More Awks Than Lord of the Rings

Dear You,

So, there's a new man in my life. Trouble is:
a) He doesn't know it yet
b) He isn't fully aware of my existence
c) He perhaps doesn't play for the team I'd like him to

Also, and I'm just generalising here, he looks like the kind of person who could be a prick. He has a bit of a smirking face, and wears open shirts (with something underneath- gutted) like he's totally confident with how he looks. Completely the opposite of me- I know how to use buttons.

He's not the only one. However, most of the people I find attractive are fictional. Ron Weasley, Peeta Mellark, Bellatrix Lestrange; they're just so great. Also, have you ever seen United States of Tara? Maybe both the dad and the son in that. And perhaps even the mum and daughter as well. Also, you should watch that programme; it's great times.

Also, I realised I forgot to mention my other weird favourite thing in my earlier post- twisting my ankle. As you have probably assimilated, I'm not the most athletic of people, so my feet are about as sturdy as Achilles', so it's not unexpected whenever my ankle goes a bit funny. And that's exactly how I find it; hilarious. I fall on the floor, and not because of pain- it's because I physically can't stand with all the merriment induced by such a minor injury. Go ahead and judge me.

Yours anklely,

M.

P.S. A week from now, I will have finished AS Drama, so naturally I shall cry, completely forgetting the fact that we go back in the summer term. I'm a strange individual.

Freaky Freak Freak

Dear You,

I have recently realised that I am stranger than most. I mean, I always knew I was a weird'un, but I didn't know I was THAT weird.

What happened is this:

I realised that I find things funny that ordinary folk would usually hate. I'm not talking murder, incest, Nick Grimshaw, or anything as horrific as that. What I am talking is such things as injections. The last time I had an injection, as the needle pushed into my naked upper arm (do hold in your vomit, You, if you are that way inclined) I found it absolutely HILARIOUS. I laughed all the way home. Is there something wrong with me? I've decided that giving blood (professionally, if poss.) is my calling; benefits to both parties are abound. Oh wait, that's right, there are weird rules about gays and giving blood. I mean, that's fine guys...

http://www.blood.co.uk/can-i-give-blood/exclusion/

Read it and weep.

Also, whenever I get pins and needles, I can't stop laughing, and find myself in fits of hysterics whenever I try to walk when I have them. I've just googled it, actually, and it says that long-lasting pins and needles can be caused by things like diabetes or exposure to radiation. Is it therefore weird to eat loads of cake in a nuclear power plant, just so the feeling never leaves? Maybe that's too far...

Similarly to my Disney Whoriness, would anyone care to start a support group with me, for people who find obscure things humorous? Please.

Yours pins-and-needlesy

M.

P.S. I think we, as a family, have decided upon a more unconventional Christmas this year. The parents haven't really taken onboard my sister's and my ideas for:
i) An Australian-themed Christmas, complete with flowery shirts, Foster's and barbecues.
ii) A Harry Potter Chrimbo, with hand-knitted jumpers (by me, of course), Butterbeer and magic.
iii) A Disney Xmas, with me as Ariel, if I can find a shell bra big enough...

P.P.S. I'm fairly sure my father's currently having a strop because he can't find his Kindle charger, which of course means that the world is ending. Fool...

Disney Whore

Dear You,

Many apologies for not a-blogging over the past few days; I have been in 'show week' for a play I'm in tomorrow. It's Morte D'Arthur, and is very long where not much happens, but I admit I have started to enjoy it. I play the Archbishop of Canterbury, where I rock the purple poncho, maroon beret and black leggings combo which makes me look like an aged lesbian with a meth addiction.

Anyway, I have something to tell you. And I shall tell you through the medium of song. Listen to this, then read on:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzunMrHka8c

Yes, I am a Disney Whore. I have written half an EPQ on the women in them (I doubt I'll ever finish it- I think it was supposed to be handed in about a fortnight ago...) and LOVE THE WHOLE THING.

And I collect merchandise. I know, right? If you don't know what Vinylmation is, weep for yourself. Alternatively, check this link and many other sites:

http://disneyparksmerchandise.com/vinylmation/

Also, I used to love Pook-a-Looz, but they stopped making them and I cried. If you're from Disney, please understand my plight and, most importantly, do something about it. They are here:

http://www.vinylnation.net/pookalooz/

If you're a Disney Whore like me, please comment on this post so I don't feel alone in the void that is my freakish Disneymania. Maybe we should start a support group...

Yours whorishly,

M.

The Chances of Anything Coming from the Oven are a Million to One (They Said)

To You,

Perhaps the worst thing that could happen in anyone's life happened in mine yesterday. I'd made some lovely brownies, plus a nice little cookie-dough icing for them and, as I was taking them out of the oven, something awful happened.

I dropped them.

It was like Willy Wonka's factory had exploded in my kitchen.

But worse.

It was so awful I had to shut the dog in the room-formally-known-as-the-playroom (a Prince-inspired long story), and when I let him out later he had that 'I know what you've done' look on his adorable canine visage.

We (my very helpful pal and I) cleaned up the horrific mess, minus the droplets of par-baked brownie (I think the premature removal is the most painful factor of this calamitous catastrophe) that had found their way into the oven window. INTO. HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE? We panicked and rolled out the cookie dough icing, feeling as though we needed some form of baked goods to show for our kitchen efforts.

We also threw together some bread. I mean, we put some ingredients in a bowl and mixed them together- we didn't just throw them around expecting perfectly-formed loafs of carbohydrates. We're not idiots (immediately previous events excluded). We then watched Modern Family (incredible) and tried to pretend that nothing had happened that may suggest culinary inadequacy or general idiocy, reassuring ourselves that "even Nigella must've dropped something".

I do hope your life is void of such disappointments,

Yours gastronomically,

M.

P.S. Well done if you got the War of the Worlds reference in the title, unless you got it and didn't start singing. It's just not good enough...

Instagram Irritations

Dear You,

It's there. It's watching you. It's ready to strike, launching a tirade of poor-quality yet 'artistic' photos and hashtagged captions. Yes, it's Instagram.

It's nice that people take photos- they can use them to relive their glory days when dementia inevitably takes hold. But posting them incessantly on Facebook? Not OK. It's mildly acceptable to limit your feed to just the website, so other like-minded 'photographers' can revel in a snap of your lunch overlaid with a strange hue, but non-Instagrammers have NO interest in seeing a greeny-blue shot of pizza and chips appear hourly on their Facebook News Feeds.

People know what their friends look like. They don't need constant reminders via the medium of the '#selfie'. The '#selfie' is, in essence, an image of the Instagrammer, dolled up to the zeros, often pulling an unsettling grimace, and always, ALWAYS using '#nofilter'. Whatever the feck a filter is. I'm not a photographer, and neither are people who use Instagram.

Hashtags anywhere on FB are unacceptable; they make the author seem uneducated in the ways of the internet, as well as confused about the differences between Facebook and Twitter. And even on the actual Instagram website, who is going to actually want to scroll through endless reams of '#throwbackthursday's? We all know it'll be just a pretentious wanker standing outside Disneyland with the caption '#takemeback'. Go back. Go back into the past, and never show your unfiltered face in the present again. Except not Disneyland; don't ruin it for the rest of us.

I just don't understand it. What I'm saying, really, is this: if you like taking pictures with the extra baggage of having people like me hate you, then carry on with your travesty of a hobby. Just don't keep telling me you do so on Facebook- I'd like to be friends with you for other reasons. Coughyourpersonalitycough.

Yours out-Instagrammedly,

M.

P.S. I made another hat yesterday, but here's where it gets comical; it looks almost identical to my other one, with a few minor differences, visible to anyone who pays any attention to me. I've decided to alternate between the two, and see if anybody notices. That'll really show who's my friend, although I fear I already know how it'll pan out...

Check Yourself Before You Wreck Yourself

To You,

Prompted by the Facebook statuses that dutty (see previous post if confused) my News Feed, I have come up with a comprehensive checklist if things you should look out for before pressing 'post'.

1. Have you made any spelling or grammatical errors? This is the most important factor, as it stops you from looking like an idiot. The most common mistakes I see include 'status'' instead of 'statuses', 'its' vs 'it's', and the classic 'there/they're/their'- all of which stick out like a straight man at a John Barrowman concert.

2. Does your status make you look like a narcissistic or ignorant prick? Example: 'The more I look at Feminism the more it makes me grimace' makes you sound like a twat, who really shouldn't be allowed to comment on making toast, let alone divisions of equality. If you're unlucky enough to see one of these statuses, why not remind its author of their stupidity with comments like 'I know, it's awful how people expect to be treated equally.' I love a controversial comment, me.

3. Is your status likely to improve/ brighten people's lives? I saw a fabulous one that said 'This is Facebook, not a counsellor', and that was exactly right. If you use the site to vent your petty issues, stopping only to reply to an 'inbox me? Xxxxxxxx' with a riveting 'dm', leave now and never put your fingers near a keyboard ever again. Similarly, nobody cares if you can't do level 5 of Candy Crush, whatever the hell that is.

4. If it's a picture, will people hate you for posting/sharing it? Nobody cares how much you love your mum; it's nice that you do, but not that interesting/surprising. Posting pictures of ugly babies every half hour is tediously dull, and photos taken via the mirror of a public toilet is just plain skanky. Humorous pictures of cats are great.

I hope that this has helped- if you've never experienced the pain of seeing these posts, you have chosen your friends wisely/know how to use the 'show in news feed' tool. Well done.

Yours instructively,

M.

P.S. I'm watching Stars in Their Eyes on Challenge, imagining that it's a Saturday night ten years ago. The Louis Armstrong on it is not that great, and I'm sure I do it better. However, the ethics of me actually performing as Armstrong are questionable...

On this Day

Dear You,

Today (20th of April) seems to be a day that lots of suff happens on. The London Marathon eve is today; exercise is something I identify with as much as Rapunzel and hairdressers. What with Boston's happenings earlier this week, I do hope that London goes well, even though I'll be at home eating a Chinese takeaway and pretending that I don't look like a starfish with backwards legs whenever I run.

Also on today is Record Store Day. I love my record player and collection, which boasts loads of albums from Kate Bush to Grease to the Housemartins. Unfortunately, though, I have no local record store with which to celebrate RSD; I have to resort to eBay to build my collection, which I'm sure can't compare to the physical purchase of a record. Maybe I should start one...

Less great today is the celebration of 4/20 (or 420, or however you people say it); a fantastic initiative for every user of cannabis to proudly flaunt their dutty habit. 'Dutty' is perhaps my favourite word to say, because it's just a more judgemental form of 'dirty'. You should try slipping it into conversation, and marvel at how many friends walk out of your life.

I think that that's about everything of any interest that's happening today. That's a lot of 'that's in that previous sentence. And that one. Can you think of anything else, You? Anything nice happening to you today- birthdays, weddings, trips to the supermarket? Actually, having Wikipediaed it, it seems that the Columbine Shootings and the launch of BBC2 happened on April 20th, as well as that oil spill that sent everyone into turmoil a couple of years ago.

Birthdays today include Hitler's and Andy Serkis' (I doubt the two events are linked- I mean, Gollum's hardly anti-semitic, only anti-Bagginses), and Bram Stoker died exactly 101 years ago, but unfortunately not in any vampire-related way.

My, lots of things are happening/ happened today. In my life, however, it consists of me playing Spore (great) and redrafting a Written Performance Concept for Drama (less great). The latter has a word limit of 500 words, yet it's more than possible to write a short novella on how my character walks and talks. It's like being given a massive loaf of bread and being asked (more like told) to toast it in one go. Help.

Yours Aprilly,

M.

P.S. I woke up at 11:30 today. Whilst this was great for me, I was also expected to walk the dog before 9:30. If you are in a similar predicament, I suggest you read my post about waking up early here:
http://bemusedramblingsteenager.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/early-morning-blues.html
Good luck.

OMG MUZIK IZ MYY LYFEE XOX LOL OMG

To You,

It will probably not surprise you that I am in a wind band. Indeed, I have the three main qualifications: poor social skills, few friends, and a wind instrument. Namely a flute- I'm not sure why, as my fingers are far too thick to manoeuvre the twiddly bits that come with playing such an instrument, or "spitting down a pipe" as my friend calls it. Fool; I spit across it.

Anyway, as everyone knows, Friday night is Wind Band night so, instead of hitting the booze and parties like my peers, I take a half-hour drive to spit across a pipe with other like-minded outcasts. Today, we played Holst's 'Mars', which, as my mother put it, "sounded like someone giving birth". It really did. It feels as though he just threw some dots at a page and decided that wherever they landed would be the 'tune'. It's potentially the worst piece of music I have ever heard- it's in 5/4 time, so sounds as awkward as Hitler in a synagogue. I actually quit like it when I listen to it elsewhere; it's probably us being pants.

We also played a jolly mash-up of cowboy film music. We flutes play the 'waoowaoowaaaa' of 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly' tremendously well, in complete contrast to the twiddly bits of Mars. Come to think of it, we only played those two pieces. For two hours. Oh my, I was ready to leave come half eight this evening!

Strangely though, I sit on the end of the front row- a position usually reserved for the best flautist in the band. This is not the case with me, however; I sit there because I chose a random space near the back on my first day, and have moved progressively towards the front as previous leaders leave. In short, it is NOTHING to do with talent. In fact, I'm sure those behind me are much better, and they're a good four or five years younger than me. I put it down to thin fingers and young minds unoccupied with remembering things like theories on language and gender, how to crochet, and not to act like a complete sociopath whenever outside the house- both of which will unfortunately change as soon as they sit in the plastic principal chair. Also, I'm convinced that every time our conductor looks at me, thoughts of "this moving-forward system needs to change" instantly flock to his mind.

I doubt I'll get much better, to be frank. In my Grade 6 exam, this discourse actually happened:
Examiner: "Can you do a diminished seventh in the key of G#?"
Me: Probably not." (Tries) No. Thought not.
Examiner: Can you do a dominant seventh starting on Db?
Me: I don't think so, do you? (Doesn't bother trying)
Later, Examiner gives Me four marks off a distinction, making Me wonder whether we were both in the same exam.
I've got my Grade 8 in the summer; I'll probably do a similar thing, but without the surprising outcome. Oh, I know how I'll do, and I'm preparing for the "That £82 entrance fee was a bit of a waste then, wasn't it" conversation with my parents.

£82? That's a bit steep. For that price, I'd expect refreshments and an executive lounge complete with jacuzzi.

Yours (not very) musically,

M.

P.S. No word on our chance encounter last night from my English teacher today. This is making me feel as though it wasn't him, having made a big hoo-hah over a random, uncannily similar-looking bystander. Remember what I said about not acting like a crazy person whenever outside? Yeah, that's not me.

Gove Home, Michael, You're Drunk

Dear You,

Walking home from a friend's lovely Tex Mex birthday meal this evening, I was reading the news on my phone- ooh, technological. Anyhow, I read an article where Michael Gove (minister for education or something like that, although I'm of the opinion that a raffia drinks coaster is better qualified for the job) expressed his wish for longer school hours and holidays. Additionally, I read another article the other day about how he wanted children to learn fractions and things at an earlier age. As part of the infamous 'Year of Appalling English Results that Michael Gove took no Responsibilty For', I have metaphorical beef with his ideology. I don't have real beef, so if you're here looking for that, I apologise.

With regards to today's suggestion, I think it is a lot of rubbish. Lots of students hate being in school for five minutes, let alone multiple hours. Also, what is the guarantee that students will pay attention and learn more; presumably the objective of the proposed change? Personally, I frequently spend the last hour or so of sixth form wondering what I'll be having for tea, or musing on the pros and cons of what I had for lunch.

Learning fractions and things at an earlier age is pointless. Unless, of course, primary school-aged children are expected to become accountants before advancing to Year Seven. I mean, come on Michael! Don't you realise that pupils know such things by the time they take their GCSEs- the time it begins to matter?

It seems to me that Mr. Gove is operating on an 'I've been given a position of authority so I'll probably suggest some ridiculous 'reforms' just to make it seem as though I know what I'm talking about' agenda. This is not fair on us, the students it affects- would Michael like to redo his entire eighteen years of education? And I don't mean the private, silver-spoon kind he and most of his party received; the state-funded type that he controls, despite not being all that familiar with them. It's like Iain Duncan Smith not wanting to try living on £53 a week; politicians should know about the effects of their policies on the general, un-aristocratic public that are the majority of Britons. Or am I just being unreasonable?

Maybe I should start my own party. And we'd have tea and cake.

Yours politically,

M.

P.S. I saw my English teacher as I came out of the restaurant this evening. 'Not all that strange,' I hear you think. But, considering that it takes me about an hour to get to English from home, I would call it peculiar. Maybe he lives near me. That would be odd. It's not that I don't like my English teacher; it's just that he wasn't wearing his glasses and wasn't at the front of a classroom teaching me about Philip Larkin. Which is why I ran away...

P.P.S. We done 'nother song. Here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZ_rlrGE9aI
I hope you enjoy.

I've Got Another Confession To Make

Dear You,

As of today, I have lost all faith in the world and in people. I found out, that if you go to Confession and tell the priest that you have murdered someone, they won't tell the police. Obviously, if the person you have murdered is the priest in question, it would be rather difficult for them to spill the bloodthirsty beans now, wouldn't it? Apparently, all a priest would say is to pray and stuff so God's fine with it, and it's all just bodies under the carpet/bridge.

Similarly, if you went to a doctor and slipped in an "I've just killed a priest" amongst your account of shortsightedness in your immediate family, they can't say anything to anyone. All in the cause of confidentiality. But wait- I'm sure that if a doctor tells an appropriate authority about the massacre, they won't be discussing the fact that you have to wear glasses at the cinema. And if a priest was to disclose your ruthless activities, they wouldn't be debating the fact you once said "Oh God" when you burnt your thumb.

Surely, You, this can't be right? Please tell me otherwise, so I don't go around secretly judging physicians and Catholics. Well, I judge Catholics for other reasons, but that's less pertinent now.

Conversely, if you're a murderer who really needs to get something off their chest, why not tell a doctor? Unless you actually have a chest infection and a body on your hands. Then you can get TWO things off it. I'm drifting from the subject now. The point is this: surely this loophole is a perversion of justice? WHY DOES THIS HAPPEN??

Yours with-an-expression-of-extreme-incredulity-on-facely
M.

P.S. I cut a bit of my gum whilst eating a crisp yesterday. I can't help but feel that fate/karma (both of which I would normally condemn as being bollocks, yet I am reevaluating my judgement because of this) has something to say about my diet. It bloody hut, whatever it meant.

P.P.S. I got a bit annoyed yesterday. I went through almost every post, and did one of the following:
1. Marked it as spam.
2. Unchecked 'show in news feed' on its poster's profile.
3. Removed said poster as a friend.
Sometimes I did all three, although admittedly the second one is made rather irrelevant by the succeeding solution. However, I felt extremely liberated by whichever choice I made, and it has really decluttered my Facebook homepage. I suggest you try it soon; you'll <3 it. Incidentally, '<3' was a regular feature on those damning posts.

Love, Like or Hate

Dear You,

Remember at primary school when someone covered your eyes and paraded you around the playground, asking whether you loved, liked or hated a random anonymous person? If not, you're a lucky person- it was awful. Anyway, many years later, I thought I'd evaluate the things I love, like and hate as a teenager. Here we go:

I love:
-Most foods, unless they contain meat or celery (see below). Cake is a good 'un, but I'm also a fan of homemade bread, not homemade bread, most vegetables, most fruits, and things like that.
-Cheese. I know I spoke about foods before, but this deserves its own ranking. I love cheese more than I love sitting down/sleeping, and that's a lot. However, if your cheese has cranberries in, don't come near me with it. Thanks.
- Frozen peas. Yes, I'm still on food. If you've never had frozen peas, do this now:
1) Go to a freezer in your home or in a shop.
2) Remove a bag of frozen peas.
3) If in a shop, pay for them. If you are not in a shop, you don't need to pay for them.
4) Open bag.
5) Find bowl/cup your hands.
6) Fill bowl/cupped hands with frozen peas.
7) (Optional) Run away from society, attempting to hide your strange habit from humanity.
8) Eat your peas and enjoy.
- Knitting, obviously. Incidentally, I made a leaf yesterday, but I'm having doubts about attaching it to my hat. Tell me what you think:

I like:

- Some things on Facebook. Physically and mentally.

I hate:

-Most things on Facebook. See here: http://bemusedramblingsteenager.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/the-perilous-perils-of-facebook.html for more of my opinions on the matter.

- Celery. Or, as I like to call it, 'The Spawn of Lucifer'. To me, it's like eating a bad-tasting glass of water, and ruins any dish into which it is placed. If you have some celery nearby, I recommend breaking it up into little bits, smashing the little bits up, and praying for the cleansing of your soul.

- Ignorant people. For instance, at least three people I know have asked me who Margaret Thatcher was. The excuse: "I've never been taught that." Well, neither have many people your age, but they're not unsure of the identity of the only female PM we've ever had, despite her (in my humble opinion) not being that great. Enough on her, actually- see here http://bemusedramblingsteenager.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/thatcher-thatcher-milk-snatcher-well.html for more on this topic.

- Similarly, I don't like those people that look forward to the weekend because it's a time when they can get drunk and participate in sexy-time. In fact, I look forward to the weekend so I don't have to see those people that look forward to the weekend because it's a time when they can get drunk and participate in sexy-time. Also, Catchphrase is on on Sundays, so...

- I hate murder and illness and terrorism and other such events, like a lot of nice people, but they're quite dark for such a lighthearted blog as this. The events, not the nice people.

Obviously, these are not the only things I love, like or hate- I'm not as two-dimensional as all that. Nome (I read that in To Kill a Mockingbird; still trying to decipher its meaning), these are only the foundations of my tastes. Unfortunately, I had neither the time nor the patience to write of such things as musicals (love), slippers (like. Unless they resemble dinosaur feet, in which case, love) 'theatre-types' and 'dancer-types' (hate- but don't we all? For those in the proverbial dark, 'theatre-types' are those pretentious children/people that once sang in the chorus of Joseph in Stoke and think they know everything about acting. They don't.)

It's nice to get that off my chest.

M.

P.S. I have not yet started the book that Meyer recommends (read previous post if confused), as I have just found out that apparently the EPQ- yes, the Disney-themed one- is to be in on Thursday. But Mike, ever the japer, told us last Friday that it was for the end of the month! CONFUSION. Either way, I've only written 2500 words of 5000. Nice one, M...

City of HELL NO

Dear You,

Having seen the trailer, and seeing that it had Robert Sheehan in (would probably take a bit of Robert Sheehan if it was offered), I ordered the book of City of Bones.

However, I was disappointed when I opened the parcel to see this:

There, bold as a vomit stain on a mattress, is a review from Her. Stephenie Meyer, or, as I like to call her, Satan. I have never read something as awful, meaningless and downright irresponsible as that ghastly series of books she has, seemingly, just thrown together out of some words. She has arranged the English language in such a way that it makes me want to gouge out my eyes with a spoon that has been on a septic floor for much longer than the allotted ten seconds (as stipulated in the Rule, as everyone knows). Not only is this quotation on the front of the book, oh no, it is on the back as well. It's exactly the same line, except with a couple of words on either side, making it seem as though Steph can't think of much more than a sentence, plus some sparkly vampires.

I know we're not to judge a book by its cover- both figuratively and literally- but whoever invented that motto clearly lived in a world not yet plagued with Bella Swan, a girl who really should've died on the first page, thus ruling out three more 'novels' and five films. Five.

I hope this book is better than what its publisher obviously thinks of it; that it's in the same, lower-than-hell 'league' as Twilight. What do you think of it, You? I'd love to know. Strangely, I think I remember a Meyer comment on The Hunger Games, so maybe her reading is better than her writing.

Well, there's not much worse than the latter, really. Except maybe genocide or something, at a push.

Yours bookishly,

M.

P.S. I had a Fab today. I think it was the first time in donkeys' years (unsure of the apostrophe placement there; someone please enlighten me. Is it like the greengrocer one? Anyway, I digress...) that it's been warm enough to have one. However, the design of this chilly delight is not flawless. I always find myself growing bored after the chocolate is gone. So my plan is this: cover the whole thing in chocolate. Simple yet effective. Sales will be through the proverbial roof. Also, I noticed, one Fab was 90p, yet a box of three cost £1.50; something's not right here. Similarly, one jam doughnut was 33p, making the three individual ones available totalling 99p. A five-pack of raspberry deliciousness (or was it strawberry? I'm fairly sure neither variety has ever actually seen a real fruit, to be quite honest. Digressing again....) would set you back a bargain 69p. Doesn't this encourage people to buy more unhealthy foods? Frankly, Sainsbury's, I blame you for national obesity. Makes your 'live well for less' slogan seem a bit bullshitty.

I bought one Fab, since you ask. And yes, it was Fab.

The Allure of Sunday Night TV

Hello You,

Watching ITV this evening (I know, I'm so sorry, it was just the prospect of new Catchphrase, but more on that later), I noted some particular elements.

a) A football fan punched a police horse. This is NOT okay. Feel free to punch the man riding the horse, you ignorant prat, but I will punch you if you try it on a horse. I know you're probably angry because you look like the sort of person who would buy horsemeat-ridden products from Tesco (apologies for this sweeping generalisation, dear reader, but I need some way to vent this anger), but I don't think this particular horse was responsible for that. It was potentially a Romanian slaughterhouse, but that's all I'm saying on that particular scandal. In the same news report, I saw a fascist jumping around and looking a lot like a tosser which, incidentally, he is.

b) Catchphrase's return has made my life. Not sure about the fact that there are three contestants now, and all three of them were idiots who probably couldn't spell Catchphrase if you gave them the first eleven letters, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. I'm glad that the old presenter and his terrifying voice have gone, but Stephen Mulhern should be in an attic that plays cartoons at the weekends. A jolly big high-five to you if you got that CITV reference.

c) How old do you have to be to go on Catchphrase? I think I could win, even though the clues are in a higher resolution than they were in the episodes of yesteryear and, by the logic of maths, 3D is more difficult to comprehend than 2D.

I'm not joking- I've alway preset the recorder for next week's Catchphrase.

Yours gameshowingly,

M.

P.S. I haven't taken my hat off since I finished it; I even had a bath in it.

Ding-Dong, Free Speech is Dead. Maybe.

Dear You,

I've had another epiphany. And this time, steady yourself, it's a political one. As you probably know, unless you've been living under a rock, Radio 1 is not going to play 'Ding-Dong! The Witch is Dead' because of Thatcher reasons. If you're not sure who that is, you should hate yourself.

Anyway, my thought was this:

In the film (The Wizard of Oz, since you ask), the munchkins sing the song because they're happy that someone they hate is dead, and are thought of as the good, diminutive guys. Therefore: why is it not acceptable to play this song, seeing as many people hated Thatcher? Also, just as the Wicked Witch of the East is presented as a villain, many people see ol' Maggie as the antagonist of their lives. Ironically, 'I Love Maggie Thatcher', initially used as a japey protest song, is being played. Strange. And has anyone considered those people who just fancied a bit of Garland in their lives? Whose purchase of the song had no relevance to her death? Don't think not playing it is fair to them, frankly.

Certainly makes my father's claim that "the BBC is the most left-wing thing ever" (or words to that effect) seem a tad false; I mean, it's not like they call each other 'Comrade'. Perhaps he confused 'the BBC' with 'the Communist Party'.

In other, less opinionated news, I finished my hat. Not during a sitcom, alas, but I'm quite happy with it. The pattern is by Sirdar, for anyone interested.

Yours musically,

M

BeMusings on the Telly

Dear You,

Just some stuff I thought about TV tonight...

1. Doctor Who was weird, but I like the return of the Ice Warriors. I think they should've spoken in Russian accents throughout the whole thing though.

2. I think The Voice would be more authentic if they actually had blind people judging it. Someone get me Stevie Wonder and the DNAs of Ray Charles and JS Bach- they'd be better than William (there are no full stops in a name) and Danny O'Whatsisname, who looks like a small Irish rodent.

3. Alesha Dixon's face couldn't be more 'I left Strictly for this?' if it tried. Poor her. Sorry, Alesha, but Darcey Bussell's filled your slot. Naughty.

4. Gospel Choir Incognito and the comedian with Cerebral Palsy are INCREDIBLE. Was worried about regretting watching BGT purely for the inclusion of Amanda Holden and her freshly-ironed forehead, but she's not been shown much yet, thank God.

5. I want a shadow theatre in my house; I would do plays and stuff with cardboard cut-outs and my dog. This would be incredible.

6. I had to turn off Britain's Got Talent because of the crying false-start girl, and it was too reminiscent of the X Factor, which is a crime against humanity, frankly. (Although I do like Lucy Spraggan from last year; she stayed in my spare room once, too)

M.

P.S. My parents are thinking of buying a houseboat. How terribly middle-class is that? They'll decorate it with Cath Kidston goodies and eat pesto and houmous, while referring to their homemade cakes as 'moist'. Somehow, and I'm not sure whether this is unreasonable, but memories of 'No, you can't have an iPad' surface. It's fine, parents, not like a houseboat is about thirty times more expensive. And you've bought yourself iPads (that you can't use, frankly) seemingly just to taunt me.

But last year, last year I had thirty-seven.

Early Morning Blues

Hi You,

Waking up early: it's one of the things that everyone has to do, whether it is to attend to a screaming child (my worst nightmare), go to work, or to apprehend a burglar.

I have to get up at seven o'clock every morning- "not that early," I hear you say in that annoying way of yours (I'm so sorry, You, take me back!)- but I always struggle to keep my eyelids open, let alone heave myself out of bed and function like a normal person. Over the past few early mornings, when I have failed to leave the cosy retreat that is my bed (mainly due to New Duvet Day), I have been thinking of ways to remedy this. Here they are:

1. If you have a device that can play music as an alarm set it to either:

i) an inspirational song, such as 'Let Me Be Your Star' from Smash (love that programme) or 'Beautiful' by Christina Aguilera (love that song a bit less). This will make you feel ripe and ready for the forthcoming day, and not want to punch anyone who even slightly irritates you in the slightly irritating face. Something fun is to make your alarm the Eastenders theme, which adds a real dramatic flair to your morning- nothing like waking up to the stirring sound of lots of drums.

ii) a song that you hate, like 'The Duck Song' off the internet, or anything by Nicki Minaj. This will make you want to leap out of bed to turn it off. Additionally, you can put your device somewhere really far away, and get up purely to stop the incredibly horrific noise it emits. Alternatively, get a friend or family member to hide it somewhere in your bedroom; more fun for your daybreak!

2. Invent/purchase a bed that is really comfy at night, but feel like a billion hypodermic needles at the exact moment you wake up. This also helps you get to sleep more quickly, so really is the dog's gentleman-parts.

3. Steal a drip from a hospital. If you can (I'm not too familiar with the ins and outs of medical equipment), programme it to inject coffee/pure caffeine into your veins a short while before you wake up. One word: foolproof. Similarly, engineer a bucket of water linked to a cuckoo clock, so that when the cuckoo emerges at the time you want to get up, it tips the bucket onto your face. Admittedly, this could be a tad damp, but it gets you out of bed. You're so welcome.

I understand that some of these ideas are a little long-winded; who has Nicki Minaj on their iPod? But they could be the stepping stone to a great career in waking-up. And if anyone does invent the bed designed in point 2., I will salute you/sue you for plagiarism.

M.

P.S. The knitting pattern I am currently following is described as being 'knitted at a colossal gauge (can you finish one during a sitcom?)', which confuses me. Surely it can't mean making a complete hat during a sitcom, because, as everyone knows, sitcoms are generally 21-28 minutes in length and, as only I know, it took me about that time to do three rows. In answer to the question, I can finish one during a sitcom; as long as I stick on Fawlty Towers while I'm on my last few rows. What they ask instead should be 'can you start knitting during a sitcom and finish knitting during the same sitcom?' although I admit that this is less easy to read despite its ambiguity-cleansing properties. Furthermore (oh God, there's more), is this a challenge? Is it a threat? AM I a bad knitter because it took me over 28 minutes to knit a hat, and does this incur a penalty? I'm actually quite scared that there'll be a knock at the door this evening and I'll open it to see the Knitting Police waiting for me. Oh, you don't know about the Knitting Police? 

Well they know all about you...

Friday the 12th

Dear You,

Apologies for no posts yesterday- I know you must have struggled to carry on (irony). I was at a birthday party- socialite me- which was Captain Fun Times. We had blueberry cheesecake (Hummingbird Bakery, since you ask) which was possibly the best thing I've ever put in my mouth. Naughty. And I won pass the parcel, so my life was complete.

Later, trawling through Netflix to find we a film, we decided upon 'Army of Darkness', whose poster was of a man holding aloft his chainsaw-hand, while a scantily clad woman clung on to his thigh; I mean, the warning signs were there already. Nevertheless, we persevered, and I can now say that it is perhaps the worst film that I've ever seen in my life. Hours later, I'm still trying to work out what genre it is; does it intentionally straddle horror, comedy and awfulness at the same time? I thought it was a bit like Macbeth, if Macbeth worked on the checkout and was a prick.

Also, I made the hostess (with the mostess, seriously) a hat, the pattern for which you can find on my Ravelry page here:
http://www.ravelry.com/projects/Crabbage96/cat-hat

Here's a picture:

I had made one for myself in blue, but I lost it in English Language before Easter. It was potentially the worst day of my life. I think someone stole it, because it was rather good. So now I'm spending my weekend making myself another one- who needs A-Levels?

Yours woolily,

M

P.S. This could be the worst thing that's happened to me all week; should I write a letter to HP Printers?

I mean, who is in charge of grammar for these companies? If you're unsure of what is wrong here, SHAME ON YOU.

P.P.S This may be the funniest thing I've seen all week. I love idiots on YouTube...

Goddammit Rimmer, you smeghead! (Cheeky Red Dwarf reference there- well done if you got it. If not, SHAME ON YOU.)

57%

Hello You,

A few days ago, I was saddened and surprised to discover that only 57% of gay actors are out to their agents; the rest fear being typecast.

This got me thinking: if/when I do get an agent (I hope it's the latter), I'll have to make a choice- to tell them, and perhaps restrict my career prospects, or to not tell them, and perhaps feel some sort of weight on my shoulders, or, bluntly, a massive gay elephant in the room.

It's an industry where one's talent, it seems, is often hardly recognised. Where face shape, hair colour, name, way they pronounce their 'h's (see previous blog post for my feelings towards that), height- no, I'm not still bitter about being too tall to audition for Oliver or Michael Banks or Kurt von Trapp or...-  and uncontrollable eye colour are more important during casting.

But most importantly, who you love- an unmanageable aspect of anyone's, gay or straight's, life- is now considered a factor. I remember Jonathan Groff, a gay actor who played Lea Michele's love interest on Glee (used to like it, not so sure now) was criticised simply because he was 'playing straight'. Are gay actors considered bad ones, incapable of portraying heterosexuals? Because let me tell you, I did sixteen years of 'playing straight'- I know how it's done.

Yours defiantly,

M.

Eternal Correctness of the Spotless Pronunciation

To You,

As I have mentioned before, I have a bit of a problem with mispronunciations, whether natural or not, i.e. speech impediments vs. ignorance.

The thing I hate most in the world is how some people pronounce the letter 'h'. Instead of 'aitch' as those in the know know, some cretins say 'haitch', a way with the propensity to make me hate living. Their (rather thin) argument is that 'h' produces a 'huh' sound when used in a word. My (incredible ) counter-argument is that 'm' makes a 'muh' sound yet is not called 'mem'. One nil to me. Hoorah.

I foresee a future where those who say 'scohne' and those who say 'scon' are engaged in a bitter war, ravaging the homes and lives of millions, creating a post-apocalyptic wasteland known as 'Raisin Cake Land', where everyone will live in harmony and those who dare to utter the forbidden 's' word will be put to death. Immediately. Two nil to me. Hoorah.

Something funny for you; my friend once ironically said 'mispronOUnciation'. I laughed. Not with her, but at her. Three nil to me.

Hoorah.

M.

P.S. Knitting with big needles is proving more difficult than I imagined; it's all a massive tangly mess with the occasional legitimate stitch. At least it's not as difficult as crocheting, or, as the aforementioned friend calls it, 'knitting for people who can only afford one needle'. Cretin.

Duvet Know It's Christmas Time at All?

Dear You,

Yesterday was one of the greatest days ever: New Duvet Day. *reader steadies themselves and tries to refrain from passing out.* Well, in a actual factual, it was New Duvet Cover Day, but that just sounds weird, doesn't it?

Anyway, if you've never experienced NDD:
a) That's a bit gross. Change your duvet immediately.
b) You simply must try it.

So, last night, after the daily routine of trying to work out which way round my pyjama bottoms go ("I mean, my other ones had a sort of fly-esque thing on them. No, I'm not crying."), I very much enjoyed getting in between my newly cleaned sheets and duvet cover, whilst resting my head on a fresh pillow. Love it.

To know that I'm the first thing to come between the recently-laundered bedclothes (naughty) is one of the best feelings ever. So, like I say, if you haven't experienced New Duvet Day, YOU MUST.

M

House of WHAT

Oi, You! (Sorry, that sounded rude; I apologise)

So, I've been watching videos of Margaret Thatcher, which have veritably littered the BBC website, showing her in the house of commons, saying things in a strange voice.

Seeing as she had speech lessons (arranged by Olivier, no less), could they at least not have cured her of that AWFUL rhotacism (also, whomever put the 'r' in that word is an evil genius, much like the adder of 's' into 'lisp') ? Hearving (hearing) her talk is like a bavage (barrage) of cvassly (crassly) contvucted (constructed) words thvowing (throwing) themselves at my ears. My mother is a speech therapist, and tales of her profession make it impossible for me not to pick up on such speech impediments, and want to give them a hearty seeing-to (cheeky).

But that is NOT all.

Looking into parliament, it's like watching a group of schoolchildren! All of that bickering and moaning and interjecting and tutting (see previous blog post for my opinions on tutters) is reminiscent of a gaggle of old women! The room is always full of laughing, booing and cheering, much like a football match (and do NOT get me started on that), and not the way I want the country I live in to be run. These people decide on the lives of millions, and treat it like a game; this is a job, not a hobby, and politicians need to remember that.

Oh, and legalise gay marriage. Asking for a friend. Cheers.

M

P.S. I've recently discovered the BEST way to keep fit. Choreograph a dance to Bob the Builder's classic hit 'Big Fish, Little Fish' and practise it every day, sometimes even twice. It's fun and healthy, and everyone loves miming holding a cardboard box of an evening.

Dear Tutter

Oh, it's You,

Whenever I can, I try to quash the incorrect, Daily Mail-induced view held by many older people about young people: that we are all violent, arrogant people who get drunk and high every day and have sex every Thursday. Sometimes more. So, when I see an older person, I try and be as nice as possible: opening doors, smiling, and giving right of way- even though I was the right turner and they the left- just to give them some semblance of a positive opinion of teenagers. So I'm allowed a break, right?

Today, I reached a difficult hurdle in my life. The baboon things on Temple Run got me. Again. Letting slip a barely-audible 'bollocks', I was fairly surprised to hear an elderly lady tutting, and I'm sure I caught some eye-rolling. I almost said this to her:

"Hello, I notice you're opposed to some of my life choices, so let me ask you this. Do you have ANY knowledge about me? Did you know, for example, that the gloves I am wearing (shows delightful gloves) were made by my own fair hands? That I know all of the words to two Gilbert and Sullivan operettas, plus a couple from Pirates of Penzance? Or, perhaps, that if Radio 4 was to suffer a power cut, I would cycle on a bike for a week to restore that reliable old station? That I would rather see a pair of great tits (the birds) than a pair of great tits (the tits)? Surely you must know that I have volunteered at an array of churches (I was confused), libraries and theatres? No? Then why all the tutting and rolling? Exactly; you have no excuse. What's your excuse for being a betch? (except I wouldn't have said that, because it may have detracted slightly from my argument) Have fun being ranted about on my  blog. Good-day."

Writing about it now, I kind of wish I had said that, then given her a link to my blog so at least she could have contributed to the pageviews. I don't see why I should be judged for letting the occasional 'bollock' come from betwixt my lips (ooft).

Bollocks to you. (Not you, You, 'you' as in this woman I have been speaking of)

M

P.S. I am the very model of a modern Major General.

4 Pics 1 ARMAGEDDON

Oh You!

I've just had the best epiphany in the history of epiphanies. Stand back that Eureka guy (or, rather, get out of your bath; you've been in there for ages!) because this will truly knock your socks off. If you're not wearing socks, don't bother trying to put them on, for they shall simply be blown off.

Remember how, in my last blog post ( http://bemusedramblingsteenager.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/the-perilous-perils-of-facebook.html ) I was talking about how much I hate that horrific '4 Pics 1 Word' game?

Well, it seems that SOMEONE on my Facebook didn't read it. Can I get a 'hell no!'? Posting a conundrum which was indubitably 'Highrise', this person asked for help. Now; here is where it gets comical:

I had the best idea EVER. With the given letters, RHEBIHRGJMIS, I realised that you could spell out a gazillion different words. A gazillion, for those in the proverbial dark, is 1 followed by a smattering zeros. So, here is where we must all UNITE to remove this evil menace from our (my) Facebook(s):

We pick a random word- for instance, in this example, let's choose 'BHIJGMIRS'- and convince the asker that this is the word they are looking for*. Ergo (great word), the asker shall become infuriated with either you or the app, and then either unfriend you or delete the app. Both options eradicate your having to see these banal pictures EVER AGAIN, without feeling like the bad guy/gal. Foolproof. Win,win. End of.

Let's work together to remove this scourge from our screens,

M

P.S. I tried knitting with my new needles; BLUMMING 'ECK! It's like trying to knit with bloody rolling pins! I'll keep you informed about my trials and tribulations (another excellent expression) with this, the fanciest of tangling- because that's all knitting really is, isn't it?


*for best results, this method should be repeated at every possible circumstance

The Perilous Perils of Facebook

Hello You,

Like almost everyone on this planet, I am a Facebookite. Like most of humanity, I am obsessed with liking things, posting hilariously irrelevant pictures and pretending to be friends with people I hate. More than a couple of things on Facebook annoy me wholly (is that pronounced like 'wally' or like 'holey'? We'll never know.) Just a few of these things are:

- I doubt VERY much that ignoring this will result in my expulsion from Heaven, the appearance of a dead child in my bathroom cabinet, the spread of cancer, or a combination of the three. Furthermore, not 'liking' a photo does not automatically mean that I do not like my mother; in fact, I am sure it means the opposite, as I do not need a group of pixels to confirm my feelings towards immediate family members.

- I WOULD NOT LIKE A VIRTUAL TRACTOR. Nor would I like to help you bake virtual cakes, nor would I like to help you hunt virtual sex-pest vampires. It's fine if your life is so mundane that you need an arable desktop to keep you entertained, but please don't tell me every time you harvest some strawberries- the world does not want to know about your internet cultivation. (Does that sound weird?) What also gets my goat (I don't have a goat, just to clarify; I think it's been 'got') is the endless stream of screenshots of '4 Pics 1 Word' which have mind-numbingly simple answers, which their posters cannot seem to decipher. Isn't a game supposed to be fun? Well, seeing an assortment of images of sunbathing women every time I log on to Facebook is not fun for me.

- Something else with goat-nabbing propensity is the fact that a large majority of status updates are rife with spelling and grammatical errors. This is the internet! Not a cave wall in prehistoric times. We have spellcheck, which even the most maleducated individual can use. Therefore, I see no reason why Facebook's users cannot grasp the concept of the English Language. However, at least on Facebook I don't have to hear morons pronounce the letter 'h' incorrectly.

I think Facebook should have observers that police each status, like and comment. These invigilators will have the power to immediately suspend any user after a three-strike policy. What's more, everyone should have a rating on their profile: the twatometer. This will give a percentage rating of correctly-written contributions, plus extra marks for verbosity. An indication of the person's strike rating will also be given, allowing others to decide whether to add, decline or remove the perpetrator.

Plus, removing friends should be easier; it gives me so much satisfaction,

M

P.S. I was thinking today; what would songs with names in be like if they were to feature different names? Would 'Valerie' and 'Delilah' be as popular if were titled 'Emma' or 'Lisa', the most popular girls' names of their respective years of release? I think they would probably have the expectant mothers market covered, no problem.

P.P.S. It has emerged among my friends that it is commonplace to decide upon your outfit for the following day the night before. Is it just me that's new to this? Please tell me if this is a normal thing- I'm a bit worried.

P.P.P.S. Some 12mm knitting needles arrived today (I say that out of happiness, not surprise; I mean, I did know they were coming, what with having purchased them, but anyway:) which are very big (naughty) and look a little like drumsticks. I hope I get to use them soon, like by knitting a hat or stabbing a burglar.

Yoof Cultures

Hey You!

In lieu (that's a terrifically vowelly word) of last week's news about attacks on youth cultures, I thought I'd write this post. I don't think people should be harmed based on their music choices, clothes, friends or whatever. I don't think people should be harmed full stop.

I understand that my following comments may be as unwelcome as a rabid Jehovah's Witness with a gift-wrapped, Frankie Boyle, but hey! Anyway, one group I have major issues with is the 'Lads'.

These 'Lads' celebrate misogyny and revel in idiocy, all the while referring to women as 'wenches'- a practically Shakespearean term. In reality, however, these 'Lads' are selfish, arrogant pricks that nobody likes, and are very often single.

And who in the proverbial invented 'Steak and Blowjob Day'?? Possibly the most disgusting holiday, created and celebrated by those who don't deserve either. As a vegetarian, am I missing out on steaks? Someone please enlighten me. Is it worth having its own day? Just looks like a lump of dead animal to me...

There it is. My opinion on Lads and their ghastly sexist culture. True, I don't like punk or goth music, but at least their listeners don't refer to songs they like as 'tunes'. (Phonetically: 'choons') ALL SONGS ARE TUNES, THIS IS WHY THEY ARE SONGS!!!

I'd better sign off now, before I start punching people in wifebeater vests in their smug, Laddish faces,

M

EPQ Nightmares

Hello You,

I am currently trying not to pull my hair out and throw it around my room like fibrous snowflakes as I attempt to write my EPQ. For those of you that don't know, the EPQ (or 'Extended Project Qualification', dahling), is what I like to call 'the sit down Duke of Edinburgh'. You choose a topic, any topic, and write 5000 words about it. Alternatively, you can make something, like a play script, tupperware box or assortment of glove puppets, and write a smaller essay on that.

So anyway, I- foolish rogue that I was- decided to do a project about 'The Presentation of Women in Disney Films' for two simple reasons:
a) I like Disney films.
b) See reason a.

So now I'm sitting here, 1030 words down (not including the title, thank you very much) and unsure of what to write next. I've gone through chronologically, having written about Snow White and Cinderella, but I've stopped at Aurora. And why?

I'M BORED.

The teacher that's in charge of these EPQ shenanigans, by the name of Mike, says "if you lack motivation, then you've chosen the wrong topic." Well, that's not very helpful, a week before the deadline, IS IT MIKE??!!

So what's the solution to my problem, you ask? Well, the answer is simple.

I did a watercolour Ariel on a revision card.

I'm not joking, but I'm really proud.

Anyway, there may be the chance of postponing for a year/ dropping out. I think there's always been the latter choice available, it's just I'm slightly scared of Mike and his EPQ regime.

Until next time, You,

M

P.S. Do you think I should start a watercolour-selling business? I do.

P.P.S. My sister is dancing around my room to Hilary Duff's 'Why Not'; Disney classics are the best. I'll probably write more about my sister- she's fab and my only friend, besides my dog. He's called Dog. I'll introduce you to him soon.

Thatcher, Thatcher, milk snatcher (well, not any more)

Dear You,

As you'll probably be aware, Margaret Thatcher has passed on. If you're not; where have you been? Have you just woken up? It's almost eight pm, you lazy person! Now, I know I'm not wholly qualified to comment on this, what with being born in '96 and all, but I fancy saying some stuff.

Firstly, I would never vote Conservative. Ever. Not even if they offered all of their voters a massive cake each. Two massive cakes. Make it five and you've got yourself a deal. Only joking. Ten. final offer. So on this front, I DO NOT agree with Margaret Thatcher's views.

What I'm interested in, however, is the reaction of the general public. I've seen adjectives such as 'vile' and 'awful' thrown about, and the occasional 'hooray!' I've also seen a video of a man driving in a car- whilst filming something; keepin' it safe- ranting about those who 'weren't even in her generation' saying nasty things about her. Well, surely this philosophy, that those born after her time being disallowed comment, should spread to other people my age branding her 'an idol' and a 'great prime minister'. If I'm not allowed to have my opinion on social networks designed to help me broadcast my (some may say negative) opinion, may those with a more appraising one give their thoughts? And furthermore, who is to say what is right and wrong to believe about someone; is it classed defamatory now that she has died, when the same things were being said when she was alive?

Anyway, goodbye Mrs T. I never knew you personally, but I do know that 87 is a good ol' age.

M

P.S. I've only just noticed, but 'Rest In Peace' is a strange thing to say. To me, it suggests that there's the possibility that the person may not rest in peace, but be disrupted by the something else. And anyway, doesn't everyone want to rest in peace; to do otherwise would be counter-productive, surely. Therefore, why don't we say it to everyone before they have a sleep or power nap or similar- what a strange world we live in, and a strange language we use!

P.P.S. Has anyone else noticed that Meryl Streep looks really like Margaret Thatcher sometimes? No? Just me then....

Hello! Welcome! Howdy! etc.

Hello! Welcome to my blog! About me:

- I am sixteen years old, but really I act like a middle-aged woman (I am male, just to clarify). There are a number of reasons I have found that contribute to this belief. One: I knit incessantly- in fact, I've just finished a lovely pair of gloves, but more on that later. Two: I love Radio 4. Not much else needs to be said on that. Three: I bitch and moan as much as any middle-aged woman I've ever met.

- I love drama; not in the argument, catfight etc. sense- although I do enjoy watching those- but mainly the acty, theatrey sort of way. I really want to be an actor in a few years, and I'd also like to do writing and that. This is what I'm using this for, really: to write on and on about things that amuse me muchly, things that amuse me lessly, and things I find interesting. Stand by for posts about knitting and Doctor Who.

- I make videos for the tinterweb at www.youtube.com/KanKarProds and it is tons of fun. Do have a look if you have/get the time.

- Where many of my peers would be listening to ghastly music like that Nicki Minaj, One Direction and the like, I am currently enjoying a playlist that includes Meat Loaf, Bonnie Tyler and Half a Sixpence (yes, the Tommy Steele one).

- If you hadn't guessed already, I'm a massive gay.

That's only skimming the surface of my ever-interesting (promise) life. So join me in a wandering of the Bemused Ramblings of a Teenager (the eponymous teenager being me, of course)!

M (ooh, initials; classy and secretive)

P.S. Thank you for reading!