Really lovely chavvy teenage boys. Yes. REALLY.

September 17, 2010

This might take a while for you all to get your head around. Even as someone who hates stereotypes I was like SAY WHAAAAT?! when it happened. So here's the story...


As it's Friday, I'd saved £1 to buy something from the vending machines at lunch. In the lower school the venders were taken out after the school went 'healthy', but kept them in the sixth form block, so to all us Year 12s it's like being reunited with a long lost family member. So there I was, sitting in the common room clutching my £1 like a small child waiting for an ice cream, when I finally decided that the time had come to nom on some chocolate. "ROB. VENDERS. NOW." Rob'll come anywhere with you. "I'm thinking a Twix..." "Ah well you see Twixes have that caramel in them which is likely to mess up your dress." "Good point well made Fordham. Aero it is."


*puts £1 in*


*presses F2*


*watches in silence as aero moves forward*


*aero begins to fall*


*aero stops falling*


*AERO IS TRAPPED*


"Oh you're fucking kidding me." My Aero had got stuck just as it was about to fall. C'EST TYPIQUE. Rob bashed the screen a bit but to no avail so I pretty much accepted my Aero's fate and my waste of £1.


"Oi wot's 'appened? Ya Aero got stuck? 'Ere I'll get it love." When you see two very tall, big built, hoodie wearing boys, the first thought that comes into your head isn't quite "Ooh look, they look nice, they'll help." is it? Let's be honest. Your first thought is quite often "Oh shit. *looks down, stands back against wall*" right? So I was quite surprised when this offer was given to me. As he kicked the machine, my Aero fell, and my mouth began to form the words "Thank you!", my nice situation was shattered by one of their friends running up going "Ah mate summin stuck? OH SWEET AN AERO. *grabs, runs*."


*stares*


Great. 


The two seemingly helpful boys legged it after him shouting and left me standing there like a right twat. An Aeroless twat. Needless to say I was pissed and skulked back to the common room, plonked myself down next to Kiera and pouted. Yeah that's right. I'm 17.


*20 mins later*


"Kiera, that's one of the boys in Aerofiascogate." Sure enough, one of the boys came in to the common room like a meerkat. Searching for someone. I looked at his hands and there it was. My Aero. He was searching for ME! Now I was in the cramped corner of the room, and had no hope of shouting him over or getting out. So I helplessly stared at him in the sheer hope that he would look at me and recognise me. He didn't. And he walked back out. I was a bit shocked to say the least. This 18 year old chavvy boy had run after his friend, grabbed my Aero, and had come to find me to give it back. He wasted 20mins of his precious lunch time for ME. And my 80p Aero. How lovely is THAT?!


I called over to Jake who was sitting with us, told him what had happened, and he soon ran after this boy to get my Aero back. Bless.


Totes made my day. I haven't even eaten the Aero yet. It's still in my bag. 


But doesn't that just prove that not all boys that look like that, are like that? The cheesy 'Don't judge a book by it's cover' quote comes to mind. Teenagers are stereotyped so badly, and after that incident I feel bad that my first thought when I saw him was 'violent chav, run away'. I've witnessed so many discussions (on Twitter) regarding teenagers and how awful they are, which gets me raging. I had an outburst of anger a few months ago, and the response was "Yes but you're LOVELY! You're an exception. xxx" which angered me even more! I'm no bloody exception to no bloody rule! Yes, a small minority of teenagers can be right little shits, I certainly know some. But everyone deserves a chance. Everyone can be lovely. That boy could have easily run after his friend and eaten my Aero without a second thought. But he didn't. He went out of his way to come and find me, a little Year 12 who saved her £1. X

9/11 and me

September 11, 2010

The only memory I have of nine years ago is standing in my mum's room watching the tv while she pulled, combed and gelled my hair into a bun for dancing. Seeing two buildings on fire went through me. Hearing the chaos, nightmare and devastation went in one ear and out the other. I can't remember if I asked questions. I probably did. But my simple "Why are they on fire? What happened?" questions would have got a simple "Planes crashed into them, darling." answer. 


I had just turned 8 years old when it happened. I wasn't old enough to understand everything about that day, it just happened and I accepted it. Realised it was bad but soon forgot about it and moved on to think about more important things, like what accessories should I get my new Barbie.


But that day was just the tragic beginning of a series of events that I would, as I got older, absorb more and more and understand the reasoning behind it and form my own opinions. 2003 brought the official (I think) declaration of war on Iraq. Now 10 years old, I knew what wars were, but it was happening in another country so I wasn't that bothered. Let them get on with it it'll be fine. 2004 was the Madrid train bombings year. Again, another country so I didn't have anything to do with it. 


These events were the norm for a child like me. Nothing shocked me after 9/11. Explosions happen in Eastenders all the time, and they always go back to normal soon, so why should I be scared, sad and worried? I was almost confused sometimes as to why there was no mention on the news of a fire. If the word 'bomb', 'explosion' or 'terrorist' didn't escape the mouths of newsreaders, then I seriously thought something was wrong. Nothing was happening. How boring, my naive self thought.


I was nearly 11 in 2005. My last year at primary school. I'd done my big scary SATS exams, got into the secondary school I wanted, and Thursday 7th July was the first day of our Year 6 play. I knew something was wrong when a boy in my class walked in late. We were filing out to go to playtime for lunch, and my best friend and I were at the end of the queue. 


I heard the whispers first. 


"It's all on fire" he sobbed to his own best friend "Loads of people have died, they're all screaming and crying and trains just exploded. My dad's there! I think my dad's dead Adam!"


What?


I grabbed Clare's cardigan and for the first time in my life, felt the blood drain from my face and felt it all gather in my heart where it was pumping fast and furiously. I knew she had heard too. We looked at each other in confusion as we glanced at this boy. "Is it true? Why is it on fire? Is it near here? Is London near here?" I ran over and asked this in earnest. "London's right near here, there were bombs and explosions and fire and loud noises. People are trying to blow us up." My mind was racing as he tried to explain what he saw and heard. Clare and I rushed down to the lunch hall and in a fluster told everyone on our table what had happened. Then they told the next table. Then children started crying. Then those children ran out to tell everyone on the playground. The lunch hall was our version of NYC on 9/11.


We were intelligent kids. We might have only been 11 years old but we knew this was really bad and we wanted to find out more. So our whole class, teachers oblivious, ran to our classroom, switched on the teacher's radio and immediately were stunned into silence. The noise was horrific. The crying. The screaming. My mind was transported back to my mum's bedroom. The sounds were the same, and suddenly I realised that this was REAL. Friends burst into tears shouting "MY DADDY WORKS IN LONDON!" and teachers began to run in, hearing the commotion, and switched the radio off. Comforting the crying ones, they told them that everything was going to be okay, their daddies would be okay. This was happening to us. This wasn't in a different country. This was here. 20 minutes away. 


Now at 17 I know how really catastrophic all those happenings were. Every year I learn more of 9/11 from watching  the documentaries. But still nothing shocks me. Every stabbing, every soldier death, every hostage is an every day thing to happen in my world. That must sound awful to hear, but I know nothing different. Terrorists have always existed, and wars are like schools. Necessary. When my generation are in charge of the world, will we be bothered about it all? Or will it take something incredible, like the destruction of a whole country, to make us sit up and say "OMG."?


It began on 9/11.

I'M BLOODY 17!

September 09, 2010

Instead of a normal blog on my birthday, I thought I'd get a photo of me from every year of my life and blog them instead. Yes. All 17.



9th September 1993...




9th September 2010...



One year of childhood left. Wow... X

Ch ch ch ch ch CHATTY MAN feat. Shameless plugging

September 02, 2010

Now, as we all know, I love my TV shows and stalk idolize some celebrities, and all the bloody time now and again I go to see them being recorded. Recently I've even had the chance to meet and share a room with them which was BLOODY EFFING AMAZING!!! a lovely experience which I am very grateful for having. Ahem.


Last night was another one of those nights, which I have Caz Julian (her husband is Alan Carr's, Lee Evans', Michael McIntyre's etc etc agent) to thank for, as she managed to put me +1 on the guest list for Alan Carr's Chatty Man series finale. Obv I said "Wednesday? Oh well yeah I think I can fit that in. Who are the guests? Oh Paul O'Grady, Davina McCall, and Katy Perry? Well that would be nice, yeah I'll come along..." Well, I kind of said that. It was more like "OMFG DAVINA AND KATY?! IN THE SAME ROOM?! AND ALAN CARR! II WWWAANNTT TTTOOOO GGGOOOOOO!!!!" So I did.


My plus one was Katy Perry fanatic Nadia, who jumped at the chance with a "Yeah sure why not BLOODY HELL YES!!!" Now seeing as my mum usually comes with to all these things, I was a bit nervous as to how I was actually going to get myself in to ITV as a guest. Hello, 16 year old here. And the journey in to London didn't really help my mental state, as rush hour brought drama...


"Oh shit he's gonna make a run for it. No...no, no, NO STAY THERE! *closes eyes*"


"SHIT!!!!"


(from down the central line at Bank tube) "OMG man did u see dat?! Did u see wot she just did?! Oh my daayyzzzzzz!"


"*opens eyes* What the hell happened?!"


"Well he was running, and the doors were about to close, so I stuck my leg out!!!"


As we stood cramped on the tube, and the train departed from Bank, doors firmly shut, clutching at our stomachs laughing, we realised that in a tense and dramatic situation, Nadia would sacrifice a leg for someone's life, and I, my friends, would let the poor sod die.


"Hello, we're on the guest list for Chatty Man tonight?"


"Guests of production?"


"Erm, yeah..."


"Okay well take a seat and a runner will sort out you in about half an hour."


Cue spinning around on colourful comfy chairs, OMGing at Dr Hilary Jones, Michael Underwood and Angellica Bell walking through reception. 


Skip waiting a bit, getting wristbands and meeting Caz, we were finally led in to the studio to our RESERVED seats. Yeah, WITH MY NAME ON THEM! I was like well special innit. Got the dirty 'who are YOU' looks from people. KMT.


The show was, indeed, AMAZEBALLS. I nearly cried when Katy Perry performed, Nadia laughed and clapped like a seal, my voice went from screaming when Davina walked out in a LUSH red dress and matching shoes, and cried laughing at Alan Carr and Paul O'Grady. And the best bit is, it was over by 9.15pm! Hour journey home and I was back in time for Ultimate BB on +1. Perfecto night if I do say so myself. Okay, so I didn't get to meet the stars this time, but I was THERE. In the same ROOM. Sharing the air they BREATHED! Oh, wait, I'm sounding like a stalker aren't I?.... 




And now two shameless plugs...


Who wants to be in a magazine? Here's the deal, you follow @BestMagTweet, you answer their questions, they put YOU in their mag! Like so... 


The  'Queen of Teen' awards are a celebration of the authors who write the amazeo books just for teens. So many are put forward, but only TEN are shortlisted for the ultimate crown of Queen of Teen. I adore the books of one of these authors, Sarra Manning, whose book Nobody's Girl is one of my all time favourites. She's not cheesy, stereotypical or tween. She writes books for older proper teens, which you can fall in love with and grip you throughout...

SHUT UP I'M NOT A SADDO STALKER!

The voting process ends on Thursday 9th September (my birthday, yeah baby), and it would mean the world if you could vote for her. The link is here and all you have to do is select Sarra Manning and click 'vote'. That's it. No forms, no details, no nothing. Just select and click. 

Plugging over.

X