Lorde's Pure Heroine whose true-to-life lyrics accurately describe how I feel right now - away into a ton of cardboard boxes, along with getting my head around the fact that a larger-than-imaginable change in my life is on the verge of taking place, especially since this week began. Beneath the puffy eyelids and nail-biting frustration which provokes me to lose all sight of my sanity within a moment's notice, I truly am euphoric over my upcoming move to a lovely village because I've been dreaming of this move for years, yet everything - such as piling the remains of your jewellery box into a box and creating a schedule relating to how moving day will pan out - is easier said than done, an expression of which I've literally learnt inside out over the past month or so.

Once again (in case I've mentioned it in the past, though my memory is remarkably similar to a goldfish's of late), I apologize if you feel disappointed due to my failing to discuss anything completely unrelated to cellotape, bubblewrap and continuous trips to a service station in the middle of a motorway where I had my very first serving of KFC; on a normal, sunny day unlike this current damp one, I would probably talk about my newly found penchant for a 'magical' eyeliner or explore my views on the issues surrounding modern day culture. However, would you personally feel capable - or at least make an effort to do so - of engaging in a particular conversation whilst your mind wanders as far as the Atlantic Ocean, focusing on anything but preparing for a fresh-as-newly-cleaned start in an area ever so different to your own?

The adjective 'stressed' has become as useless as the Xbox which was placed somewhere far away - where else would it be apart from a box? - could entertain my bored-out-of-his-mind brother because I've gone way beyond the usual realms of stress, reaching full capacity in my imaginary bottle which has somehow contained an abnormal amount of anxiety and tensity ever since my family and I received notice of our move over two months ago. Like a bottle of Diet Coke (which, as the fridge looks emptier than I've ever seen it, would go down as a spirit-raising treat at this time) being mixed with a bag of Mentos, I'm extremely close to reaching breaking point and, unless all of this move-related stress magically disappears overnight, the only way that I can return to some sort of normality is releasing the exhaustion, stress and jittery butterflies swarming around my stomach into the open air. Yet as I'm being further contained by a warehouse amount of boxes within my own home - therefore giving me absolutely no freedom from the life-changing event set to go ahead in two days' time - how can I free myself from the recyclable objects which are threatening to unsettle my mood to an all-time low?

What irritates me the most - thanks to my recent lack of deep, nourishing sleep, seeing red is never more than a heated complaint or blood-boiling article featured in The Daily Mail away - is that my mind can visualize an image of my new bedroom being free of boxes, looking even more immaculate and tidy than it has in the past here. Of course, such a pleasant sight as the one mentioned shouldn't truly anger me like the dreadful news of the Hobnobs being scoffed by my brother, but being stuck over a hundred miles away in my current home leaves me falling prey to the clutches of frustration because it is impossible for me to achieve that heavenly image as the countdown towards Friday creeps closer and closer. If there truly was a time where my impatient trait wasn't needed, now would definitely be it - otherwise, all of my problems would probably diminish within the click of a finger!

By now, I wouldn't be too far off by assuming that you are beyond desperation for me to take a chill pill and sink into one of the leather sofas before it is taken away by the removal firm soon which, if all goes to plan, may be the case tomorrow afternoon. In an ideal world, I would have swigged a whole jar of stress-reducing pills within a single mouthful but this fantasy of mine doesn't stand a likely possibility of occurring in this hard-hitting reality; does being so tired come as such a massive shock to you, or am I simply one of many who struggle to reach beyond stress's gripping clutches? Despite my mind wandering elsewhere of late, one of the many inspirational lines from John Green's fantastic Looking For Alaska continues to spring to the centre of my mind, particularly as it is so relevant to the way each of us lead our lives: like Alaska Young continuously said (a character of whom I wish to emulate more often), how will I ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering? At times like these, I face an all-mighty struggle against dispelling my fears of venturing a new path and seeing beyond the pile of boxes which almost tower over my 5ft 4in (gosh, how I wish that those digits would increase!).

Anyway, I ought to stop complaining about this move because, in many ways, I've been preparing for it for a long time; avoiding the task of painting my bedroom's walls is solid proof of my thinking because I have never felt particularly comfortable in what I somewhat reluctantly call my home. This entry is, as I intend to be, the last that I will write in this house before moving away because it seems rather impossible as to finding some time to write here tomorrow - preparing the last of the boxes and getting some valued rest before a long car journey will be at the top of tomorrow's priorities before Friday rolls around at 5am, the time of which I plan to get up before the removal firm arrive two hours later.

This house, despite its faults and lung-infecting levels of dust, has been an area in which I've grown (surprisingly in height, although I haven't grown for around four years or so) into the person I am now, and my heart would have to be as hard as a soil-covered stone to avoid becoming nostalgic over the memories which were created since moving here seven years ago. In this house, I realized my ambition to pursue a career as a journalist - an aspiration of which I continue to work towards, as this writing haven of a blog has proven - and learnt the true meaning of family whilst being educated at home by my parents, who have always performed their best for the sake of my brother and I.

My first furry pals - Tom and Jerry - forged a closer friendship with me here due to spending more time at home and inevitably themselves, which I felt absolutely relieved about when both of them sadly passed away last year. Strangely, Tom would have died a year ago on Saturday, but I feel like I've been ignoring that anniversary due to everything else going on - maybe, in his own unique way, Tom decided to leave a gift to all of us on a date which has held a Kleenex box of grief since he left us last year. Who knows whether it is true or not, but I find it a comforting thought nonetheless; Tom had plenty of fun times whilst playing in a box, so perhaps he wished for us to get our hands upon a few! Our new kittens, Bart and Benny, will be sitting in the back with my brother and I for a car journey which will last around four hours, so I'm interested as to how they will react on their second outing in the outside world; their previous and first time in the car with us was an awkward one to say the least because we were mere strangers to them!

Even if I was offered the opportunity to stay in my current home in order to steer clear of this moving-related stress, I would still go ahead with the move because I don't make an effort to dust my wardrobe and pack away my cherished copy of Twilight without obtaining a reward at the other end; why stop if one has already started? Once we have arrived and I have hopefully got a semi-decent internet connection, I will finally exhale my long-held sigh of relief because all of the suffering - and lack of toilet stops whilst travelling on the motorway - will be worth it. That moment is quickly coming, if my gut instinct is getting a positive vibe, yet I cannot drop everything and wait for it to come because I have to carry on until everything is sorted out, don't I?

Farewell, my current home. From the three leaks to broken window handles to the three weeks of no heating and hot water last November, there are plenty of memories which needn't be forgotten in a hurry as I pack away the remains of my bedroom and take one final look around the house. So many things were created here - my blog is fighting for the top spot on my list, by the way - but I will be creating something better in my new home, where a brighter future is potentially in store for my family and I.

Ah, the last goodbye: where will the farewell take me? To an area offering good schools, a better prospect of jobs and a couple of decent-looking Chinese takeaways. And, uh, poorer broadband speeds.

See you whenever I can find time (and load this page)!

Monday 24 March 2014

What Would I Do If...

Bonjour tout le monde, I'm feeling as fresh as a just-bloomed daisy on this fine Spring day, though a small squirt of my juicier-than-a-real-apple shampoo somehow manages to lift my spirits (and my straight-as-a-line hair) and prepares me for the long, yet fulfilling day ahead. 

As a warning, there is a major possibility that I may not find any spare time to catch up with you the very best way I know - complaining about my stress-related breakouts (if Google suggests it, then I'm all for worshipping the fact) and running away to the ever-decreasing comfort of my bedroom to write on my blog has become as much of a cure as a dose of Calpol whenever a sniffle is spreading like wildfire amongst my family. For the record, I'm moving away this Friday - can anybody tell me how this date has suddenly gotten nearer and nearer without any warning? - and bearing in mind that yet another three hour car journey is inevitably in store for my still-exhausted self, any spare moment which I can find whilst rummaging through my semi-empty wardrobes and finishing off the last bag of roasted pistachio nuts lying in the cupboard cannot afford to be wasted, although I would love to keep you updated (and give myself something more entertaining than listening to Bart's cries for an hour or so) as often as possible despite these current circumstances. 

Before my eyes flutter shut for the one hundredth and sixty second time in an hour, I am indeed more exhausted than I can possibly remember because the stress of adjusting to leading a new life and obviously getting ready to leave my old one behind - as I speak, my seven year tenancy in this house is drawing to a close - has been threatening to tip me over the edge, especially as I hadn't truly allowed myself to place a bit of faith in securing a lovely new home in an area of the country from which I obtained my happiest childhood memories. Considering that I could squeeze half an hour of my tighter-than-size-0-jeans schedule into returning to Nostalgia Lane on either Wednesday or Thursday before the broadband is officially switched off (how will I live without my Sky News app if WiFi is no longer available?), I'll skim over the tiresome-to-write facts regarding my exhaustion and the thousands of spots which have appeared out of nowhere on my chin which, as I mentioned to my mum last night, could be related to my up-in-the-air emotions at the moment. 

However much I try to push myself into forgetting these house-related hassles and appreciating a rare moment which is completely free of worrying about what to pack into a half-full cardboard box and the manner in which I intend to handle the distribution of my clothes (to my delight, all four of my family's wardrobe - yes, including mine - will be taken away tomorrow as our new property already has enough built-in closets), I am always a slave to the tightening clutches of anxiety because my mind seems to be incapable of switching off from what is happening around me. From the moment I awake to the time that I go to bed, moving away - and turning a new leaf which, despite sending thrills of excitement through my veins, provokes a stream of butterflies to rest uncomfortably in my stomach - is near the top of the pile within my thoughts. As each day passes, I'm growing more impatient than an easily-angered Incredible Hunk caught up in a massive queue because, like many of the things which I don't particularly like, I prefer to get the worst over and done with as soon as possible; if the option was available, I wouldn't think twice about sending half of my bedroom to the new house and getting my bedroom ready in time for Friday. 

If the internet connection was abruptly turned off which would therefore prevent me from posting new entries onto my blog, no words would put my devastation into words. Without my blog, I would place an accurate bet on my gazing at the sea blue sky from the window or allowing frustration to get the better of me whilst anticipating the day which was confirmed as the end of our tenancy over two months ago: Friday 28th March. Once I've reached the finishing line, there isn't any doubt as to my feeling like the winner of the London Marathon because the achievement itself discloses how I fought a long, tiresome battle to make my long-lost dream become a reality - is it any wonder that I'm so eager to lick the sweet, satisfying taste of victory sooner than later? Beneath all the panic and my blocked pores (as if I wish to be reminded about that problem), I know that life - and all its gifts, if even they don't appear to be so - will settle down and resume to normality after a while, but reaching fever point is more than enough to stress me out a little. 

Anyway, as I mentioned several paragraphs ago, move-related stuff and sweat-trickling anxiety will be mentioned in a few days' time before I move away, so today I hope to appreciate this sunny morning and the day Monday itself. Unlike Garfield the Cat, I quite like Mondays because nothing springs me back into action like the beginning of a new week after two peaceful, if not overly docile days at the weekend - and if my mum whips up such a tasty homemade pasta sauce on this day, what is there not to like about Mondays? Today's topic is a break from heavy-loaded drama and extensive usage of 'major' words, so do sit back and relax as I explore my views on whether I would do particular things. Hmm, I already know what my answer to giving up chocolate for a month would be...

What would you do if... your brother stole your smartphone?
Well, what would you do if you were in my shoes? A Buffy-inspired kick in the you-know-whats and a hysterical complaint to my parents would undoubtedly secure the return of my beloved Nokia Lumia 620, which hardly ever leaves my side. Unless my skirt fails to have a pocket, that is. 
However, I know my brother as well as the lyrics to Royals and despite owning a cheap, Wi-Fi-less model, my brother wouldn't scoop so low as to stealing my phone. Surely he would realize the consequences if I took away the frame containing his cherished Spider-Man issue? I can't even breathe near it, let alone to grab it and run for my life across the upstairs landing. So, unless Jack was possessed by the Mean Brother demon, I doubt that this incident could ever possibly occur anywhere else apart from my wildest dreams.

What would you do if... you obtained tickets for a One Direction concert?
Finally, an easy question! Like Aleksandr Orlov says, that would be simples: within a moment's notice, I would put the tickets for the concert onto eBay and keep a steady eye on the banking app as a month's worth of precious wages enter the account. Done and dusted. 

What would you do if... you were left home alone for one whole day?
As I can precisely recall, staying alone at home for just a few hours nearly bored me to a premature death as I struggled to find something remotely entertaining to do. And as the kittens would be leaping over the kitchen gate every five minutes, I wouldn't truly appreciate the once-in-the-lifetime experience like many teenagers would. 
However, if the kittens had been taken to a pet spa (as if it would ever stand a chance of happening; my parents would immediately taken to the local court because of Benny the Hissy Kitty chewing somebody's finger off) and my brother was somehow dragged away from his Xbox 360, I would put on my favourite dance tracks - my mum's fantastic collection of 80s cassettes is visual proof of this - and get a real vibe of what it feels like to be hanging out in a nightclub. In the privacy of my own home. Without any messy litter trays to clear up. Whilst wearing my pink Aristocats pyjamas. 
Bliss!

What would you do if... an ice cream van turned up on the front door?
I'd yelp like an overexcited child if my favourite flavour - a Cadbury's Flake cornetto - was available, before starting a slanging match with the driver for hiking the prices of a single cone through the roof. Ice cream just doesn't taste as sweet if it leaves you out of pocket, you know. 

What would you do if... your spots became a thing of the past?
So many things at once! I'd smile, burst into tears (which, bearing in mind that tears produce germs, wouldn't really be a wise idea) and gaze at the wonderful sight of a clear complexion in my mirror. Despite my current setback and low esteem over my traumatic breakout, I still visualize the day when I'm free of hormonal-related acne which keeps me going during those moments where I lose all faith in ever reaching the other side of the dark, pimple-covered tunnel. 

What would you do if... only one type of food - e.g. sweets - could be eaten for the rest of your life?
Without variety - like the now oh-so-predictable TV schedule - wouldn't life become a bore? And as sugar is further linked to causing obesity and irritating acne, my fear is sugar is almost on a par with my childhood terror of buzzing flies and ugly insects. Just stop making me think about my very worst nightmare!

What would you do if... all your dreams came true?
Gosh, wouldn't life be such a breeze if all our wants and desires suddenly morphed into reality without having to lift a single finger? Although I have often complained about struggling to make the best of things in the past, achieving something independently secures a happiness which nobody can take away from you, but it is usually all too easy to give up when the going gets tough. My dream of moving away to a better place is on the verge of coming true, yet in order to succeed, a bit of elbow grease and pressure is needed because no magical fairy godmother to going to prepare everything in advance for me. 
As an answer to that question, I would indeed feel happy at the prospect of not having to work in order to achieve my wishes because hard work is extremely exhausting, but life finds a way of settling itself within time, and I have maintained that view for as long as I can remember. 


Sunday 23 March 2014

Films with Added Bite

Whilst I was packing away yet another collection of my ever-so-prized possessions (will this depressingly boring task ever reach an end?) several days ago, it offered me some time to go through my DVDs which, despite only being a few steps away from the lounge area, I hadn't truly looked at for a good while. Thanks to my parents being loyal Sky+ customers, I'm able to watch almost every single programme or film which my heart desires within a click of a button, so it is no longer as necessary as it once was to rummage through my DVDs and settle upon a film or TV series to watch on a chilly-as-frozen-ice-cream evening.

For now, the sole survivor (a.k.a. DVD) of my collection is, as you may already know, the second season of The Vampire Diaries which, however much I've tried to keep a steady eye upon the TV schedule over the past couple of months, is hardly ever aired on television, therefore giving me a motive to purchase the seasons myself. Oh, and I also couldn't resist holding back one of my many French films, one of which was aptly titled The Class (otherwise known as Entre Les Murs - between the walls - in other countries), though I wonder whether I just felt like indulging myself in self-inflicted pity because my once full-as-the-freezer cabinet hadn't never looked so empty and, uh, filmless, if that word makes any sense at all. Realizing that my DVD-viewing freedom had been ripped away from my clutches provoked a pang of sadness to overwhelm my already-erratic emotions, and despite steering more and more away from making the most of the once-beloved privilege, it didn't lessen the screamful agony of losing a form of entertainment which otherwise kept me sane on those rarer-than-undercooked-meat occasions where nothing raised a joyful smile on my lips. 

Yet, as my brother sulkily joined into making a joint effort (these days, doing anything together has become as uncommon as a football-free weekend) to pack away our DVDs together, I quickly noticed one aspect of our half-shared DVD collection which hadn't entered my thoughts for such a long time: how did we, over the years that we have voluntarily purchased films and television series as a shared partnership, end up owning so many vampire-themed DVDs? As each DVD was placed into one of the countless cardboard boxes (by now, I've lost the will to keep track on the amount that my family and I have used), it seemed every so often that a film - many of which were modern classics from the 80s and 90s, or indeed released a mere few years ago - featuring the intriguing, blood-sucking creatures appeared amongst the likes of white magic-loving Charmed or a ditzy romantic comedy for which you cannot help falling head over heels like Benny the Hissy Kitty scrambling to get out of bed in a manic hurry to receive his first meal of the day. 

Thanks to my brain recently reaching its full capacity like an overused memory stick which somehow gets lost amongst piles of homework and samples of soon-to-be-used perfume, it is nearly impossible for me to remember why my brother and I developed a penchant for films depicting the sharp-fanged creatures of the night, especially as I was only around ten when my dad introduced me to a programme which still packs as great a punch as a stake in the heart years after it first appeared on our screens, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Like my fondness for donning a glamour puss-inspired earrings every day, the list containing my peculiar habits increases on a daily basis, and nurturing a still-passionate fascination with pale-faced vampires (in fact, rather like my English Rose-coloured self) has earned a role as one of the many trivial facts about myself. 

Mythological characters and indeed creatures have simply been an object of interest for as long as I can remember because hard-hitting reality doesn't always strike me as something of which I wish to be reminded as it doesn't usually switch my imagination - which, once ignited by a single flame, runs at a speed similar to a Formula 1 car and is impossible to calm down until an inspirational moment is well and truly over - into live mode. One day, I'd like to be able to create enough ideas which would hopefully enable me to write my own fantasy-themed novel as those genres hand out more inspiration than a typical chick-lit book which offers absolutely nothing to my waiting-to-be-awakened muse. And as for vampires making a thrilling appearance, that has yet to be determined...

Unless I fancy the idea of being left behind when my family moves away towards the end of next week, I unfortunately cannot dedicate the whole of today's entry to all the vampire films which my brother and I currently have stored away in a cardboard box in the warehouse-like lounge. Besides, it takes a good few hours until my memory is functioning at its highest level which means that my breakfast of honey on toast has yet to kickstart my metabolism and, of course, a steady dose of writing inspiration. For best results, draw in your curtains and immerse yourself in a blanket of darkness whilst taking a journey to the darker side of life; whatever you may believe, vampires are not strictly reserved for ghoulish Halloween parties! 

1. Twilight (2008)

First of all, I may be able to read the minds of those Twihard-haters (who ever came up with these ungrammatical words?) whom, even a year after Breaking Dawn: Part 2 was released, continue to detest The Twilight Saga because it 'apparently' broke all the rules relating to the vampiric species. 
Before anybody loses sight of what is clearly lying in front of them, nobody created the rules as to whether vampires can either burn like an overdone cake or sparkle as dazzlingly as a Swarovski crystal, so I truly didn't understand the massive woo-ha over the criticism which the award-winning Twilight author, Stephanie Meyer, received because she dared to break away from the so-called 'original' myths regarding vampires' abilities and skills. A film is a film, and this one was yet another example of what we film-lovers call a storyline. And you know what? Several years after first watching this, I still enjoy Twilight because, despite being set in probably one of the most wettest and lifeless areas in America, it didn't fail to keep me entertained which, considering that I have an undiagnosed issue with boredom, ought to receive a round of applause. 
For those who completely avoided the craze and groups of lovestruck girls who donned their 'Team Edward' t-shirts as religiously as a pair of beloved Converse trainers (just how did you do it?), I'll offer a brief explanation of this film without spoiling the great bits for you. If I can even help myself. A seventeen year old girl called Bella Swan, as played by Kristen Stewart who brilliantly keeps up her no-smiling act for the whole duration of the film, moves to a rural town called Forks in the state of Washington, northern-west America (a.k.a. a similar setting to Twin Peaks), and quickly becomes infatuated with a strange, yet dreamy boy who goes by the old-fashioned (my opinion, not the film's description) name of Edward Cullen (British 'heartthrob' Robert Pattinson). 
But Bella quickly realizes that, unlike everybody else she knows, Edward isn't quite as normal as he may appear, and a series of events - such as avoiding death and obviously being saved by the pale-skinned hunk himself - provoke her to dedicate some time to researching mythological creatures and Googling 'vampires' into the search engine. Which leads me to ask one question - did Bella ever have any homework or something more useful to do instead of falling in love with a person who wasn't what he seemed? 
Anyway, the film truly comes alive as soon as the action begins, right at the moment when Edward tells Bella that he is not a warm-blooded human, but a blood-sucking vampire who was over a hundred years ago. Yikes, even my vampire-intrigued self probably wouldn't take that kind of news very lightly, yet hair-stroking Bella put her 'fear' to one side and continued to explore her relationship with Edward which lasted for five films, so I guess that it wasn't all for nothing. 
Yes, there may be a couple of flaws which I've picked up on over the years - one doesn't instantly forget Robert Pattinson's half-problematic attempts to put on an American accent all too easily - but Twilight was nonetheless very thrilling to watch because, unlike the other four, it simply focused on the two main characters upon which the concept was originally based. Ah, life seemed a little easier before 'Team Jacob' entered the mainstream, but maybe that's just me...

2. The Lost Boys (1987)

Having claimed the title of being one of my most enjoyed films of all-time, The Lost Boys brilliantly combined a magical mixture of humour, horror and contemporary cinema into one classic film, which continues to inspire and entertain audiences twenty seven years after it was originally released.
Starring Jason Patric and Corey Haim (who sadly passed away in 2010), The Lost Boys tells the story of two brothers who, along with their mother, move into their grandfather's home in the sunny town of Santa Carla, California. But their new town isn't quite what it seems as missing people posters are plastered everywhere and a gang of teenage motorbikers rule the night - and the brothers are drawn into what has been haunting the town, resulting to getting involved in a battle against those who have been harming the town like a poisonous plague. And those things? Night-loving and sun-fearing vampires, of course!
Personally, I believe that films both set and made in the spectacular decade known as the eighties are usually brilliant, and The Lost Boys are no exception. Sometimes, films which are overdo the horror side of things can put me off from viewing them because there are occasions (if you wish to believe it!) when I have no desire to be pushed into hiding behind the sofa, cowering in fear at the ghastly sight of blood and gore showering the screen, but The Lost Boys steered clear of this issue by injecting a dash of humour - who would truly expect to burst into laughter whilst watching a vampire film? - which gave it a burst of life as great as a sip of the suspicious 'wine' that opened a can of worms.
Whenever I'm in the mood for something slightly gorey yet somewhat light-hearted (compared to living without a wardrobe for several days until I move house, everything else seems as heavenly as a slice of angel cake), I never think twice about sitting down to watch this film because, after viewing it several times, it doesn't bore me in the slightest. Then, if I'm remaining true to my fascination towards vampires, would any bite-tastic film send me to sleep? 

3. Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992)

Before the television series hit our screens in 1997, we first met our kickass vampire slayer, sixteen year old cheerleader Buffy, in this 90s movie which, despite being somewhat a box office disappointment, has still become a modern classic.
Maybe the world wasn't ready to get their heads around a Hellmouth (an underground area which holds the door between Earth and a land piled with ugly-looking demons and hellish creatures) existing under the fictional Californian town of Sunnydale, but this film hasn't lost any of its memorability over the years, especially as the television series of the same name still has a strong legion of die-hard fans (including myself, without a doubt) over ten years after the final episode was aired.
In certain ways, Buffy the Vampire Slayer is awfully similar to the pilot episode of the TV series, which shows Buffy finding out that she is indeed the slayer of both vampiric and demonic creatures, a sort of 'job' which gives her super powerful strength in order to win the battle against the evil forces who threaten to destroy Earth on a constant basis.
However, unlike the TV series, this film plays a tribute towards high school culture in the 90s and gives a startling impression of how Cher Horowitz from Clueless would have reacted had she ever found herself in such a strange and frankly scary situation. And who wouldn't be amused at the sight of a popular, typical teenager attempt to stake a vampire for the first time? In my opinion, the classic high school films in the 90s are a source of inspiration, yet Buffy the Vampire Slayer offered a lot more bite (and thrilling action) than your usual teen-themed film.
If you are in the mood for something half as fluffy as your moulting kitten's fur yet doesn't sacrifice on fighting scenes (which really puts my non-existent exercise routine to shame) and popcorn-munching action, Buffy the Vampire Slayer offers all you could possibly need from one brilliant film.
And do watch the television series, if you can. That's an order, by the way. 

Friday 21 March 2014

Talking to Me: A Self-Written Interview with the Modern Teen

First of all, the past couple of weeks have probably been the most hectic times which I've ever endured throughout my fifteen years on this planet, where I've constantly been running around like a headless chicken whilst panicking over whether I could squeeze another lipstick into my freak-out-it's-an-emergency! leather bag and have had a bad case of amnesia relating to my forgetting the true meaning about relaxing in style. 

If I carry on discussing my house moving-related issues on a daily basis, you needn't think twice upon the possibility that my head could explode like Mt Etna erupting near the Italian town of Sicily, except that my parents would have to clean up after my mess with the dreaded Dyson hoover which, eleven years of first placing my eyes upon it, continues to scare the living daylights out of me whenever it makes a noisier-than-a-heavy-metal-concert appearance. So, please imaginarily whack me around my head if I dare to bring up this irritatingly stressful matter because it is all which my mind is thinking about at the moment - well, unless those juicy chicken fillets from KFC pop into my head during those periods when hunger is developing a strength similar to an oil-greased WWE wrestler, but I just want to appreciate those rare occasions when cellotaping a box heavy enough to break your bones are not relevant to my routine. If that makes any sense at all. 

Anyway, as my dad unfortunately packed away my schoolbooks into one of the many boxes shielding the television in the living room yesterday, I've been left with nothing better to do than to jot down my more confused-than-ever thoughts here or keep a watchful eye on the kittens who have recently established a penchant for leaping onto the kitchen sink, the sight of which can only keep me amused for so long. Right now, I'd love nothing better than to immerse myself into one of my cookery books which has been sealed into (you guessed it!) box, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the greater good, don't you? Try saying that to Little Miss Bored who just finished plucking her bushy-as-a-tree eyebrows raw, yet I might as well get on with today's entry (in case you haven't noticed, I possibly will be writing here more often as a method of keeping my sanity in check). 

Depending on my mood, I would usually like to write about particular interests, such as favourite films, CDs and books, or treats which resurrect my sweet tooth like Frankenstein being brought to life via an environmentally destroying amount of electricity. Bearing in mind that the second season of The Vampire Diaries and a few of my dad's The Sopranos box sets are the sole DVDs remaining in the cabinet, listening to music via Spotify has just become obligatory and I'm experiencing the withdrawal symptoms on a par to an alcoholic due to no longer having access to my large-as-a-library book collection, it is fair to admit that I have pretty much run out of ideas about what to write today, which has created a throbbing headache in my temples to say the least. 

However, there is still a spark of life within my imagination to discuss something which I'm fairly confident has not been mentioned here in the past, a practise of which I regularly take into consideration because I detest nothing more than lacking originality like the taxpayer-funded BBC constantly airing repeats of programmes which nobody likes. Today's idea is conducting an interview with myself, as written by the only person suited to the job (no, no, Bart the Kitten has not figured out my Blogger password, nor how to use a laptop) - me. Unfortunately, Little Brother is likely to take a few cream crackers and a half-kept promise of being first in line for a slice of my soon-to-be-baked brownie cake as he undergoes the boring task of piling his possessions into a box for the duration of this morning, so he is unable to interview myself, as is my dad who currently doing the same thing. Oh well, let's see how I get on with talking to myself - it shouldn't be too hard, shouldn't it? 

LittleMissJournalist (LMJ): Sorry for arriving here late, LikeATeen; I almost tripped over the boxes near your bedroom.

LikeATeen (LAT) (smirks with sarcastic malice): Oh really? Which ones?

LMJ (gives an offending glare, which sends a chill of cold fear down LAT's spine): Oh, never mind. Boxes are boxes, are they not?

LAT (shrugs in the manner of the weight of the world resting on her shoulders): I suppose.

LMJ: Anyway, I'm here to discuss your successful blog which you set up last year. Congratulations on doing such a wonderful job!

LAT (eyes pop open, splattering onto the dust-covered carpets): Me doing a good job? I'm not so sure as to whether I would really believe it; hardly anybody has even seen this blog!

LMJ: Doesn't your Blogger account state that your blog has received over 1000 views?

LAT (squirms uncomfortably in squeaky chair): Um, well I couldn't resist checking my blog from time to time, so a considerable number of the views were played on my part. 

LMJ: So, you admit looking at your own website nearly a thousand times? 

LAT: No, no, not that many times! Well, I hope not - you see, I'm not an expert on maths in the slightest...

LMJ: Oh yes, the beloved maths you detest so greatly. How is your studying going? 

LAT: It's going fine, thanks. My parents have told me that I'll definitely walk my English GCSE, which has offered a massive boost to my confidence, but I'm not so sure about whether I'll pass my mathematics exams so easily. 

LMJ (licks lips excitedly, intent to hear more): Why is that?

LAT (automatically switches into defensive mode): Hey, it isn't my fault that I don't understand all of these numbers and letters which are supposedly defined as equations! In my opinion, letters shouldn't even go near numbers because it gives a startling impression of misuse of the English language. 

LMJ: Of course you would hold onto those beliefs because of your bulletproof relationship with writing, wouldn't you?

LAT (coughs quietly, cornered into defeat): Yes, I would. 

LMJ (shuffles her imaginary papers): What is your view relating to modern teenage life?

LAT: Unlike past generations, life for modern teens is more difficult than ever because we aspire to reach beyond our ambitions and succeed in everything we do. That can affect our enjoyment of living life as a teenager because, as many people realize within time, youth grants an excitement which you cannot exactly replicate in later life. 

LMJ: How do you mean?

LAT: Being young exaggerates your fearlessness within doing certain things from which older people would automatically flee, and there isn't a happier moment than getting your burst of freedom which later leads to independence as an adult. 

LMJ: What kind of things have you done which would need a burst of fearlessness? 

LAT (thinks hard for a moment): Tucking into a couple of Smarties before having breakfast at the age of eight or nine required a particular level of bravery, which kept me on somewhat of a high for the rest of the day. 

LMJ: You mean a sugar-fuelled high, right? 

LAT (gasps in shock): What else did you expect me to say? For the record, I'm extremely offended by your manner. 

LMJ: You mean that you're offended by yourself, don't you? 

LAT (refuses to answer, glaring at her ever-growing pile of boxes)

LMJ: What are your dreams for the future?

LAT (springs back into vivid life): For years, I've been dreaming about pursuing a career in journalism because it would enable me to remain true to my greatest love: writing. Plus, earning a living through doing something fun couldn't be better, could it? 

LMJ: I thought that you were interested in combining law and journalism a while ago. Are your interests still the same? 

LAT: In a certain way, yes. Unlike reality TV stars and lip-synching singers, people specializing in Law will always be needed as it would be impossible to live in a world without crime, lawsuits and damn good trials shown on the news channels. But there are a few aspects regarding Law with which I don't necessarily agree, such as convicted criminals failing to receive a long sentence for his or her crimes. I know that the Law must always be abided, regardless of the matter involved, but there are certain high-profile cases which should remain immune to the rules because it strikes me as humanely wrong. 

LMJ: So, is it unlikely that the world will be placing their eyes upon the first blogging journalist/lawyer-in-disguise? 

LAT: Look, if I could stuff half of my jewellery box into a small container and still have enough space, anything is possible. Like my mum sometimes says to me, today is the present (one of which nobody could be bothered to wrap decently) and tomorrow is a gift - who knows what I may decide in the future!

LMJ: Talking of the future, your life is teetering towards undergoing one massive change soon, am I not correct? 

LAT: I thought I said that I would not discuss the big move earlier. 

LMJ (sighs annoyingly, scrunching her hand into a ball-sized fist): Come on, who cares about rules? There isn't anything more interesting to talk about, is there? 

LAT (glances around bedroom, disheartened at the empty sight of bare walls and a miniature storage room beside her chair): No, that's a point. 

LMJ (smiles proudly): So, how are you feeling about moving to a new area and returning to mainstream education? 

LAT: At the moment, I'm a bundle of excitement and nerves, though it may just be my stomach playing up after having a lemon cream muffin last. (stomach gurgles loudly) But I'm genuinely over the moon at becoming an inhabitant of a lovely new area and creating new friendships, which is somehow keeping me smiling as I struggle to find space for my possessions. 

LMJ: One last question for you. What - 

LAT (cuts in abruptly): Gosh, it better be - sitting on this chair for ages has turned me into a cool marble stone?

LMJ (mutters an unrepeatable word under her breath): You never stop talking, do you? 

LAT: If I didn't, would I ever have anything remotely fascinating to write about on my blog? 

LMJ: Before you rudely interrupted me, I was going to ask you one final question. Don't forget that I've lost half of my body heat whilst asking you these questions, so don't go on about your cool-as-marble issues and all the other stuff which has bored me to sleep. 

LAT (yawns loudly)

LMJ: Anyway, do you think that this is a good life for the Modern Teen? 

LAT: Now that the future is shining as brightly as a shooting star, I really do think that I am living a good life as a Modern Teenager. Sure, I will have my ups and downs - that pimple near the corner of my mouth has been getting on my nerves today - but everything is worth it once I reach the end of the tunnel, and that light is getting nearer as each day passes.

LMJ (a tear rolls down her foundation-caked cheek): Wow, you truly read my thoughts, LikeATeen. 

LAT (grins madly): And who wouldn't?


Thursday 20 March 2014

Embracing the Move

Whilst sitting in the back of my mum's gun metal car as hundreds of green-as-shamrocks (for it was St Patrick's Day on Monday, after all) fields passed by and my emptiless hunger increased in a way I had always hoped for my pint-sized legs yesterday, I had the perfect opportunity to think about my soon-to-be-different life because, rather frankly, I didn't have anything else to do.

With the option of reading a book being immediately crossed out due to my nausea-related tendencies whilst driving over a semi-dangerous pothole (an ever-popular sight on old, badly repaired British roads) and a little brother only wishing to annoy me to an inch of my life in the back seats, thinking about how my life is on the verge of changing within the space of a few days all but occupied my time on one of the longest car journeys I'd ever embarked upon.

In case you have just stumbled onto my blog and therefore don't have a single inkling about my life, let me give you a short, yet sugar-sprinkled sweet description about the events which have thrown my world into the air: last week, I earnt a self-given medal for surviving without access to the internet or being able to do anything remotely fun (i.e. poking fun at the tracksuit trends typically displayed around town) after travelling over three hundred miles to-and-back in order to view a new property, with which I instantly fell in love and have not stopped thinking about since. Seven days ago, I bragged about my excitement regarding an en-suite attached to my bedroom (if one had some private space, who couldn't resist raving about it?) and the prospect of attending a new secondary school had ignited a sense of elation like never before, as I've been educated at home for the past seven years.

Skip forward a week and I was squashed against my box-sized handbag in the car, growing bored of the endless sight of fluffier-than-my-wooly-jumper sheep standing like something possessed in fields dedicated to farming near the motorway, preparing to receive the keys for our new home. Although I've had enough time to process the events which were destined to take place - obtaining the keys wasn't quite as thrilling as the Olympic Opening Ceremony because a lit torch with a similar shape to a bouquet of lavish flowers would always gather a cheering crowd - I'm still questioning whether I will ever get my head around what has recently happened because I feel like I've been induced into a daze, not completely aware of my surroundings and closely felt emotions.

As I'm moving out next Friday, perhaps dragging myself out of bed at 5am in time for the removal firm to arrive two hours later will eventually bring home how my way of living is about to take a massive leap into the unknown, bringing a beautiful home and a much-envied area which will shortly become our new village. Yes, I usually regard villages as an impersonation of the places depicted on British soap areas such as Emmerdale which my mum ironically watches almost every evening, and although my ears would explode like a needle placed through a balloon if I lived in the livelier-than-imaginable heart of a noisy city, inhabiting a house in an area deemed as too quiet would normally get on my nerves because I never like to feel alone and a thousand miles away from anywhere big, which would definitely rack up an enormous bill on petrol if it was the case.

However, the village where our new home is located stands out as a great area because, despite not offering a street loaded with popular shops or indeed an H&M store (when will my favourite fashion retailer become more accessible?), the atmosphere immediately made me feel at ease which has increased my confidence on whether I'll be comfortable there. The nearest town is a mere eight miles or so away, which would equate to a twenty minute drive, and as the car sped over the stomach-turning bridges yesterday, it hardly feels as though any time had passed until we arrive into the town which offers all the shops (and the chocolate digestives from Aldi to which my dad has developed an undiagnosed addiction) we need. So, I'm feeling rather euphoric about moving to a village which, unlike many across the country, hasn't completely cut off links to the outside world - and hopefully won't remind me of any farm-themed television programmes either!

Due to living in the same town and inevitably the same house for almost seven years, I have to shrug my pride away and admit that I have gotten comfortable because it has indeed been a place which I've known for almost half of my life; letting go of old habits and adjusting to a new lifestyle couldn't been classified as a harder task, yet this time I'm embracing this change as I've been waiting long enough for it. In general, the stress relating to packing away everything and preparing for yet another exhausting journey up country has threatened to eat away at me like I consumed my first bucket of KFC at a service station last night, and it's fair to say that I'm rather inexperienced with regard to staying sane whilst moving house - how will I ever let go of my novice-like ways?

Once the most daunting parts of the move have been thankfully over and done with, a sense of relief and stability will wash over me like hot water trickling out of a shower, and nothing will possibly stand in my way of finding my ideal-sized slice of happiness - at times, all I want is to move to our new home right away because waiting for the day to come is making me all the more anxious. Regardless of the matter involved, I doubt that I will ever get a grip on my impatience though it would truly help if some of its stronger tendencies could disappear for a while!

If you asked me how I felt at this particular moment, almost all the adjectives ever created in the English language would be hanging on the tip of my tongue because there isn't just one word which perfectly describes my current state of emotions. Happy, excited, nervous, agitated, exhausted and sleep-deprived are pretty accurate indicators of my feelings right now, but I hope to work through my nerves and reach the light at the end of the tunnel as soon as possible.

Just keep me posted on when the time comes as I attempt to catch up on some much-needed sleep!


Tuesday 18 March 2014

Whirlwind of a Year: Defined Moments

Standing in front of the mirror in the main dustier-than-a-spider bedroom, I can't quite tell if I'm a ghost of the person I was a year ago. Hmm, my legs - the ones of which never see the hair-free light of shaving creams because they always turn the colour of uncooked spicy sausages - barely look any longer, so my dreams of transforming in a teenage brown-haired Jerry Hall have all but been dashed for all eternity. As for my face, the same trouble-making spots continue to terrorize me like the free shipping offers being sent from the H&M website, hardly ever offering me a welcome break from the hassles I've endured on a near constant basis.

Yet, as I've realized within the space of three hundred and sixty five days - unless using a calender is beneath your Jimmy Choo-clad feet, I mean a year - that one not only changes in appearance, but within oneself as a person, and the truth about getting a year wiser really brings everything home to me on a grander scale. As I've discussed on past occasions, losing two of the most valued pals in my life - furry feline brothers Tom and Jerry - within six months of each other last year literally knocked me off my feet in shock as I've fought a struggling battle against containing my emotions, but time brought an ease to my grief and I slowly, yet not entirely, let go of my sadness relating to saying goodbye to the friends who were there when I became a part of the world and grew up into the young woman I am now.

Although there still remains a certain stigma towards those who declare a love more fierce for their pets than for human counterparts, I'm proud of expressing my relentless admiration for animals because they continue to offer the companionship which we naturally seek, and spending time with my two six month old kittens, Bart and Benny, releases a sense of pride which only purely felt love can touch upon. But the past year hasn't just been based around letting go of what I'd known for the first fourteen years of my life and opening my heart to two new cherished members of my family, quite a few lessons - both as easy as passing a French exam with flying colours (I'm not joking when I declare my ability to translate a page of French) and more difficult than what I had ever experienced - have been learnt off heart which, without a doubt, have broadened my outlook on life itself and what it ought to represent to every one of us.

Despite not being blessed with the ability to skip back twelve months or so to lead my life as a fourteen year old, I roughly remember having one foot stuck in the path leading towards childhood and another teetering towards adulthood, feeling more uncertain and insecure than what I'd ever imagined as a youngster. As marketing makes more of an effort to appeal to teenagers through high school based novels, first love films and MTV-inspired music - due to being classified as independent in making our choices and a few years free of university fee-related worries, companies are desperate I'm still at a loss as to whether anybody understands teenagers on a whole.

Teenagers may often be depicted on screen and are somewhat of an inspiration for the world in which we live today - if that wasn't the case, would The Twilight Saga have ever stood a chance of breaking box office records? - yet no hard-hitting novels or angst-fuelled songs by grunge legends Nirvana can truly put an adolescent's up-in-the-air feelings into words. Even I, a self-professed lover of the Collins dictionary, faced a hard struggle whilst rummaging through the adjectives section because nothing described what I could latch my hands upon and feel a part of - call it a moody blues stage or whatever, but my ever-expanding mind was undergoing the biggest changes of its lifetime, and I was being cornered into a smaller-than-the-litter-tray room where I had run along with the times or be left behind. Growing up at that time only represented one thing: difficulties.

Whether getting to grips with my first-ever wave of grief propelled me to leap into action or I eventually grew sick of contorting my lips in a semi-permanent frown, I somehow pulled myself out of the slumber in which I felt torn apart from the world and set upon the path which I'm still following, taking one step at a time. In certain ways, I was indeed awake - my eyes were wide-open, if you question it - yet still half-asleep or whatever, but there came a time when I threw my fist-balled angst down the drain and breathed a taste of unpolluted, cleansing air. Some things, such as being ready to bang my head against the solid wall at a moment's notice, need to be released, and the opportunity to clear myself of mood-associated issues arrived at the right time. For that, I owe plenty towards Tom and Jerry, whom I hope are having a ball (or knocking back the pints of double cream with an eager relish) in the land of Kitty Heaven, as they left a very valuable lesson in their wake: don't hold onto what is no longer necessary. From bitter-flavoured anger to years-old leaflets from a nearby shopping centre, I cleanse myself bit by bit whenever I get rid of something which no longer represents a value in my life, and it could partly be owed to my packing boxes of late - as I've found, it's a lesson which keeps on giving!

As a teenager who likes to believe that I'm equally a smug-faced know-it-all like my spikey-haired animated muse, Lisa Simpson, I don't take it likely when I'm stood up by someone or something, especially as I'm quite firm in staying true to my beliefs and values. Yet recently a new gift has arrived on my doorstep and as each day passes by, its value continues to increase whilst lifting my spirits to an euphoric, if not platinum level: hope. Having mentioned the boring nature of packing boxes and placing my teddy bears in rather tight positions (don't worry, I won't exactly specify what), you can tell that I'm going to be moving soon and the date is set for Friday week in ten days' time; I couldn't possibly be more anxious about getting prepared in time for one of the most stressful, yet thrilling journeys of my life!

But before faith became an acquaintance of mine, it was fair to say that I was running out of it and had reached an all-time low because all my problems gave the impression of piling into one massive heap: I didn't know if I would be moving into the house of my dreams because certain circumstances played a vital role in securing the property, which led me to believe that I would be preparing for yet another round of disappointment on the one crazy roller coaster known as life. However, I was rather taken aback when it became clear that the house would indeed become ours - as I hadn't allowed myself to hope for it because I feared that I would be left disappointed, obtaining my dream-like home came as a massive shock and taught me that having faith can lead to happy situations.

Tomorrow, my family and I will be travelling over a hundred miles to sign the paperwork to officially become the proud new tenants of the property, and I'm literally buzzing with the excitement about the prospect of my new life on the verge of beginning shortly; within a couple of weeks, Little Brother (LB) and I will be returning to school after receiving a top quality education at home for the past seven years, and it means yet another change to my way of living. But, unlike being forced to live without a boiler during the November chill last year, this change is a welcome one, along with finally having my own en-suite!

My mum once told me that there is a seven year cycle in life and, bearing in mind that I have lived in the same property for almost seven days (I'm just a few days short of the full seven year term), I'm starting to believe that she is right. I'll only start singing from the same hymn sheet if it applies to my spotty skin, which developed its first blemish in the same year - perhaps some faith will offer the cure to my oil-rich issues!

Furthermore, I feel more confident and happier about myself as a fun-loving and smiling teenager than I did a year ago, having gone through both the best and worst experiences which life has to offer. No matter what, my heart will always pine for Tom and Jerry because they showered me with affection and furry cuddles, but in death they left me a priceless gift: the true meaning of love. Being a teenager, as you've probably heard one too many times, can often be deemed as a difficult stage within one's life, but now I'm appreciating my youth because it only lasts once - come on, there are so many times that I can obtain a grin-inducing thrill through (legally) purchasing 15-rated films at Asda! Moving into my new home next week has created more excitement than the buzzing atmosphere at a One Direction concert because it ticks another thing off my imaginary list: starting a new and oh-so-happy life.

It seems strange how so many things - such as tucking into my first and definitely not-the-last serving of KFC last week, writing my first novel and of course creating my own space (a.k.a blog) within the realms of the internet - can take place in just a single year, but that is way that life goes. I hope that I may get a rest from life's mighty lessons for a little while as my head is still spinning from the ones I've just learnt - but everything, I now know, will be alright.

Unless my brother gets BT Sports, that is.


Monday 17 March 2014

Best Thing Ever: Chocolate Brownies

As you may well know (and have been bored to a near-traumatic death on several occasions), the hungry-as-ever teenager that I am has always had somewhat of a love affair with chocolate, instantly receiving a pick-me-up from a single, finger-licking mouthful. To many, it may strike one as extremely strange to go all gooey-eyed over a square of food which, in all honesty, isn't particularly friendly towards your waistline - and is often cited as a reason for which half of the population have become victims of yo-yo dieting - but it purely displays my appreciation for the delicacy, which I limit as a twice weekly treat.

Since donning my first pair of baking gloves around a year ago, I've had the joy of following recipes which not only make me drawl like Homer Simpson setting foot into a Krispey Creme store, but excite the rest of my family, who inevitably help themselves to whatever I make. From my failproof gingersnaps (in our household, the more spice, the better the flavour) to old-fashioned cherry cake, I've tried my grease-covered hand at a wide range of recipes which have thankfully been deemed as a success most of the time, yet I almost always find it irresistible to include my favourite cocoa-tastic ingredient if such a spectacular occasion arises - after all, don't we humans experience nothing quite as joyful as indulge on our sweet tooth?

After enduring a more exhausted-than-expected week piled high with packing cardboard boxes, travelling over 150 miles to view my family's soon-to-be-ours house and getting my head around my upcoming return to mainstream education (for the record, I'm still wandering in a shock-induced daze), baking something thousands of miles away from my current palette of issues struck me as a type of therapy, except that a bowl of butter doesn't really count as a medical remedy. Like miming the lyrics to Rolling in the Deep on my laptop on a late Saturday night, I have long included baking as a form of relaxation which enables me to be freed of life's daily hassles for a few heavenly sweet (if you bear the amount of sugar used in mind) hours, whilst doing something more productive and skillful than being glued to The Vampire Diaries for one evening.

And as I rifled through the ever-emptying cupboards earlier this morning, my brain - which, correct me if I'm wrong, was still fast asleep in snooze-mode, unwillingly to awaken to yet another warm Spring day - immediately came to life, recreating the electricity-draining resurrection scene from one of the many Frankenstein films which I could never be bothered watching. Thanks to splurging on a one-time-only offer in the chocolate aisle at the supermarket several months ago, I still had quite a couple of Ivory Coast dark chocolate left and had been struggling to think of ways to use it up before I move late next week - despite being a proud member of the chocoholics club, even my cocoa-obsessed self would quickly grow sick of tucking into my favourite treat night after night!

So, my mind switched into action-mode and a lighter-than-usual recipe for chocolate chip brownies rushed to the surface, captivating my attention like the singing cat advert currently being aired on TV (believe me, the UK shows the craziest advertisement campaigns in the world!). Beloved in their native America, brownies are somewhat a hybrid of a cake (for its spongy, cake-like texture) and a biscuit (whoever thought of this one, I just can't understand it - fudge-inspired brownies are not crunchy in the slightest!) and have become a true baking statement across the world, inspiring a legion of variations which cater to every taste. From milky white chocolate-flavoured blondies (without any association with the legendary 70s' rock singer) to tangy cheesecake-frosted brownies, it can be pretty overwhelming with the varieties of brownies which are popular amongst various audiences - yet, as I often feel about food, the simplest flavours have a tendency to be the best, and I'm unashamedly in love with chocolate chip brownies as the cocoa is all that my hunger craves!

Although a lot of bakers tend to lean towards following recipes given by a particular chef or celebrity cook, I don't particularly limit myself to just one person because, like many, I'm always on the lookout for more creativity and indeed variety! Saying that, my mum has been a keen follower of British celebrity cook Delia Smith for as long as I can remember and she has collected if not all of Delia's books over the years (Cookery Course is where I gained the idea for baking gingersnaps/gingernuts), and Mary Berry has recently claimed the much-coveted title of a baking icon thanks to her appearance as a judge on The Great British Bake-Off, making delicate butterfly cakes and old-fashioned biscuits suited to today's modernized style of baking. But I personally make an effort to steer clear of recipes which feature a vast amount of butter and sugar, an ingredient of which many studies have linked to obesity of late, as I don't want to wake up with a pang of guilt ruining my enjoyment of a rarely consumed treat - one can only become familiar with indulgence without taking it too far, right?

Despite swapping my original brownie recipe for smaller amounts of butter, sugar and sadly chocolate (that practise automatically waved goodbye to my hopes of snacking on squares of dark chocolate for the afternoon) several months ago, the results - if anybody bothers to notice - are exactly the same, if not tastier! Even when it comes to giving into temptation from time to time, I take nutritional values to heart because they needn't be forgotten at all times - and what is the problem if the flavour hasn't been sacrificed at all?

Even to this day, I don't quite know why I go weak at the knees at the slightest mention of brownies - sometimes, one may think I look like a bowl of wobbly jelly - but it represents yet another side of home-baking which reminds me of love, effort and a seriously good cooking skill. From chocolate chip cookies to even a brownie cake (perhaps I'll have a hint of two brownie cakes within a week), the chocolate-related fun seems endless, and that's how I always want baking to be!

As taken from Rachel Allen's brilliant cookbook, Cake, down below is the recipe which I've used on several occasions, resulting in a fudgey and oh-so-moreish texture. Don't blame me if you can't bring yourself to stop!

Ingredients
100g butter, sliced into cubes (in order for it to melt quicker)
125g caster sugar
100g plain (dark) chocolate (personally, I prefer a bar containing 70% cocoa solids; it neither sacrifices on the rich flavour or a hint of sweetness)
100g dark chocolate chips (though a bar of chopped-up dark chocolate is also fine)
75g self-raising flour
1tbsp (tablespoon) of cocoa powder (Bourneville powder works well)
a pinch of salt
3 eggs, beaten

Method
1. Preheat the oven to 180c and grease a 20cm square tin with 5cm sides (a napkin coated in a Flora vegetable spread is just as good as butter).
2. Break the chocolate into small pieces and place into a bowl with the butter over a pan of simmering water, melting the ingredients gently until the chocolate looks glossy and lump-free.
3. Take the bowl off the pan and leave to cool for a few seconds before stirring in the sugar and pinch of salt.
4. Add the beaten eggs and stir vigorously, then sift the self-raising flour and cocoa powder into the bowl and mix, eventually stirring in the chocolate chips.
5. Pour the mixture into the tin with a spatula (this enables the excuse to lick it clean later!) and even the sides in order to keep it level.
6. Place into the oven carefully - a trip to A&E with burnt fingers is not a wise idea - and bake for 30-35 minutes until a skewer comes out clean.
7. Take the tin out of the oven and leave to cool in the tin. As soon as those chocolate-fuelled hunger pangs become too much to bear, loosen the edges of the tin and place the brownie on a sheet of greaseproof paper (you really don't want to be told off for messiness by your mum!).
8. Cut into either 16 and 32 squares, depending on how many brownies you crave.
9. And what else do you expect me to say? ENJOY!




Sunday 16 March 2014

The Things I Love to Hate

Would I honestly be remaining loyal to my snappy-as-an-Instagram-selfie tendencies if I failed to let off some heated steam every now and then? Don't worry, I'm hardly bothered about biting off more than my fang-shaped gnashers are capable of chewing or banging my head against the wall in the heat of frustration, but instead I will write about my scarily opinionative views in a calm(-isque) manner: in my eyes, writing is as soothing as lying on your yoga mat for an hour, kidding yourself that stretching your strained muscles is a proper means of shifting those pounds.

Without a doubt, there are plenty of things which I love with a capital L - my ever-growing obsession of handbags is visual proof of this oh-so-true theory, if you've had the misfortune of taking a peek in my overcrowded removal boxes recently - and I never feel happier than when I'm performing a task which doesn't provoke an irritated groan to escape my lips, such as, um, peeling the sprouts (personally, I like to believe that I'm entitled to stealing a few after being boiled) and rummaging through my old photos and drawings, intrigued by how I got away with very messy handwriting at the tender age of six. Why complain about being unable to visit Paris if I can take an instant trip down Memory Lane by seeing pictures of myself at various times throughout my life?

On a whole, my personality enables me to fall in love with certain things rather quickly - hardly a good sign if a bar of indulgent chocolate is lying within a five mile radius - but this doesn't mean that I can never be infuriated or sense a wispy steam of black smoke coming out of my ears; my erratic hormones have long proven otherwise! From mushy peas which look more disgusting than Bart the Greedy Kitten's furballs to Sky Sports News succeeding in their domination over the television every weekend, I could write several books - heavier-than-a-Biggest-Loser-contestant hardbacks, mind you - about the various things which ignite a fury that the world has never laid their eyes upon.

If world famous moaner Karl Pilkington has taught me one thing which my enormous Algebra book failed to include amongst the baffling equations and misuse of letters, having a moan is key to releasing anxiety and ridding oneself of the stress which has a tendency to build up to the drastic point that only a needle can burst the invisible balloon pressuring your emotions. In simple-as-baking-a-pie English, I mean that moaning or indulging in negative discussions can often lead to feeling happy - how can one live contently if their troubles are constantly bubbling underneath the surface? Once I spit my dislike of turquoise eyeliner out into the open, nothing is standing in my way of moving onto something more fascinating and less likely to add to my overflowing plate of teen-related issues.

Like the packets of Doritos which many seem immune to stop eating at parties and on the sofa, one's feelings about anything will be released sooner or later, whether you are on friendly terms with your emotions or not. Lots of people appreciate the uplifting joys (and feel-good factor, if you can sympathize with my guilt over gobbling a cream-topped butterfly cake without heading to the local gym) of exercising because it allows them to take their minds off whatever is being a cause of needless bother, but everybody has the right to find their means of letting off some steam in a healthy and preferably violent-free way.

As you can tell from the amount of entries I've posted since last Halloween (according to my calculations, I've almost written seventy pieces!), writing is definitely my first-choice cure for battling against troubles and returning to the welcome embrace of freedom, no longer a prisoner being plagued by my life-long dislike of bumble bees. Baking is another favourite remedy of mine which usually guarantees a rush of oven-heated pride after seeing the finished product in all its delicious-looking glory, but even putting my head into a punctuation-themed quiz in my English schoolbook offers some time off from stress taking my breath away.

Since starting on packing away three quarters of bedroom several days ago, I've been becoming more and more stressed about the following fortnight which awaits me: in twelve days' time (28th March, if you don't have a calender to hand), I will be waving goodbye to the home in which I have spent the past seven years of my life and will move to another part of the country within the space of a single, yet extremely long day. My mind is already racing at a 100mph because I cannot stop thinking about the tasks which I need to do next - but I don't even know which ones they are! So, in comparison to packing away literally everything I hold dear, immersing myself in a secretly loved hatred of Barbie dolls can only be viewed as a positive at the moment, and each minute I spend here is counted as a blessing - one of which needn't be disguised!

Before I dare to move onto the topic of stuffing my beloved teddy bears amongst my now unused handbags (if any of them are thieving pickpockets, I will surely find out), down below are things which I, a teenager whom has an undeclared penchant for disliking them, love to hate. At last, I'm having a proper Grr! moment - I thought it would never come...

N.B. In order to avoid receiving a lawsuit from the county court, I will not extend my sharp-as-sour-lemons opinions to real people or any companies which can actually afford the costs of going to court. Sometimes, certain views - even the ones which I'm dying to share with you - are best kept to oneself. Unfortunately.

Old papers: Since making a resolution to rifle through my drawers and the numerous cupboards across my bedroom, it is fair to say that I've come across old papers - from drawings to diaries I kept as a youngster, I mean anything on paper - and most of it has been thrown into the bin, never to see the light of day ever again.
What annoys me the most about these old papers is that once I sit back and finally relax after an exhausting day spent with my head stuck in a dusty drawer, another lot of unwanted pages appear out of thin, which only adds to my excessive workload. What joy I had earlier throwing away printed pictures of my one-time country pop idol Taylor Swift whose songs and albums I no longer listen to nor own - when will my pre-spring cleaning hell reach an all-final (it better be or my fiery temper will make a rare, yet memorable appearance) end?
My face - usually on a par with a fair English rose -  nearly turned the colour of a cherry tomato when I read through my near decade-old writings about my primary school friends, many of whom I lost touch with years ago. Ouch. And I haven't even discussed my scribbly, unintelligible handwriting which was a pain to read, if I had to say the least - oh, the endless agony!

Minecraft: If you have never heard of this popular video game, I envy you with a glare which would turn anybody into cool, solid stone.
Since my little brother received his beloved Xbox 360 console on his birthday last year, he hardly does anything other than eat literally a whole bag of my Revels in a single sitting, sleep until past eight o'clock in the morning and play this game to his heart's content.
Despite being a self-confessed Sims lover, I still can't figure out why people enjoy sitting on their backsides for half of the day whilst playing a video game - wouldn't you become an inhabitant in the Land of Boredom after a while? Yet LB (little brother) utterly adores Minecraft because it enables him to do one thing which he cannot legally do on a noisy housing estate: build a property.
No, no, LB hasn't gained the legal qualifications or whatever necessary to use cement and bricks, but nothing prevents him from using his equally-vivid-as-my-own imagination by building a house via a couple of virtual blocks and wood. Even I have been pretty impressed with his work on the occasions that I sit on the sofa next to him, being lectured on a thousand objects of whose existence I never realized.
Perhaps what I hate about Minecraft is that I secretly like it, which definitely goes against all the rules of loathing; the piano music makes a vibrant change from the typical rock-inspired tracks played in the majority of boys-themed video games, and I have a fondness for several of the tracks which stay in my head long after they are over.
And, ahem, I need a brother to annoy sooner or later. Some duties are compulsory to be performed and Minecraft appears to be distracting LM from starting his annoy-LikeATeen shifts. Well, he has to work in order to gain his pocket money, right?



Saturday 15 March 2014

Saturday Snooze: Schoolbags

Since receiving the ever-so-exciting news of returning to school several days ago, it has been a struggle to say the least regarding to achieve a sense of normality as I begin packing away half of my possessions (and discovering that my once-tatty decorative leopard sofa was a mirror/jewellery box in disguise) and getting ready to lead a life completely different to my current one. Within less the space of a week, all of the stressful circumstances of setting in a new home have been thrown into the air like a sticky pancake being tossed onto the ceiling on Shrove Tuesday; if I didn't have the opportunity to write to my sanity's content, I wouldn't doubt letting go of my self-control in a manner which I'm rather keen to avoid.

As I constantly keep reminding myself (whilst revising the contents of my thicker-than-a-Scotch-pancake French workbook), c'est la vie and certain cases are likely to be found during our long journey throughout life, though tossing out a wooden broomstick which my brother amusingly bought for me several Halloweens ago wasn't exactly one of those occurrences that I ever expected to come across (and picking up the messy twigs should not have been my main priority, considering that I never even liked the stick). Like never before, the clock is ticking and apart from listening to snippets of Pure Heroine on YouTube every now and then as an instant pick-me-up (a square of citrus dark chocolate merely offers a tiny helping of happiness, mind you), all I can strain my ears to hear is the loud, nerve-wracking sound of a clock getting nearer and nearer towards me on a daily basis.

If there is a spare moment, that precious time cannot be wasted, regardless of the undeniable amount of hours I would spend chucking away unwanted items and becoming more irritable than Hulk's sharp-tongued girlfriend in the extremely long process of getting prepared for the day when my seven year tenure in this house has reached an end. And in case you were wondering whether I'd only offered myself to the dull-as-plain-wallpaper task of rifling through my drawers, I'm glad to say that you couldn't be more wrong: whilst I'm still getting my head (at the moment, I'm taking as long as a malfunctioning bank machine to process anything which is told to me) around setting foot into a secondary school for the first time, I've immediately leapt onto my laptop and have started to search for every single item I need.

From miniature English dictionaries to flat-as-a-bubble-free-Cola shoes, I never realized that there were so many items which were necessary to gaining a top quality education, knocking me off my feet to say the least. Due to having not yet applied for a place at the schools in my soon-to-be-inhabited town, I'm still in the dark about which school I will attend and since embarking on a tiresome search on Google for the schools in the area, I still feel none the wiser about which rules will apply to me.

Don't get me wrong, the very last thing I'm likely to do is to walk into my new school whilst clad in Gucci's latest collection (to my fashionista's disappointment) and breaking all the regulations by donning a set of vampish red nails and failing to carry a suitable bag which would fall apart at the slightest touch. Watching the entire series of the BAFTA award-winning Educating Yorkshire last year should have informed me of certain trends (if the Tango-orange fake tan suggested a hint about the popular styles amongst girls of my age), but I was far too mesmerized by the students getting away with wearing midnight black eyeliner and facial piercings that I didn't take any notice of the one object which I'm desperate to obtain: the ideal schoolbag.

Bearing in mind that if schools don't allow second ear lobe piercings (unfortunately, I fall into this criteria after getting my piercings last summer - with my parents' permission, of course) or an au natural nude lipstick, I believe that a smart, yet stylish schoolbag would offer a subtle indication to my style without breaking any of the fragile barriers which apply to the regulations at an ordinary school. For years, I've witnessed students at the local schools carrying colourful bags which share a startling resemblance to the bags taking the catwalk by storm so I cannot see how I could receive the unwanted title of a rebel by, in a sense, following what every other student appears to be allowed to do. It's just that I'm dying to find out whether I'll get a place at my chosen schools, though it is likely that I'll have to wait until next week because of the on-going weekend; the sooner I know, the quicker I can find a suitable bag which doesn't guarantee a spell in detention!

For the meantime, though, I'd like to offer my selection of backpacks - after much consideration, I doubt that I would come across many problems with storing kilo loads of homework in a backpack, unlike a smaller, yet more attractive handbag - and found out which ones you would personally choose, if you were placed in my position. Even if certain colours weren't allowed, it is still nonetheless fun to include them because I do have my head stuck in the clouds most of the time!

As for finding a pair of flat black shoes, I'm trying to put off the task for as long as possible because there isn't a thing I loathe more heavily than standing on a flat level; so much for growing three inches within a year...

N.B. Due to my lack of expertise relating to uploading pictures from certain websites, I have been left with no other option to direct you to the sites selling the goods, which has sadly spoilt my dreams of adding some pictures in today's entry. If only Blogger was a more common feature on the 'Share' button!

Black Metal Tip Croc Panel Backpack, New Look, £17.99
Ideally, I'd love to choose this backpack because it, if I must be truly frank, has it all: black is typically a desirable colour at the majority of schools, yet this backpack manages to give a hint of stylishness thanks to its croc-patterned design, a style of which I've always been eager to try.
Originally, the mink-coloured version of this backpack caught my eye because I do have a penchant for brighter colours, yet this black one fits the bill perfectly because it certainly looks the part.
The only downfall is that New Look - a popular shopping chain amongst young women and teenagers, whose accessories and shoes units are second to none - haven't listed the measurements of this bag, which has left me none the wiser about whether I'd be able to pile tons of A4 papers into it without falling victim to the risk of breaking what I would deem a beautiful product. A trip to the local store in the centre of town will probably be necessary if I do consider getting this bag - fingers crossed that it is available!
http://www.newlook.com/shop/womens/bags-and-purses/black-metal-tip-croc-panel-backpack_298691601


Converse Back To School Mini Backpack in Lacy Skull, £12.50, USC
Ever since I fell in love with fashion several years ago, my inner gothic chic has been dying to be awakened and brought to oh-so-glorious life; in other words, I have a secret, yet vivid passion for skulls and never seem to walk past a shop selling skull-patterned clothing or accessories without adding it to my wardrobe. If you were to ask me, I'm not quite sure why my ears prick like a cat whenever I hear about a skull-themed item, but that is one of the countless quirks commonly found in my personality and I've obtained a decent pair of Butler & Wilson earrings out of it.
So, in an ideal world where rules were not as dangerously strict as they currently are within schools, it wouldn't take me a heartbeat to purchase this backpack because the skull print screams me! me! me! all over it. Whilst browsing the website by pure chance earlier, I almost fell out of my seat when this backpack was shown on screen, making all my dreams of finding the artistically perfect backpack a near reality.
Also, it is currently on offer at a cool £12.50 which I wouldn't begrudge spending because Converse - a world-famous brand of which, despite owning a pair of lookalike trainers, I particularly like - offers enormous value for their products.
Maybe I'll buy this backpack when the time feels right and I know that a stern telling-off isn't likely to occur. A skull-loving girl can dream, right?
http://www.usc.co.uk/converse-back-to-school-mini-backpack-704442?colcode=70444202


Hype Space Backpack, £24.99, Asos
As always, online fashion retailer Asos never fail to disappoint with their uniquely styled products and this space-themed backpack, by American brand Hype, is an accurate example of this point, giving the main rivals on the high street a run for their money.
Never have I been interested in all things related to astrology and space; if one dared to bring the topic up, it wouldn't come as a massive surprise if I fell into a deep sleep within seconds! Yet this print proves otherwise because the colours look extremely pretty and feminine, whilst keeping a certain level of mysteriousness as I doubt that it is a style which many people recognize.
Plus, I would be in double heaven if I could find a backpack of this size as I've been greatly struggling to come across a plain, boring-as-Shakespeare backpack which appears strong enough to hold half my bedroom for more than five seconds.
Personally, I would be at a lost if this backpack was deemed inappropriate because sturdy bags are supposedly preferred at schools, meanwhile the print shouldn't truly be deemed as a problem - by the way, isn't space recognized as an educational subject? I rest my case.
http://www.asos.com/Hype/Hype-Space-Backpack/Prod/pgeproduct.aspx?iid=3844604&WT.ac=rec_viewed


New Look Dandy Formal Backpack in Mink, £17.99, Asos
Sometimes, plain is best and as I naturally lean towards more formal styles, this backpack would be staying true to my minimal-loving personality whilst adding a hint of office-smart style.
Although I constantly claim to have an eternal loathing for the colour pink - and all the brands of bubblegum available on the market - mink somehow slips through the net because it doesn't remind me of Barbie's funhouse or her eccentric pink lipstick, which is always welcome as I distance myself from childhood toys and games during my teenage years.
Despite being placed on the lower end of the high street, New Look nonetheless produce some great pieces with their accessories and bags ranges, regularly picking up awards for their up-to-date styles and fashion know-how. Whatever time of the year, I always prefer more neutral colours and patterns to the overly bright and garish prints plastered all over magazines during the summer months, and I would feel pretty content to be holding this backpack on my way to school. If only New Look could publish the measurements and I would be one happy customer!
http://www.asos.com/New-Look/New-Look-Dandy-Formal-Backpack/Prod/pgeproduct.aspx?iid=3555145&WT.ac=rec_viewed


Hannah Zip Front Structured Backpack in Black, £22, Boohoo.com
Like Asos, Boohoo.com is an online retailer and stock all the fashionable items you need - clothes, jewellery, hats and bags - but only sell items from their brand, one of which has been gathering a rather strong following since being launched in 2006.
Although I have never purchased an item on their website (a couple of months ago, it almost became the case but my chosen bag was unfortunately out of stock), I have certainly been keen with their clothing and indeed handbags, and this backpack immediately caught my eye like the supermarket offering a one-time-only deal with a chocolate Lindt bunny.
Similar to the plainness of the New Look bag discussed above, there are no wild-as-Ibiza prints or garish colours with this backpack, which gives the impression of being a crossbreed of a neutral Prada handbag and an office-suited backpack. Yet if my fantasy of carrying a skull-patterned Converse bag was to be dashed, I would happily make do with this backpack as the sense of style hasn't been diminished in the slightest.
Whether you are aware of it or not, perhaps the plainer an item is, the more profound and beautiful it truly is. Let's hope that Boohoo stock it this time, eh?
http://www.boohoo.com/new-in-accessories/hannah-zip-front-structured-backpack/invt/azz34765