My Holiday in Brief.

I've started going camping. I went to a party. I've been drunk a handful of times. I gave up on someone. I fell for a stranger from my past. I was crushed accidentally by said stranger. I've sewed up a hole that I'd simply sellotaped. I've slept in the rain. I went sick down my sleeve. I've weeded in a few fields. I've had to be dressed by other people. I'm a volunteer. I've met a fellow vegetarian who is my exact height. I've finally bought clothes from Jack Wills. I've met a lot of weird and wonderful strangers. I've got myself a social life. I've found inspiration. I've snuck into somebody's house for food. I went a little bit lesbian. I actually scared myself. I saw the campuses for the Cheltenham bases of the University of Gloucestershire. I've written some monologues on Tumblr that I'm happy with. I've cried and not had anyone notice. I've decided against reading the prequel to the Hannibal trilogy. I've slept in the car coming home from England. I've had some dreams that have blown my mind. I've worn my favourite woolly jumper outside the house. That's all that comes to mind, if you want to know anything else, simply ask me at:

http://www.formspring.me/TofuBrown

The Shortest Day Of My Life

(Almost) Every Tuesday and Thursday I come home and spend half an hour to an hour going on and on about my day volunteering. The, let's call them quirky, characters that are regulars in the shop, the weird and wonderful donations we have in, the stories we come up with behind each donation, all the different personalities of all the different volunteers, all the things I tried on and didn't fit... However, I will not bore you with all of those stories.

I've been using my Tumblr blog quite a bit, but that's no to say I won't stay to this one. It's just that that one isn't for every day ramblings, it's for monologues, creative writing and poetic things. The sort of crap that you have going around and around in your head all day, so you just have to let it out. I didn't want to clog up this blog with junk and creative explosions! (Remember, the link's on the side.)

So what am I going to tell you? I'm going to tell you about my acupuncture, next time... Here's a brief snippet about today though: I woke up at 2pm, bathed and had acupuncture at 3pm. The 'spleen and lady problems' points on my shins were so painful the lady (who I though was related to Mr Moses but when I smoothly brought him up there was no recognition at all) had to stop. She said they were tender on a lot of girls, but mine might have been so bad because of my endometriosis. Then she couldn't get them out. I nearly cried. She left and I went to bed at 4.30pm and awoke at 7pm to eat three crumpets, sweet tea (freaking four sugars) and Grandpa. I then went on MSN to make some plans for tomorrow. I'm going to see my friend, who I haven't seen in ten years, play drums in his band. Actually, I then had a semi-jokey-argument with Hammy over the guitarist. I won't go into details, but I was dying from laughter and she was probably wanting to stab me. I've had to put the fan on because I'm dying from over heating. I think I'm generally dying anyway. Which reminds me, my yellow nail varnish has died. Damn cheap thing.

I've also fallen out with my oracle.

Words.

So I'm thinking about writing to the newspaper again. A few weeks back, Mother, Pa and I were in the car talking about public transport, and there was an opportunity to write something, but I never did because it isn't really something I care much for. Sometime buses don't turn up, well that's a shame but if you go to catch the bus with other people then it's not like you're stranded, and if you're only catching the bus to a few miles down the road, start walking until the next one comes up. I don't even have to ask for an under sixteen all day ticket any more either as they've now introduced a teen ticket, which is only £1 more expensive than the under sixteen but £2 cheaper than the adult. Needless to say, that didn't captivate me in the way that the whole 'emo suicide cult fronted by My Chemical Romance and other such music' did. I always wanted to write to the newspaper again, but I was worried that they'll sigh and think 'Not her again...' and that they'll think I'm some attention seeking whore. But lately I've stopped caring about that because I've found something new that I care about, and whilst I've always cared about it, I never realised to what extent until I had some real experience on the topic. You might have already guessed the topic that I'm referring to: charity shops.

The first time I wrote to the newspaper, I read an article and got really angry. I then whipped out a piece of paper, tackled the article point by point and wrote bullet points of what really got my goat. Then I just had a pure, raw rant. There was no technique like there is when I'm writing, this was pure argumentative emotion, and it got me into the Daily Mail with a huge picture of myself. (One of my favourite memories has to be when the Daily Mail photographer came over unexpected whilst Carys and I were watching Russell Brand on the laptop, and then once he'd left, Carys, Tess and I sprinted down the garden and screamed.)

This time though, I'll be writing to inform, and not in a defensive way. There are so many things about the charity shop that I had no idea about, and if awareness was raised, then charity shops' business could increase and their outgoing costs could decrease. I mean, is it really right that charity shops have to give out reimbursements to their volunteers for things such as bus money? You have to be sixteen to be an all-round useful volunteer (because only at sixteen are you legally allowed to use the till), and the legal bus ticket for a teenager is £3.75 - as we know though, many of the volunteers are over eighteen, meaning their bus tickets cost £5.75, which adds up to £34.50 a week at least, based on the assumption that at least one return ticket is bought by an over eighteen every open day of the week. That's taking from charity in order to help charity. We've been listening to Radio Two on both days that I've been volunteering there, and on Monday they were discussing whether or not it was right for elderly pensioners to have free bus passes, in particular rich pensioners. I thought what many though - they've paid their taxes, and the richer people have paid more. The opposing party argued that the economy couldn't really fund or handle this though, which is when I had an idea - reduced bus ticket prices for the elderly, like the same price as an under sixteen. Elderly pensioners' tickets are always the same price as childrens, so why not have the same system on the bus? Then that's when it came to me, reduced prices for volunteers. If they have a pass, they can also get a reduced price. This is obviously mainly for the majority of volunteers who are over eighteen.

And that is only one of the issues that gets my goat, the main one is this: people have no idea that they're costing the charity shop by their ignorance and lazy disrespect. A lady walked in with a full bin bag of donations and said the words that tear a smile off all understanding volunteers' faces. "They're really good, they just need a wash." I can't speak for all charity shops, but the Red Cross doesn't have any washing facilities other than a steamer. If something is dirty, it gets ragged, meaning it is put in the rag bag and sent away to India or Russia. If it's clean, it gets hung, tagged and steamed, checked over, priced and put out. Sometimes the steamer uncovers deep dirt, and then the item of clothing gets ragged. This 'rag bag' costs the Red Cross a whopping £20 for a roll, and the more dirty clothes the charity shop gets, the less time they'll last. Seriously though, why would you give dirty clothing to the charity shop? I've always been brought up to wash everything before donating it, but that was purely through respect and convenience for the charity shop. You see, the charity shop actually has a high standard. It sort of frustrates me that more young people don't go in. There were some really nice skinnies in there, and a bright turquoise MTV tee that I snapped up after I'd finished working. A girl from my school was dragged in by her mom, and she was so mortified that she'd been caught by somebody in her school in a charity shop that she covered her face with embarrassment the whole time. I simply don't understand.

In other news, my back's been killing me ever since yesterday (after my five hour shift). I went to bed in extreme pain, it took me two hours to not only find a comfortable position that hurt my back as little as possible, but to also stop my mind from racing. I sent two texts before putting my phone on the 'Sound Of Silence' profile, meaning that it was not only silent, but didn't vibrate either. I woke up in extreme pain but a text cheered me up a tad, then I somehow managed to come downstairs. Mother handed me a letter and basically, here's what's happened: A year ago, I wrote a, what was in my opinion, crappy poem entitled 'No Stranger To Death' and Mother threatened to enter it into a competition. It turns out that she did and I had no idea. Anyway, I've been chosen to feature in one of the books in the Poetry Rivals collection. Mine's been chosen for 'A Sugar-Coated World'. If it's picked by the editors to be in the top fifty for under eighteens, I'll have to perform it and I'll get £20, then the over-all winner gets a top-of-the-range laptop. No matter what happens though, as long as we send the consent form away by August 13, 2010, it will definitely feature in the book, which is released on Halloween.

I've posted the poem up on my Creative Juices Blog (yes, that's a link). If you haven't noticed, I have a new link list on the left hand side of this blog. Life on Jupiter is my old blog, Tofu Brown is this blog and Creative Juices is a new blog on Tumblr, designed simply for things such as scene settings, monologues and poetry.

A Good Start To A Long Holiday

Wednesday June 30, 2010 I went down to Carmarthen to see Tess' and Hannah's flat and to generally spend the day with my sister. I took her to the music shop to see the accordion that I've had my eye on. She always seems interested in my weird phases, or at least when she's alone with me. She's a sister then, not a wannabe mom. She (unlike Mr. 'I-Can't-Do-That-Because-I'll-Look-Like-A-Freak-Even-Though-I-Know-You-Are-And-I-Still-Go-Out-With-You-For-Some-Unforeseeable-Reason', whose name says it all!) asked the man working tehre about the accordions because I was too shy in case they weren't even accordions, and I shall tell you all that he told us: The £120 that I've been looking at for a few weeks MIGHT be leaky, and would cost £150 to completely restore, but once restored, it could be sold for £1000. The accordion that Tess liked is a standard and cost £360, he then worked out that if you rented that accordion for four months, it would only cost you £90, which is just over £20 a month. Interesting, huh? I thought so anyway.

NEXT. Thursday July 1, 2010, I went to The Red Cross in Llandeilo had a 'poster' on their door (pictured) which I took an interest in. I really like charity shops, mainly because you end up with things that not everybody has and sometimes look vintage but also because of the whole 'Green Thing' that I rock so well with being a regular public transport user and a vegetarian, but I'd never thought of volunteering, mainly because you could be working in the hours your giving to charity for money, and I know that could quite easily sound awful, but you do have to make money to get on in life, to not live in poverty. Yes, I'll be the first to admit that the Certificate in Retail is what made me go in about it. So anyway, I went in on Thursday July 1, 2010 and spoke to Amanda, the shop manager. She took me to the back room and I sat on a foot stool whilst she sat on the floor and talked through some forms with me. Then came the exciting part, the showing me around bit. Here're the interesting highlights: They aren't allowed to use normal bags, they have to pay £20 for a small roll of special purple bags from the council, so by giving them junk, you're costing them money. They haven't got the facilities to wash or iron clothes, so if something's dirty, it has to be sent away to a Soviet country, like Russia. They have a steamer, which they use on everything before it goes out, meaning that sometimes things that look clean have to be sent away too. They have a special tag gun to put the tags on things, and it's really cool. They have to go through bags of donations at waist height because you're not meant to bend, and there're two different areas - one for donations and one for unacceptable items. There are some weird people that not only send filthy clothes, but send in broken glass and china, and just leave the bags outside the shop in bin liners. The till is computerised (not like the typewriter kind that I always lusted for...) and sometimes crashes. There is actually a system, so for example, if someone bought a book, you'd press 'Books Fiction' and scan. It's a touch screen unfortunately. They have a price chart, which tells you (on a scale of £ to £££££) how much you should price a product from certain lines, such as Next, Primark and Matthew Williamson. I loved all of this, and they liked me so much she offered me five days, but I could only make four. I only have to do twenty hours to get the Certificate (which is sponsored by Tesco) and I start on Monday, I'm doing a 'full day' which is ten til three, with an hours lunch.

FINALLY. I was going to go shopping with Abi on Friday July 2, 2010 but she had to cancel because she had to play violin at Newton House, where there was a sort of Art and Textiles show thing going on. I was upset, because I've had my eyes on this dress at Hobos for months and was getting scared that it wouldn't be there anymore. It's pink with white polka dots, and whilst before I'd never have thought about wearing it, a certain Mr. 'Sunshine Monster' has given me a stupid amount of confidence in such a short amount of time using not as many compliments as you'd imagine. I had to go with Ashley instead. We got to the door at half past ten and discovered it was closed. I saw a green polka dot dress in the window on the mannequin and exclaimed, "If that pink dress doesn't fit, I'm trying that!" We were only there a few seconds more when this weird but lovely dude walked over, tried to open the door, squealed in confusion when it didn't open and then said "That's not how you do business... Are they like, picking up litter or something because they're hobos? It must be something serious..." We parted ways, unfortunately. We went to HMV and I bought Darwin Deez's album at full price, we went back at eleven and it was open. I ran in and picked up the pink dress and saw that it was a size two, I then picked up the green polka dot dress (there were many different colours, but the green was the most striking and therefore the most me) in two sizes, a to and a three. After a seconds thought, I put the size three down with a smug smile on my face. This is rather poignant because it shows once and for all that I have defeated my teenage female body dismorphia.

I tried the pink one on and it looked weird - I didn't have enough boobs to fill it and as the had been tailored to emphasise the boob area, it stuck out at weird angles as opposed to being stretched tight around real ladies curves. I then tried the green one on and I fell in love - the neckline wasn't too low, the shoulders stuck out so much that they were not only quirky, but hiding my freaky deformed shoulder, and it doesn't even need an elasticated belt at the waist it's so flattering! I wondered if I should buy it, and I thought of all the things that Jason has said to me, and with that in mind, I strode over to the till and got out my last £20 note. That's the only important part of that story really. Thank you Jason... x

Then that night, I went to Jess' house party - yes, the one I spoke of in my last post. It was amazing. Started off slow, never went fast, and I'm grateful. As I'm growing older, time doesn't speed past me as much, and I'm fine with that. It was amazing. There were unexpected moments and moments that should have happened about a year ago. I'm not going to tell you about it though, surprise surprise!

A Cry For Change

So I've decided to live life like I want to live it, but this is easier said than done. I want to wear my old man woolly jumpers, I want to have an accordion to stare at when I have a mental block, I want to party and stay over peoples' houses just for the sake of being out. In an ideal world,I'm sat in a park wearing my old man woolly jumper, with my oversized (fake) leather bag and huge Morrissey glasses. I have bright red hair, cheek piercings, amazing Jeffree Star make-up and I have a best-selling novel under my belt and a sketch book full of studies on many quirky pieces in many different mediums - there's a delicate study of a harmonica done in watercolours, there's a Vincent Van Gogh inspired study in done in oil paints, a ridiculously detailed study of an accordion done in pencil... But in reality, I'm just sat on the couch blogging, wearing a charity shop shirt. I have practically black hair with no fringe, no piercings and only mascara on. I can't find the time to write a book and I can't keep my mind on one story line. My sketch book has two crap pictures in that I want to burn because not only do I have no inspiration, but I have no skills either.You may be wondering what's brought this up now, hasn't it always been like this? Well the answer is yes it has been like this, but I'm sixteen and still go around places with my parents. I've been invited to a house party by someone I use to hang around with, then briefly lost touch with. The important detail here is that we never fell out. Mother said that she's tried to keep me from the Ammanford people, but the truth is that she's tried to keep me from the Carmarthen people, Brynaman people and Drama people. Well, I was stopped from going to Drama in its entirety because it was 'turning me into an asshole' but the way I see it, I was making me happy - me being an asshole is obviously me being happy. I want to go to this party badly. I want to hang out with these people, I want to share these people's experiences, I want to be able to be part of the stories that people remember.Mother says she's concerned because I'm never at the parties that people post pictures on on facebook, but when I off-handedly mentioned this party, she responded with "You know I don't like you hanging around with those people..." I believe the term used here would be double standards. I mean, I thought you were meant to grow apart from your parents, you're life shouldn't be constantly entwined with your parents. I'm pretty sure that that was in the Bible somewhere. Apparently, I was wrong. I have my mother as a friend on facebook, she reads this blog (which makes it harder to write) and she talks to Ashley a lot. Tess says that she and others think that it's not long until I rebel, and to be honest I do sometimes feel like freaking out and leaving, but that wouldn't achieve anything. I have to go to school, and they give me money to do so, and as my last post indicates, I'm seriously not independent. My parents and even my grandpa are involved in practically every element of my life - where I go, what I do, who I talk to, etc - and I can't change that or they would hit the roof. I remember the days of hope when I'd stare at sixth formers or the elders in Carmarthen and think, "When I'm sixteen..." I don't want to sound ungrateful, but it's felt like the equivalent to thinking "When tomorrow comes..." and tomorrow just turns out to be the same as today. There was no point in me turning sixteen. Hell, there'll probably be no point in me turning eighteen or fifty-nine, but I seriously wish there was. I've turned into Rob Fleming (from High Fidelity) already. I'm bitter, I'm resentful, I'm jaded, and more importantly, I'm too young to be any of these things. The quote "If you really wanted to screw me up, you should've gotten to me earlier" seems to apply for almost everything and everyone I meet now. It's not right. I'm not right. Nothing is right. It would be such a breakthrough in my life if I could go to this party. My parents keep on saying "You're turning into Tess... don't make us throw you out!" I'm sorry, but Tess was expelled from school, smokes and takes drugs, had the reputation of a whore, had sex with someone when she was allowed to go to a party at the age of fourteen, continued to have under-age sex and then boasted about it to me, has multiple naked photos going around the whole of Carmarthenshire, got kicked out of the college that is renowned for being full of drop-outs, is a lesbian, has no job or any intention of working and lives of her girlfriend. Yeah, I see what you mean, I am totally turning in to Tess because I happen to have a bad attitude. I so deserve to be kicked out the house with my bad attitude that absolutely every single teenager has. That's fair. That's completely fair. I suppose if I was kicked out of the house, I could write another rant to the newspaper... I seriously want to be like all the other sixteen year olds, I guess why I feel it so important to start now, a mere eight months after my sixteenth birthday. It's not much to ask. This holiday, I want to do at least two things a week. I want to have life experience, stories to tell, a chance to mature on my own, without any help or prompting. So far all I have planned is meeting up with Tess and shopping with Abi.

My Position

So only three more exams to go until two months of freedom. Well, I say two months of freedom, I might be getting a job in some tiny old cafe that's always full of old people, but you know what I mean. I've had all the teachers sign my leaver's sheet, and I've had to re-do a part of my Welsh Baccalaureate because the school happened to lose a piece of it, but I've handed that in now. Today, in fact. Then I was sat in the car thinking, "It would be so cool to go out and meet up with people today..." but my phone's key pad has come unstuck and Sony Ericsson's are under warranty for two years. They didn't mention the fact that it keeps turning itself on and off though... That's the thing that gets my goat the most. The other day, I turned my phone off and I went in my bag to unplug my iPod before an exam and that's when I saw it. The screen flickered and showed me the 'turning on' screen, that probably has a real name but I've forgotten it. Anyway my new phone has a huge lack of contacts - at least a huge lack of contacts that I use, seeing as this phone is the one that I used in 2008. But if you didn't receive my facebook message, then I guess we won't be talking any time soon... I considered boring you with an exam update, but I'm going to give a brief one when they're all over. The last day will be Friday June Twenty-Fifth, Twenty-Ten. The same day that this amazing show comes back onto our screens:

Jumping From One Blog To Another...

So I am about to embark on the worst week of my life - tomorrow I have a Business exam and a Math exam, the next day I have an English exam, then I have two History exams followed by an English exam and on the last day, a Math exam. It's mainly the day of History I'm dreading, and the fatigue that I know I'm going to be suffering from even more so... However, this past week has been great. I met up with my sister, an old friend/ex I haven't seen for ages and a bunch of her delinquent drug taking friends who are actually really nice; I also dragged Abi along even though I knew she wouldn't like them, she promised that she'd try but nevermind. Of course, there was the whole thing of meeting me good ol' mate, Tim Minchin (pahaha) and of meeting up with William, Cerian, Shaun and Henry, as it turns out, to sell the harmonica. These were all very good days for me, but none beat yesterday night.

I was in one hell of a mood. I'd woken up in extreme pain, mainly in my spine, and my throat was bad too. Ashley was coming over, and although I wanted to cancel badly, I couldn't since I hadn't seen him since Tuesday morning and even then I hardly spoke to him. (The thought of society and their values has been depressing me lately, and he's had to suffer.) Mother had to find my machine for me, and we watched lots of Tv. I occasionally checked my facebook and formspring (like a real junkie does), and I had a message on the latter asking if I held grudges, and in my reply, I said "I like to get back with people I might've lost accidentally, there's one especially, but I won't push it." I wanted someone in particular to see, but I was scared of being ridiculed. Then, moments later, I received a text from this particular person. It simply said, "Hello?" I replied with the biggest smile on my face, but I was also anxious, anxious that this was a set up or was about to implode into a huge argument. I then got a phone call, and I looked at Ashley on the couch before screaming "I NEED TO TAKE THIS CALL!" and sprinting up the stairs.

This particular person's name? Matthew. Why was this call so important? Because we haven't spoken since August 21st and up until that point, he'd been my best friend, in fact, it was more than that... What happened? It's a long story that I'm not telling for the 100th time because that would be a bitch to programme! (pahaha! Sorry if you don't get it...)

Yes. Matthew came back to me. Just like Jarvis Cocker's song 'Baby's Coming Back To Me' (that's a link). Ages ago, Mother said that Katy Perry's song 'Thinking of You' made her think of me and Matthew, but that just meant that I couldn't listen to it for nine months... I could've had a baby in the time that we weren't in touch. It could've been known as Heartbreak Kid! *story idea* But yes... he phoned and I answered, and I broke down and asked if it was some kind of cruel joke. I mean, I knew a few things about what was going on in his life because my friend happens to be pretty good at being an investigator. I never thought we'd get back in touch though. Once off the phone, I spent the night texting him whilst being sat next to Ashley. Mother said it was rude but I didn't care. That night, I read over the texts from the event of August 21st 2009, and I came across one from Carys reading: "You've lost Joe, you've lost Matt, now you've lost me." As it turns out, I only lost her, and dude, I can so totally live with that. No problem.

The Hay Festival, 2010

Monday, May Thirty-First, Twenty-Ten. This is the day I've been waiting for. This is the day that occurred yesterday. This is the day that as time goes by, gets further and further into the past.

Everybody knows about The Hay Festival of Literature and Arts. It's been hailed as 'the Woodstock of the mind' by Bill Clinton and is ever increasing. It was started in the late eighties, is an annual occurrence and spans over ten days. It originally only featured literature based events, but thankfully has expanded to include music, films, stand up and many other things. Is it a high society thing? Not really. Is it perceived as being so? Yes. I honestly think that that's only due to the interest in literature or arts (no matter what that may be) that you require to actually want to go. I'm not interested in drugs, I'm not interested in drink and I'm not interested in sex. I don't eat meat, I don't party and I don't have much in common with the media's perception of teenagers, and yes, you guessed it - I wanted to go to The Hay Festival.

My friend invited me to see Tim Minchin with her, and after a long conversation with my parents, which I dare not bore you with, it was decided that if I could get someone to go with me, I could go. Tickets cost a mere £15, and I say mere because he's really making a name for himself so I'm expecting ticket prices to mushroom by next year unless he does something spectacularly wrong. The person I got? My beloved Ashmlee Willie Winkie. He paid for his own ticket obviously, but it's all cocaine baby because he has a job and walks around with over £100 pounds in his wallet, which we've constantly told him not to do but to no effect. The car journey wasn't too bad, nor was it too eventful. I can't remember the time we left, or the time that we arrived, and it doesn't really make a difference to the story, with which I'm simplifying a lot to save time and energy for you guys.

We minced about for a few hours. We looked in stalls, Mother and I rushed to buy a The Guardian's Hay Festival bag each (which came free with a £1 Guardian that nobody really wanted), we looked for food but were shocked at the prices and lack of vegetarian food, Ashmlee Willie Winkie laughed at the ice cream stall that used sheep's milk to make their ice cream I stared wide-eyed in slight horror at a woolly jumper that looked like it was covered in swastikas and we caught the shuttle bus to town. We bought food from a small place called Oscar's, and I bought two CDs for £5 from the huge amount of CDs being sold, there were at least thirty standard school desk tables completely covered in music. I bought 'Nude' by Suede, and 'This Is Hardcore' by Pulp. Yes I am getting heavily involved in Britpop, the nineties scene. My parents bought me a cowboy voodoo doll thing and a pair of adorable bumblebee voodoo doll earrings which I wore to Tim Minchin. They also bought me a ladybug lapel pin, which is adorable. We roamed around two vintage stores (upon which I saw a girl dressed completely head to toe in vintage and realised that I could never carry it off), a bookshop which specialises in murder and mystery and the Castle Bookshop. We then caught the shuttle bus back to the festival sight so the two of us could meet up with the original friend who had invited me and her friend in the queue with one hour and a quarter to go. We could hear him through the tent and got overly excited. We went in and sat about six rows from the front. Tim Minchin came out and the three of us girls squealed and even Ashmlee Willie Winkie let out a smile not too dissimilar to our manic faces. He started off with 'Rock 'n Roll Nerd' and went through many songs and stand up moments. It was amazing. He went off track a few times and handed hecklers in such an amusing fashion. Of course, we all thought the hecklers were in their twenties, but it turned out they were in their thirties or forties (why isn't there a 'U' in that?) and were rather lovely. They seemed like paedophiles, but I think they were just a bit drunk and gay, and yes, I can judge all this because I met them when we were queueing up to meet the man himself. My friend made a spectacle of herself to one of the security staff men, who was oh so lovely about the whole thing. I won't go into it, because it annoyed Ashmlee Willie Winkie and myself. She is two years younger than me though. Stereotypes have some truth behind them, and there's a reason why thirteen year old girls are ridiculed. I don't care if she's fourteen, it still applies. She went insane about having to queue, I explained that it's because we're British and were raised with manners. She wanted to barge. I was sarcastic. The sarcasm might have been lost on her.

Tim Minchin signed all of our tickets, and Ashmlee Willie Winkie was so excited! I thought it would be quite sweet to all have a photo together, the three of us. It also saved a lot of time as the whole thing seemed very rushed. I don't care, I met the man, I'm a lucky bum! I said to Pa when he fetched us, "You'd be pleased to know that I was more excited to meet the Australian than to meet the drag artist," in referral to meeting Jeffree Star. He seemed pleased to say the least...

PostScript: I'm going to enter the festival's short story competition. There's a cash price, although it's not as big as you's imagine, and it has to be about Avarice. I haven't read the terms or the rules, but I'm excited nevertheless!

Jeffree Star, my Doctor and my family.

Tuesday April Sixth, Twenty-Ten.

I went to see Jeffree Star in Sin City, Swansea. I spent £18 on merch (an uber-hot tee and his new CD entitled 'Beauty Killer') and then had my CD signed by the God himself. If you don't know who Jeffree Star is, then: [http://www.myspace.com/jeffreestar] Not only is he beautiful, but my sister and I have been in love with him since his first EP, 'Plastic Surgery Slumber Party'. I insisted Tess went, she simply had to. She brought Hannah of course, and I went with Cerian, Amy and Crumple. Synthetic Season were the opening band, and I loved them. Then Jeffree Star, who is quite frankly a real-life Queen Supreme. Then BrokeNcyde, who I like, but not enough to watch. Whilst they were on, Jeffree Star appeared at the merch table and over half of the audience left to see him. Okay, so I walked into the table when I walked up to him, but I was literally in a dream world! He signed my CD, we had a photo taken, and then I walked off with Tess and Hannah riding on cloud nine.

Wednesday April Seventh, Twenty-Ten.

I went to see the doctor. I've had a major headache since March Ninth (those with a good memory might remember me complaining after the first half of my Art exam) and now we're getting concerned. My Great-Aunt complained of headaches her whole life and eventually had an aneurysm and died of a brain haemorrhage. The blunt doctor said that I have a nervous disposition and am suffering from a stress migraine, so I need to do things that are more relaxing. I can't really do exercise due to the hyper mobility syndrome, and I can't swim (which is one of the few exercises that are good for me). Reading and writing isn't relaxing since it required concentration, so he ended up saying that the only thing for the headaches were video games. He also stressed that he's seen a lot of able people having the same problem, and that they have nervous breakdowns in university and go on to do nothing. He seems really concerned that I'm going to make myself psychologically ill. So I've basically been prescribed video games.

Monday April Twelfth, Twenty-Ten.

Mother, Papi and I found out that Nanna-Brown and Grandad-Brown were finally moving to Australia. They had it all planned out and are leaving in July. Whilst Papi acted over the moon at the start, he was upset since they didn't tell us until ten days had passed and everyone else knew. My parents wanted to buy our old computer back for me to do work on during my A levels, but they've already sold it and he won't give it back. The atmosphere all day was so horrible, I apologized to Ashmlee Willie Winkie later on and he said that it wasn't my fault and that I shouldn't apologize.

Tuesday April Thirteenth, Twenty-Ten.

It was Ashmlee Willie Winkie's and my eight weekiversary today, according to him. I went to see Tess and Hannah up in Carmarthen. We didn't really do anything, just sat around the table mainly. Charlie was there, urgh... Jam (who I haven't seen in around two years), Rachel and Danni (who I'd never met before) were the first of the visitors, nothing much happened apart from Tess and Hannah putting on fake tan. We were all nearly wetting ourselves with laughter. Tess looked proper black, especially her hands. Hannah wasn't much better, but Tess' peroxide hair didn't really help. Jam, Rachel and Danni left, and the next batch of visitors were this guy who had a voice that made everything he said sound like a complaint called David, a really quiet guy called Martyn, this lovely gay guy called Jake and Hannah's really pretty sister Becky. They stayed for a while and still, nothing much happened. I had my first ever cream soda and made myself some toast. They left and the three of us retired to the living room. I watched the first ten minutes of Saw V and then was picked up at 20.10-ish.

Wednesday April Fourteenth, Twenty-Ten.

My headaches are still awful so I went up to the doctor again - we think I've built up a resistance to Ibuprofen and Paracetamol just like I did when I was on Mephanamic Acid for my Endometriosis, so now I've been given Co-codamol, which you can get addicted to. Last time I took Co-codamol was the night that I swaer to God I had a mini-overdose, so I'm a tad bit weary now...

the Thing, the Allergy, the Spider, the Channel.

So I survived Lady Hammett's Aunti's house 'thing' and I might've exaggerated everything in my head due to fear. In the end, I wore my balloony purple top over a black long sleeve and black skinnies. Since my hair is black now, just the tiniest bit of black clothing makes it look like you're wearing all black, so I tied a floral scarf in my hair and put on silvery eye shadow (with black liquid near the mascara-coated lashes of course), and and my coral nail varnish! It makes me happy to look at, I need to buy more bright colours. I stayed over Lady Hammett's house, and then got picked up by GrandPapi. (It was actually really funny, as my phone started going and I looked at Lady Hammett and said, "It'll be my grandad going [impression of GrandPapi] I'M OUTSIDE!" and then, when I answered the phone, all you could hear was GrandPapi going "I'M OUTSIDE!" to which we laughed.) I got in the car, smirked at the old man and put Johnny Cash on. The song in question: One Piece At A Time.

We went to Gegin Fach (a tiny cafe in Llandeilo that's usually full of OAPs where I'm hopefully going to get a Summer job), met Mother and had food. Then, instead of walking down to Ashmlee Willie Winkie's as planned, we drove down and picked him up to take him with us to Leekes. He wasn't home, he was in Ben's, but walked over just before I lazily made my way over. We had a chocolate muffin each, and a hot chocolate with cream each, then we left. I had fun at home playing with his face and showing Mother the outcomes. We napped, went downstairs, Mother made him food (pasta with sauce) and made me a snack (Pringles to dip in the same sauce but in a pot), and we settled on the couch watching freak programmes. Programmes such as 101 Things Removed From The Human Body, Another 101 Things Removed From The Human Body, Surgical Appliances That Were Left Behind, and something to do with amazing medical stories. He slept on the couch again, and was gone by the next morning. I read fifty pages of Silas Marner the next day and it nearly killed me. I then started itching my arm again, therefore leading us to believe that Ashmlee Willie Winkie is my allergy. It only happens on Sundays, after I've seen him on Saturday.

Today, the first official day of the holiday, and I woke up a few times before finally getting out of bed at 14:26 to a sleeping house. I woke the house up (turned all the lights on and let the dogs out). Last night, not only did I have an itch, I also had a splitting headache that caused me to lose my peripheral vision when I stood up and forced me to wear sunglasses that look like they were from the sixties since the lights in the room (which was only candlelight) hurt me. The rents found it pretty funny anyway. I blame the fact that I read a whole fifty pages of Silas Marner! I'm better now though. Anywho, Mary started crying and I took her out the back. I closed the door and then saw a hideous, fat, petrifying spider and shrieked. Santi ran in and toyed with it for about two minutes, at one point sitting on it and trying to go under the mat because he thought it was under there. When he found it under his fat arse, he picked it up with his paw and ate it. He's a very smart cat indeed. I then fetched him some food to help it go down because I was actually scared that it would come up and attack me. I can't kill living things myself, and I have often let spiders live in the house against the rents will, but when it's as scary as this one was then I must let Santi intervene. It is just like a treat after all..? He's not a murderer, he's a saviour! MY KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOUR! xD

I almost jizzed when We Are Scientists came on television (NME of course) with their new song 'Rules' and oh sweet Jesus, I love Keith and his voice! I turned it up louder than I normally would with sleeping rents, but they deserve to be played loud! Once that finished, I pressed [channel down] and HOLY CRAP! The Academy Is... were just on television! There's an amazing new channel called Lava (underneath NME Tv, Sky 378) and I literally love every song on it. It has bands that I never thought I'd see on the television, just on the internet. Like Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, The Academy Is... and The Wombats. They also show really old videos, like The Automatic and Paramore's first videos. Plus, at night they have unsigned bands, which is an amazing way of finding new pocket bands to say you've been there since the start with. I now have five channels, although only four really since Scuzz isn't my thing anymore though. I still have MTV2, Kerrang! (just about), NME Tv, and now Lava!

Getting Rid of Christmas

Today, the Brown family embarked on getting rid of Christmas. According to Mother, 'everybody laughs if you still have them up after January 6th' although if they do, then I find them quite shallow and a tad bit weird. People must be rushed to hospital due to too much laughing with the amount of Christmas lights left out until around March just down the road and around the corner...

Now I need a Tens Machine (which sends electrical impulses through my back) and last night, I fell asleep on my side in the fetal position as per usual. That might sound irrelevant, but when I wake up after sleeping like that, it hurts, a lot. Then I did some Art which meant I was sat on the couch bent over my A3 Art book for quite a while. That hurt it more. So I put the sticky pads, that look like what you stick on people who've had heart attacks, by my shoulder blades and the bottom part of my back (behind my waist). Wires connect the sticky pads to the machine, which I keep in my pocket so I can adjust the settings to my preference. I was talking to Dad, and he saw my machine. (May I just add that being Australian seems to make people amazingly childish and prone to doing stupid things on a whim. Dad is from Perth, Australia.) He turned one of the dials (which adjusts the strength of the electricity) all the way up. I screamed in pain as the bottom of my back received the hugest electric shock I have ever encountered. Dad laughed and I looked at him with a face that could only mean utmost despair, before running off to Mother to cry. I did the same to him, but he didn't feel the same pain as I felt and only described it as 'a strange and unusual sensation'. He did go on to say that he now understands more about my minuscule pain threshold though.

Just to add, for food my parents had Beef Wellington and I had these cream cheese stuffed peppers in breadcrumbs. Mother had bought them under the assumption that they were the kind of peppers that you can get in your Subway, and when I complained that the left a spicy taste in my mouth and couldn't really eat them, Dad ranted at me being difficult to feed and that it was my choice to be a vegetarian, not theirs. Then once I'd left the room to write this, they ate one and laughing, Dad exclaimed "These are jalapeno peppers!" He hasn't apologized for the vegetarian rant though... No surprise there really! xD