The Great Durham Excursion

This is going to be a very short post full of pictures and loveliness because some fucknut made me peel lots of vegetables despite the fact that I am allergic to them and so now my hands are all red and swollen and I need to save the last of my strength to strangle said asshat.

Yesterday we went to Durham because my mum's passport ran out and British passports suck even more than my passport picture and Durham has the nearest passport office. It was one of those places where they search your bag for knives, guns and knitting needles, take off your belt and then run you over with a vacuum cleaner. Kind of awesome really.

I was running off of four hours of sleep because I decided that it was better to be slap-happy rather than tired. Go figure. But I still managed to make it all the way up to the cathedral and castle, and all the way down again, and all the way home and all the way to bed never to leave again.

And then just this morning I was looking at my photos when I noticed something rather odd. York and Durham are, for tourists, almost exactly the same.

Just look at the evidence.

It's a fine line.

Look at it all there... All old and divine. You just know that secretly they think they are better than you.

No, not even secretly, these guys FLAUNT their good looks.

Bastards.

Furthermore, never ever upon entering a church have I ever felt more heathen bombarded by propaganda. Ever.

Other than that, it was an absolutely lovely place.

My heart bleeds for the people of Durham, it really does. I totally get how annoying living in a pretty city can be.

Don't get me wrong, Durham was great, and it's home to the university I want to go to (that place was so gorgeous it made me feel very small), but living there? Nah, it can't be that good.

In conclusion, the blood game was better.

Yesterday I had the honour of attending a public carnival.



Where is the honour in that, you say?

It was so badly advertised that I was one of ten people not actively participating in the event that got to see it.

You see, York Council gets so much money from tourism that they can decide at any given point to throw a celebration in honour of the residents, but by this point we are bored and disinterested so it's always a blow.

My sister had been invited (as part of the local youth club where they tame the thugs of tomorrow) to join the carnival so my mum and I got some peace whilst contemplating what the hell had happened on the street the night before. It became a game, follow the trail of blood, five points for every ten metres you follow and fifty for any bodies. Sadly, I never found one. That would have been the icing on the cake.

When the carnival started it was a bust of four-year-olds screaming and banging drums. The 'carnival' started to stream past The York Minster but then... Nothing. It stopped. The whole procession was all of ten metres long.

We still followed it. We followed it all the way around as it got stuck in traffic and shouted at for making too much noise on a Sunday morning. After almost an hour of hearing the same repetitive BOOM BOOM WOOT WOOT, we wound up in the city centre, at which point I sank to my knees and yelled THANK YOU SUPERMAN.



It really was terrible. I cannot even begin to describe how bad it was, so instead I'll leave you with a pictorial demonstration.



I later heard that they gave pole dancing lessons on stage in the city centre.

The little quirks really make up this city.

Riot Gear and a Headless Laptop Mechanic

Here at August Rush, we have seen many things... My brother crashing an aeroplane (and a preview of how Northern I can sound)... A dose of my sister's forehead art (Ass... hooooooole...)... Me, swallowing the dregs of my pride and apologising to everyone/everything (No one saw this coming)... It has all been said and done.

Man, I even thought I'd topped the bill when I discovered Paramore Riot Flip Flops.



You have to admit it, you've not seen anything like that before.

So today when I was suffering from a sugar hangover, never to leave my bed again cleaning the house, I really didn't expect to find something that possibly tops all these things.



Meet Hector. Hector Zachery Samuel Wannahockalugi, to be formal.




You want to know Hector.

Hector Zachery Samuel Wannahockalugi is the newest member of my elite team of USB sticks, except Hector (I can call you Hector, right?) is so much more than a stick. Hector is the source of my unparalleled calm when it comes to computer meltdowns. Hector keeps me young. I need him.



Hector fixes all my problems, he's like a headless laptop mechanic.

DO NOT be fooled by the pretense of helpless headlessness, Hector would not want to sell himself short (geddit?). He is headless by option. He has the power to remove his head. Hector is POWERFUL.



It's the kind of thing that makes me want to put y'all at the end of every sentence.

In fact, I'll do it now.

Holy shit, y'all.

If the weather doesn't know what it's doing, neither do I.

I'm going on strike until the weather decides which element suits its lifestyle best (is sun going to be this season's newest fashion?) so I'm going to leave you with a video.

Trust me, it's a good'un. You will never think of Autumn/Fall in the same way again.

C'mon, it's less than a minute long, you can spare me that, can't you?

Suicidal Leaves by Monty Python (Taken from 'The Meaning Of Life')



Classic.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I take any of these exam things seriously.

I'm stuck in the middle of studying for one of the smallest and arguably hardest exams (tomorrow... urhk.) so you're gonna get SHOT.

... Bullets, I mean.

• I told my BFF Main Gay.5 that my dentist was so gorgeous that he could come and go in my mouth as he pleased but I'm taking it all back now. He tightened my braces so my entire face hurts right now. That man will PAY.

• I think I've screwed up one of my exams because I couldn't write fast enough after ten pages of rambling about Lord Of The Flies in my English literature exam. You've heard of writer's lump? I have writer's CRATER on my finger right now. My hand has shrivelled up and died.

• I learnt lots of interesting things about chickens today here and I think you should all go and learn from Maxie because I'll bet you're all itching to know if chickens have sex or not. (Yeah... uhh... you might want to get that checked out)

• After the questionable success of the first cow field party (happens every year) when school finished, we're supposed to be having a second one courtesy of the BFF Main Gay.5 and some other fool, so I may be stumbling around a field in the dark with some cows and a lot of drunk people very soon.

• I have the inexplicable urge to curl up in a corner and die for four weeks (IT CAN HAPPEN).

• It's too hot to wear clothes, which is weird for North England and also sorely tempting.

• I'm addicted to Facebook. It's a disease. I never used to like it this much.

• I appear to be procrastinating.

And with that, I shall leave you, the delights horrors of microbiology, kidneys and osmosis await.

The English are coming! The English are comiiiing!

[Second Twitter-inspired post of the week... Guess how much free time I have these days, Yaaay!]

I twatted twot about my sister's truly, madly and deeply irrational fear of air raid sirens on Wednesday with the promise that I'd have as much fun with this as possible.

Sadly I couldn't go all-out with hand grenades, shrapnel and awesome lighting as I'd hoped (Imagine something similar to the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan), but I still had my fun...

Enjoy!



[Apologies if I sound all bunged up - I have swine flu. I know it. I just do.]

Tuesday is hereby known as Feed-A-Thug Day.

In case you missed my frantic tweeting yesterday, let me tell you that yesterday my sister - Cleo - was beaten up on the street outside our house.

When Cleo's friend dared to come charging into my bedroom screeching 'CLEO GOT HIT, KEEVEE HIT HER' at the top of her lungs, my reaction was something like this:

... *crickets*

Figures. This is home, after all.

Regardless of my utter disinterest in my sister's petty squabbles, I felt I'd better notify someone.

Well hellooooo Twitter.

Nice to meet you.

Not following me? I'm over here. [ThisIsNotAShamelessPlug]

So at approximately [No Idea Because Twitter Is Oh-So-Conveniently Down For Maintenance... Bastards] I twit twat tweeted: My sister just got beaten up outside our house.

I felt dutiful. Cleo walked in and said that she'd told these people that she was getting her sister (namely myself) to come an' deck 'em. Not bloody likely, matey. I figured my mum was sorting it out, people were shouting outside. Normal protocol.

Ten minutes later I can hear people shouting 'JUMP! JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!'.

First thought: Oh fuck, not again.

Second, more analytical thought: Where the hell would someone jump from around here?

Oh sweet baby Jesus, they were on the balcony, like, right outside our door.

Fucking Cleo with her fucking mouth and her big fucking ego gotta go and get us all fucking killed yeah nice work asshole...

I figured that as no one had done anything about it and the front door was still hanging wide open, I'd best just ignore it, even though I'm pretty sure I could smell them in the house at this point.

Another twenty minutes passes and I can hear someone in the kitchen. My mum's next door and my sister's in the bath. Someone is in the house and by the sounds of it, stealing our washing machine.

By this point I'm tearing my hair out confused and perhaps just a smidgen alarmed. I go to my mum.

Me: The hell, mother? The hell?

Mum: I let 'em in for some of that chocolate fudge cake, you weren't gonna eat it.

Me: They practically MAIM your TEN-YEAR OLD CHILD and you give them cake?! MY cake?!

Then she got all grumpy because apparently I'm the one that is always professing my love for these people.

Well, maybe I did love them before she GAVE AWAY MY CAKE TO PETTY THUGS.

It's a bloody liberty!

Maoam Stripes are good too.

I've been on study leave for three days now, and obviously it's been a very busy time for me:



Between chocolate/Twilight/awesome-Will-Smith binges with extra added 'revision', I've been thinking of something to post here. I'm always, repeat ALWAYS thinking of things to write, but I was, as usual, fresh out of ideas.

And then it hit me.

By that, I mean I realised that I had just addressed a couple of balloons in my bedroom as 'Guys' when they wouldn't get out of my way.

Day three and I was already talking to semi-deflated balloons.

This was worrying.

But then it really did hit me - I had something to write about.

You see, at this time of year I'm just so damn weird. Beyond that, I'm practically unstable. As in, I should not be left alone for fear of talking to inanimate objects.

That's me in a nutshell.

I destroy clothes when I'm bored too. I'm just that good, though sadly I don't have many clothes left as a result.

I've been through tons of different phases when it comes to clothes. I've been through a goth phase, a skirt-less phase, a shirt-less phase, a dying-my-hair-green phase (I was a rocking three-year old), a fashion-conscious numb-nut phase and finally a Fuck-Clothes-I'm-Staying-In-Bed' phase. There is only one thing that has stayed constant throughout, and today it hit me, smack in the face.

Socks.

It doesn't stop there. It gets compartmentalised. They are either stripy not-stripy.

One of these categories is considerably bigger than the other.

Behold:



I think, though I am unsure as to whether I have enough evidence to support this claim, that I have a slight disorder.

We don't need no education.

"No more school for us, so you can knackers!"

This is kind of rocking my world right about now.

No more school.

None. Nichts. Nil. Noot. Nofink. Boom, dead, gone.

Wow.

Now what? I just go back for a coupl'o'hundred exams or so and then it's a straight shot through to September.

And it's bloody May.

I feel powerful.

Today was amazing and crap on so many levels... Parties every lesson. Hours of signing t-shirts and books and taking photos. It's typical that the best day of school should be the last day there. But then there was the obvious 'OH GOD LEMON PLEASE DON'T GO' factor which was just a massive spoiler that caused me to cry something ridiculous like seven times.

But at least my camera got an extensive workout. I haven't taken that many photos since Berlin, and back then I documented THE WHOLE THING.

Speaking of which, the Berlin trip was almost a year ago now.

Anyways, I digress.

Highlights of the day include my English lesson-of-sorts, where we all received awards. My award was 'person whom I [Ms B] would like to get a pint with once 18', so Ms B owes me a beer.

Result.

(I was flattered.)

The English Class (I'm on the floor... surprise surprise...)




Fulford School: We work on a 'blink and you'll miss it' basis over here. (This is Evan and Ashley)



Half-Joe, Alex and Josh. Josh remains the single most un-photogenic person I have had the joy of knowing.



I also filmed most of the final assembly which Gatenby and Bodey have been planning for months, but I won't inflict that upon you. It's too cool.

I cried like a baby at the end. The whole thing was awesome, it was over too soon. I was throwing myself at everyone. I don't think I've ever hugged so many teachers/students/strangers/chairs before.

I have a theory that I become all kinds of easy when I'm miserable. At lunchtime I was so delirious I let (redacted) sign my boobs.

Score one for the home team.

Aaaaanyway.

I decided halfway through the assembly that Gatenby should become a comedian of some sort. It'd be an awesome career choice. He used to be a baker, and that's a million miles away from teacher-dom so anything could happen.

Three degrees of separation: Baker (Master baker), Teacher (Maths debater), Comedian (BOO-YAH!).

I rest my case.

Penultimate peril

It's amazing how much you get to rock your autograph in the last few days of school. I've signed forms, photos, leavers' books, notes I've been passing... The works.

Most of the people in my year group of 200+ are going to college or another school's sixth form, so there's always something to sign. Luckily I'm a cripplingly shy, peevishly annoying nerdy wanker rather reserved person and so I haven't had to sign too much, though I do have the most amazing signature ever.



Phwoar. I love it.

Just thought I'd say, because I'm like that.

---

Today I was feeling wildly emotional. It was actually pretty alarming. I think I bitch slapped my BFF Main Gay.5 at least twice.



On second thoughts he probably deserved it.

Anyway. At any given point I'd feel like I was going to burst into tears because the lovely Lemon is leaving the terrifying institution that is known as Fulford School forever and oh God WHY?!

Lemon is one of my best buddies and all-round good Lemon. Seriously, when life gives you Lemons, make sure you're aquainted with this one. She's divine, and she has a heart of gold behind those magnificent tits.

When I went to English we were doing some last-minute work on creative writing and Ms B asked us to do a paragraph on someone interesting who has affected us in someway and-

You can see where this is going can't you?

I'll cut to the chase. I wrote about Emma. Or I planned to. For most of the 15 minutes we were given listened things that I could have written about, like her complex for THE purple scarf, her infectious cheerfulness, her patience when I have one of my funny turns and can't stop gawping at her chest, her sharp sense of humour, amazing dress sense, lack of sanity... Too much to say, to little time.

So with thirty seconds to go I scrawled out three sentences.

Prepare to be blown away (not).

"When you meet someone so fantstic, someone so happy that you can't help but question their sanity, you don't think about the end of it. You don't think about the day that you stop running into them in the corridors, when you stop meeting them before school and laughing with them throughout the day. It's something you just don't think about.

When the time comes, you realise why this was. You're terrified. You're scared of the difference and you start to realise that you haven't even scratched the surface, you can't even comprehend how much you need them just to function properly. You can't bear to imagine how hard it could have been."

Feeling sentimental, much?

Tomorrow's my last day at Fulford School. Then everything changes. I suppose I should feel excited, but really I'm just dreading it. I suck at change.

---

so here we have it. Today's photos, Lemon Edition.

1. Me and Lemon, Smart-Is-Sexy-style.



2. Pretend she's pointing at the scarf. Oh, and what a lovely scarf it is!!!



3. Not her best look, but that was one hell of a sandwich I assure you.

Daily photo(s)

Not much today because some sadistic moron (teacher-person) gave me homework.

1. Devils on my shoulders... I have no angels.



2. I'll give you a moment to work out the dimensions of this picture. (it was taken in the fifth one)



3. Save me Haddock! Save me!!!

T minus three days

It's the last week of school this week, which means five very good things:

1. Bye bye, homework! Fair thee well. [In theory]

2. Parties every other lesson.

3. Photo opportunities left, right and centre.

4. Last lessons, e.g. the last lesson of all the sciences, i.e. the last time I will be forced to listen to Robert talk about things I do not and will not ever understand. He is the Christ Of Chemistry, the Buddha Of Biology, the very Pope Of Physics, the Master Of Momentum, the Rabbi Of Radiation, the Prophet Of Potassium Carbonate, the- are you getting my drift?

5. Last times, e.g. the last time I will spend IMedia dossing about and asking how Aaron's poor overused peen is holding up.

---

I've been snapping away all day. Emma and her fake cigarettes, P. Daddy in his semi-purple waistcoat, evidence of how productive stats lessons really are... It's all on camera.

And so I present you with today's top three, for a limited time only.

1. Lemon and D.L. Denny had a bit of a shock when they turned around... Am having flashbacks of P. Daddy's introductory speech from years ago... "Hi, I'm Paul and I'm an alcoholic."





2. Cherry had just realised that I actually was licking her face, you can see it in her eyes.





3. Me and P. Daddy give the mother of all passport glares. We were not amused.





Three more pictures tomorrow... I have biology, we might set fire to a cow or something.

At least I'm not dead yet.

That's all you people ever seem to do, really. Die.

(In case you didn't know, I have no intention of dying. Ever.)

I cannot even begin to tell you how much death has been going on this weekend.

It started on Saturday, when I bought over $100-worth (it's in dollars because it sounds more impressive than mere sterling £££) of Twilight things. Three things died in that moment.

1. My pride.
2. My bank balance.
3. Part of the man who served me in the store.

My heart goes out to all those who had to suffer for this.

And then...

On Sunday, I went into town again to buy a DVD, I came out with eight of the bastards. My bank card was screaming in agony at this point.

Then I was watching I Am Legend, but skipped over parts because the plague mutants looked too much like The Mummy and that guy always scares the shit out of me the first few times and in that EVERYBODY died. Then the guy who survived died to save two other people who survived and then-

*sigh*

You all died, people.

Monday... Huzzah! Bank Holiday. No school.

First things first, we - being my mum and me - had to drag my dad to A&E (Ummm... 'ER' in American-ish?) after we thought his lungs had exploded or something and it turned out it was just how he was which led to my mum letting rip a volley of 'freak's and 'weirdo's.

Went to visit my grandma in hospital, I don't like her ward. It smells of piss and general bad hygiene and the company was absolutely terrible... It's not a place a human, or any animal, should have to spend more than a couple of seconds in without holding their breath and wearing scuba gear. Kind of like school, actually.

I killed an hour reading all the 'CRITICAL: AVOID THE SPREAD OF DISEASES' messages that coated the walls and ceiling and watching an old lady flip out over a picture of a pig that her grandchild drew for her.

A nurse came over to see what was wrong and was fussing over the old lady.

I turned to my grandma and said 'Must be pretty vigilant with the whole swine flu thing around here, huh?'. She didn't hear me.

'I said: Must be pretty tough on the whole swine flu thing around here!'

'What?'

'I SAID THE NURSES HAVE GOT THE WHOLE WARD FLIPPING OUT OVER SWINE FLU, GRANDMA.'

Dead. Silence.

After a few moments of receiving the full-on stink eye of death from the nurse across the room, my grandma piped up 'It's a load of old bollocks if you ask me'.

Well said Grandma, well said.

---

I'd promised my niece - Kel - that I'd go visit her this weekend and we'd blow out candles for my birthday so my bro's house was the next stop. Unfortunately I'd also said that my friends would come too (she's in love with Tilda, D.L. Denny and Lemon after Friday night, and Tilda wasn't even there. THAT is how good she is) but I didn't bring them...

Translation: I was in d-e-e-p shit.

But when I got to my brother's house, there was a sombre air...

No-Name the guinea pig had died.

Kel's guinea pig.

Had it been Bunny's guinea pig it wouldn't have been so bad, because Bunny is cold and unemotional three years old and ape-shit crazy. Kel, however, is a lunatic, but loves drama. LOVES IT. So when I got inside and settled down next to Rhiley, the only sane one of my brother's offspring, I became the victim of a guilt-trip because I didn't want to see some poor guinea pig's corpse. Particularly one that has been through four weeks with my nieces.

Poor little blighter, it was doomed from the start.

Just to top if off, I watched The Holiday today as well... It was one of the DVDs I bought in a sale.
I was horrified to see the silly woman (no disrespect... Her accent almost makes me appreciate being English) stood inhaling gas from the cooker after her douchebag ex-boyfriend got engaged.
I mean... There are better things to do at a time like this!!!

Jude Law, for example.

D'oh!

Strange lady. I wouldn't be caught doing that if I was a stone's throw away from Jude Law, that's for sure.

The big one... apparently.

C'est mon anniversaire...

Oui oui, not only is it Global Procrastination Day today, it's also my 16th birthday.

And also the day that everyone in Finland goes bananas... They must really love me. (And to them I say a big fat Rakastan sinua.)

Going out with various nutjobs tonight so I will be back next week.