OH MY GOSH, CHRISTMAS.

Do you know what day it is?

Christmas Eve. The EVE of CHRISTMAS.

Yes, my lovely readers. It is indeed Christmas tomorrow.

I went to meet Vicky in town today to exchange Christmas presents and general pleasantries. We went to Starbucks for a much needed coffee (it was a late night and I'd woken up barely an hour before). It's safe to say that I wasn't entirely awake (sober) as I ordered my "White Flat" or as I ascended the stairs, spilling most of my "White Flat" on to the saucer that I was thoughtfully provided with. I wasn't the only one making a fool of myself today though! In the short time we were there, two people seemed to forget how to climb a staircase and fell. On their faces. One was holding a cup of coffee, which they managed to keep relatively intact despite the "face plant", as I believe it's called. Everyone tittered.

We found Timmy and Eleanor lurking in another Starbucks down the road and Timmy, Chris and myself were dragged on to the big merry-go-round outside John Lewis. Got to say, I didn't hear many complaints from Chris as he mounted his horse. I think he liked it the best. Sadly, he was torn away from us after that; he had to go back home for lunch. We said a teary farewell to him and wandered in to Mothercare for comfort. Naturally, shenanigans ensued. Vicky and I hunted down maternity clothes for Harriet (who isn't pregnant to Ludlow's child, although we like to pretend she is), while Eleanor cooed over small clothes for children. Timmy stood awkwardly, looking like a paedophile. He wasn't particularly happy when we started measuring maternity bras against his "breasts". You know, those breasts that he has. Timmy's breasts.

Moving on.

Timmy and Eleanor managed to escape from us when we went in to Marks and Spencers. So instead, me and Vicky went and made friends with the "Extra Large Chickens". After all, isn't it nice to have friends to rely upon? A shoulder to cry upon? (8)

MERRY CHRISTMAS, LOVLIES.

Jasm xxxx

FIVE days.

So begins the first week of our Christmas holiday, or as one of my teachers called it “Your revision leave”.  That particular teacher is no longer a favourite of mine.

And what better way to start the festive season than to do a little Christmas shopping?  So off Jasmine and I went, to join the hoard of last minute buyers in our city centre. We were focused on our goal, we were determined to buy a present. But first we had to have lunch. And coffee. And then find a shop with a toilet.

Finally, we were ready to undertake our mission.  “What would a 17 year old want?” we thought, before visiting the Early Learning Centre. “What would they really use?” We asked ourselves, while examining a ‘gardener’s kit’ in John Lewis.  “What would make their Christmas?” we wondered, as Jasmine methodically picked every plastic food item out of a child’s ‘shopping bag’ in Boots.
 
After several hours of hard work, we were where we had started. Presentless and downtrodden, we’d manage to purchase one Christmas card. We finally learnt our lesson: Don’t think about what you’re buying, just buy it.

So into HMV we marched, picked up something, marched to the till and handed over our money. Job done.

Learn from our mistake, readers, never try and buy something that someone will actually LIKE. It’s just not worth it.

Vicky x 

All I want for Christmas... is you (oo, oo).

I've been told off for not posting enough. TWICE.


Today was our last day of school before Christmas. I like school, but I can't help welcoming the wonderful lie-ins that are to come. Obviously every teacher had brought in a tin of chocolates to share with their classes and we were all very happy to spend our lessons pretending to learn, while our teachers pretended to teach. No one's in the mood for serious schooling on the last day of term. Especially when there's only one week left until Christmas.

That's right. ONE WEEK UNTIL CHRISTMAS.

I haven't been overly fussed about Christmas this year. Haven't even had a mince pie yet (Vicky doesn't like mince pies, the fool <3) or accidentally opened the wrong day on my advent calendar. I didn't insist on draping tinsel over every solid surface or even protested too loudly when my dad decorated the tree using red AND cream beads. I watched my brothers grow out of Christmas years ago and really couldn't imagine or even comprehend why you'd stop getting up at 7:00AM on Christmas morning, or how you wouldn't be bursting with excitement for the whole of Christmas eve. It didn't seem to make any sense. As a 10 year old, I was convinced that I would always love and treasure Christmas.

I still appreciate the festive season, of course, but not because it's magical and enchanting. It's far more satisfying to watch the look of delight on Ludlow's face as he opened his Secret Santa gift (a child's medical set), or sit around and watch Matt cringe at the nude scenes of Love Actually. And I would rather admire the wrapping paper on a present over the actual gift on the inside, as well as walking through a Christmas market to enjoy the atmosphere of it over actually buying anything from the stalls.

To erect festive cheer, here is an adorable penguin with a Christmas hat.

LOOK AT IT. LOVE IT.

Jasm x

P.S. Yes, I did use the word "erect" (LOL) in this post.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

Yesterday, my family and I attended my brother’s school’s Carol service. It’s a little tradition of ours; we may complain about how cold it is, how the teachers talk too much, how there are too many children, but in truth, Christmas wouldn’t be the same without it.

This year we were first subjected to a performance from the handbells.  The handbells are arguably the most pointless instruments in the world. Perhaps if the children could sound the bells at the right time, or even just fill the silences it would be better. But no, instead we hear a ‘ding’ from one child, wait five minutes, and hear a ‘dong’ from another. Whether or not they were meant to be playing a ‘dong’ is a completely different matter. Sometimes you want to shout out “That shouldn’t have been a dong. That quite clearly should have been a bing. You have a choice of maybe 4 notes, and YOU CHOSE THE WRONG ONE” .Nevertheless, the rest of the music seemed superb in comparison to the handbells. Perhaps that was their plan all along.

After every couple of performances from the pupils, the organ started up signalling that it was the audience’s turn to provide the musical entertainment. And so we reluctantly stood up, grabbed our programmes, and mouthed the words to various carols while a minority of overenthusiastic parents did the singing for us. The sheer high pitch of the songs provided entertainment enough for me, especially as my mum next to me was trying her hardest to hit those notes.

I was battling my way through a particularly long rendition of “While shepherds watched their flocks by night” at one point, my voice was failing me, my interest was elsewhere, when we suddenly reached the line “Appeared a shining throng”.  I know it’s not funny.... I was even thinking “I’m sure some idiot will laugh at that”, and then I don’t know what came over me. I couldn’t stop laughing. I was in a room of primary school children and I was the only one to laugh at a word that sounds like ‘thong’.

Towards the end of the night, the boys choir sang ‘Let it snow’.  They were all dressed in little suits with ties, looking very smart. And there was my brother wearing a T shirt and a trilby. As nice as it was, my mum was right in saying “He looks like a farmer”. For the rest of the performance I couldn’t stop thinking of the combine harvester song. Why couldn’t they be singing that?
I'll suggest it for next year.

Vicky x 

Wait! There's snakes on this plane?!

Hello.

I've been meaning to post for days, but things kept coming up! I'm very sorry, lovely readers <3

Yesterday we all went round to Matt's for another one of our famous film nights. Vicky and I decided to go over at 5:00 even though Matt didn't want us there BECAUSE HE HATES US. Also because the rest of them were playing Minecraft and he assumed that we wouldn't enjoy playing with them. How wrong he was! After Vicky and Chris went down to watch Strictly Come Dancing, I took over Chris' laptop and joined forces with Ludlow to, er, mine stuff? I'm not sure what the aim of the game is, but it's ridiculously fun anyway. I got lost inside Ludlow's network of tunnels. I got lost outside Ludlow's network of tunnels. I got killed by zombie/skeleton/green monster things. I made my own little cave to hide from zombie/skeleton/green monster things. I lost my little cave and had to hide out with Danny and Timmy (whose house cave thing was very nicely furnished by Danny). I attacked sheep for wool that I couldn't use. All in all, a waste of time. BUT FUN. Everyone should go and play Minecraft right now. Off you go. Do it.

When we were finally dragged away from Matt's room, we had to decide what film to watch. Timmy, Danny and I voted for Reservoir Dogs. Everyone else disagreed. Unfortunately we were out voted and the fools chose Snakes on a Plane. Admittedly Snakes on a Plane can be quite a funny film in parts. But it's never pleasant to watch "genital parts" get bitten off by pheromone induced snakes or heels braking off in eyes during panicked escapes. Apart from that the film was lovely!

Chris brought a roll of cookie dough to make lemon and chocolate cookies. Timmy especially enjoyed them. We ate pizza (I shan't discuss Chris' "all in one bite" dare. I think we'd all rather forget that). Vicky threw a lot of things, causing destruction almost every time. Matt threw himself about his living room trying to retrieve his phone. Ludlow, Danny and I got told off for snooping around Matt's bedroom, looking for George the Swan 2. I won at poker. Life was good.

The night ended with me and Vicky shuffling down Matt's icy road, clinging on to each other in fear of falling.

It was nice.

Jasm(ine) xxxxxxxxx < Because I love you the most.

Real babies just won't be able to live up to the standards I have now.

On Monday I was meant to return to my normal timetable, after a week of those unwelcome snow interruptions. As it was, that didn’t happen. Instead, I was lucky enough to be selected to attend the opening of a ‘clinical skills centre’, on the basis that this would be helpful because I want to be a doctor. As does half of the year, apparently. Nonetheless, my name was picked out of the metaphorical hat, and I was on my way.

So after Chemistry, my doctor-to-be friends and I slipped our way across the icy streets to the Children’s hospital.
Well, Starbucks for a gingerbread latte (<3) and then the hospital.
WELL, Spar for minstrels and Pringles, Starbucks and then the hospital.

After ingesting an unhealthy amount of sugar and caffeine, we finally tried to enter the building. We left Starbucks, crossed the road, walked around the hospital, asked for directions, walked back to Starbucks, and entered via the door opposite.

Luckily, we managed to navigate the remainder of the journey by ourselves (which was just along a corridor and up a lift...) and we were greeted by staff with biscuits. It turned out that this new ‘clinical skills centre’ was a teaching place for, well, clinical skills. That is, learning how to treat patients without using real people, instead using amazing plastic mannequins.

To start with, we were shown into a room with a plastic baby on a bed/table thing. Now, I don’t usually like children. As Jasmine would say, I’m not a child person. But I am a PLASTIC CHILD PERSON. This baby was cuter than those real ones, with their SICK, and their NOISE, and their various other problems. With this baby, you could make it be quiet! You could even kill it if you wanted, without any kind of negative legal consequences. And so there I was, feeling the pulse in my new favourite infant, when this photographer decides it’s a great photo opportunity. And this photographer had a BEARD, and was therefore a creepy photographer.

So I was forced to crouch beside this table/bed, pretending to listen to this very friendly nurse while still feeling this plastic child’s pulse, which let me tell you, was growing boring, for a good 5 minutes.

After finally being allowed to move, we were moved into a different room, where we were allowed to drill a plastic bone and try and move polos about in a plastic body with little grabber things. I aced the polo moving game. Finally, we were shown another, even cuter, baby (WHICH TURNED BLUE).  If I ever have a child, I want to be able to turn it blue, JUST like that one.

We even managed to return back to school without missing biology. I don’t know about you, but that’s what I call a good day.

VIC x 

(Hashtag) NaNoWriMo

We had a few organisational issues. Neither of us were sure whose turn it was to post tonight. So, I shall do a short one for you and Vicky will do a proper one tomorrow! Okay? OKAY.

So, for the past month my life has been taken over by words. I dreamt about words. I worried about words. I counted words. I wrote SO MANY words. And all of this was in the name of NaNoWriMo. For those of you who aren't aware of NaNoWriMo, fear not! It is, quite simply, National Novel Writing Month. The idea is that you write 50,000 words (a novel) in a month (November) and you get the satisfaction of knowing that you've completed something significant in your life. Obviously, this isn't an easy thing to do. 1667 words a day may not sound like much, but that's over 3 sides of size 10 font on A4. This is especially difficult for those of us with lives outside word writage, but I was adamant that I would make it.

After enlisting Matt in to my scheme of Novel writing fun, we began to pick away at that 50k target. I hadn't planned. I hadn't thought of a plot. I kept forgetting my characters names (funny story: the bad guy started off by being called King Furvus. Ended up being Lord Farzana). I wasn't sure of anything. I'll admit, I spent quite a few days pondering over my story that lay in rags and wondering if it was even worth it. But after the first week I got in to the NaNoWriMo rhythm. I realised that I wasn't supposed to be writing a piece of art. In fact, it didn't matter if I rambled through my narration nonsensically. The whole idea was to accomplish a goal and gain self satisfaction, not write a publishable novel. And quite suddenly I was able to write 1000 words an hour because I wasn't too busy fretting over whether I'd got the characterisation right or if I'd described the setting in enough detail. It was, quite literally, quantity not quality.

I spent most of my free time typing away. When a computer wasn't available I wrote it down in a notebook that I carried everywhere. I was almost constantly behind schedule, right up until those last couple of days. It wasn't easy. On more than one occasion I switched the internet off so that it wouldn't distract me. I neglected my homework. My school folders were in a state of disarray. My room was a mess. And finally, the 30th ticked by and I wrote my fifty-thousandth word.

It might've taken over my life for 30 days straight and I might not have been particularly good company during those days, but I'm glad I did it.

At least I beat Matt, right?

Jasm x

P.S. If you were wondering, my 50,000th word was "impact".

We're party people

Dear readers,

It's us. Last night we converged on Danny's house for his bisexual party.

No, wait. We meant BIRTHDAY party. Our mistake.

We spent the day preparing for the excitement of the event of the year. We trekked through the snow to buy supplies. We bought supplies. We trekked back with our supplies. We unpacked our supplies. We made use of our supplies. We made our supplies, readers, into a CAKE. 

And a pass the parcel. 17th birthdays have never been so crazy.

The pass the parcel was a resounding success. Timmy got the pick necklace, the lime was well received, and Jasmine won the Teletubbies paint we'd purchased earlier. Overall everyone was happy.

The cake was, of course, delicious. After all, we did make it ourselves. We even decorated it with popping candy chocolate elves.

We watched Dawn of the Dead (especially for Matt). It was average. We'd tell you what happened but neither of us managed to follow the plot. Needless to say, there were zombie like things. They got shot. There was a black guy. He shot things. The norm then.

We played a game. The game had cars in, the game also had a name. We forget the name. We were amazing at the game. We drove, we jumped, we threw ourselves off buildings, we DRIFTED, readers. All in all, we won. Or we like to think so. Because after all, we beat Matt.

We also managed to sneak a banner into Danny's bedroom. "Vicky you er, need the toilet, don't you?" said Jasmine. I went along with this, but of course needed to take two people with me. What can I say? I'm a girl.
So up the stairs we went, but were we heading for the bathroom? NO. We clambered another flight of stairs into Danny's bedroom, where we blue tacked the banner onto his wall. A banner which had once said "Happy 16th birthday", but with a bit of newspaper, some scissors and some sellotape, now read "Happy 17th birthday". Danny, however, guessed that bathroom activities hadn't been going on and immediately found it. I think he was pleased.

We might have got away with it if we hadn't pulled the same trick at Timmy's party... Only sticking a picture of Robert Pattinson over his bed instead of a nice banner. He was, lets say, less than pleased, and proceeded to burn it in the kitchen.

But the star of the evening was definitely Danny's dog, Baz. Baz is adorable. And fluffy. And smiley. And lovely. I want a Baz. I've never particularly been a dog person. BUT I'M A BAZ PERSON. Vicky said that he was "fine", which is a compliment indeed.

We returned home to play The London Game, which I mentioned in a previous post. Remember how amazing it is? REMEMBER HOW FUN IT IS?! Yeah, it never gets old. We both won a game, which was nice. Then we retired to bed, to discuss the evenings events and Paul McCartney's fetching skirt. A night well spent, I think.

Jasm and Vic x 

Snow Days

A lot has happened since me and Vicky last complained about the snow issue. I'll do this in chronological order for efficiency.

Tuesday

On Tuesday, as Vicky mentioned, we had a "Snow Day". Basically, we had around a foot (30.48cm) of snow overnight, which isn't acceptable! Naturally, it wasn't as simple as, "Woo, day off school." Mr Bowes felt the need to postpone school for an hour first, just to test our dedication to learning I assume. This was followed by a million Facebook stati, all of which said exactly the same thing and what everybody on facebook already knew: That school was indeed closed until 10AM. Then school was cancelled altogether a few minutes later (two million stati) and we were all issued on to Skype by Chris, who wanted to plan what we were doing with our Snow Day. Because obviously you can't just stay inside on a day like that. No, it's practically mandatory that you trek through the shin high snow to a hill, which you proceed to slide down uncontrollably. Although Danny (very sensibly) stayed at the top, watching the commotion at a safe distance and drinking from his thermos. His many pairs of gloves also came in handy.

So, on my way to said hill I had a few travel problems. The first being the fact that I wasn't going to walk for over an hour to get to Vicky's in the snow. The second being that the buses weren't cooperating with me and EVERYBODY ELSE IN SHEFFIELD. And the final being that I was stranded in Broomhill for half an hour until Vicky's mum came and saved me. Overall, the day was fun. We did the whole sledging thing. Walked for hours to buy Seabrook crisps for Chris, which we ended up not getting. Went to Timmy's, where I discovered a new love for Little Big Planet. Watched Chris eat a ridiculous number of scones and Vicky spill coffee down her (as always).

Eventually we left Timmy's to go down to another protest outside Nick Clegg's hole of hypocrisy and LIES. I wish I could say that this protest was as inspirational as the last one, but we were a bit late. The only sign of any protest being there were a stack of discarded Socialist newspapers, of which we took two, and a few footprints on the walls (from angry students, we assume, and not the playful infants at the nursery next door).

Matt, Vicky, Harriet and myself went back to Vicky's after this and warmed up in hers for a while. By now the snow had deepened considerably and it had become dark, so Matt and Harriet strolled back to their 10 minute away houses (not fair) and I was told to stay at Vicky's or risk the wrath of my dad's worry. That was fine though. We played The London Game (an amazing board game that EVERYONE SHOULD PLAY) and stayed up until past midnight discussing our position in life.

Wednesday

Obviously, school was off again. I decided not to linger at Vicky's in fear of being stranded there once again. We had fun on skype for a couple of hours; everyone's faces (by everyone I mean Ludlow) seem more amusing when they're in 2D. Me and Vicky ate cereal (rice krispies for me) and eventually got dressed. Then we walked down the road and said our goodbyes (</3) because Vicky was going to Chris' and I was (finally) going home!

I spent the rest of the day watching series one of True Blood again, snuggled under a blanket. It was brilliant.

Thursday (Today)

Despite the fact that the snow was almost knee deep on our school field, Mr Bowes decided that today would be an appropriate day to return to school. He was wrong, of course. We arrived at 10AM, an hour later than normal, only to be told to run along to the canteen. Fortunately, us sixth formers had sole usage of the mezzanine area, so we didn't have to mix with less superior children. We waited around for a while, Mr Wright making sure that everything was ticketyboo, until Mr Bowes showed his face. He told us that there weren't enough teachers. He told us that there were hardly any students. He told us that classes would mix and school would run as normal. There was a cruel laugh that echoed around the canteen as he sent the Y8s to maths. Then a sigh of resignation as he sent the sixth formers to IT, where we all knew that learning would not take place. Let's face it, learning doesn't take place in IT on a normal day.

After that I strolled off to English Language where I was one of five dedicated Englishers. THAT'S RIGHT. There were FIVE of us. Then we went to the canteen, ready to warm ourselves with a lovely home (school) cooked meal. Alas, like the rest of the day, that was a complete waste of time. As it happens, they had no food. I mean, they had week old "savoury cheese" sandwiches, variety of suspicious looking soups and a hell of a lot of beans on toast. They were actually trying to starve the only people who cared enough to trek through the snow to learn! Eventually we bought some bread rolls and little pots of cheese and constructed our very own sandwiches.

Thankfully, we were allowed to leave after 4th. But, overall, it was a very pointless day! I think we'll all look forward to the same shenanigans tomorrow. LOL jk.

Jasm x

I should be learning right now...

I’m writing this at 9:30. Now I know what you’re thinking. ‘She’s skipping school!’, ‘THIS IS ILLEGAL’ ‘She shall FAIL AT LIFE’. But don’t worry, I would be there If I was allowed to, but alas, my school is closed. Closed because of the SNOW. I was of course, appalled when I found out. Disrupting travel is one thing, but when the snow impedes on my education, it has gone TOO FAR.

I could write about this atrocity for pages, but we have already had two blog posts dedicated to it. Three’s probably a little excessive...

So, as Jasmine mentioned I went to York at the weekend with my family. I DO love them, but sometimes they can be a little embarrassing. For example,

On Saturday evening we went for a meal in the hotel restaurant. This amazing French waiter came over to take our orders. “I’ll have the cheese and ham omelette, please” my mum said, with an expression of satisfaction at successfully ordering. The rest of my family stared at her, knowing this pride would be short lived. “No... NO. I meant MUSHROOM” she almost shouted, followed by a mumble that she was vegetarian. After that, my 10 year old brother tried to order a bottle of chardonnay, and finally the waiter approached my dad for his order, only to receive a “short” anecdote about a steak he’d recently eaten.

You’d think this would be enough to put the waiter off for the rest of the evening, but he foolishly returned to offer us some water; at which point my grandmother felt it would be appropriate to yell “A rabbit watching television, have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?!” at him. Needless to say, he hadn’t.

Vicky x 

Frosty just won't die.

I wrote this yesterday. DON'T JUDGE ME.

It's 7:52, a Saturday and I'm awake. Bummer.

SPEAKING OF INJUSTICES (ooh, see what I did there?). Vicky posted about her snowy adversity on Thursday, so I think she'll be happy to know that my road (and the rest of Yorkshire, I believe) has also been violated by little white fluffs of DOOM. A whole INCH of the stuff was thoughtlessly left on our roads and lawns last night by a mysterious usurper. I'm looking at you Paul the Weatherman.

Twitter was in uproar; #uksnow has been trending for days now. Facebook was in shock; I counted 12 statuses/stati concerning snow. Admittedly half of these were people complaining at the increasing number of snow comments. Ironic fools. My mum trudged downstairs looking glum. Vicky is probably stranded in York. No one is on skype or msn (they've probably all died of snow related injuries/frozen to death). I can't watch "Saturday Kitchen Live" because "No Satellite Signal is being received". Little old ladies are crawling down my road at an indolent pace. My neighbour is even having his wooden floors sanded!

That last one had nothing to do with the snow, it's just a really irritating noise.

I don't hate snow. It's perfectly fine when I'm separated by a good, double-glazed window or 5 layers of fleecy clothing. Or when I have nothing better to do than just stand in it and smile at the little frost covered berries or admire the Christmas card worthy trees in my garden. But when you have to battle through a blizzard to appease your car driving teachers, only to be told that there was no point in your coming in the first place, well that kind of sets you up for a bad day. And when you have to sit in a finger numbingly cold classroom, while your teacher (Mrs Johnson) refuses to let you close the windows just so she can have her own way, that's a tiny bit annoying. Especially when your socks are still soggy from that blizzard we discussed earlier.

I don't have amazing balance at the best of times and ice really isn't Jasmine friendly. So we shall compromise.  The snow is allowed to stay for the weekend, then it must be banished from pavements and hills. Deal? Deal.

Jasm (yeah, that's what I'm called now).

Frosty the snowman- He's not going to be a jolly happy soul for long.

This morning I awoke to discover my normally brownish greyish road was now a brilliant white. The morning news reported the heavy early snow that was gripping the country. Wardrobe decisions were difficult. Four layers would suffice, I decided after much deliberation. Walking socks would be necessary, and my woolly scarf and gloves an imperative. I stood at the door for a mere 5 minutes, summoning the energy required to leave my house’s warmth, and brave the elements.  I was ready, I told myself, to face winter.

So out I stepped, moving cautiously across the fresh snow. One (maybe TWO) mm of fresh, powdery snow.

Several steps later and I’d managed to cross the drive; and eventually, the road. There was my friend Eleanor, standing with an expression of sheer disappointment on her face. I sighed. She sighed. She made a dejected mumbling noise. I mumbled back. We both rolled our eyes. Without the use of any words we had successfully managed to communicate the very British idea that “This bad weather has caused us great injustice, because of our tenacity and strength of character we shall struggle on” And with that, we started our trek to school.

“It’s not really snow” I started. “You could class it as severe frost, couldn’t you?” She stared at me. “No...?” I asked. “No”, she declared. “But I mean...” “No”.  We discussed the FROST further until we reached the next road. The next road, which was free of snow. Free, even, of severe frost. Free, in fact, of any sign of winter. Our feeling of injustice had been confirmed.

But we didn’t complain. We’re British.

Vicky x

Come with me and we'll be in a woooorld of pure imagination.

So today I went on an English literature trip to Sheffield Hallam University. The idea was that professional Englishy people would discuss our upcoming exams and give us advice on how to pass them. This didn't happen. The first two hours consisted of an old man stood in front of 500+ sixth formers, speaking in to a broken microphone and talking about "dramatic tragedies". I'm sure what he said was completely lovely, but it wasn't something that we could put in the exam or something that anyone in the room particularly cared about.

Admittedly the second half was much better and we actually learnt some helpful stuff, but that isn't what I was planning on blogging about today. Because it just so happened that the day of our English trip was helpfully set for the same day as the nationwide university fees protests. And said protests were helpfully being staged up the hill from the Sheffield Hallam University (Insert appropriate smiley face here).

I'm sure any soon-to-be university student feels the same as the rest of the UK (except Scotland, those fiendish dawgs) and is disgusted at the prospect of having to pay £9000 a year to go to uni. Everyone is pretty upset with Nick Clegg (Sheffield Hallam MP and Deputy prime minister, if you didn't know. Although it raises questions about whether you should even be going to university if you DIDN'T know that) because he pledged, along with the rest of his party, to vote to abolish tuition fees if he ever got in to power. Well, now that he's in power (with the Conservatives, Condems LOLZ), he's decided against that and has instead urged his party to vote to INCREASE tuition fees, despite the fact that the only reason his party have seats are because of the student voters. Let's be honest, he's screwed himself over.

Students are fairing hard with the spending cuts, but there is little we can do about it. Most of us aren't old enough to vote. The other half, statistics say, DON'T vote. Meanwhile the bulk of voters, aged 60+, are living pretty cushily with their free bus passes, winter heating allowance and paid pensions. Don't get me wrong, I'm perfectly happy for old people to get this stuff. In fact, it would be wrong NOT make sure that older people are able to put the heating on during the middle of winter. This just points out that the government are entirely aware that they get their votes from those rural living, caravan staying in pensioners. And those are the people that they're protecting from the cuts that they're battering us with.

But I digress.

So there we were right next to this 3000 strong band of protesters, all chanting outside of the town hall. I don't know what they were chanting. I don't think they even knew what they were chanting. But chanting they were and it was amazing. You know how sometimes you read a brilliant book and you feel like you want to go out to the world and tell them all to read this book too because it was so amazing? Or how you see a news report about Chilian miners or a death defying fireman or whatever, and suddenly you feel inspired to do something and you're not quite sure what it is you want to do but you just know that you want to do it and that when you do it, it's going to be the best thing you've ever done? Yes? Well, stood on the edge of this great mass of people, all wanting one thing and all joining together as one just to get this one thing, even if it wouldn't actually benefit you personally, THAT was one of those moments. Breathtaking.

And perhaps achieving the end goal isn't the most important thing anymore. As Grandpa George (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory reference) said, "There's plenty of money out there. They print more and more every day. But this ticket-- There are only 5 of them in the whole world, and that's all there's ever going to be. Only a dummy would give this up for something as common as money. Are you a dummy?" No, Grandpa George. No, I'm not. So even if they do charge us an extortionate price to go to university, I'll know that I'll have seen things and done things that more than make up for that £30,000. And isn't that the most important thing in the end? Quality of life?


I think so.


Thank you for reading to the end. You can take a break now. Get a coffee. Go to the loo. Etc
See you on Sunday!
Jasmine

Duh duh duh duh duh duh duh ... duh duh duh duh duh duh.

Yeah. We all know that’s the Harry Potter theme tune.

And last Friday, OPENING DAY Friday, we went to listen to that very melody. We ran out of school, knocking unimportant younger students and insignificant others out of the way, in a desperate attempt to reach our destination on time. One song filled bus journey, and a crowded tram ride later, and we made it. And with time for Jasmine and I to find wands! Well, not so much find, as violently rip from a nearby bush. Anyhow, wands in hand, ice creams purchased and tickets already shoved at some employee, and we were ready to watch.

And watch we did. We watched in awe as Nagini’s head loomed towards us, squealed with joy as Draco’s face filled the screen, whined with grief as Dobby said his last words and grinned with delight every time Ron entered the scene. Perhaps I was the only one doing the latter...  

There are those who have their criticisms about the film. Yes, there may have been a lot of woodland scenes. Sure, some characters may not have featured as much as they could have. But that’s MISSING THE POINT. It isn’t just about the cinematography; that film is a realisation of our dreams. The happier part of our childhood was spent in Hogwarts, reality became blurred with its walls, our school work confused with theirs. As Harry grew, so did we. The last book is a tearful goodbye to characters we’ve become strangely attached to. So when Hedwig died for Harry, we didn’t care about the acting, we only mourned for her. And when Ron imagined Harry and Hermione kissing, we didn’t think about the camera work, we only willed him to destroy that horcrux.  And when Voldemort broke into Dumbledore’s tomb, we didn’t consider the costume at the time, we simply took it as a personal insult that Dumbledore’s body couldn’t rest in peace.

To prove our love for Harry Potter, me and Jasmine refused to leave the screen until we were the last ones in there. That’s dedication for you.

Vicky x 

Man Chest. Er.

I got up at 8:00 this morning. I'm sure we all agree that this is ridiculously early for a Saturday. But, my dear readers, I had a good reason for this! For today myself and Vicky embarked on a journey to Manchester. We have been before, if you can count jumping off a train on the way to Blackpool, running off the platform to take a poor quality photo of a grey Manchester building, then running back on to another train, a "trip" to Manchester. I do, so this was the third time I'd been to Manchester with Vicky. It was nice to actually leave the train station though.

Needless to say, we had an eventful day. Thankfully we got seats on the way there because of some confused tourists and we even had a seat (albeit to share) on the way back because a nice curly haired man had reserved one, but sat in another. Vicky tripped over a few times, as per. We wandered around the University campus, pretending to be students with our Starbucks coffees to go. Discovered the beauty that is the Selfridges Food Hall, where Vicky wandered around for half an hour looking for something, anything to buy (she ended up settling on a doughnut). We had issues with a lift that decided to stop on every other floor twice, before finally taking us to the one we'd wanted. We walked through what felt like a million Christmas markets, although it may have just been one that we kept circling around. We looked up Santa's bottom, which was surprisingly empty. BRING ON THE MINCE PIES. We walked in to people, spilt things, got lost in shops, pretended to be rich and escaped the fierce grip of The Manchester Museum.

Manchester is amazing, yes, but it was quite sad realising that we're all going off to different universities. Different universities in different cities. Different universities in different countries, in some cases. Up until now I've been pretty much focused on the positives of becoming a university student. It's hard to imagine not seeing Vicky every day.

But, while it's sad, I take comfort in knowing that we'll always be BEST FRIENDS. We have the bracelets to prove it!

Roll on Manchester,
Jasmine x

How the Human Centipede Taught Me to Be a Better Person.

Here's a post by our... delightful friend, Timmy: 

Have you heard of The Human Centipede? If you have, like me, you have realised the greatest work of cinematic excellence is not only a fun film for all the family, but a film that can teach you a lot about yourself.

Have you not heard about this film? Here's a brief plot synopsis:

Seems to have covered it.

Now, why can this film teach you about yourself? Simple. It asks you questions you would never think to ask yourself. It asks you about life. It makes you think about your values you put on things. It asks you, in the purest form, what does it mean to be human?

It asks you which part of the centipede you would want to be. This simple question says so much about your character, your personal ideals, your objectives in life.

Where would you be? What does this say about you, as a person?

Here's a cut out and keep guide to how your choice shows your personality. Take it along to your next date, or whip it out if you meet someone new! Explain to them how it works!

The Front

You're an outgoing kinda guy/girl. You're not afraid to lead a team and you can't wait to face tough challenges that come your way.

You know the value of the greater good, and aren't afraid to make other's take sacrifices for your wellbeing. I think you know what I'm talking about. Take another good look at the picture.

The Middle

You know the kid that was always the last to be picked when they were sorting out teams for PE?

This is you.

You get the worst of both worlds. You get.. faeces-faced and you get the guilt. The burden you put on the last in the line. In your circle of friends, you're most certainly the bitch. The one that gets all the crap. That's if you have any friends.

Loner.

The End

Wow. Tough break. If you picked this, you've got some balls. Probably near your mouth. (Refer back to diagram)

You certainly are the bravest one in your special little trio. We salute you.

So, yeah, there we go. It taught me about myself (Totally would be at the front, myself.) and it will teach you about yourself. Also,

Sexy.

That bridge DOES look familiar ...

Dearest readers,

Last night I finally received my accolade for completing Silver D of E.  

For those of you who don’t know what the Duke of Edinburgh award is ...count yourselves lucky.
No, no I jest, it’s fun. Basically, we have to complete months of volunteering, doing sport and learning a ‘skill’. My ‘skill’ was looking after my rabbit. Win.

After finishing this, we have to do the expedition. Oh, the expedition.  It may sound friendly and exciting but don’t be fooled. The expedition is actually 3 days of endless trekking through the millions of fields, over the countless hills, and across the numerous streams that seem to compose the British countryside. This so called expedition is wet feet, soggy pasta and a rucksack that is the weight of a large child.

And yet, that expedition manages to be brilliant. Yes, we may be lost in the dark, but hey, let’s make a song about it! Sure, that sandwich doesn’t taste quite right, but at least it’s FOOD!  And okay, we’ve passed that bridge 3 times now, but it’s a damn nice bridge to pass.

For me, D of E is a treasure trove of memories. The time my group leaped over a fence, backpacks and all, because a cow had taken a step in their direction. The numerous times we’ve had to avert our eyes as Rachael decides that there aren’t any adequate bushes to pee in, so she’ll have to go there.  The sheep that have terrified us, the baby squirrel that followed us, the gates our rucksacks have got stuck in, the wrong turns, the arguments, the panicking, the hugs, the friendship. And the feeling of pride and satisfaction as you reach your destination at last.

So when I finally got to shake the Mayor’s sweaty hand and receive my flimsy certificate yesterday, I knew that D of E had been worth it.

Forever yours, 

Vicky x

Axe Wielding Murders: just tryin' to have fun.

So, Saturday we all went down to Tom's to watch The Shining. I'm sure you all know the famous "HERE'S JOHNNY" scene, which I happily clapped at. There were many highlights to the evening. Perhaps the most enjoyable was when the Hotel Owner Guy got axed in the chest and Matt jumped up in to his seat in fear, while the rest of us laughed.

But, I was also quite impressed with the Fish Lady. Here's a lovely photo:

She had eyes like a FISH.

There was also another woman (which I certainly shan't show you a picture of) who was naked. Now normally, in such cases of nudity, they have the decency to cut off the shot above certain areas. BUT NO. Vicky and myself exchanged numerous awkward looks as an ENTIRELY naked woman strolled towards this axe wielding murderer. Needless to say, he wasn't too upset about this until he saw her wrinkly back (Result of sitting in the bath for too long. Let that be a lesson to you). 

I'm still not sure what the film was aiming to do. Vicky seemed pleased that the young child and the Fish Woman got away but I wouldn't have minded a few more murders. Closure is nice. 

Maybe there will be a Shining 2?

Jasmine x

Timmy time

In another attempt to scare ourselves, we will shortly be watching The Shining. Jasmine (me) shall write about how successful we were.

IN OTHER NEWS, Timmy the Sheep is here!

LOVING Jasmine's expression here. What is she staring at...? 'Timmy's bottom' apparently.

LOVING Vicky's lip suck.

After the embarrassment of this, we have nothing further to say.
Goodbye.

JAS+VIC
x

The Skype’s the limit

So yesterday I rediscovered the beautiful Skype, and with it the ridiculous username I’d make several years previous.

Everything started out innocently enough. We chatted, edited, sent an unreasonable amount of emoticons. That is, until someone decided to press the big green “Call group” button. Admittedly, that was me. And then havoc ensued.

Jasmine decided to make strange noises and play ten green bottles.  And that was only the start! We then move on to a rendition of 10 in the bed, and finally the worst version of little donkey I’ve ever heard. EVER. She decided to accompany this with and endless stream of “(flex)” emotions. You should see those muscles of hers.

Pretty much the only sign of life we got from Matt was incessant coughing.  And Chris! He spent most of the time trying to set up his microphone, only to terrify us all when his voice suddenly erupted from our computers.

It was all good fun until a tiny power cut temporarily destroyed our connections. Even the national grid thought that last screech of “Little Donkeeeeey” was one screech too much. 

OFF TO TAE KWON DO.
BYE. 

Vicky x 

Change- LING

So, it's various people's birthdays today! The most important obviously being JON. But also our dearest Eleanor (<3).

So yeah, Happy Birthday!

You should have seen the look of joy on Eleanor's face after she received that third Terry's Chocolate Orange. Nothing says 'I love you' like a ball of chocolatey fun.

In other news, I'd like to add to what Vicky spoke about in her last post. Last weekend I was also travelling by bus. My buses are fairly frequent, unless you're in some sort of mad rush, so I was stood at the bus stop with confidence, as the electronic time table counted down the minutes until it arrived. The bus pulled up as scheduled and everything was good, everyone was happy. I patiently waited for people to file in, then skipped up to the driver, brandishing my £1 coin. Only to be met by a look of disgust.

It turned out that all of those people who had paid before me hadn't had the exact change either and he wasn't impressed with any of us. He reluctantly handed me his last 60p then ushered me down the bus. I sat next to another 40p paying person and we all waited for the next changeless fool. Needless to say, he was then met by a young boy with a 50p. Well, I'm sure you can imagine his reaction to such a repulsive coin. He complained at this poor 12-13 year old that "they" had already taken all of his change, so he better get the hell off of his bus, adding a finger point down the bus to clearly show who 'they' were.

I was seriously debating whether or not to say the customary "thanks" as I stepped off the bus. I wasn't brave enough not to in the end. I had visions of him running me over in revenge.

Jasmine x

My first rant

Yesterday, I approached my bus stop full of hope for the upcoming journey. But readers, It LET ME DOWN.

My bus, you see, supposedly arrives every 10 minutes! But did I wait for that alleged maximum of 10 minutes? No!
 15? I wish.
 20? Not even that.

25 minutes I sat in the freezing cold, staring at the horizon as though I could somehow make a bus appear. Sadly not, it seemed. Buses, however, went in the OTHER DIRECTION, as though to MOCK ME.  Where did they go after that?! Did they drop of the end of the earth? Was there some kind of bottomless pit further up?! NO. No, of course not.  The road wasn’t even long. They should have turned around immediately and picked me up.

Only when it reached the time that I was actually meant to be meeting Jasmine, did the bus arrive. EVEN THEN, the bus driver decided he did not need to stop for me. Instead he let the bus slowly roll past where I was standing; presumably thinking I would quickly jump on and he could continue his journey in style. Well, I was playing no part in this ridiculous game of his, mainly out of fear that I would injure myself, or just miss the step all together and look like an idiot. So there I stood, a look of exasperation on my face, until the bus driver stopped his vehicle.  Let me tell you, I handed over my 40p with reluctance. 

Your ever cheerful, 

Vicky x 

The velvet was everywhere

Dearest readers

Today a kind man gave us pink and purple luck. We tried to decline but he forced it into our hands. We quickly left his stall after that. So now we’re on the tram, clutching our lucky stones, ready to set out on a Harry Potter ticket buying adventure.

THE MAN LIED. The stones brought us NO luck. We went shopping, got lost in Marks & Spencers and ended up hopelessly trying to navigate out way out of the black velvet trousers.  Escape felt good. 

What’s more, we bought a card, only to find it was the wrong envelope and the only way to fit it inside was to rip the edge. So rip we did! And quite successfully too, managing to hide the card and ruined envelope in the bag we bought for the occasion.

There was however, some success today. We bought out HARRY POTTER TICKETS (And stroked a cardboard poster of Snape while we were there).  And we did manage to do some advertising on our travels ... Three times we crept into the Apple store and stealthily brought this very blog to the screens of iPhones and Macs! If this subtle promotion actually brought anyone to this blog, hey!

Vicky and Jasmine

AWAY. X 

Muffins... OF DOOM

Dearest blog viewer people

Happy Bonfire Night!

Despite the fact that I've always hated fireworks, I'm off to do bonfire type shenanigans tonight, so I'm afraid this is going to be a short one.

I wasn't sure what to write about today, so Vicky thought that I should discuss school lunch (which is a boring subject, and therefore unhelpful of her).

Unfortunately I have nothing positive to say on this. Recently they've made new rules that mean you can't buy muffins without buying a full meal to go with it. So, well done on that, school. EVERYONE'S GOING TO STARVE.

Alas, I have more heart breaking news! We've decided to cut down on how often we post. Our lives just aren't interesting enough to entertain you regularly, as you can probably tell from today's post. We're doing a joint post on Sunday (woo), then it'll be every couple of days. But don't weep for us. We still love you. Honest <3

Jasmine x

P.S. Fire is hot. Don't touch it.

Colander. Cylinder. BASICALLY the same.

Yesterday, I attended “University cook club”.  This is my school’s attempt to help us prepare ‘healthy and nutritious’ food at university. Nice try, guys.

So far we have made leek and potato soup, so I am now ready to cook one meal at university. I will cook it CONSTANTLY. My leek and potato soup was, of course, far superior to a certain friend of mine’s, which turned out an attractive bright yellow/green colour because of the dead chicken stock cube he used. It’s just the chicken’s way of having revenge. The vegetables in my vegetable stock cube were kind to my soup.

I have to say, in the 3 years since I last did food technology, my basic knowledge of kitchen equipment has not progressed. Yesterday for example, I proudly found the dish cloth, only to be told it was a tea towel. And to add insult to injury, you actually dried with it. Ah, I fondly remember running around those very same classrooms frantically searching for the ‘sharp thing’ or ‘the thing with holes in’.  A colander ! That’s what it is. I’ve always got that mixed up with a cylinder.

Despite the distress it caused, good things have come out of food tech. Mainly chocolate based foods.  But also my friendship with Jasmine. Yes, the humble food tech classroom was our meeting place. I remember it like it was yesterday. I walked in, first Y7 lesson, confused and lonely. Sitting on her own at a table was Jasmine, “Do you want to sit here?” she asked, trying to dispel the impression she was giving off that she had no friends. I eagerly agreed, hoping it would do the same thing for me. And that’s why we’re friends today.

Heart warming.

Vicky x 

We ate it hard.

Who would want to sit out in the freezing cold, huddled around a tiny camping stove waiting for pasta to soften?

Yeah, us.

Last week we went camping on the outskirts of Bakewell. It was cold. It was wet. And it was very muddy. Some may say that it wasn't the most appropriate time of the year to go, and, let's admit, they could very possibly be correct. But that certainly didn't stop us. 

When the boys woke up to find themselves trapped in their tent that had collapsed on them over night, did we give up and head back to our beds? No!

When twirls of pasta set on fire and blood was spilled opening a can of chick peas, did we pop down to the chip shop in defeat? We certainly did not!

When Chris very nearly fell on a slippy bit of the trail, DID WE STAY STRONG AND HELP OUR FRIEND IN NEED?! Of course not, we laughed at him. 

Despite the obvious set backs that we incurred, we had a lovely time. We found a new friend called Jeremy, made up a story in which Matt plays Midnight Pool with various people, including Harry Potter, and me and Vicky had a lovely conversation with the local cows.

We even played Truth or Dare! How many 16 year olds can say they've spent two nights sat in a tent daring each other to run around shirtless (not advised in this weather) and comparing the texture of each other's stomachs? Although a particular favourite of mine was the discovery of a vending machine that sold "Wipe on Sex Appeal". I'm not afraid to say that we spent much of the time contemplating the purchase of these wipes, until Danny geared up the courage to insert his £1 coin in return for the "Instant Sex Appeal" that the poster promised. Unfortunately, the machine was broken and, much to our disappointment, we never found out if it actually worked.

Maybe next time.

Jasmine x

P.S. I feel bad that I haven't mentioned Timmy in this post. He came camping too. He brought a suitcase. It was amusing. Vicky has a photo of him looking like a hobo. If you're nice to her, maybe she'll share it.

Oh I do like to be beside the bunsen burners...

Ah, Science.  The study of life.

Sitting in a highly equipped, sufficiently heated laboratory for a greatly exciting hour of teaching is certainly one of my favourite things about sixth form. Not to mention the team of enthusiastic, passionate teachers always happy to explain the fascinating world of the humble chloroplast.

And what’s more, science is useful! English has served its purpose. I can speak. I can talk. I can read. And I think I can write... I need it NO MORE. Everything that could possibly be learnt now will supply no future use.

I don’t anticipate, for example, hearing “Your diagnosis was correct, yes, but where were the LANGUAGE DEVICES?” in years to come. Or “Yes, Yes. I understand that my liver is failing, but why didn’t you tell me in RHYMED prose?!”

When these situations occur, I shall admit that English is useful.

This will happen when pigs fly.

Your faithful scientist,
Vicky x

P.s. A poem for Rae. And to show you that I could rhyme if I needed to...

There once was a rubber called poo
He was the best rubber I knew
But he never told me,
That he was a she
Now that’s not a nice thing to do. 

And so it begins.

Half term is over and sixth form has re-started. Not only does this mean the start of yet another term of crowded corridors and scores of children with what is probably (and unnecessarily) all of their belongings strapped to their back, but the coffee machine is fixed and I have double English tomorrow! 

YAY.

I know some people wouldn’t see English as a bright part of the day, but it’s certainly something to look forward to after the not-so-thrill of the British Voting System. Government and Politics can be a dull subject, I admit, but it does put people under the impression that I have some knowledge of the Political system (however incorrect they may be), and this can only be a good thing.

Either way, both subjects are better than science. Not having to sit in a cold lab for an hour, listening to a teacher get giddy over chloroplasts is certainly one of my favourite bits of sixth form (second only to the look on the Y10’s faces as you stroll past them in the dinner queue, knowing that you’re not the ones left with soggy salad sandwiches). I’m sure Vicky is already preparing her rebuttal against my dislike for science. It seems some people are quite fond of it, namely everyone who is likely to read this.

Alas, I’m outnumbered.

See you on Wednesday!

Jasmine x

It’s okay. I managed to sleep with the lights off

Hello reader,

Paranormal activity: “You’ll be sleeping with the lights on!” It claims. “DON’T WATCH IT ALONE!” It warns. Prepare, it is saying, for terror.

And the other night we WERE prepared for the “terrifying” experience the DVD box promised; Cushions were ready to be cowered behind, lights were ready to be turned on, mothers were ready to receive phone calls. But NO. No such precautions were necessary.

Strange door movements were, I admit, creepy. Noises, yes, were odd. Claw like foot prints were, as always, slightly concerning. But terrifying? No.

The scariest part of the film for us, embarrassingly, was the black screen after it had ended. We were so convinced that it couldn’t have finished, that we sat there on tenterhooks for several minutes, staring at the inactive TV.  

And when the scariest part of a film is when it’s not actually playing, it’s not really saying much for it.

ASIDE FROM THAT, it was fun. Well worth watching.

Vicky  x

P.s. HAPPY HALLOWEEN 

We wrote you a story!

There were a few issues with the registration process. It told us to write a story. We wrote a story. Pressed "Save", but NO. Only 400 characters, they say! Don't tell them a wonderful story, they say! You just wasted your time, they say! NEVER, we say! Our readers (of which we have none) deserve to read our story! So here it is:

There once was a very sad frog. We shall call him Chris. Chris the frog was very sad because he had no hair. THAT'S RIGHT. He was BALD. Chris the frog was partial to a lady frog down the river (Mattalina), but he was SO self-conscious about his shiny head, that he couldn't bear to talk to her. One day he had a brain wave! "I know," he croaked, "I'll go to Juddlows wig shop down the road!" Chris the frog hopped along to Juddlows and bought himself a lovely blond wig. He was particularly pleased with the bows that came with it; Beautiful pink bows! "Finally," he exclaimed, "My head is worthy enough for Mattalina!" He hurried to Mattalina's pad, only to be greeted by a big toad!"What do you want?" The toad's voice rumbled. He glanced at Chris' wig. "Oh!" He said. "You're here for the party!" He ushered Chris inside. Chris danced all night long! Everyone loved his beautiful wig, espcially Mattalina. At the end of the night she gave him a big squishy kiss and Chris went home happy. THE END

Disclaimer:
Any similarities to real persons, events or places are completely unintentional. We reserve the right to casually mock our friends (although that is NOT WHAT WE'RE DOING).

OUR FIRST POST

Dear readers. Of which we have none.

Just a bit of background information.
We're Vicky and Jasmine. "Jacky" is our very clever mix of both our names.
We're sixth formers, vegetarians, and BESTEST friends (we have the bracelets to prove it).

We were casually browsing the "101 Thing To Do Before You're Old And Boring" that Vicky has on her bookshelf, when we realised that we had never blogged. EVER. So, now we have. And you're reading it. Congrats to you.