31 Dec 2010


For most people 2010 has been 365 days of shit, and looking back I guess that's right. Our soldiers are still in violent countries, we have a government that no one wants, killings are still dominating our news stories, and the recession is still affecting millions of people. And they're just a handful of the general problems, never mind the individual problems that have attacked, swamped and depressed people no end.

I'd like to say "Oh never mind, 2010's nearly over, 2011 soon it'll be fine!" But I won't, because I know that everything can't change overnight. As soon as the clock strikes midnight everything will be fine and 2011 will be perfect? Of course it won't. Things are still going to be exactly the same tomorrow. 

God that sounds depressing.

What I mean is that you can't expect everything to fall back into place and fit together just because the year is now 2011 and not 2010. Numbers can't change your life (unless you win the lottery), only you can change it. Maybe you believe in astrology and your planets and aligned (or something), or maybe you believe in Gods and 2011 is a good year for them, so go ahead have faith and believe in 2011, but if you really want next year to be a blinder and strike gold then bloody well try for it and don't wait for it to just land on your lap. Have some optimism, go crazy and say yes and not no, try something different and have confidence in yourself to make 2011 YOUR YEAR.

Yeah that's right, some fucking MOTIVATION. GO GET 'EM TIGER. GRRRRR. 


2010 has been the best year of my life. I've met the most amazing people and done incredible things which I intend to carry on in 2011. 2011 IS going to be amazing because I'm going to make it amazing, and I suggest you make it too.


27 Dec 2010


Sunday 19th December. I woke up sick. I thought I had some sort of flu virus thing and instead of thinking "Oooh no but it's Christmas :(" I thought "Shit. Heat." Priorities. But after a while I was fine so I just must have been hungry or something. Then in the evening I felt vommy again. Why I am telling you about my health problems in short sentences, I hear you ask? Because I realised that the reason I felt so sick was because I felt so nervous and shit scared about going to Heat. Yes really. For a whole sodding year I was counting down the days with excitement, and now I didn't want to go at all. What if they don't like me? What if I said or did something stupid? What if I don't like them? etc etc. It even got to the point where I willed it to snow by the bucket load that night so I had an excuse to cancel it. I KNOW! Slap my wrists or sit me in the corner, but it was that bad. I was a paranoid wreck.

Monday 20th December
Didn't really sleep much. Mum flew open my door at 7.15am saying her friend Heather had text her saying that trains into London were delayed and there were severe delays on the Central Line. I took to Twitter moaning and stropping about this but got replies of "You can do it!" and "It's not that bad, honestly. I'm here." and "You've waited a year, and they'll remember you for fighting your way." Cor, motivation or what. So I donned my shorts and inappropriate snow footwear, packed my bag and was on the way to the station at 9am. I had to be there between 10am and 10.30am, and it takes around 45mins so I'd be fine. Haha. Lol. Yeah. Fine...

The following passages include a change in tense. Prepare.

Hello ticket queue snaking your way out of the station hahahacrycryCRY! Oh my travelcard is £15 not £10? Ah the train doors on Platform 2 are jammed shut because of the ice. Thought bad things were only meant to happen in threes? Look another train on Platform 1! It's only half an hour late. It's 9.30am so I should still be there in time. No I'm sorry love there's no room he...oh you're still getting on, yes that's my foot,  well I told you there weren't any seats, right okay yes stand there then. Fine. Thank fuck we're moving, or are we? We're going so slowly I CAN'T BLOODY TELL.
Someone's leaning their bag against my leg. Actually I think they're leaning against my leg. *forgets* 5mins later... My leg feels numb, you know when you put pressure on something and then you can't feel anything? A bit like that. Few minutes later... Oh my God. There is no bag and no person leaning and no numb leg. The man next to me is squeezing my leg and moving up my shorts. Shit shit shit. He's rubbing my leg. He's touching my arse and moving closer. What the hell can I do? I can't do anything. I can't move. I can't say anything because no one else can move. I don't want to cause a massive fuss. He could have a knife or something. We're nearly at Stratford, and if people get out at Stratford I can go and stand somewhere else, it'll be fine. Just stand it out Louise and think about something else. You'll be at Heat soon! All of this will be forgotten about. You'll look back and laugh! He's squeezing my thigh so hard, does he actually get off on this? STRATFORD! Never been so happy to see a construction site. Pervy man's getting off! He's staring at me. GIVE HIM EVILS LOUISE. Yeah that's right, get off this train and go die in a hole. I WIN. He's still staring at me on the platform. Wtf. He's walked past 3 times. No love I'm not getting off. Shit what if he gets back on? He is! Oh no he's not. What if he follows me all the way? Omg. I'm moving.
9.55am. London. About time an' all. Plus only minor delays on the Central Line now, there is a God! Tube's a bit busy but I've got a space and a pole to hold on to. Right. Good. Not good. Tube's stopped. "I'm sorry to inform you ladies and gentlemen that the train in front is defected, so we'll have to stay here at St Paul's for about 5 minutes until it's sorted." LOLZZZZ AS SOON AS I GET ON IT GOES WRONG! HILARIOUS! *rocks on the tube floor, sobs.* WE'RE MOVING AGAIN! That was only a couple of minutes. Oh Louise and you're exaggerating, you're so pessimistic! And you have a right to be. We've stopped again at Chancery Lane. 10 minutes later... "Hello this is the driver again *sigh* I really wish I could tell you more, but we just have to wait until the train in front is fixed again..." So many people are getting off. The train's empty. I have no bloody clue where Chancery Lane is though, I can't get off. Well at least I have a seat. 10.25am. I'm gonna be late. Lovely.
OXFORD STREET! Look at you with your pretty lights and busy people. I know where I'm going because I google mapped it. Just need to phone mum to let her know I'm here..."Hello it's me. I'm on Oxford St. Yeah the trains were mental it was horrible. No but they'll understand. Well now I'm walki...shit. No I. Wait. I don't know. I have no idea where I am! I thought I knew. I just kept walking but I don't know. Erm...Oxford St. I don't know mum! Okay. Hurry though :(" Well well well. Lost was I? Indeed. I'll tell Twitter, they might know. If I stay here by Dean Street I'll be fine. "Hello. Yeah I'm on Dean Street. No I'm not crying. Well it must be on Google maps. Yeah a road off Oxford Street. Okay good, so I can I get to Shaftesbury Avenue from here? Thank God. Don't go, stay on the phone until I know where I am..."
10.45am. Endeavour House. AKA Heat Towers.

TENSE CHANGE. I like to keep you on your toes.

I couldn't sign in. My hands were so red raw and cold from having no gloves on that I physically couldn't grip the pen. I didn't realise how cold I actually was because I'd been in such a state getting there, and it wasn't until I was in Bauer reception, sitting down and getting myself together before Giselle came that I properly looked at myself shivering and shaking. "Louise! Jesus Christ you're freezing, are you okay?! I read about your journey nightmare..." The power of Twitter. I kept on apologising for being late, I thought I'd get told off. But I went a bit :O and :| and ooohhhhh when I went into the Heat office. I instantly recognised a few people and they seemed to recognise me. Lucie, David and Boyd came over to say hello, and Boyd even said I was famous. Lol. That's literally what I did. Just lol and say "FAMOUS?!" in a proper Essexy way. Oh the shame. Didn't really have time to register I was finally at Heat at an actual desk, because Lucie wanted me to go to their meeting...thing! Where they talk about their next issue. This is when I realised that the Heat lot are effing HILARIOUS. I couldn't stop laughing at their banter, jokes and swearing in like every sentence. It was AMAZING. I met Jen (love Jen, best lesbian evahhhh) and Sam (who I concluded was the second funniest person in the office after David), the was editor of Heat.
Now instead of boring you with every single detail of what I did. I shall bullet point, because let's be honest I've written shit loads and it's only Monday and I can't be arsed as much as you can't be arsed.
I WROTE FOR THEIR WEBSITE! They actually let me research and write 3 articles for the website. Actual amaze. ACTUALACTUALACTUAL.

That's pretty much all I did all day. Lovely one bullet point. Apart from meeting the other workie, 20yo Beth, and going out for lunch with her. Pretty chilled first day. Well apart  from not getting home until 9pm after more cancelled trains and dinner with Heather, who saved me.

Tuesday 21st December
Tuesday could not have been worse than Monday, and it wasn't. It was a million times better. Only a short train delay getting into London but I was there at 10am. A whole hour earlier than the day before. Result. Sorted the post out with Beth first, which I strangely enjoyed and was sad when there was nothing left in the post bag. I'm a Virgo, so I like sorting things out and organising stuff. Then we had to log Karen's review things. All the books and DVDs and  CDs she gets sent we had to log on a document. I love Karen. She got me my work exp placement in the first place so I ultimately owe this blog to her. I'm also very jealous of her job at Heat. Reading books, watching films, watching TV shows, listening to new music, and then writing a review on them. Plus interviewing loads of music celebs and going to a gazillion concerts. Er, YES PLEASE.
After, me and Beth (who became a team and ended up doing everything together) were set a mission to find red ribbon and red gift tags on Oxford St for presents. So armed with a credit card and strict instructions, we fought our way through crowds and queues and bought those red gift tags and red ribbon, then had McDonald's as a reward. I will never tire of their santa boot shaped nuggets. Back at Heat we were then introcued to the fashion cupboard, which Beth took an obsessive liking to (me and fashion don't mix. Beth was dressed in the trends of the season with perfect hair and make up) and wrapped these books. It was very therapeutic.

I was even home in time for dinner.

Wednesday 22nd December
La journey etait PARFAIT. That may be right but I don't do French anymore so my froggie legs have gone and something something french toast something snails something. No but seriously I was in at 9.45am with Beth, we met at Tottenham Court Road and went in together. Post, logging, tidying up, wrote some fake Week In Pictures things, gave our opinions on celebs/style/the mag in general for Lucie. Oh and we got make up bags from House of Fraser. SCORE.

Thursday 23rd December
And lo, my week (3½ days) at Heat was coming to an end. But what a last day it was. After sorting the mag archive thing out and going to Topshop for Giselle, we were given babycham and told to basically piss about and wait for the Heat Awards. WELL IF YOU INSIST. Was sitting opposite David who had a megaphone and kept saying "Christmas" through it. Why I found this so hilarious is beyond me, but I did and it kept me entertained. Boyd gave me Grace Dent's new book and some DVDs and we got MORE make up from Giselle! Like Christmas come early. PRESENTS.

I gave Lucie and Karen thank you cards, cos I'm well nice innit (and a soppy cow), and laughed solidly for an hour during the Heat Awards. At 1pm I did the rounds saying goodbye, sob, and made my way home with a McDonald's. It was a bloody ACE week and almost surreal to be in the actual Heat office with the actual people that make the actual magazine with their actual genius minds. I was sharing genius space and genius air.  I was proud of myself too, I went from a paranoid omgwtfhelp self concious wimp, to someone who was chatty and confident and having an amazing time. I like the latter Louise.

Roll on Heat 2011. Oh yes. I'm going back... X

18 Dec 2010

CHATTYMAN PART 2! feat. twitter journos mania

Right well you know how I went to see Chattyman in September? Davina McCall and Katy Perry were guesting remember? Huh? What do you mean you only started following me because of the Channel 4 win? You're expecting clever 'major issues' posts? Oh well sorry love but I'm not all rant rant opinion rant, I love my celebrities, TV and funny shit too. Er, hello, 17 year old girl here. 

If you DON'T know about my Davina love then read July's Big Brother OMGxperience here and Chattyman part 1 here. Now back to last night...

I've loved Michael McIntyre (yes you did hear that right) since his first Royal Variety performance back in 2006, his big break, and since then I've met him 3 times and seen him 5. So when I found out he was being interviewed on Chattyman I was like "Caz, babe, MicMac, me, same room, any chance?" and lo and behold ITV Studios Friday 17th December was GO. 'Now who do I take as my plus 1?' I hear my thoughts ask me. Well. Only CHERYL COLE was guesting too so I had no choice but to take Emma. You don't know Emma. I shall explain the enigma that is Emma. Emma would be a perfect character for The Only Way Is Essex (in a good way obv) and idolises Cheryl Cole to the point where if you say one bad word about her, heads WILL roll. Emma is a fashion fanatic with amazing knowledge of make up and shopping. Emma may love Heat more than I do. Emma goes to King Edward VI Grammar School in Chelmsford, the 4th top school in Essex. Yes, Emma is also stupidly clever. Her life could easily be made into a book and film, which would include these quotes that escaped her lips last night:

"Like, I think there's something wrong with me. Seriously. My lip was totally spazzing out yesterday and I thought I was having a stroke."

"Yeah she lives in Wrexham in North Wales, it's right next to Cardiff." Emma's doing A Level Geography.

"Is that ice cream hot or cold?"

I love Emma.

ALAS a potential flaw potentially twarted our potential plan. Snow. "snow (or s'now) is an abbreviated form of 'stop leaving your house now'." There was a light dusting Thursday night and Friday morning but not enough to stop us going to London. Oh no. Even if 456 feet of the stuff lay on the ground we'd have still gone. Skiied there. Although mum wasn't too impressed...

"Louise do you HAVE to go to London?"
"Are you planning on putting any more layers on?"
"You're gonna freeze."
"Cool. HAHA gettit? COOL!"
*tuts for all eternity*

Emma had heels on.

We went to Oxford Street first and I had my Selfridges virginity stripped from me. I was so out of my depth in that place. I've been to Harrods but that's just touristy; Selfridges is a proper big expensive Lakeside but with rich people strutting around with their immaculate hair and make up, donning the latest fashion trends. And there was me wearing Primark and mum's make up having dyed my hair with Boots' BOGOF deal. However I did get great joy from carrying around Emma's Harrods and Selfridges bags pretending I was dead trendy and posh. 

After consuming spag bol and chocolate ice cream in Strada (where else, they're gonna name a table after me soon) we were soon at ITV with our silver wristbands on hanging with the famous peoples' friends. Oot oot. I will never tire of saying "Hi we're guests of production, we're on the guest list for Chattyman?" like a total pro. I'll also never tire of having seats with my name on. But this is where it gets exciting, dudes, more exciting that the show itself. We were settling down in our seats, removing layers and surveying our view, when I turned around and clapped my eyes on the seat names behind us. Natalie Edwards and James Ingham. I can guarantee that most of you won't have a bloody clue who they are, but I do and they're journalists I follow on Twitter and to me, they're famous. I freaked. Quietly. I freaked even more when they turned up. They were sitting behind me chatting away, I spent more time watching them doing their journo stuff rather than watching the show, and I wanted to talk to them SO BADLY. But let's be honest, a flustered teenager turning around to them and going "OMG HI I KNOW YOU I FOLLOW YOU ON TWITTER AND YOU REPLIED TO ME A FEW  TIMES!" wouldn't really have been the best introduction would it? Emma threatened to turn around herself and start a conversation, before I punched her.

I won't tell you everything that happened during the show, because that would ruin it for Monday, but I'll give you some condensed teasers:

Alan: "We need a drink after that." Cheryl: "Yes, a stiff one." *everyone erupts into laughter. cheryl cringes*

Stacey: "Who doesn't love not thinking?"

Chezza performed two LIVE songs, an acoustic version of Promise This and The Flood, she looked stunning and was annoyingly nice making me like her. Damn.

Michael was hilarious, natch, but something inside me was niggling away and I can't help but think he's getting a bit too confident. He kept interrupting Alan and almost making it his own show. But still, he's so popular now that it doesn't matter and I can't wait to be there in the audience of BGT in January when he's judging. Meeting number 6 here I come.

Stacey is the nation's sweetheart and still doesn't know how loved she is. Shaun's nice but seemed a bit druggy and slurry.

Alan Carr tweeted me this morning.

That is all. X

11 Dec 2010

A 17 year old's Christmas

Once you hit 13 years old you don't get excited about Christmas at all. The fairytale's over, you don't want My Little Pony's princess castle plus accessories anymore, the realisation hits that all camera footage taken WILL be shown to everyone in years to come so you try to act cool, and the thought of being around your family including the weird extended bunch for three days straight fills you with dread. It's just another day as far as you're concerned, just with more food.

A few years before you would've gone bonkers at hearing Noddy Holder (who you thought was THE Noddy) for the first time that year, got goosebumps at seeing decorations in Asda, and pricked up your ears at the creaking sound of your dad opening the loft door to reveal a grotto of red and gold tinsel after nagging him since November. The last week of school used to be the BEST with Christmas dinners, raffles, colouring in, wordsearches, decorating the classroom and giving out tons of cards to your classmates whether you've spoken a word to them or not. But at 13, going to sleep on Christmas Eve is no bother at all. The ritual of "Shall we put some milk and mince pies out for Father Christmas?!" gets a barely audible reply of "Gnmangunga." as you slouch up the stairs to perfect a new Myspace profile picture. Flicking through the TV channels and spotting Christmas With The Kranks would cause you to carry on flicking until you found Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. However the worst symptom of CBAC (Can't Be Arsed Christmas) is getting an advent calendar from your Nan...and eating it all in one go, which should be labelled a CRIME.

Something happens at 17 years old. A tiny Mr Scrooge lodging in the depths of your brain is moved on by tiny elves and leaves a pathway leading right back to Christmases 10 years ago. Flashbacks of constant telly watching, chocolate eating, game playing, present shopping, and adrenaline rushing all come flooding back with a consequence of downloading every Christmas song onto your iPod INCLUDING S Club 7's Perfect Christmas. Then you wrap up in woolly jumpers, scarves, hats, coats and gloves, even though they're not needed, and run to the co-op to buy their 3 for £1 yule logs and the Radio Times Christmas edition, circling every movie and TV special when you got home and making a detailed TV plan whist munching on your 4th mince pie. You don't wait  for dad to get into the loft, stuff it, you go up there yourself because you can reach the ladder now. Sliding boxes down the stairs and forcing your little brother (at 12 he's caught the first stages of CBAC) to help you put the tree up takes a  full day, ending with laying the lights out on the living room floor and unscrewing and switching each bulb to see which is the faulty one. Weekends are spent making up quizzes for Christmas Day, ordering presents from Amazon and quoting Elf. Hauling the Asda catalogue onto the sofa and cutting out everything I want, sorry I'd like, for Christmas, and tomorrow is the big day where me and Matt go to Chelmsford and raid Marks & Sparks, Next and HMV for mum's presents, followed by McDonald's. The plan's already made for the big day. Get up at 7am, run into Matt's room, drag him out of bed taking his stocking too, sit on my bed opening our stocking presents and eating whatever food is contained within them, fling open mum and dad's door and shower them in our stocking presents showing each in detail knowing full well that they got them in the first place but SHUSH don't ruin it. The 15 minute wait then begins while mum puts the turkey in the oven and makes sure everything is ready downstairs before filming us walking downstairs, oh so spontaneously, and filling the room with wrapping paper. I'll then spend hours getting ready, donning any new clothes and jewellery whether they go or not, and start playing Kerplunk. Babe, I'm sorted.

I feel 7 years old again. I'm on every day playing the new games and the thought of tracking Santa on that website on Christmas Eve makes me giddy. We haven't got our icicles up outside yet because it's still icy and I'm getting flicking-on-switches-to-produce-pretty-lights withdrawals. I'm rocking as I'm writing this thinking about the Doctor Who Christmas special, all the comedy specials and the huge soap explosions which are coming our way. Mum's handmade Christmas cards are waiting downstairs for me to add some gold swirly handwriting to, as are the place names for Christmas dinner. Poor old Mr Turkey is in the garage (dead) surrounded by pigs in blankets. I want to play Guess Who, Twister, Snap, Bingo and CHASE THE ACE. I want an S Club 7 2011 calendar and the new Steps album. What's happened to me? God forbid I'm growing out of my hormonal moody teenager phase, I was just getting used to it. Alas, I won't complain, I'll embrace all things Christmassy and carry on. It's alright 13-16 year olds! CHRISTMAS WILL COME BACK SOON! *bundles mum, shoves a mince pie in her face and turns up 4music's Top 10 Christmas Hits*

30 Nov 2010

Introducing Mr Crazy

Hear that? That's the sound of awkwardness. The sound of many numbers and a lot of letters that we don't need and would rather were scrapped to make way for the important stuff. I'm talking about November. November is hands down the most boring and pointless month of the year for many reasons, which I shall now list:
- It always lacks any exciting events.
- It's nearly the end of the year but not quite.
- It's bloody freezing but refuses to accept the welcome of snow.
- It's the third month of the academic year causing an abundance of 'cbf'itis
- It's the month of dread wherein mock exams are usually done.
- It's just a long 30 day wait until advent calendars can be officially opened. 

Alas, my dear friends, there is only a mere FIVE HOURS  to go before the mighty month of December. I have waited 11 MONTHS for December for one reason and one reason only. Drumroll please, and do be upstanding for the most tremendous event of 2010 and possibly of past centuries...HHHEEEAAATTTTTTTTT!

...what do you mean? Christmas? Who's Christ? Is that pronounced ChrisT like TreyC? Anyway, stop interrupting me with your insignificant affairs and let's go back to this amazingness. It is indeed, finally, slowly approaching those four !!!!!! days. Like a lion advancing on it's delicious prey. Yes, just like that. Then going in for the KILL AND RAVAGING THE BEING IT HAS GRASPED WITHIN ITS PAWS...oh. 

Remember that little thing I went to, I don't know if you'll remember it, it was called THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE feat. DAVINA MCCALL. It might ring a bell. Well I am preparing myself for identical mental happenings, which may include being speechless; giggling; gasping; within self screaming; speaking a language that has yet to be invented, etc etc. 

When I first got my work experience placement at Heat I went ape shit crazy. Proper loony screaming wetting self crazy. Said crazy symptoms lasted for around a week before realisation that I had to wait a whole year set in. So for the past 11 months Mr Crazy has been lurking at the back of my brain quietly snoozing, and at intervals would stir from his slumber and dip a loony toe into my active brain, causing an eye pop or a corner of mouth smile or maybe even (if I was lucky) a short burst of adrenaline. But now, oh now, Mr Crazy is wide awake and has adopted a penchant for divebombing into my frontal lobe and releasing clinically insane adrenaline through my veins and even to my voice box causing an excited MEEEEEP every now and then. 

Now taking Mr Crazy's antics into account, I am worried for the health, safety and sanity for everyone at Heat Towers, because this could go either way...
ONE - I could channel Mr Crazy into the creative and personality part of my brain and put him to good use, proving my experience to be a useful one and coming out of it with pride and knowing I made a good impression on the Heaters and that they enjoyed my company and ambitious and innovative ways.
TWO - Mr Crazy could completely take over and cause me to be a complete and utter wreck for the said four days, making me silent and awkward at some points, or obnoxious and embarrassing at others. I will be a fool and come home every day in tears with paranoia seeping through me and will therefore combust into a small pile of dust on the tube. I'd prefer the former way but let us let fate take its course.

I've waited years for this. Heat is the reason I wanted to become a feffin' journalist for feff's sake. I remember picking up a copy for the first time and buzzing with excitement that a bulb had just been lit in my brain, that I wanted to write stuff. Funny stuff, inspirational stuff, stuff that people would remember. The little man at the local newsagent used to have a fresh copy waiting for me on his desk every Tuesday morning before school. I'd read it in a certain order, passing it around at break and lunch, cutting out parts I wanted to keep. I did my whole GCSE Art final piece on Heat. MY BIRTHDAY CARD WAS HEAT...

Now I have a subscription and launch myself onto my bed every Tuesday, ripping the cellophane and spend devoted hours flicking through the pages. I'm going to BE there in 20 days. Me! There! 20 days! SCREAMFALLSEXPLODESRUNSBANGSBREATHES. I'll be fine right? Yeah. Just fine. Nothing to worry about. *leg jitters, eye twitches* Now if you'll excuse me, I have some patient waiting to do. X

22 Nov 2010



pauljchambers: Yes, probably to the detriment of my mental wellbeing, I am appealing the decision as best I can. Purple firebananas.

WAHOOO! *dons party hat, blows kazoo, goes crazy with clackers* Paul Chambers is officially appealing to the High Court. We're standing our ground men! And ladies. MELADIES. Which happens to sound like melodies, which is a nice tune, meaning THIS IS A NICE THING. I'm going slightly off track.

HOWEVER, apart from the fact that this is brilliant news that Paul is going to carry on fighting his case, it does mean that he needs a hell of a lot of money to do it. £10,000 in fact. Can he pay that alone? No. It's a bloody hefty sum that, to prove to old Jackie Davo that he's a joker. So help him! Even a small amount will help, and seeing as I don't have a credit/debit card "I don't trust you Louise." I need people to do it for me. Here's the link go give him all your wages for the next five years, then a bit more a donation of your choice, ahem.

NEWS JUST IN *presses finger to ear to hear from the gallery* There's even more exciting news to add the money news relating to the other more important news that involves A GIGIGIGIG. A gig. With comedians and such like. Awesome right? BE THERE. Or be spherical.

Another thing to BE THERE for is the High Court day. Hellsyeah I'm gonna be there *starts perfecting mum's signature* and I plan to BE THERE BE THERE, ifyaknowhattimean. I plan to awake at a time I haven't decided yet, I then plan to tweet that I am awake and rearing to kick some law ass, I will then wear this

and make my way to London with an 'I AM SPARTACUS' sign on my head. Once there, I will tweet my arrival and gather the troops. We shall have a serious pep talk in our matching outfits, although one member will be dressed as a squirrel. I'm yet to decide who shall bear that fate. Once briefed, we shall line up in a 'don't cross us, bitch' like formation, weapons at the ready,  waiting for the countdown. When the large oak doors to the courtroom dramatically fling open, silence will fall for approximately 5.25 seconds, before a large bellowing voice coming from somewhere within me will boom "ON THREE SOLDIERS. ONE. TWO. TTHHRRREEEEE!!!!!!" and then WE SHALL DANCE with our heads held high, fingers-a-tweeting, march into that courtroom to hear the judge quietly announce "Ohhhh, I get it now. LOL."


You in? Cos this shit just got realz.

21 Nov 2010

365 days later...

Well, here we are. Exactly a year ago I clicked 'PUBLISH POST' for the very first time. Probably the most important click of my life.


Righto, first blog ever, here goes...

*realises I'm A Celeb is about to start and rushes off downstairs*

Ok where was I, ah yeah first blog. So I was thinking if I wanna be a journalist, work in tv/media, all that jazz, I should start writing these for practise, getting my opinion across and get used to to writing 'articles' which I suppose these can be called. Oh yeah, 16 and thinking way ahead ;) Doesn't happen often, might as well grab it with both hands.

Over the past couple of days I've been thinking about my future loads, probably too much to be honest, it's driving me crazy. Looking at what subjects to take at A level, courses I can take, Unis to go to, getting different opinions from people, I didn't realise the choice! I'm scared I'm gonna go wrong somewhere. Found out that I'm crazily lucky though. I have the most amazing friends, live in a pretty nice area that's conveniently close to the centre of London, go to a really good school and I'm pretty smart so should get good GCSE's *shudders at that combination of letters*. I've made some new friends too recently, thanks to twitter (which is probably the best creation ever invented...ever, I'm addicted to it, made for celeb stalking, I mean er following, taking an...interest...yeah) Jonny Nutz, Grace Dent, and everyone at Heat have been amazing to me lately, giving me advice and telling me what they did to be where they are now. They're such an inspiration to me, one day I'll meet them all and tell them in person what they mean to me. Well, unless I end up working for them *sigh* yes pleeeaasseee. I keep thinking it's fate I've met these people, I also think that if something happens, it's meant to be, so I really think everything that's happened to me lately was meant to happen, my life's meant to lead out how it's planning at the moment, and I couldn't be happier. Like meeting Caz and Grazio in circumstances that I wasn't even hoping and searching for, it just happened! Caz's husband works for Off The Kerb, the agency for comic genius' like Michael McIntyre, Lee Evans and Alan Carr, and so does Grazio, I spent about nearly 3 hours chatting to him last night and he was so lovely and gave me loads of advice too. He's Michael's tour manager at the moment! Sitting in the O2 on the 3rd watching the best comedian ever, looking around at the thousands of people in there with me, and all the 50 odd dates of the same amounts of people made me think that I am actually one of the luckiest 16 year old girls alive right now. Thinking to myself 'I'm probably the only person in here who actually knows the people working on this show...' was so crazy! And to think that it was a year ago that I first met Michael in Southend, after one of his shows, he was soooo lovely and I remember it so well, but would never in a million years have thought that a year later I would have seen him twice again, met him another time and actually spoken and became sort of friends with his manager and agent's wife. Even writing it down now is making me think WTH! 

So yeah, that's my life right now. Pretty damn lucky, but still stressful, but I can't be arsed to explain that side now, it can be saved for another blog. *scrolls up* bloody hell this is a long deep first blog, I never write so seriouslly! I could get used to this...

Over and out ;)

I'm glad to have now acquired the skill of watching I'm A Celeb AT THE SAME TIME as writing blogs.

I remember writing that. I remember writing it and thinking it was really long the most amazing piece of writing ever. Haha. Looking back it's embarrassing, blimey. But it was all true! I thought I was the luckiest girl alive then, speaking to Caz. Caz who I still talk to and have met. I couldn't believe that I'd been talking to those people on Twitter. I freaked out everytime I got a reply  from them. Cor if I could tell Louise back then what would happen to her in a year because of setting up this blog. Who she'd be talking to. She wouldn't believe it, course she wouldn't. She didn't think she was capable of anything.

It was three months after I started that I got my first paid journalism job. I thought it was AMAZING, but weird. I thought 'What the hell? Why? He doesn't know me? What does he want from me? Not surprised, a stranger was asking me to work and pay me for it. But if only I knew what that one job would do for me. It wasn't long after that that I started talking to Sali, my now oracle. I got my work experience placement at Heat. I met Paul and Sali in person. I did more paid work. I had lunch with Paul and Sali. I did more paid work. I met DAVINA MCCALL.

All because of this blog.

This blog that got me awarded Channel 4's Young Blogger 2010. An actual award for writing whatever shit comes into my mind. I'll never get used to people reading what I write. I'll always believe that there's nothing special about me, and that I'm literally a normal moody 17 year old who prefers to ramble and rant to an inanimate screen rather than to an actual human being. Freak.

As I said a year ago today, 'I keep thinking it's fate I've met these people, I also think that if something happens, it's meant to be, so I really thinking everything that's happening to me lately was meant to happen, my life's meant to lead out how it's planning to at the moment.' Oh, little Louise, if only you knew how right you were, you bloody genius.

WELL DONE CHAPS. Team effort. Hip hip hooray and all that. Let's roll on with year two. Oh and to you, yes YOU, thanks. I'd be nowhere without you all. *runs, jumps, smothers you all with hugs and snogs* I love ya innit. X

20 Nov 2010

Hey Twitter, I've met your terrorist

I've met a few people on Twitter over the past year. They've all been nice and pretty much just how I expected them to be after exchanging emails and tweets and speaking to people who've already met them. They're known for being successful and lovely and have tons of followers because of that. But the two people from Twitter I met last night are different. They tick those boxes for the wrong reasons. And they are two of the loveliest, bravest and bloody amazingest (yes it's a word, and what) people I have ever met. FACTOID.

London was cold and busy last night. I was on Oxford Street with my "I'm NOT leaving you in London on your own on a Friday night!" mum finding somewhere to have dinner. We went to Strada, obvs, and after pleading for a table we got comfy and I ordered a delightful rare delicacy of SPAG BOL.

"So who are we meeting here?" 
"Well you know the Twitter Joke Trial fiasco?"
"*silence, tumbleweed*" 
"Okay well basically this man threatened to blow up an airport and he was arrested and is now going through court stuff." 
".......I do worry about what you get yourself into Louise."

She doesn't understand. She will never understand. She will never get Twitter.

I've wanted to blog on the #twitterjoketrial for months, but every time I've gone to do it, I end up just repeating words that everyone else on the bloody Twitter planet has already said. It's ridiculous. It's a joke. It's fucked up Paul Chambers' life and the lives of his family, because of a few odd people who clearly have no sense of humour and spend their lives wrapped up in cotton wool. Well thank you very much Few Odd People (let's call them FOP), you've now transferred some of your suffocating cotton wool to Paul and basically the whole of Twitter. And we don't like you, FOP. We're gonna stick by Paul until the very end of this shitxperience when his life regains many LOLs and when you realise what fools you are. FOP OFF. AMEN. *collapses*

Well that was a nice speech/rant. A sprant. Where was I? Where am I? WHO AM I?! Oh. *ahem*

After having my nose pressed against the restaurant window for half an hour, metaphorically, I spotted a rather tall @pauljchambers and a rather wrapped up @crazycolours coming in. Two hours later we were full of Italian (food not people) and conversationed (I should make my own dictionary) out. We (I say 'we', it was more just me, Paul and CrazyColours ((that's her REAL NAME)) cos mum had no clue what we were talking about most of the time, bless her) talked about Twitter, blogging, the trial, The Apprentice, Ireland, London, school, and other stuff. C'est amazeballs. It was like on Twitter. But in person. I know right, ACTUAL conversation, whodathunkit.

CONCLUSIONS *pushes glasses up, smokes pipe, strokes beard*: They are the best people from Twitter I've ever met. They're polite, interesting, interested, chatty, friendly, lovely, funny and a whole other hoard of adjectives. And they most definitely do not deserve all the crap they've had to go through over the past year.  If he's a terrorist then I'm an evil unicorn. Yeah. AN EVIL UNICORN.

Oh, and referring back to my earlier "WHO AM I?!" question, I am Spartacus

12 Nov 2010

The little things

1. Hearing a song  from your childhood.

2. Johnson's baby lotion.

3. Silent roads on the walk home from school.

4. The sound of the wind.

5. Waking up thinking it's a weekday when it's not.

6. Cuddles from your grandparents.

7. Sand between your toes.

8. A beautiful sky at dawn or dusk.

9. Your mum's smell.

10.  Crunching through autumn leaves.

11. Watching home videos and going through old photos.

12. Standing on a sunlit carpet.

13. Daydreaming.

14. Exchanging smiles with a passing stranger.

15. The feel of hot water on your skin.

The beautiful  things in life. What are your 15? Comment below or write a blog post of your own. Forget about the hassle in your life at the moment to think about what you love and appreciate. Enough of the negative this week. X

8 Nov 2010

Bit of red paper on your shirt?

I won't lie, I'm a tad worried about this post I'm about to write. It's serious, controversial and could well be personal for some people. But I had a chat with my dad and we both agreed that I should do it, for a lot of people's sakes, but especially for Jon Snow's.

What's the first thing you think of when you think of Remembrance Day? Poppies? Yeah, me too. Why? Because that's the flower that grew after World War I? Maybe. More likely though because everyone (on TV) wears a poppy around this time. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that you shouldn't wear a poppy, but why have people suddenly thought it necessary to wear one? Why has Jon Snow been branded with a disrespectful title because he's not?

For the past week people have been offering poppies in the common room in exchange for a donation. I thought of getting one but whilst rummaging around in my bag for a spare 20p (er, hello, there were aeros in the venders and you know how I like my aeros) I pondered about why I exactly wanted one. My conclusion: Flowers look pretty, it will make me feel good, everyone else is wearing one. Not for the real reason, to remember those who bravely fought and risked their lives for us in war. I have a poppy on my Twitter avatar but I wouldn't have if I hadn't seen others 'wearing' it. For remembering, of course, but it looks nice too. Poppies should be personal, not a trend.

I've even seen people blinging up their poppies with sequins to make them glam.... Oh right, no complaints about that then? *facepalm* SURELY THAT'S WORSE THAN NOT WEARING ONE?!

Jon Snow won't wear a poppy until Remembrance Day and I don't have a problem with that. I squinted my eyes a smidge and got a bit fidgety when I found out but only because of the backlash that I knew it would cause. But I can guarantee to everyone who thinks he's a 'bad man' that he is one of the loveliest men I have ever met and, although yes he does stand his ground which could been seen as stubborn, would never ever want to hurt anyone's feelings. And I totally understand why he's done it! Every single person you see on TV at the moment is wearing a poppy, but there's no way in hell that it's on their own accord. No way. It's fixed on them just before they go on air so their image isn't put down. They're not necessarily wearing it to remember the brave, and to be honest in some cases they won't even know what the poppies are for. They're following the herd. "Don't be a sheep Louise, just cos your friends have iPhones doesn't mean you need one." 

Jon is in no way disrespectful. He's speaking out and saying that he shouldn't have to wear a poppy just because people tell him to. He will wear a poppy on Remembrance Day and pay his respects in his own way. Good on him! "But he's setting a bad example." No he's not. For a start, his concluding film The Art Of War from Channel 4's The Genius of British Art series was shown last night. A film which he is deeply proud of. 

Stripping the meaning away from the poppy, you're really wearing some red paper on you with some green plastic and if I was going to be really pernickety I could say that you're wasting trees. You don't need a poppy to remember. Grow your own poppies if you want one and just make the donation.

Lastly, there are some people who don't just remember the ones we've lost in war on one particular day or period of days. They remember all year round. They remember in their dreams. They don't have to remember because they are reminded every day that there's an empty place at the dinner table where a father, brother or son should be. They don't wear poppies all the time. Would you dare say that they are being impertinent? 

Disrespectful? Why did you really 'buy' your poppy?

4 Nov 2010

My fwend Max wote a storwy...

Max is small. Max has big hair. Max is Matt Smith's twin. Max is bendy. Max is a bit weird. Max made me laugh today and I feel the need to share it with you. Why? Because I think Max's geniusness (yes it's a word, and what) needs to be known to all my stranger friends. It's how I roll. #louisehasnorealfriends #louisetalkstoherselfinthethirdperson #wrongsocialnetworkingsitelouise
I might rename him Magic Max

31 Oct 2010

Well that was FUN.

When I thought about half term a few weeks ago, being at Channel 4, in the papers, on the TV and on the radio didn't particularly spring to mind and appear on my agenda, and I can safely say that this week has been the most mental week of my life.

Monday, 12pm - The press released was announced and I could finally tell people that I'd won! Well, that was the plan anyway. The flaw was that Hamley's has ZILCHO signal and therefore my fragile phone was completely useless , and I had to spend an hour amongst hundreds of hyper screaming children. That giant store is HELL I tell you, HELL. Although the lego Buzz Lightyear was very impressive and caused me to "Oooohhh" like the little aliens in Toy Story. Once we'd been released we fought for a table in Strada and I screamed and exploded inside at all the tweets and texts. I was in the Guardian. THE GUARDIAN. After consuming so much food that I actually thought exploding was imminent, we saw Sister Act ('MAZEBALLS), I lost my phone back, and got picked up in a posh car to be taken to Channel 4. OMGOMGOMG. We met lovely Amy who took us to the newsroom and introduced us to everyone, before going to the GREEN green room, getting my make up done, and being on the news live with Jon Snow. No biggie. 

Tuesday - I faced my laptop and 50 emails *smugface*. Okay well most were from Facebook but DON'T RUIN MY FUN. I was well into the 1,000 followers on Twitter (er, WOW), was answering phone calls all morning, answering emails and had to write my first blog for the C4 website. I didn't even get that stressed during my GCSEs. Thankfully friends were on hand to whisk me away to Costa where we gossiped for 4 hours and ate a lot. Such is the life of a teen.

Wednesday - Up at 6am *6amface* to be interview on BBC Essex, who were LAVERLY. Home at 8.30am to nom on shaushage and onion sandwiches and be confused about my daily routine *wasupat6amface*. Another blog on the website before I was :Oing and HXGWTRVBMGXKTUBing at Paranormal Activity 2 with my bezzie. Babies + dogs + demons = !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. Oh and I got a response from a Government minister about my Uni fees blog, which I was very thankful for and understood the points he made even though my point still stands that we still have to pay back all that money even if it is in the future, and with jobs hard to obtain and other prices rising such a transport it's going to make life difficult for us teens. *cough*

Thursday - I spent the whole day at Channel 4!!! Writing for their website, having a go at presenting, going on an interview with Alice Cooper, sitting in the gallery and general pottering about. T'was amazing and everyone there is REALLY lovely. And they knew me, they all knew who I was. Er, OMG. The best bit was sitting in the gallery while the 7pm show was going out. So much stuff goes on with timings and interviews and different cameras and links and changing stories last minute. The atmosphere is tense and I've got tons of respect for that lot cos I would just freak out and run away at the first sign of things going iffy. And Jon and Krishnan were cracking the jokes in between features, I feel you should know this.

Friday - My first free day and I grabbed it with both hands and did NOTHING. Apart from try and fail to get Take That tickets for 7 hours. Tsk.

Saturday - I planned on doing school work, but I obviously didn't get any of it done. Mum's fault. She wanted me to go to Brentwood with her shopping. Ahem. Then I dressed up as a geek, no effort needed there then, and went to Kiera's party to get abused the whole night about my knitting (oh HA HA HA HA HA) and listen to PhoneShop quotes for 4 hours courtesy of Rob. There you go Rob I mentioned you so if you scare me at the Halloween walk tonight I'll have no choice but to punch you in the face, okay?

Sunday - Today. Last day before back to school. How marvellous. *stares at messy room and unfinished essays* Sigh. 

Apart from all the amazingness within the surreal events that I've had thrust upon me this week, I've learnt so much as well. The main thing I've learnt is that journalism isn't as easy as I once thought. I've spent a full day in a newsroom where they work bloody hard preparing for the night's programme and there's a hell of a lot of pressure on them to get it right. Of course, yes, it's fine when you can write when you want and about whatever the hell you like, but when you have to write every day of the week about a subject you might not know a lot about, it's tough! 

It's even tougher, with a tad of emotion in the mix, when your writing is being displayed to the world on a mainstream news website. It's all lovey dovey when you're just writing on a personal blog to readers who already like your work, but I got a smack of reality this week when I mistakenly read the comments. Some people can be vicious. But you win some you lose some. Not everyone's gonna agree with you or laugh at what you've written. 

But I've learnt something about all this that I never even realised before. I've had emails from strangers telling me that I've inspired them to do something. Me. A normal 17 year old with a random blog. Teenagers have started their own blogs because of me and that is cheesily one of the best feelings in the world, knowing that you've inspired others. Yes, you may gag at me now. It just proves that ANYONE can change someone's life, you don't have to have done something brilliant or be famous, you can be an average person. Like me. I'm no one special. Just a moody weird rambling teenager. Sorry to disappoint. X

26 Oct 2010

I only went and bloody won it!

So. Hi. How you doing? Well? Good. Me? Oh I'm not bad...

I should probably start from the beginning, Friday 22nd October 2010...

I had a free period (ooohh yeeaahhh) and was obviously on my phone on Twitter constantly, checking emails and the occasional glance at Facebook catching up with some school work, obviously, when I thought I'd give my very hard working brain (lols) a break and check my emails which I don't often do, obviously.

Inbox (1)
Lawson, Amy
RE: Young Blogger 2010

Ha. Hahaha. Haha. OMFG LOAD YOU CRAPPY PHONE!!! went my brain. The email said I'd been shortlisted for the award. Fandabbidosi! I thought Being shortlisted ain't bad. Amy said she'd ring me at 4.30pm so I carried on, ahem, WORKING, and forgot all about it...

"Is that Louise Jones?"
"Yes, it is..."
"It's Jon Snow here..."

Er, what?

"Congratulations, you're Channel 4's Young Blogger 2010!"


After a nice conversation with the lovely Jon, I casually walked back into the living room saying "Oh it was just Jon. I won. No biggie." OH WHO AM I KIDDING. I FREAKED OUT. I think my head actually touched the ceiling at one point. The awful thing was, I couldn't tell anyone. No Facebooking. No texting. No blogging. AND NO TWEETING. I know right. I can hear your gasps from here. No tweeting is like the worst punishment you could give me. Alas, I managed it. I went the whole weekend without leaking a word and even went shopping with my best friends without saying ANYTHING. Innit. The press release would be on Monday, Amy said, so after 12pm I could tell everyone. Oh, and I was going to be on the news as well. Live. On the real news. The national news. Haha. Oh my life.

Monday came around pretty quickly and off myself, Mum and Matt popped to London. First to Hamleys, then to Strada (nom), then to the Palladium to see Sister Act (which was abloodymazing might I add). During all these funtimes, the press release went out, Channel 4 announced my win, and the Guardian went live with their own article. Then I started getting texts. And calls. And emails. And Facebook posts. And tweets and OMG I COULDN'T KEEP UP. It hadn't sunk in yet. At all. 

A car picked us up from outside the Palladium and took us straight to the studios. It was HUGE. 
Mum: Ooh I've just seen someone I know!
Me: No mum you don't KNOW him, you've just seen him on the tele.
Mum: Well, yes, but still...
This happened quite a lot.
Amy gave us a tour of the newsroom and introduced me to lots of people. They knew who I was. They'd read my blogs. THEY KNEW WHO I WAS. I met Jon Snow (who is VERY tall to match his VERY lovely self) then was shown the studio and taken to the green room, which was ACTUALLY green. Blew my mind. Katie Razzall, who has to be one of the LOVELIEST people I've met, was in there getting her make up done, then Jon came in to get his done, then I got MY make up done. I've always wanted to get my make up done. I was taken into the studio, miked up (!), sat down opposite Jon, and then I was on the tele. The actual tele. Being interviewed. By Jon Snow. ON THE TELE. Then within 45mins I was back at Liverpool Street munching on a Milky Way. Priorities, right? X

Links from yesterday: 

Oot oot!