Two years and I'm totally BEYOND titles now, thank you very much.

Some during my trip to Tenerife, my blog turned two years old.

I can assume it partied hard and is now visibly pregnant, for all the attention I've given it.

On August 13th I was sat around in hospital with a swollen knee and a disfigured face, and it wasn't until the day after that I remembered that I was supposed to be weeping with happiness that I'd managed to keep something other than my goldfish (who died) alive for more than two weeks.

And so I broke out the cake.



Yeah. I had IRL blogging cake.

Awesome.

I can't remember why I started blogging. I used to write blogs on all my different social website ma-thingies and then I saw this ah-mazing thing called BLOGGER which looked cool.

I quit the next day.

And then a month later I joined up again. I actually remember the day I joined up pretty well because it was the same day that I'd gone to pick my brother up from court AGAIN for socking a police officer in the face.

I think I was pretty cryptic about it on my first post. I was worried about what was safe to tell and for the first fourteen months I was actually anonymous under the name of a song I like that happens to be German and also a wee bit (read: very) goth.

Not anymore.

I lay EVERYONE'S shit bare, like the darling girl I am.

Back in ye olde days when I'd write about the time Aaron tried to play-rape (yeah, we have such a thing here) Joe and the dinner ladies walked in...

Or the time I stuffed a bin bag full of grass to make it look like I'd done some work when I was picking up trash around school when we were put on litter duty.

Such rebels we were.

Or even about the time my darling niece announced I was pregnant to an entire restaurant.

And more recently about how I spectacularly lost my shit in HMV and then in my local store because I was asked for ID to buy a Cert 15 DVD. (DO I LOOK 14?!)

But since then I haven't been writing all that much. Why's that?

Well I haven't been doing anything. I haven't been to school since the beginning of May and I haven't done anything interesting that I can remember since then.

But hopefully that'll change pretty soon. I'm going back to Fulford School's sixth form (I'll explain that on Friday) on Friday, and I'm on a residential trip the week after (so I'll be absent - no phones or MP3 players or ANYTHING allowed on site. I'll just DIE) but after that I'll be back to business. Promise.

Anyway, how can I give up on a blog that gets hits from searches such as 'men in tights sex' and 'dog sofa'.

That would be CRAZY, but not my kind of crazy.

Tenerife recap: It's all Eric's fault.

Ahh, Tenerife... Where do I begin?

You see, Tenerife was lovely and I have some great stuff on my camera, but the problem is that I honestly don't remember what the hell I did there, and at one point, I didn't even know who I was.



So yeah. There's me on what I'm told was my second or third day in a hospital in Tenerife, on oxygen with IVs in each of my hands and cuts and bruises from head to toe.

I do this shit with styyyle.



Me a few (eight) days later, reenacting the cause of all the memory loss. But what happened to me, dear peeps of the web? Did I pass out from the SEARING EFFIN' HEAT at the top of some CONCRETE stairs, fall down, smash my head on EVERY step before finally ending the fall on my FACE?

Bloody hell, that was a good guess.



I'd been by the pool for all of thirty minutes (did you know that pretty much every building in Los Cristianos, Tenerife has an outdoor pool? York has THREE, and we're real proud of that. I got schooled.) when it got too hot and we started up towards the apartment. The gate to get out of the pool area was locked at the top of about ten stone steps and I was waiting for someone to unlock it when I just blacked out. Or white-ed out. And when I woke up, I wasn't the person I thought I was.



Seriously. I could not remember who I was. I could just remember the book I'd been reading just before I fell, and I put two and two together and got 15.

Yeah. I thought I was Sookie Stackhouse.

I scared the shit out of my mum when she asked if I remember what happened and the first thing I said was, "Did Eric send us here? I never got hurt before I met Bill."

Which led to people asking me questions about what my name was and where I was from and who the hell Eric and Bill were.

It was my little sister who supplied everyone with the answers to the last question (she's ten years old and she watches True Blood with me every week... disturbing) and went on to say "What page number are you on, Nicole?"

"37. Nicole?" And that's when it started to come back to me.

I was Sookie Stackhouse for all of ten minutes, and I didn't even get to see any vampire action in that time. There is something wrong with the world.

I earned the title of 'vampire' anyway because after I got burnt the day I fell down the stairs, I refused to leave the apartment until nighttime because my sunburn was chronic. Beyond peeling, I was blistering and splitting all over the place. Bleurgh.



After I was sprung from hospital (somewhat literally) I spent the following four nights getting sympathy from gorgeous waiters who would take one look at my big, beautiful (black, due to landing on the face) eyes and line up free drinks.

In every freaking bar and restaurant I went into.

I was VERY merry.

You know how you have to be 21 to get served in bars in the US, and 18 in the UK? In Tenerife you can be all of 5 and get a drink. And I know this because I actually had a five year old with me who ordered my drink.

I shit you not.



Tenerife was total hormone hell. On the plane I was in the throes of pure teenage hormonal rage because I had to sit next to my sister in a sealed tin for five hours and ohmygodwouldyoushutthefuckupplease? and then when I got down to the beach there were topless, tanned rolling abs everywhere.

As in, e v e r y w h e r e.



I do have my concerns around the yummy Spaniards though. There were lots and lots and lotsandlotsandlots of topless women everywhere, and these men didn't even blink. Not even a tiny bit. It makes no sense. Even if you are used to people walking around half naked (I'm totally used to this, you should see the centre of York on a Saturday night) you should at least get a little kick out of the woman in front of you taking her top off and jiggling about all wet in the sun. I cannot count the amount of times I found myself willing some guy's shorts to make an appearance. I wonder if they're all just secretly dysfunctional in that area. I was getting a bigger kick out of it all that they were, which is saying something.

Getting back to England was something else entirely. I almost cried with happiness when it started raining, freezing cold in Leeds-Bradford Airport. And then the day after I went to a BBQ where people were admiring my sun-worshipping mother's tan.

...And then they saw me.

"Christ Nicky where have you been? You're as pale as ever."

You see, I thought I was tanned and nice, but apparently I'd just tanned to the normal human colour, rather than my usual pallor.

Well, fuck. All my poolside suffering was for nothing.

Conclusion: Next year I'm going somewhere nice and cool like Norway and Finland and I'll just hope to hell that I don't fall off a fjord or something.

I'm not dead.

I'm kinda tied up at the moment what with an ENTIRE WEEKEND OF TRUE BLOOD and packing for a trip to Tenerife.

Yeeeaaah, Tenerife baby. I'm going to sizzle down to a pile of ash, I can feel it.

But (and it's a big one: a J-Lo) I don't think they'll let me take my darling laptop because This Is England and people tend to shit themselves and evacuate if a suitcase weighs a little more than it ought to.

And also my laptop can be used as a homing device apparently.

Well la dee dah!

I honestly don't think it's that clever. It came free from PC World for God's sake.

So Hasta La Vista, babies. I'll be back on the 21st.



(Damn straight, that's where I'm staying!)