Sunday, 27 December 2015

Blogger Confessions

It has been nine days since I last posted and I feel like it's necessary that I fill you in on a couple of things.
1. I turned 14.
2.I broke my kindle (but if my dad asks, it's just a temporary glitch). I mean it was about time, I've had that thing for 3 or 4 years now and if I didn't break the old fellow, the poor thing would have combusted itself.
3.I started learning French. Thank god for free learning apps.
4- Amazon charged me £6.49 ($9.60) for an audible version of the book I bought on Christmas day. There really is no better feeling than that of the one when you realise you didn't untick the audible options box. Which by the way is a shitty thing to do Amazon. You don't pre-tick the options box for someone without fully explaining it to them, then not give them a refund because they're not 'obligated to receive the return guarantee'. But we should probably get onto the post now.

Blogger Confessions
The not so useless revelations of a basic blogger.

I feel like it would have been useful to have some sort of guideline when I started blogging. That's not to say that I found none, because I found quite a few. But in the nicest way possible, they were useless articles of rat tripe. They weren't for teens. They were for 40 year old balding men trying to build a following for their broken down plumbing businesses and monetise their writing. Which is great and all if you're a middle aged man named Dave who lives in his parent's basement. But not so great if you're a 14 year old child. So if you were ever thinking of starting a blog or in need of some rather basic blogging tips, now commences 13 blogger confessions. From one blogger to another, sharing pretty much everything you'll need to know when starting/running a blog as a teen.

1. It's okay not to follow for a follow.
The most likely scenario, if you do, is that you'll never actually read their blog and you'll be left with an archive of posts that you couldn't care less about. Plus you might feel guilty afterwards when you decide to stop following them.

2' It's okay to make mistakes in a post and then hurriedly rush to edit it, then realise there's more mistakes and then go back again in a continuous cycle.
It's not the most conventional method or by any means efficient, but it works. However, the rational side of me would seriously debate that and say that you should always check your posts  for errors before publishing them.

3. It's perfectly fine to be weird. Many people might not get your humor but the Danish woman reading your posts on her iPod probably does. And she loves it.

4. It's always best to keep a notebook on hand or the memo app open on your phone.
You never know when an idea will strike and rather than trying to memorise it, just write it down.

5. Don't touch the cacti. This one doesn't have a reasonable explanation. Just don't touch the cacti. It'll probably eat you or something outrageous like that.

6. Ranting is great. It's like the Queen Elizabeth of written anger. The Micheal Jackson of hate. If you imagined it on a numerical scale it'd be a 9.6. Right above complaint letters but 0.4 away from those really intense diary extracts about that girl in health class who really grinds your gears.

7. You don't need a niche.
Sure it'd be great if you really wanted one but it's not necessary.

8. You don't need a cat.
Again, no sound explanation. But if you're wanting some kind of reasoning...cats are evil? Yeah. I'll go with that.

9. It's fine to link your blog in the comments section.
You can also plug your social media accounts in your posts too. Commenting on a blog is the easiest way to get people to acknowledge yours, but you probably shouldn't be asking for follows. Generally you'd assume that a person would follow your blog if they genuinely liked it. Asking for follows is putting that person in an uncomfortable position if they don't actually like your blog. Especially if they're a 14 year old girl with no interest in your blog topic whatsoever.

10. You might not want to change your blog name more than once.
Unlike me who as changed her blog name 4 times in the past year. Do you know what that means? Do you? Neither do I but I'm guessing it's not good.

11.If you think that you're going to build a ginormous following in the first week of blogging, you're not crazy. You are however undeniably wrong. It's easy to make the mistake of thinking your blog's going to be insanely big in the initial stages. I did. But I've learn't that the most important thing is the people you connect with rather than the amount of page views or followers.

12. Stop thinking about it so much.
Just do it. It's frickin awesome.

13. I think the biggest thing however is the most obvious. Have fun with it. Don't let it become a part of the daily grind.  And I don't mean that as in the rotary movement of the hips often executed by dancers in a sensual manner. The grind as in work, dollar, broccoli, domestic roles. You know what I mean. Have tons of fun with it. It's yours. There are no bounds. Apart from the ethical ones of course. But still, no bounds.

Friday, 18 December 2015

What Christmas Adverts Taught Me

A very cynical and British take on TV adverts, brought to you by a teenage grump.
Blame it on my English teacher.

Christmas. A time of capitalism, materialism and sheer gullibility. And on the rare occasion, screaming children getting overly hyped about some potbellied guy in a red suit with a beard. It's the time of year that plagues our TV screens with adverts promoting products we genuinely couldn't care less about, and shops we wouldn't ever enter ourselves voluntarily in any other circumstance other than Armageddon or a shortage of WiFi. The advertisements are non stop, a constant reminder that Christmas is right around the corner. Or alternatively, some 2000 year old guy in a red suit is about to begin breaking and entering into your houses at night. Which is great and all if you want some mummified millennial ( literally) pacing around your house, but not that great if your scared shitless of the idea that he's still alive and should be dead by now. However us humans have a way of making it work. Christmas Ads. The art of brainwashing the minds of consumers and forcing them to buy things they won't ever need in the spirit of some archaic tradition. I know what you're thinking. "But they're just so entertaining." But what are they actually trying to teach you?

Sainsbury's taught me that cats are unintentional arsonists and completely capable of single handedly ruining your entire Christmas in one night. Which makes me think that the creator of that advert secretly despises cats or is trying to recreate the exact same thing that happened to him two Christmases ago in the Great Cat Incident Of 2013.

John Lewis taught me that there's an old man on the moon living in complete isolation with nothing but the comfort of a telescope for Christmas. John Lewis also taught me that a good quality telescope is able to see deep into space and that you probably shouldn't settle for anything less.

Sky movies taught me how to properly dispose of Brussels sprouts and that the bad guys in The Avengers are weak as shit and can be taken down by a single sprout.

 John Lewis taught me that a rabbit is capable of purchasing an alarm clock and wrapping it up despite it's lack of opposable thumbs. I also learnt that bears aren't savage creatures who will rip you to shreds after screwing with their hibernation periods.

Aldi taught me that parodies are amazing creations and that they have better prices on telescopes than John Lewis. Aldi also taught me the fastest way to get yourself sued and generate complaints.

House Of Fraser taught me that I don't own them and that great dancers jamming out to a killer song  really increase the appeal of a TV advert. Especially when dressed in incredible clothes or tangled up in Christmas lights.

 Most importantly, M&S taught me that there's an art to Christmas and it should be done correctly by executing a very sassy walk as demonstrated by the five year old in the advert, perfecting the night before, making a shit ton of noise, accurately displaying how surprised you are when receiving a gift and a whole lot of other things.

Now do you see it my way?

Monday, 14 December 2015

Ways To Make School Suck Less

Here's my issue with high school. How can I put this in a nice way? It's...'s great. No, that's a lie. High school sucks, man. It sucks. And on the slight chance that my head teacher's stumbled upon this on his search to make our school better, here's what he needs to do.

Stop being so lenient
Either 60% of your teachers are blind and hard of hearing, or they just choose to ignore the wails and flying calculators travelling across the classroom. And a message to the dimwit in my maths class; next time you want to go throwing books around, make sure it's in an open space and not somewhere where it's going to blind a child. P.S You're an arse, idiot.

Stop charging me for things that are out of my control
If you run out of food and my meal doesn't qualify for the lunch deal...well, how do I phrase this? IT'S NOT MY FAULT DAMMIT. It's your fault. Yours. And please stop giving me stale cake.

Stop praising idiots
If an idiot has a tendency to punch people and the only thing you're doing to stop them is give them an 'x' on their report card and a 'try better next time', you're doing this whole behavior thing terribly wrong. It seems like the worst behaved students are the ones praised the most. That's not right.

Stop worrying so much about my aesthetic and for goodness sake, tell the lady at the gates in the morning to stop yelling. 
Look, I get it. You want me to get to class on time. But my legs can only walk so fast lady and they're going as fast as they can go. So if you want to continue yelling at someone, I'm pretty sure there's like a dozen other students starting a cult somewhere in the corner of a corridor that you could waste your voice on. I get it though. You have a reputation to uphold, right? That's why you care so much about how late I am, even though if I do recall correctly it was the heads of the school in the first place who decided to make the opening time 5 minutes earlier despite knowing  that almost 50 percent of their  students take the bus and how unreliable the buses are. There's got to be a compromise somewhere.

And about my aesthetic, just stop. The moment you start caring about how low a person's cravat is compared to how low their grades are, is the moment I start worrying. Maybe if you worried more about their grades, as apposed to whether or not they're carrying a coat around, your GCSE results last year would have actually passed its Ofsted report. But then again, that's none of my business so...

I gots this from here dude
 Ofsted- The Beyonce of  school inspectors. They're the type of people that carry clip boards to every class and just ooze power when they walk into a room.

For once in your lives, just stop yelling.
50 percent of the reason why your students never actually listen to what you're saying to them is because you're yelling it at them. Maybe if you talked to them like actual human beings and not deaf pigeons, you'd be heard.

Control the corridors
At no point can you ever justify those savagery 3 minutes in between lessons. So unless you're fine with me walking through the corridors wearing shin pads and a hard hat, I really urge you to find a solution. And the next time someone barges me, I am genuinely going to lose my shit.

Stop lying to me
You know the library isn't full. I know the library isn't full. Stop telling me it is and let's stop kidding ourselves here.

Stop being so passive
Asking me if I'm being bullied is in no way an attempt to solve bullying. If anything, you're doing nothing more than pointing out the obvious. If bullying is clearly prevalent, then what exactly are you waiting for? Making me report it then doing nothing about it isn't helping. And please stop making me sit through assemblies about it. We all know that no ones actually listening and if you really want to make a difference, how about you actually do something? Integrate your students. Allow us to overcome our differences by talking to each other and getting to know each other. Sure there'll be some arse twats in the bunch, but we've got to start somewhere.

Stop giving me cover teachers or just hire qualified staff
We can both see that there's a lack of teachers in certain subjects, and I know that finding staff is very difficult. But at what point does it become perfectly acceptable to throw a random teacher in to cover the class? If he's majored in history a university, why exactly are you making him teach me biology?And if she clearly can't teach maths, why are you allowing her to try?

Make lunch times longer
Okay, so this one's a little far fetched. But the way I see it is, if you give a student thirty minutes to get to the diner, line up, get their food, eat their food, go outside a little and  have time to pee, you're going to need to give them a little more than thirty minutes. You don't. It's probably best you stop complaining that we're always asking to go to the toilet in  the last lesson.

Also, a message to the idiot who thought he would try and hold a conversation with me in the lunch line after pushing in, I hope you get hit by a piece of stale cake. In no way did I instigate or act as if I wanted a conversation with you. The next time you want to come up to me and talk to me, I'm probably going to hurt you. I'm not even going to lie. I'm going to hurt you.

Please stop trying so hard with people who couldn't care less
I understand that it's in your job description to provide every student in your class with an adequate level of education, but if a student refuses to be taught then I'm sorry but let it go. Leave them be. Stop wasting your time. Instead of spending half the lesson trying to get them to do work, how about you devote your attention to the other 27 or so students that actually want to learn?

That is all chums.

Thursday, 10 December 2015

If Anything, The Windows Are Near Enough Tansparent

I write a lot. Like a lot a lot. Like so much writing you could physically drown in it. That's if you were 30 or so centimeters tall and prone to getting stuck in loose sheets of notebook paper. Usually when you tell a person you write though, they think you write stories. I can't. My characters and plots just never seem to flow like they should . I do however write nonsensical crap, call it humor, then post it on the internet for you to read. Whether you're doing that voluntarily, or there's a guy named Brutus at your house right now because I'm paying him 7 pounds an hour to make you. I don't know. If Brutus is there however, send him my regards.

I feel as if bus seats are positioned in a way that was intended to make you speak to people. It's as if someone sat down and thought that the most practical way to get people to interact with each other was to design seats so incredibly close to each other, that avoiding conversation would be pretty much impossible. And just to make it all that more painful, they designed those God awful seats at the back. Like it's somehow going to encourage you to spark up a conversation with the guy sat directly in front of you when your legs are so insanely close to his that your practically groping him with your legs. It's all kinds of weird.

There's always that weird guy on the bus too. He's the one who just doesn't seem to grasp the fact that he shouldn't sit next to someone if the bus is almost completely empty. It doesn't help that this guy is 60 and smells like how a slow and painful death would feel. It's even worse when the guy sat next to you is that 15 year old boy that smells like he hasn't showered in an entire decade.

There'll be a lady somewhere, with her phone in hand, chattering loudly at a hundred words per minute. Her hotline will always bling. She'll probably have a foreign accent too. Or at least it'll seem like it. Her words won't manage to come out in anything resembling English. Her o's sounding like a's and s's randomly placed at the end of words. You're not sure if she's drunk or not, but she isn't and you're not insane for thinking so.

The guy on your right is most certainly a drug dealer, even though he doesn't really look like it. Other than the occasional whiff of lung killer you get from his direction once in a while, he seems clean. Right? Wrong! He's always carrying that questionable little black bag in the mornings; the one he's grasping ever so tightly as he stumbles off the bus. That bag is a drug bag for sure.

And sometimes you'll meet a screaming child or two and it will suck. But if you blare your music loud enough and drown out the deafening wails, it almost sounds like there isn't a 7 year old satanic demon child crying to his overlord.

Also, my friends now know about the blonde guy with the permed hair and although it was a joke at first, I'm going to milk it a little further. It's fun really. I'm now referring to him as 'Bootang' (pronounced boo- thang with an almost offensive Chinese twang to it.). It might get to a stage where he realises and thinks I'm harassing him. And speaking of harassing boys, I'm pretty sure having your name called out in a crowded lunch room is borderline harassment. But its not like I did that. At break. 3 meters away from the mildly attractive guy I was referring to.

Sunday, 6 December 2015

Sunday Sessions- volume 1: Diary Extracts

In which you too can join me in a whirlpool of deep thoughts and gradual insanity.
And I'd apologise for the terrible picture quality but it'd be stupid because an apology insinuates that I'm going to try rectify it and I'm not. This is what you're getting chums.

"Everyone's a madman."

 I'm not too fond of this world. I'll be honest here,because there's no point in lying to myself. I feel like we're all just pretending that Earth's this magnificent place when in actual reality the ozone layer's messed up, there's wars everywhere and we're all just a bunch of pent up hatred and madness. Everyone's a madman. School sucks too. It's just a whole lot of adults trying to please the government through pupils. In any other circumstance, 40% of those teachers wouldn't care less about the people we become. It's like everything we do, every move we make, every breath...

is all for one stupid set of tests at the age of 16. (I also feel the need to point out how extremely close  came to quoting Puff Daddy.) It's all about grades and standards and seeming smart. But they (which I make to sound as if it's some secret organisation of monks who possess demonic powers) forget that an A means nothing from anywhere other than an economical standpoint. A means a high paid job and cars and wealth. A means taking a subject I don't even like and draining myself every lesson just to try and fake some sort of enjoyment. A means constant revision and tears at night. And for what? Because of what? Grades work on fear. The idea that you'll screw up our future keeps you motivated and that's not how I want to feel any longer. It's like everyone expects me to get A's and all I want is to get out of there. I don't like the feeling of knowing that I may fail. It's funny how that's the only thing going through my mind at school. ( I don't get how that's funny. That's actually quite upsetting.)

School ( written considerably larger than everything else and surrounded by a fancy jagged bubble) - Fucking with young minds since the very beginning!

Wednesday, 2 December 2015

I Am Alive...GIRF!

I am alive or at least what some would call partially existing. It's debatable whether or not I could class myself as alive. For one, I have had way too many physics tests to function like an actual human and for two, being alive would insinuate that I actually make something of my time on Earth and so far all I've done is stuff my face with chocolate and raw meatballs. (It wasn't intentional. I don't go around stuffing my face with uncooked meatballs but some part of me believed that perhaps those meatballs were just made of some foreign kind of pink meat.)

Here's a brief overview of the things you missed:
-My school got a bad Ofsted report.
-There's an apprenticeship programme I might be going to.
-My English teacher made a lot of horrible/hilarious puns.
-I had a physics test.
-I had an RE test.
-I had a physics test.
- I stared at multiple cute guys for various amount of times:
  - There was that one guy with the blonde perm
  - The one with the smile
  -The one with the jawline that could cut glass
  -The one way older than me
  -The one on Instagram
  -The one on Nickelodeon
  -The one I saw whilst I was one the bus
-I also got my hair braided and it hurt. Badly.

Also to the guy with the blonde perm, we both know we're getting married one day so we might as well give up the act now. You know, the one where you pretend as if you don't acknowledge my existence and I pretend as if I've only spotted you by accident and not by surveying the whole room for your curly locks? The jig is up boy. 

To the boy in my form room who just can't seem to fully grasp the whole concept of privacy, you need to start. Stop staring at me as I write. Stop involving yourself in other people's issues. And for cheezus sake boy, stop asking so many stupid questions!!

To the girl judging me on my food choices, I find it quite ironic how you can sit there munching on Vimto chewits and a sugar packed frosties bar whilst you criticize the fact that I've just had an apple an orange and some grapes. A part of me feels like that's actually quite laughable.

To everyone, I'm not quite sure I've ever stressed it before but umm... DON'T FRICKING TOUCH ME!!! Don't hug me in the corridors. Don't place your arm on my shoulder. Don't get close to my face. Don't brush up on me. Don't touch my bag. Don't touch me. Please, I am begging you to leave me alone.

To my English teacher, I think it's safe to say that I pee a lot. In fact, I'm pretty sure everyone at school knows I pee a lot. And I want you to know that I really appreciate you letting me go to the toilet in lesson and not frowning upon the fact that my bladder's the size of a pea. I should also mention to you guys that my English teacher looks a little like wolverine and dances like a 90 year old jazz player with arthritis. I kid. No I don't, that was a complete lie. He does but it's not as bad as it sounds.

To my friends. I PEE. Okay, I pee. I pee.I pee. I pee. Yes your bladder may be able to withstand mass amounts of water and not explode but I pee. 

To my friends once again, stop expecting me to respond to your texts. I'm terrible at it.

To the girls in my business class. Now I appreciate that you all enjoy a little sing song sometimes and of course everyone likes to chat once in a while, but shut the hell up. I'm not saying that you should completely restrict your speech but maybe just enough to let the teacher talk.

To my substitute teacher, please stop yelling at us. I know it's hard trying to control my maths class (because we're all just a bunch of mini barbarians disguised in school uniforms) but you yelling on top of 20 something screaming children isn't discipline sir. It's a head ache. And I know it's infuriating. It's also definitely our fault but if  I can say this without being too blunt...well you're as frightening as a 5 year old dressed in an over sized pixie costume.

To the school librarian. I'm sorry for eating waffles in the library. It was break and I was hungry and I'm so extremely sorry.

Finally, to my friends, and I swear this is the last time, criticizing people isn't funny. Laughing at someone's hairstyle or shoes isn't funny. Ridiculing the things a person does or the things they wear isn't humorous. It's stupid.

That is all.