Exciting trip to London (OF DOOM) Pt2

Amazing-London-Trip Day 2 became eventful unreasonably early in the morning.  There we were, fast asleep in our fetching green duvets when someone ENTERS OUR ROOM !! Bear in mind this was at 20 to 1. Or 20 PAST 1. I forget. Let’s average it and say 1am. Anyway, as this was our first experience of a youth hostel, this was utterly terrifying for us. We both awoke, and in a fit of genius, silently hid ourselves in the covers. Maybe the girl would never know we were there...
Alas, that didn’t work.

The girl (who we later found out to be Danish) actually turned out to be nice. Rather than the murderer/rapist/thief we’d briefly assumed she was. We actually had a nice little chat with unnamed-Danish-girl in the morning. Although we never found out what she was called... I’ll just give her a generic Danish name. Like ... Yeah, I’ll google that.

“Mathilde”. So after our pleasant talk with Mathilde, we were on our way...
To Starbucks, a few doors down.  Where we enjoyed our London lattes and London yoghurt and a London muffin. LONDON.

After this, we noticed it had become MILDY SUNNY, so it was suddenly essential that I had sun cream RIGHT AWAY. I tend to burn up easily, like ... toast. Toast that my Dad’s made.
So with this newfound sense of urgency we RAN to the M & S next door (<3), unintentionally stumbled into our beloved bra section, felt up the mannequins for belly buttons, and purchased sun cream. Disaster averted.

As we’d inadvertently got up quite early, our plan to head straight to the V & A wasn’t going to work. So we happily skipped along a road until we found two farmers shouting outside Hamley’s front door. We come from the North of England, and therefore the countryside where we’re all farmers. We took slight offence to these frauds and their accents. It was wrong. ALL WRONG. 

Nevertheless, it made us go into Hamley’s where we were both shocked and amazed by the wonders inside. Shocked AND amazed.  There was a Harry Potter broomstick, cars that turned upside down, a Narnia themed staircase!! This was all slightly ruined by the presence of children. Many, many children.

When they eventually became too much for us, we headed for the V&A at last. It was filled with beautiful things. Like us!

Lol, jk.

After our brief spell there we trundled, yes, trundled over to the world famous  Harrods. I was convinced that I was going to be thrown out for wearing shorts, which is apparently against their dress code. But my blatant disregard for common decency went unnoticed. Our first stop was the food hall. We both purchased Woopie pies. RED VELVET woopie pies.
Now, armed with Harrods bags, we felt adequate enough to enter the rest of the shop without receiving scathing glares and ridicule. We took the opportunity to use the toilets, which even came with a special toilet lady who just stood there. 
Next, we wandered into the bra section. This just tends to happen. We were browsing average-looking-extraordinarily-priced pants when one of the assistants informed us of the incredible “3 for £29” deal.  We both made appreciative noises. Noises that said “Yes, that is a good deal and we shall take note of it”.  We left the shop without taking note of it.  

We took a BUS to our next destination, which according to our planning notebook was Buckingham palace. We got off next to the Ritz, walked up the street a little, crossed, and walked back on the other side. Just so we could walk next to the hotel building. 

We made it to Buckingham palace where we found one of the guards walking to the wall and back repeatedly. We initially thought this must be important, and mean that something significant was going to happen. It didn’t. Then we figured he just needed to walk so he didn’t pass out.
We were hoping the guards would change at some point. That would have been nice. Sadly not.
 The POLICE, however, did change for us. It was somewhat less impressive. They just walked to the gate and swapped over.
The most exciting moment of all was when the gate opened. We ran over to see what was happening. It seemed as though it was just an opportunity to take photos with the police officers.
But I wanted something more! So with all the courage I could muster, I approached one of the police officers and inquired “Er... Excuse me! Um, why are the gates open?”
“The countess of Wessex is coming in” the friendly man replied. “You don’t know who that is, do you?”
“No..”
“Is that an iPhone? Google her”
So we did. It was prince Edward’s wife. I think.
Over half an hour we waited for this so called countess. Our feet were slowly being crushed by our body mass, and twice that in shopping.
Eventually Jasmine decided we were going. As reluctant as I was, I followed.

We took a little tube trip to Camden Market which was amazing. I bought the craziest pair of pants with many bows on. I heard my dad find them in the washing yesterday, when he let a “Goodness me”.

After that, Jasmine dragged me around what must have been a million little book shops, proclaiming “I’m going to buy one before I leave”. She didn’t.

Eventually, it was time to go home. We boarded our train at St Pancreas armed with crisps and about 1kg of hummus. It was a nice journey. Oh, how we reminisced. We also listened to the conversation of the family next to us. That was fairly interesting.
I recommend it. Eavesdropping, I mean.
And London.

THE END.

Lots of love,
 Vicky xxxx

Exciting trip to London (OF DOOM) Pt1

As you've probably noticed, me and Vicky went to London on Friday. I AM HERE TO TELL YOU ABOUT THAT FRIDAY. Vicky's doing Saturday. THAT'S RIGHT. She's actually posting. I'm sure we're all looking forward to that.

So, on Friday I woke up at 6:45AM. I dressed. I facebooked. I blogged. All of the essential things. At 7:45AM I left the house with my parents calling after me to look both ways when I cross roads and to not get in cars with strangers. You probably think I'm joking.

If only you knew.

Met Vicky in town at 8AM, skipped down to the train station, bought our breakfast (I had a cheese and tomato muffin, Vicky had some sort of chocolate pastry twirl thing) and large coffees. Popped in to WHSmith for a notebook. Pretended we were on our way to a very important business meeting. THEN BOARDED THE TRAIN.

Vicky likes trains. She has a train fetish. She admits this freely... IKR. I like trains, but perhaps with less enthusiasm than Vicky, and this fondness dwindles as time on the train passes and I feel notably more ill. Though it has to be said, travel sickness and my insistent headaches are almost the only thing I can complain about as far as my physical health is concerned, so I'll accept it.

Despite the slight dizziness, it was FUN. We planned out the next two days in the notebook that we'd bought (with the help of the Guide to London), and Vicky drew a wonderful interpretation of Big Ben at the front. We discussed recent events in our lives, analysed Vicky's dream about Aarti's parents and Vicky decided that I "like the chase". LOLOLOL.Obv talking about Mario Kart. It's always more fun at the back (and no, that isn't because I'm just always losing anyway). You get all the good power ups.Then a nice man with a VERY quiet voice spoke to Vicky about UCL and medicine and stuff. We didn't get in to his car, don't worry, Mum.

Two and a bit hours later and the train pulled in to St PancrEAs, as I tend to call it. The sun was shining (scorching, burning, 'teva) and life was good. We weren't the only ones walking through the train station with hugs grins on our faces, no siree! EVERYONE IS HAPPY IN LONDON. I'm smiling just thinking about London. Can we go back? Like now? Yeah..? What? No? But. :C

We followed various signs down to the TUBE, where we bought two day tickets and worked out our route to OXFORD CIRCUS <33 After doing so, we got on one of many escalators leading down in to the deep depths of London (standing only on the right, obviously) and boarded our first tube. This in itself was exciting, but more than that was when we actually got OFF the tube (or 'train' as Londoners call it) and emerged at the heart of Oxford St, with the world of shopping directly in front of us.

We spent an indecent amount of time in Top Shop (bought some lovely things), popped in to a few other clothes shops, before taking a trip down to the lovely Covent Garden! Covent Garden is where you find all the statue guys, who paint themselves from head to toe in shiny paint and stand around for hours on end for the amusement of tourists. I was suitably amused, of course. We went to this lovely little cafe, where we sat listening to a string band, who accompanied their music with some odd little dance moves. It was nice. After that we went to a muffin shops that sold the most beautiful muffins I've ever seen. I got a blueberry muffin with a little man made of icing on the top. Vicky's had some sort of sweet on it. We were both pleased with our choices.

After lunch we visited David and Goliath <3 I love it there. It had swearing bears on the walls. Why doesn't everywhere have swearing bears? Then we wandered off and somehow ended up in China Town, where we were bombarded with every variety of noodle you can imagine. Aisles and aisles of noodles. So many noodles...

From there we managed to find our way to one of those square places (not entirely sure which one. There was some sort of giant lion? Feel free to google), where we were perved on by a very unsubtle old man. Like he literally just shuffled past, staring at us. With his eyes. HE DIDN'T EVEN LOOK AWAY WHEN WE LOOKED AT HIM. Not smooth.

Then we went to see Westminister (which is apparently some sort of church. Who knew) and Big Ben. I don't remember WHY we went there. We were going to do that on Saturday. But anyway, we went there and we stopped by Downing Street to compliment the men with the guns, crossed the big bridge and looked at the grey sludge that is the Thames. THEN we went for a little (I say little, but Vicky was clearly in pain by the end of it. I think she should have taken more sensible shoes) walk along Southbank. I like it there. It's lovely.

Got a bit lost at the end of Southbank and had to hunt down a tube station in an area that was clearly not meant for tourists. After finding said station, we went back to our beloved Oxford Street. BUT NO, Bloggies, WE DID NOT SHOP. No, we were in fact going to Oxford Street to find the hostel we were staying in. NEXT TO OXFORD STREET. Ah, shops. Despite the fact that I'd walked the way a million times on Google maps, we got a tad lost. It's not my fault. The roads are confusing. One minute it's Great Marlebourne, then it's Poland St! MAKE YOUR MIND UP ROAD.

Moving on. We eventually found our adorable little hostel and it was amazing. We were greeted by this pleasantly camp man. They had a cup of biros with feathers on the end. Everything was bright and colourful. They had a huge tube map on the wall. A lounge with big purple chairs. COFFEE. It was actually nicer than hotels that I've stayed in. Everyone should go there. EVERYONE. We hunted down our room. "Dorm 10". It was tense as we opened the door, wondering if we'd be sharing with STRANGERS. Thankfully the room was empty, although there were two sets of bunk beds. Vicky claimed the top of one. I said that was ok. I like being on the bottom ;)

Vicky put on her new flowery shorts that she'd bought, I took my tights off. WE WERE READY TO GO BACK OUT AND FACE LONDON. Admittedly it was getting fairly late, so we went to a few more shops (I don't remember which ones, but I'm sure they were amazing. HMV was one I think, where we both bought t-shirts with a picture of Charlie Sheen's face on) then wandered off the main road. That's when we found ourselves at a kind of private park with grass and flowers and swings and stuff. Vicky suggested as we left that it was probably for the rich kids who lived in the nice apartments opposite, but didn't have gardens. It seemed logical seeing as every child in the park had the same private school looking uniform on. We were probably trespassing. LOL.

We walked back towards our hostel, stopping off at a nice Italian restaurant (even though I hate Italian. Too many childhood memories of soggy calzone and cheesy risotto. No thanks) called Cafe Uno for tea. Then we went to Marks and Spencers which was virtually opposite our hostel (next door to a lovely Starbucks that will probably appear again in Vicky's post) and bought tights. BUT THESE ARE NOT JUST ANY TIGHTS. These are BROWN tights. They go with any outfit. They're lovely and soft. Not too thick, not too thin! They're good for cold summer evenings or those warm winter days! Marks and Spencer's brown tights: Perfect for all occasions! Get yours at any good M&S TODAY!

I hope you realise that the "BROWN tights" bit was meant to be read in that sexy M&S advert voice. You know, the one that makes a slice of chocolate cake in to some sort of porn film. Yeah. That one.

After the tights excitement, we went back to our hostel. It wasn't late enough for bed yet, so we went down to reception and got some drinks. I had the loveliest hot chocolate EVAR. Then we went and sat in the lounge, where we discussed life. While we were sat there, a Chinese man came and sat on the table next to ours with his tea. You'll never guess what he was eating. YEAH. NOODLES. Ah, amazing.

We went back to our room after that, put our pyjamas on and planned tomorrow. We drew each other lovely pictures of teddy bears and sang songs of Charlie Sheen. It was all very nice. Then we turned off the lights and settled down for a completely peaceful and entirely undisturbed sleep.

OR DID WE?!

Tune in next week (or whenever Vicky finishes her post) to find out!

I hope you had as much fun reading about our amazing London trip as I did going on it. LOL jk, you probably stopped reading about 10 paragraphs ago. If you did continue this far, 10 POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR!

Those crazy sheep are dancing for you. Enjoy it.

Jasm x

LONDON'S CALLING, BABY

Só, here we are in London. It's actually amazing. We're perched on stools, surrounded by the latest tech (eg the ipad2 that I'm writing this on) in the biggest apple store I've ever seen.

Literally huge.

Amazing.

Aah. AAAAH.

We've done lots of shopping. Spent numerous hours and days in topshop. It was beautiful.
We're at a loss for what to do now. Maybe some more shopping? Yeah, you're right. We should.

See you later, chums.

Vicky and Jasmine xxxxxx

Jolly good morning, Jeeves.

It's 7:05AM and today, bloggies, we go to LONDON.

IAMSOEXCITEDIT'SUNREAL.

ClickClickCluck
...

You looked, didn't you?

I'm telling.

Jasm x

The life of Timmy

So, it started when he was a child. By the age of one he was a fully fledged martial artist, with belts of all colours. By two he'd solved the inflation in Germany.

It all went downhill from there.

By knives I mean penises

I'm feeling in a very writey mood. Not in a coursework finishing kinda way. No, definitely not. More of a sociable, chit chat kinda way. So I am here, bloggies, to chit and chat.

Today was the start of Sixth Form Charity Week. This is something that I've watched take place for the past 6 years of my relatively dull school life. Basically, all of the sixth formers (I say all, but some people don't have the effort or motivation to bother) dress up in accordance with themes set for us by the head boy and girl throughout the week. Then we go around classrooms during our free periods and parade our potentially embarrassing attire in front of children, in the hope that they surrender their lunch money. Often they don't.

Despite this obvious drawback, Charity Week is something that most lower/upper school kids always look forward to taking part in. I myself used to wander around the corridors, trying to understand what on earth the guy in yellow tights was thinking when he slipped in to that banana suit in the morning, and mentally planning my own fancy dress costume for when I'd be in sixth form... in 4 years time. It was all very exciting.

Fast forward a couple of years and I can proudly say that we are no longer Charity Week virgins. Today's theme was "Fantasy and Fiction". It should've been easy to think of a character. I mean, we could've dressed up as just about anything and pretended it was from a book. In fact quite a few people did this. After switching between numerous ideas, I ended up donning an irritating red cloak thing (irritating because the hood kept slipping) and dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood. Then at lunch me, Tom/Lud and Harriet went to watch the teacher's X Factor in the hall. I hate to be cliché, but the less said about that the better. Let's just say there were numerous wigs and some fairly violent foot stamping.

Tomorrow is famous groups and duos day. Despite having the ready made group that is our "friendship group" (as Amy so brilliantly called it), none of us could think of a decent idea to incorporate all of us. Me and Vicky couldn't even think of a good duo. I know, SHOCKHORROR. Ancient history on Wednesday though, and I expect a flood of togas at school, poorly crafted from white sheets. I add my own to that list. Then "Things beginning with B" on Thursday. Me and Vicky are being a pair of butchers. IT'S FOR THE IRONY. We have fake blood. And foot long knives. Everyone will be jealous of our knives.

Then on Friday it's a Teacher Training Day and me and Vicky are going on our long awaited trip to London! But I shall discuss that closer to the date. Might even get Vicky to post.

You remember Vicky, right?

Jasm <3

So's your MUM'S face.

We posted once last month and yet somehow we managed to get 137 views.

I admire your dedication to our pathetic blog, guys <3

SO. I'm pretty sure a lot has happened. I can't think of anything in particular, but I'm sure it has.

...

OH I KNOW, I bought some new folders. YAY.

More interestingly than my trip to WHSmith, was mine and Vicky's birthdays, which took place late last month. It was fun. We had a birthday picnic. The weather wasn't co-operating. We played in the park and molested a panda while we were there. We went to Harriet's, where Matt was a sausage and DANNY NOWELL (I had to look on facebook to check I'd spelt his name right. I hadn't) was a bowl of rice. Me and Vicky had a sleepover and talked about boys and make up and kittens and other stereotypical feminine topics. 

It was all very jolly. Shame you couldn't come. OH WAIT, YOU WEREN'T INVITED.

Yeah. I went there.

Um. We're studying Language and Technology in English Language, and I'm now highly aware of what I'm typing. It's kinda unnerving. "Kinda" being both a hedge and an intensifier, both of which are generally associated with a female's vernacular. And "Um" being a filler, which reflects a sign of non-fluency in spontaneous spoken mode.

Speaking of English, have I mentioned that I have a piece of coursework to redraft for Tuesday?

Have I mentioned that I have a psychology mock to revise for?

HAVE I MENTIONED THAT I HAVE GOV+POL EXAM QUESTIONS TO ANSWER FOR TOMORROW?

No?

This post lacks cohesion and effort. My phone is buzzing at me. I need painkillers. Until next time, Bloggies <3

P.S. Happy ma's day, mummy.

HAPPY DEATHDAY, DAVEYKINS

As you're all well aware, it is St David's day today!

YAY.

YAY?

No, I haven't got a clue either.

So instead of doing my English Language homework, I decided to find out about this unknown "St David" bloke, who was deemed worthy of his own day.

I started with the very reliable source, that is Timmeh. This is how that went:

[20:27:10] JAas.: TELL ME THE STORY OF ST DAVID.
[20:27:25] Tom Crosher: Pah, I don't know¬
[20:27:36] JAas.: :C

I then moved on to Matt:

[20:30:43] JAas.: So.
[20:30:48] JAas.: Storeh tym?
[20:31:03] JAas.: TIEM FOR STOREH
[20:31:08] Uncle MAat. Leggett: I don't know the story! D:
[20:31:11] JAas.: :C

Eleanor got a little confused:

[20:31:54] JAas.: Do you know the story of St David? :C
[20:32:16] Eleanor Harby: Tell it me, Arsebandit.
[20:32:54] JAas.: NO, ELLY BELLY. I do not know the story of St David!
[20:33:04] JAas.: This is why I ask THESE THINGS

And as a last hope, Vicky:

[20:32:04] JAas.: DO YOU KNOW ST DAVID'S STORY?!
[20:32:15] Vicky: No...
[20:32:19] Vicky: What's a St David? :P

As you can see, I was unsuccessful in my search. We just don't know who Dave is! "Why is he a saint?", we ask! "Why have I never heard of this day before?!", we cry! "WHY DOES HE DESERVE A GOOGLE DOODLE?!" All questions I felt the need to answer.

Inevitably, I googled. Wikipedia was up first, but I chose to overlook that and instead clicked on "St David's Day for Kids". Amid the word searches and spot the differences, I spotted a small paragraph of interest:

Saint David (known as Dewi Sant in the Welsh language) is the patron saint of Wales. He was a Celtic monk who lived in the 6th Century and was Archbishop of Wales. His influence is shown by the number of churches dedicated to him in Wales.

 So that's it. DaveyWavey was a 'monky man', as Matt so cleverly put it.

After further study I found out that he actually died on the 1st of March (sometime in the 6th century), which is why we (are supposed to) celebrate his day today. Today being the 1st of March. 1st of March today. Ah. March.

And we'd obviously never heard of him before because he's Welsh! And since when do we pay attention to what the Welsh are doing? In fact, despite Wales petitioning a million times for their patron saint to get his own bank holiday, parliament ignored them entirely.

So yeah. Now you know the amazingly interesting story of St DaveyBear! Timmy kindly wrote a story about him:

"St David is the leader of a fearsome tribe. He wrestles bears and eats wood from the bark of Knifetrees. Which are as they sound. He falls in love with a girl. And the end."

Lovely.

Jasm <3

HELLO BLOG. I remember you.

Sorry about the lack of posts. I’ve been...

So. 
How are you all?

This week was our half term HOLIDAAAY, and as such much joviality was had.

Many things happened! Most of them uninteresting. HOWEVER, yesterday we made flapjack. It came out as something between a solid and a liquid and we ate it with spoons. The problem was Matt’s carelessness with the oats. Still, It was lovely.

Nevertheless, the sheer amount of golden syrup we put in the flapjack paste left me and Jasmine ... overexcited. We proceeded to dress up and dance to “We no speak Americano” . Our dance moves were carefully synchronised. Imagine it. Imagine it right now.

Then we thought it would be a good idea to try out Omegle video calling. IT WAS, of course. We met some lovely, completely uncreepy people.

For example, this guy who was smoking and looking at us. His friend then appeared next to him SHIRTLESS.
<Disconnect>
Chavs
<Disconnect>
“Hey sexy girls”
<Disconnect>
Partially dressed men. Being BORING.
<Disconnect>
Someone who wanted to know the colour of our bras for a (obviously legit) survey. We offered to tell them. They needed proof.
<Disconnect>
VERY BAD THINGS WE DIDN’T WANT TO SEE
<Disconnect>

At this point Jasmine decided to go home.  My dad gave her a lift and they talked about the future of media. Apparently it’s looking good.

On Tuesday, I went to LANDAN with my mother and auntie. My lovely auntie bought me a Chlamydia microbe. It’s green and generally adorable. I like to try and give it to people while my boyfriend’s away. They tend not to want it...

We also visited the Tate Modern. After looking in a couple of rooms I’d decided that modern art was a complete waste of space, and refused to pay the suggested donation of £3 on the way out. I felt guilty for the rest of the day.

Maybe I’ll pay £6 next time I go there.
LOL, jk.
That won’t be happening.

Vicky xxxxxxxxxxxx

10 things that you probably don't care about!

I figured that in our little dream world, a few of the people who read this blog probably wouldn't know all that much about me and Vicky. In reality this isn't true because everyone who reads this is likely to be one of our friends. And even some of those don't check it very regularly (CoughLUDLOWCough). I'm going to go with the first scenario and assume that we have more than (approx.) 5 regular readers.

SO, for all of you strangers out there, here is a list of 10 things (I can't promise that they'll be interesting) about my life! YAY.

1. I have 408 songs on my iPod, 1 music video, 1 film trailer, 1 film and 15 podcasts. The podcasts are mostly French and Polish language type things. I watched the French ones because I wanted to show some sort of enthusiasm towards the language that I foolishly picked to do at GCSE (a choice that I regretted every Tuesday morning for two years). The Polish ones because I was planning on going to Poland for the summer with my friend. It never happened. The podcasts haven't been touched since.

2. I have 124 books on my bookshelf. Naturally, said bookshelf is one of my most prized possessions. Although it probably comes second to my TEDDY BEAR, Magic. He's lovely. I might show you a photo of him one day.

3. I wrote a big paragraph here about my OCD tendencies, until I realised that it made me sound weird. I am weird, but there's no need to advertise the fact to the world.

4. Celery is the most disgusting thing ever. SPEAKING OF VEGETABLES. If I were a vegetable, I would be sweetcorn. Only tinned sweetcorn, obv. None of that frozen rubbish.

4.5 I wasn't sure whether that should've been, "If I was a..." or, "If I were a..." Let's be honest though, you don't know the difference either, so it's not like it matters.

5. We did a "self esteem" test in Psychology. I'm a four. FOUR.
What's that? You want to take the test too?! Feel free: http://www.more-selfesteem.com/test.htm

6. We saw a nun in school. A real life nun. She was wearing a grey nun dress. With a nun hat. And nun bling.

7. I have two and a half sides of A4 to fill, explaining why Hamlet is a quintessential tragic hero. This isn't something that I look forward to.

8. I wrote 1-7 five days ago.

8.5 I'm sorry for that.

8.75 Matt was helping me when I started to write this, but now he isn't here and it's hard to think of mildly interesting things about my life without his input. If it goes downhill from here, BLAME MATT.

9. It's been 7 minutes since I wrote 8.75 because Timmy texted me saying LOL producing things. Ah, that Timmeh and his jokes!

10. Texted isn't a word according to Google Chrome. And no, that doesn't mean Firefox is better, Chrome haters. Besides, you're not so different from us. I think us Chromers and you Firey Foxes should get together some time and bond over how mind-numbingly slow IE is. What do you say? ;)

Affectionate snuggles to you, bloggies.
Jas x

Why York is better than Nottingchester

Yesterday, Christopher and I spent the day in the charming York.  Unlike trips to Manchester and Nottingham, there was a real purpose to this visit. We didn’t go just to wander around closed University buildings, or assess the city on whether or not it had a Pret a Manger (By the way, IT DID). No, no.  We went with the simple intent of visiting the NATIONAL RAILWAY MUSEUM.

It was with this in mind that I gleefully awoke at SEVEN THIRTY on a Saturday morning to get ready.  An hour or so later, we were at the train station to collect our tickets. We queued for the machines, went to the only one that wasn’t for collecting tickets, re-queued, and finally got them. And as if the train station hadn’t failed us enough already, we had to wait SEVEN minutes because our train was delayed. I’m seriously considering writing a strongly worded letter.

Nevertheless, we finally managed to leave our rainy hometown and reach the relative sunshine of YORK. We spent the first half of the day preparing ourselves for the RAILWAY MUSEUM with some hardcore shopping. Too much time spent there and we would have become overexcited.

Our first stop was the adorable Cath Kidson shop, where Chris looked at all the floral prints with delight. I then dragged him into H & M where he utterly refused to try on a fetching red chequered shirt. We spent a good ten minutes in there trying to work out whether we were actually viewing a oversized baby suit with hearts on, like we thought we were.

We were on our way to Topshop when we found a much more amazing store selling everything you could possibly want. I spent a while considering a game called “Who’s naked?” , a clotheless version of who’s who, while Chris was eying up some Racing Royals. We left that shop with joyful hearts and a 2 foot inflatable afro.

 

Convinced as we were that nothing could beat that, we actually came across a shop called MANWORLD or something, which I was forced into. As it happens, I’m pretty sure I enjoyed Manworld more than my boyfriend. It was full of wonders! From sonic screwdrivers to a boob radio. Yeah. A boob radio.

Following in Jasmine’s footsteps, I also decided to introduce him to the Marks and Spencers bra section. He followed me awkwardly for maybe 2 minutes, before cowering to the relative safety of the old ladies clothes. I think that says a lot.

We eventually dragged ourselves away from the marvels of York city centre to go to the NATIONAL RAILWAY MUSEUM. As you may have gathered, I was kind of looking forward to this. AND I WASN’T DISAPPOINTED.  We happily wandered, nay, gleefully SKIPPED around a giant room of trains. I was in my element. We sat on a bit of a bullet train, GAPED at a model railway, and even constructed our own train out of wooden blocks designed for children to use. We were both chuffed with this achievement.

We even saw a stuffed dog. Seriously, this place had everything.

Eventually, it was time to tear ourselves away from York and catch our train home. If it wasn’t for the prospect of going on a train, this would have been heartbreaking. Quite like trains, you see...

Forever yours,
Vicky xx

"Nick Clegg sounds like dickhead"

Sorry, I didn't post yesterday, BUT THERE WERE IMPORTANT THINGS TO TALK ABOUT TONIGHT.

So, today was quite an exciting day of school. I got my Eng Lang coursework back, which I was surprisingly pleased with. We decided to go in to Crosspool at lunch for a change. My psychology teacher brought in cake for us! All in all, a very good day.

Oh yeah, and Deputy PM Nick Clegg came in for a chat.

As you do.

I was oddly excited about seeing Nick Clegg. Odd because I see him constantly on the news and I doubted he was any different in real life. But also odd because I have very negative feelings towards the right honourable Clegg, as did almost everyone else there! But that just made it more fun. We can all hate him together <3

A good 250 of us squeezed in to the hall in anticipation. We reshuffled places a few times. Nosey teachers poured in. News reporters stood importantly at the front. Finally Cleggy did arrive, making a very anti-climatic entrance. He strolled in. We watched him silently. The teachers looked around nervously. Someone started clapping apprehensively. A few people copied. Me and Eleanor shared amused glances. Not the heroes welcome he had imagined from our fairly middle class school, methinks.

He started by rattling off an insignificant speech about how if we said anything bad about him, it was only because we didn't know what we were talking about. Let's face it, no one was listening to that bit. I was far too excited at the prospect of BROGAN asking him a question. Out spoken, highly opinionated BROGAN! Although Brogan did get his chance to speak, unfortunately it was over-shadowed by Josh Something's earlier question which received loud applause and a smirk from Mr Wright! This was the same question that seems to have been broadcast across the (regional) news, but it deserved it. And the cheers. And the smirk.

Meanwhile, Mr Clegg's answers left a lot to be desired. He was fairly predictable at times, using the expected, "They started it, it's THEIR FAULT" excuse. Never gets old. LOL jk, give it up, Cleggy. I was even prepared for the patronisation that we were addressed with, and the number of times that he had to repeat points to make it clear for us little kids, who obviously know nothing about politics. I wasn't, however, expecting his "chippy" tone. It was genuinely funny when he told a boy at the front to "DO THE MATHS" and  everyone gasped in unison. Or when he kept on telling people off  for not letting him answer (although I only ever heard one person interrupt him). But however much amusement this caused me, I couldn't help thinking that this probably wasn't the best way to address his constituents, you know, his future voters. Because, let's face it, he wouldn't shout back at a 60 year old woman if she asked him a question on banking. It's not nice. In fact, it's downright rude.

So, Mr Clegg, you may have answered your questions with an averagely impressing competence, but the answers don't even matter if you're going to be mean about it! >:|   <-- Grumpy face.

Jasm x

Lay a little egg for me...

Before sitting down to write this post, I had to remove a certain present from my chair. A present which I had hurriedly thrown there this morning, in a frantic effort to remove it from my school bag. I could already imagine the embarrassment of seeing it roll across the floor as I knocked the contents over. Or  the sheer humiliation of reaching inside for my pencil case, only to instead grab on to its elasticy flesh and place it on my desk.

However, I want to make it very clear to Matt and Jasmine that I love my rubber chicken very much.  I couldn’t possibly think of a better gift, and I’ll be eternally grateful.

I was sitting on the (exclusively sixth form) balcony yesterday, innocently discussing my plans for the weekend, when a bulging yellow plastic bag was waved in front of my face. I quickly grabbed it, eager to see what it was. Needless to say, as soon as I saw its rubber beak, and beautiful rubber wings, my heart filled with delight.   

Me and my friends, a group of 16 and 17 year olds, spent the next quarter of an hour gleefully throwing this rubber chicken around in a circle. Even more hilarity ensued when we realised that squeezing the chicken made it ‘lay an egg’.  Everyone was happy, the sun was shining, that is, until certain members of the group decided to ruin it all for everyone. Firstly, MATTHEW decided to inform me that the chicken couldn’t be name Brian because it laid an egg, and was therefore a girl. This comment was ignored.

As if this wasn’t bad enough, Timmy decided to kidnap the lovely Brian, and throw him at Danny, who hit him with a ring binder.  It was a sick, twisted game.
I immediately picked my Brian from the floor, brushed the debris off him, and stuffed him into the safety of my bag.

Where I probably should have left him...

However, such a proud new chicken owner was I, that I decided to show my friend in Psychology. She was so impressed that she demanded to squeeze Brian herself. Soon, my whole row was in awe of him. Sensing there was some amazing spectacle to be seen, my Psychology teacher walked over, and insisted on seeing it herself. I’m pretty sure I turned a bright shade of red as I slowly placed my rubber chicken on the desk... 

Vicky xxxxxxxxxx

No, we're not in Gham.

Today I risked my life by going to Nottingham with Matt. I'd pretty much accepted the fact that I was going to be killed, or at the very least, shanked. But believe or not, I'm not writing this from "beyond the grave". I wasn't brutally murdered. I wasn't even mugged. In fact, the most threatening thing we encountered was a flock of low flying pigeons, which Matt bravely protected me from.

Obviously, I didn't just wake up one morning and think, "Oh, might go to Nottingham, y'know!" No. This had a similar purpose to mine and Vicky's trip to Manchester (read about it here). As such, our first stop was the University campus! I've never actually seen a university campus outside of OH SO REAL American sitcoms and films. In the cities I've visited (and, indeed, the one I live in) the university buildings and the dorm rooms have been scattered across the city carelessly, leaving poor students to trek half way across the city to go to different lecture hall places and sleep dorm thingies. Technical terms. Matt's brother, Andrew, who we got the train with (and who is better than Matt at "I spy"), kindly showed us around the campus area, helpfully pointing out important things like which halls the "RAH"s stayed in and where the best food was served. I imagine I would've been more impressed if the temperature in Nottingham hadn't been around 20 degrees colder than EVERYWHERE ELSE IN THE WORLD. As it was, we could've flocked to the Arctic for a summer break.

We scaled "Mount Doom", an infamous 'hill', that daunts many who try to cross it. Naturally, us Sheffielders were not afraid of a slight incline. Andrew left us after that, in search of his lunch, and Matt and I wandered towards the bus stop, threatening to push each other in to the lake we were walking beside. After watching two buses crawl past us, we finally got on the Indigo (Ahh!) bus to Broadmarsh. As the temperature increased, so did my appreciation of Little Nottingham Town. Sure, it wasn't as big as Manchester. No, it didn't have as many people bustling about. Yeah, there was the constant threat of being mugged. But it had it's own little quirks, none more fascinating than the ridiculous number of £1/99p shops that littered the Broadmarsh centre. Naturally, we went in them all.

We both found our desired lunching venues (Matt's Subway and my Pret). I even managed to have a coffee without spilling too much of it, although that was mostly thanks to Matt and his hands. We stood in Waterstones for a while, reading The Gruffalo. We visited the Victoria Centre to buy Vicky a present, from a shop whose tag line was "...All the things you didn't know existed!" I dragged Matt in to the bra section of Marks and Spencers, and he dragged me back out of it. We wandered past a stall selling bowls of fruit (most notably LEMONS) for £1. We did this twice, each time Matt pausing to seriously consider purchasing said fruit, until on the third, we actually did. Yeah. We bought a bowl of lemons. And what? After/Before/Meanwhile, Matt bought me a present that I obviously don't know about, and I bought him one that he obviously doesn't know about. We're good with secrets.

Basically, we aimlessly wandered around for hours, but it was FUN. Nottingham is even PLEASANT in parts! I know, I was as surprised as you. I could definitely handle living there during my student years, even if there isn't a Selfridges.

After a final trip to a pound type shop for Matt's bar of chocolate, we hunted down the train station. We dithered outside the ticket gates for a while, deciding whether to go for the train that left in 5 minutes, or staying for an unknown length of the time until the next one. We ended up settling for the first one - probably a good idea, seeing as it was pretty dark by then, and we'd already been lucky to escape being shanked for that long. Matt had a minor heart attack when he thought I'd lost my train ticket (I had to calmly explain that I hadn't lost it at all and it was just in one of many pockets), not that the train conductor man cared. We planned the baking of a lemon cake. Stole each other's phone. Willingly gave up our phones for lulz. Made far too many innuendo jokes based around Matt and his juicy lemons. Until, what could only have been 10 minutes later, the train driver was declaring we were in Sheffield and everyone needed to get the hell off his train. I paraphrased, but that was basically the gist of what he was saying.

Matt's mum came to pick us up and - after I made sure Matt's coat was securely zipped up - we skipped towards her. Literally. Alas, the bag that Matt was holding our juicy lemons in split, leaving him to scramble back for them in panic. I just stared after him in vague confusion. What else can you do when your lemons are rolling away from you at speed?

Lol.

Don't worry yourselves though, Matt managed to rescue 2 out of 3 escaped lemons, and we were left with 4 for our lemon cake. DISASTER AVERTED, PEOPLE.

Jasm x

Don't you make me Ap Chagi you

Our beloved reader, 

You may have noticed that recent posts haven’t exactly been written by us. We decided to share the joy, the delight, nay, the sheer honour of writing on our blog with our friends.  Both of them.

I hope that their high standards haven’t left you with any kind of expectations. In fact, the amateur style will have left you longing for the return of your treasured Vicky and Jasmine. Right? Right!

So, I was racking my brains for a topic that could possibly prove as enthralling as Scotland, or Matt’s irrational love of Nottingham. Obviously, this wasn’t hard, so I didn’t think for long.

I have decided, bloggie, to tell you all about Tae Kwon Do.

Yeah, that’s right. I do sport.
EXERCISE.

(Nearly) every Monday and Friday, ‘Els’ and I drag ourselves out of our respective houses. Our WARM homes. Our HAVENS of comfort. To ‘keep fit’.

We reluctantly change into our sexy doboks.
Look at the beauties:

Yeah, we look like that. 

Without the black belt.
Or masculinity.
Or the cool.

And head to the lesson.

Each one runs like this:

We line up in grade order, facing the backsides of the superior green and blue belts

-          We share a glance of reluctance  and wait for the warm up

-          We jog, do press ups, star jumps, kicks, SQUAT THRUSTS, and other such activities.

-          We share a look of distaste

-          We wander off with a kick pad, and jirugi and chagi to our hearts content.  (Technical terms, right there)

-          We practice our pattern (A kind of...  dance. For jocks.)

-          We partake in some kind of race and receive glares from the higher grades who take offence at our lack of... ability.

-          We do a ‘cool down’, the best part of which is the hip circles. SOME members of  the group tend to take these too seriously and are at risk of injuring those nearby. It’s actually quite surreal sometimes. The instructor starts telling us about competitions and whatnot, and you look up to see the whole class waving their arses around. Well, I find it funny.

We have so far achieved the (incredibly impressive) status of Yellow Belts. BUT THESE ARE NOT JUST YELLOW BELTS, friend. They have a GREEN STRIPE. A green stripe of fear, of terror, a green strip of POWWEEEER.

Just a whisper of this green stripe will bring dread to the hearts of even the bravest of men (OR WOMEN).

We couldn’t have managed this without the wise teachings of our instructor (A.K.A. Mr AMAZING).  It’s all worth it, just for him. When I grow up, I want to be Mr. Amazing.

Vicky OUT xxxxxxx 

The Crazy Foo's Let Me Near Their Blog >=]

(The abridged version...)

Um. Hey. I'm writing a post for you!! 'I' being Matt. The things you've heard about me in older posts ARE ALL LIES. I swear. Glad we've got that sorted. Now I have the horrible task of writing something Brilliant, Otherwise I will be in Overly deep trouble with the authors of this Blissful, Indeed Excellent blog – Sorry if I don't manage (which I won't). I'm never going to be allowed to write again ='|

Before I describe to you the wonderful events of my/your/everyone's weekend, I'd like to briefly depict for you the land in which I was born. In the midst of thick, lush forests, hides away the sleepy town of Nottingham, where rainbows paint the sky with their vivid spectra and where old people don't need helping across the road because they ride unicorns. Everyone is happy there, and it's so pleasant you can walk about at night without having to fear one iota for your safety. So go there, next time you have the chance, visit subway, ride unicorns, look at rainbows.

Oops... back to the point of this post! On Saturday I attended a party celebrating Chris Davenport's, long since passed, seventeenth birthday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHRIS!). I say party, it was more of a humble gathering – the closest thing we nerds get to a party, but excellent fun it was nevertheless!

Of course, the evening commenced with the, now to be, customary game of “pass the parcel”. The prizes were wonderfully zany (first recorded use of that word in over 10 years), including pasta, a bagel, a chocolate bunny and some snails (REAL SNAILS). Unfortunately, it somehow managed to turn out that half the people present (including Chris) knew half the prizes, but it went well anyway, people had fun and I now own baked beans. No joke, baked beans, I'm a lucky person! What could be better?

By six we were summoned to the table, where we munched on pizza and where we were given a lesson in directions from our host, who informed us the direction of “front” and that left and right were in fact the opposite way round to the way in which we all thought they were. All this was followed by cake (in the articulate shape of an igloo (congratulations once again to the Davenport's for acquiring yet another excellent cake)) and jelly (wibble, wobble, wibble, wobble jelly on/in a plate/bowl), the latter of which I proceeded to fling across the table. As you do.

I believe (I don't quite remember, you know how it is after a party) we then concluded the raving by watching Mr and Mrs Smith. It was a completely believable and exciting spy film which involved... nah, I won't bore you with the details, just remember it turns out Bruce Willis was a ghost all along. Three people giggled the whole way through (apparently something to do with the way I was sitting? I'm sure they were just being silly) and Timmy talked through the first few minutes, however these events may have added more to the experience than they took away. LOL jk, I enjoyed the film really, Chris!! (And no I did not jump at any scenes of people getting shot, or cringe at any semi-nudity scenes – and I never have!! Well... anyway.)

Er.. think that's probably all there is to tell.. Sufficiently bored now? I know.. I know.. at least you managed to last this long! Perhaps Vicky and Jasmine will start blogging properly now, 'cause they write much better posts, right? RIGHT? At least I tried. And at least I haven't re-concluded or anything.

So bye bloggies! 'fraid there's no x's from me, don't want to give you my germs. Yeah.. that's exactly it. Yeah.

Oh! YEAH! SUNDAY. Everyone loves Sunday. Sorry I forgot you, Sunday. Sorry the torture isn't over, bloggies! Went to town, went to Caffee Nero, three quarters of us had coffee, Vicky and Jasmine bought me some lovely laces for my shoes, because they stretched my last laces (grr!!!), went to Marks and Spencer (still not actually sure why), only to be kicked out, went to WHSmith where we had a good look at an A-Z of NOTTINGHAM and where Vicky had a look at a pregnancy book (for the second time, still not actually sure why) and finally got the bus back home, on which the driver undercharged me AGAIN. So noish, yet so annoying.

Right.

You can go now.

Really.

It's over.

It's all good.

BYE.

=[

Scotland the Brave

Ach, and a hoot-mon to you. I'm here today to talk to you about a topic very close to my heart.

MY RIBS. HA HA HA.

Also, Scotland.

Now, very much like my ribs, Scotland is located above England. It sometimes gets a bad press, just like my ribs. It's full of drunk teenagers and deep fried Mars Bars, just like my ribs. IT'S LIKE MY RIBS.

Scotland was actually invented in the Victorian era to give the poor masses in London something to look down upon. When they were in their 400 in a bed houses, catching cholera like the plague, they could look up North and go 'At least we aren't in Aberdeen'.

           

In fact, when building Scotland, they made sure to add only the crappiest weather and a large amount of habits and cultural quirks that were designed for the sole purpose of being made fun of. PHUN PHACT: This design was also reused for Northern Ireland and Wales.

Let's get some audience participation going here. What do you, the reader, imagine when you think about Scotland?

Do you think of the lone bagpiper?

The majestic musician, standing on a street corner, playing the same GODDAMN TUNE FOR ABOUT HALF AN HOUR WITHOUT PAUSING. WHO IS ACTUALLY LISTENING TO YOU,  SERIOUSLY? YOUR 'FANS'? NOT LIKELY. STOP IT.

Or how about the drunk?

Not much else needs to be said about the drunk. He's drunk. There's not going to be a dance routine or anything. OH WAIT: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AB_uJwwNEtw

You might even think of beautiful countryside, and foreboding cliff faces, breaking out into a violent and overpowering sea.

But only an idiot would believe that's what Scotland's really like. Imagine this picture, but seen through a haze of fog and crisp packets. Also, that blue sky? Tells you it's not actually Scotland.

Above is an artist's impression of the real Scotland.

Funnily enough, I came from Scotland. You couldn't tell nowadays, though. Not after losing my thick ginger beard and putting the kilt in the cupboard. However, I have kept some of the old Scottish traits in me. I never wash, I can't count to ten, and I have a true fear of spending money. And sunlight. Scared of sunlight.

If any of you sun-people want to know what Scotland's really about, you need to go there. And I know about the problem with that. The problem is that anyone with any sense would never consider going there. QED, you're not going to go there.

This is one of the many reasons Scotland has descended into chaos. Yeah. Didn't hear about that on the BBC news, did you? While you drink your 'tea' and wear your 'trousers'. Did you English scum even know we've overthrown our police force? Taken to the streets in naught but a kilt and a broken beer glass? Did you know we've run out of Mars Bars to fry?

Of course not. Because anyone with any sense would never head North. That was lies madness. That way lies Scotland.

Tom McIlroy. (Proper Scottish.)

Yes. Didn't mention haggis once.

Rescueth the fair princess!

Eleanor was complaining at me because she was only mentioned very briefly in the last post that I did. I told her that I would dedicate my entire post to her on Monday, SO HERE WE GO.

Gather round, children, gather round.

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess called Eleanor. She lived in a small castle called 006, in the valley of Maths Corridor and the land of Tapton. Although Eleanor was perfectly lovely (most of the time), she never had any visitors at 006. This was because Eleanor's castle was guarded by an evil serpent called Kirke! Kirke kept Eleanor prisoner in 006 and forced her to do FRACTIONS and SURDS. Everyone around was terrified of Kirke, who would catch anyone who dared try to enter 006 and throw homework at them. So, for years and years, Eleanor suffered under the vicious rule of Kirke without a single mathsbuddy to save her. SAD FACE.

One day, a young boy named McTimmy heard Eleanor's cries of dismay from his village, "Scotland", that was nearby. McTimmy, instantly struck with love and adoration for the screaming princess, rushed down to the village shop, where he bought a slightly bent ruler (he couldn't find the straight ones) and a shiny helmet (to protect his famous fringe). His friends and family warned him that it was a lost cause, the Kirke was just too strong! But McTimmy straightened down his blouse and stood tall. "No!" he cried, "I'll save Princess Eleanor!"

After hours of trekking through the swamps and lakes that surrounded 006, McTimmy finally reached the huge wooden door that was the entrance to the castle. "PRINCESS!" he screeched, beckoning to his beloved. "Princess, I have come to save you! Fling open your doors and I will proceed to pet you in inappropriate ways in front of all my friends!!"

Hearing this, Eleanor peered out of the window to her tower. "Be careful, noble knight! Kirke will hear you!" she shouted down to McTimmy. "Your only hope is to scale my tower before she sees you."

McTimmy eyed the tower nervously. His precious fringe would be safe thanks to his new helmet, but what if his blouse got torn?! Was the exotic maiden in the tower really worth the risk?

"Sorry, Princess." McTimmy yelled, shrugging. "Priorities, you know." He permitted her a quick wave, then wandered back to "Scotland", singing songs of multiplication and intact blouses.

THE END


Love you, bloggies
Jasm xxx

Don’t listen to the lies she tells you.

Bloggies,
I DO love you. I do. Sorry about yesterday! You see, I was, er... I had to... I forgot.
But let me make that up to you.

BY TELLING YOU ABOUT REVISION
That’s right. The last month or so of my life has been plagued by the impending doom of exams. I’ve been confined to my room, metaphorically TIED to my chair, pouring over 100s, 1000s, maybe MILLIONS of pages of work. All I really seem to do is copy that work out, and double the amount of notes I have. Then, the night before the exam, I sit staring at the 5 copies of the work I now have and wonder what I’ve done with my life.

Thankfully, I’ve already got 4/5 exams done.  Including the one I was most worried about- GENERAL STUDIES, by far the most important and worthwhile of the 6AS levels I’m taking. (Lol, jk)

Today, I have so far spent FIVE hours cramming for my final exam. I spent much of the time revising ‘forgetting’. It’s sad and ironic that I can’t remember most of the theories...

Anyway,
Life’s not about WORK.

Christmas was good. Jasmine bought me Lotso and he smells of strawberries and I love him.
We broke our car, I racked up a £103 phone bill in 3 days, and the other day I dropped my iPhone in a glass of water. Don’t even ask how.
That’s about it.

Vicky xxxxxxx <Because I love you.

P.s. Someone please buy Jasmine some toasted almond nail varnish. 

PSSSST

Vicky doesn't love you because she MISSED HER DAY.


That is all.

Jasm

R.I.P. BLOGGIES

No, we're not dead. Yes, we're sorry.

I could lie and say that we chose to have a Christmas break and that this was all planned. Or that we have millions of exams that desperately needed revising for (slightly more true for Vicky than for myself) and there wasn't even a spare second in which to write a short post. Or even that nothing of any interest has happened in the last few weeks that needed documenting.

I'd be lying.

We simply haven't put in enough effort to write to you, dearest bloggies (I'm officially calling you that now), and for this I can't apologise enough! Admittedly, we both started writing posts to warm your hearts with delight, but neither of these were ever finished. And you were left waiting. In the cold.

Ok, I'm exaggerating. Only Matt seemed to be very upset at our lack of posts and even he has given up complaining to us now. I'm sure you survived without your shot of Jacky. I mean, you survived, right?

HELLOOO?

HELLO?

Hello?

lo...?

Oh :C

Jasm xx

P.S. Went to see TRON (The Legacy) last night with NAR. There were gays and pedophiles. We liked the blue shiny disk the best.

That's all you need to know.



Love you, bloggies...