Formalities

Dear everyone who is still capable of reading this blog (that is to say, NOT Shoelace or Giuseppe, who are both spending time in the communist anti-blog paradise that is modern China),

I think it's the perfect time to finish my three-part account of the end of the year. 'The perfect time', in my own unique version of blog speak, is defined as 'the period of time slightly after I promised I'd write the thing but slightly before people begin harassing me about it'. In this case, some of the events described actually happened about a month ago. Luckily I was taking notes at the time. I have no doubt that a number of the people featured in this month's installment will spare no time in contacting me to explain exactly how wrong I am about certain details. Still, I am going to valiantly battle on and describe, in as much detail as I'll allow myself, Ariane's Malice in Wonderland party, exactly what happened when sixteen of us thought it would be a good idea to go and see the seventh Harry Potter movie, and of course, our most significant end-of-year event, the formal. Three very different events, and the preparation and incidents - or, in a word, the formalities - that accompanied each one.

The formalities of Ariane's 'Alice in Wonderland'-themed costume party included picking a character to dress as and then dressing as said character. Virtually all the character decisions were made while I was, unfortunately, out of internet reach. Therefore, by the time I'd returned I had very few choices left. Basically, it was either a turtle or a playing card. Neither of which I've ever aspired to be.

Luckily enough, I happened to be with Marie-Clare (who had intended to go as Alice) when she bought a dress with hearts on it and suddenly decided that in order to have an opportunity to wear it, she would go as the Queen of Hearts to the Malice in Wonderland party. Giuseppe had formerly called the Queen of Hearts. After a long chain of events - Marie-Clare took Queen of Hearts from Giuseppe and Brandine took Alice from Marie-Clare - I ended up with Alice's sister, who Brandine had originally wanted to go as. For all those who don't know - and that included me, at that point in time I'd never seen the original movie - Alice's sister looks like this:

Not only that, but I'd forgotten about the party until several days (three days, to be exact) before it actually happened. Basically, I did all I could in the time available, and arrived at Ariane's door wearing a purple skirt and shirt in the vague hope that if you squinted a bit, they did look at least similar to a nineteenth century dress (they didn't, but as it turned out, I wasn't the least convincing).

Ariane and Lala had probably put the most effort in and, as a result, actually looked mildly convincing (if not convincing, then at the very least interesting): Ariane as the cat, and Lala as the Mad Hatter. As for the rest . . . well, to put them on a scale of most convincing to least convincing:

GWEN - Came as the dormouse. I'm putting her at the top simply because of the amount of effort she went to, sticking fake claws over each of her fingernails. It looked (and was) hugely inconvenient - although pretty funny seeing her try to pick up her cup - and she took them off partway through, but it still counts.

MARIE-CLARE - Marie-Clare got into the whole 'Malice in Wonderland' thing and had an Alice bracelet on. Not to mention the dress.

PEANUT - She'd probably go above Marie-Clare - she'd put some effort into her costume - but for the fact that her idea of dressing as the caterpillar entailed her putting on a blue silk dressing gown, a green turban thing, and covering her entire face in green eyeshadow. Quite like something out of the Arabian nights (some of the genies were green, weren't they?). Not all that much like a caterpillar. The eyeshadow gave her a slightly unsettling look, but did mean her entire face glittered whenever it caught the light. She'd also brought a hookah along with her - one of these things:

Although in Peanut's case it wasn't really a hookah, just a teapot with a straw stuck in it. This led to the following exchange:

PEANUT (P): I'm not sure if you pronounce it 'hooker' or 'hoo-kah'

GIUSEPPE (G): It would have to be 'hoo-kah'. 'Hooker' means something completely different.

P: Yeah, you're probably right.

G: Otherwise you'd end up saying something like 'Can I smoke your hooker?'

(Lala walks up at exactly the wrong moment)

LALA (L):WHAT?

There was also another part to Peanut's costume, which she didn't pull out until part of the way through the party.

LESLIE (L): Saying something I don't remember

PEANUT (P): Hang on, I didn't hear that properly. Let me pull out my monocle.

(She does so)

L: Peanut, what is that?

P: It's a monocle.

L: No it's not.

P: It is.

L: Peanut, that's a drink stirrer. It is not a monocle.

P: It's a drink stirrer that works as a monocle!

NESS & SHARONA - They were, at least, wearing the same thing, but the only part of their costume that looked remotely Tweedledum & Tweedledee-ish was the propellor hat each of them were wearing. Then again, I hadn't actually seen 'Alice in Wonderland'. Maybe Tweedledum & Tweedledee are SUPPOSED to wear fishnets and extremely high heels.

SHOELACE - It's probably time Shoelace learned that dressing in brown and taping a small paper 'shell' to your back does not a Mock Turtle make. It was quite a nice shell, though.

BRANDINE - I don't think Alice wore checked shirts and high heels. I suppose she may have done, casually, of course, but not when she's actually in Wonderland. Still, even Brandine put in more effort than Giuseppe.

GIUSEPPE - I've a feeling she had originally intended to come as the white rabbit. Apparently, though, she'd had a busy day and hadn't had time to get a costume. So she arrived wearing a trenchcoat.

'It's Trenchcoat Bob!' said Ariane delightedly when we saw her getting out of the car.

'Who's Trenchcoat Bob?'

'You know Trenchcoat Bob - he's Alice's invisible stalker. He's one of the main characters!'

So Trenchcoat Bob, Alice's stalker, Giuseppe was.

At this point in the story I'm a little torn. I'd quite like to describe the party, but frankly it would be a little hard. I'd have to go through all the details of what Ariane had done to her house, the tea party she'd set up, the signs she'd arranged, and frankly that would involve a little too much effort, even for me. Also, Marie-Clare has started her regular bout of hassling - she even called me up just now, solely for the purpose of telling me to hurry up - so, frankly, the quickest way is probably the best way to go. The easy alternative was to put pictures up. But I can't put up photographs of my friends. That would completely defeat the point of giving them nicknames and being so terribly secretive about everything.

So, the easy solution was to take lots of Ariane and Sharona's pictures (yes, yes, copyright by them, I don't reserve the right to . . . something) and crop the recognisable pictures of 

people out of them. Which is what I've done. Enjoy.

Ariane had decked her garden out with a number of interesting Alice-ish signs:

That's Marie-Clare with the Mome Raths, by the way.

She'd also set up a tea party in her back yard, with teapots (most of which contained what I sincerely hope was soft drink; one, for some reason, was full of smarties), bottles labelled 'Drink Me', and cupcakes upon each one of which somebody had painstakingly spelled out 'EAT ME' in those little sugary ball bearing things. This effort was wasted on Sharona, who spent most of the evening seeing if cupcakes are flammable or not. Discovering that they aren't, not really, she moved on to burning napkins; we stopped her after she nearly set the tablecloth on fire.

As well as being covered with signs, Ariane's garden was covered in playing cards (one of which Sharona ended up setting alight) and watches dangling casually from the trees (such as the heart shaped one in the picture. That one wasn't actually up for very long, Peanut nicked it and concealed it inside her dressing gown for much of the party).

Later on we watched 'Alice in Wonderland' - the original Disney movie, not the Tim Burton one (in my opinion, the Disney one's probably better, although it does suffer from the fatal flaw of not having Stephen Fry in it). Alice's sister only had about three lines. She's also a severe killjoy. Next time I want to go as Trenchcoat Bob. Anyway, turns out Sharona is not only a pyromaniac, she's also an extremely hard person to watch movies with.

(We'd just reached the part of the film where lots of strange, mutant bird things are coming out and looking at Alice. Presumably Trenchcoat Bob was there looking at Alice as well, although we didn't see him)

SHARONA (S): Look, it's a bird with a hammer head! I should have come as that! Forget Tweedledee, I want to be a hammer head.

NESS (N): I thought I was Tweedledee. You're Tweedledum.

S: I don't really want to be Tweedledum - look! That one looks like a cage! I should have come as the cage thing!

PEANUT (P): Sharona, it could be hard to dress as a cage.

S: THAT ONE HAS A SPADE FACE! I want a bird that has a spade face. Oh, yeah, and I should have dressed as it. I could have just stuck a spade to my face.

ARIANE (A): Well, you can't come as everything. You barely even came as Tweedledum. I don't think Tweedledum wears fishnets.

S: I'm not Tweedledum, I'm Tweedledee.

GWEN (G): Look, can we please just watch the film?

A: Yeah, Sharona, stop interrupting.

S: All right, but I really want a spade face bird.

(Brief pause)

S: MOME RATHS! I want to be a mome rath!

Yes, it was a hard film to watch, made slightly harder by the fact that most of us wandered off halfway through to dance in the front room and eat cake (it was a truly inspiring cake, by the way, there's a picture here of Lala holding it).

All in all, 'Malice in Wonderland' was a more or less excellent way to spend an evening, although if there was to be a next time I'd suggest that Sharona isn't allowed to go anywhere near anything remotely flammable. I'd like to finish off the first part of my discussion on formalities with some pictures of Ariane and Lala (Ariane because she was the birthday girl, Lala because she had an extremely good hat on - or two extremely good hats, rather). Ariane's the one wearing purple; I have no idea why she's wearing Lala's hat in the first photo. Probably just the spur of the moment. Still, the way she's jammed it over her face makes an extremely good blog picture. It's Lala's hand in the teacup photo (I had originally thought it was Brandine's. Turns out, it's not. Lala was quick to correct me on that one). That picture wasn't set up. Lala just really, really wanted a cup of tea (or whatever it was in those teapots) and happened to be blocking Ariane's face. That's the way it was explained to me, anyway. I personally love that picture. The photo in the middle is of Lala. Or the top of her head, anyway.

So I've described Ariane's party in some detail; I now feel it's time to move on to the formalities of a completely different event. That of the time Gwen decided to get as many people as possible together and go and watch Harry Potter. 

The formalities of going to see a film with an extremely large group of people involve booking the tickets, of course, and making sure everyone can come - but most of all, it includes finding someone who is either able to or willing to organise everyone else to wherever they're supposed to be. In this case, the task of organiser fell squarely on to Gwen.

I'm going to do my best at remembering everyone who came. We filled up about a row and a half by ourselves, so it's a little tricky.

There was: Gwen, Vyvyan, Giuseppe, Ness, Peanut, Klaus, Hitler, Bob Dylan, Mai, Kapish, Shoelace, two friends of Kapish whom I shall refer to as Smithy and Masterson, and three other people I've forgotten.

No, because I was there too. Two people I've forgotten.

It began fairly inauspiciously: I walked up to the bookshop where we were meeting to see both Peanut and Vyvyan run out. Vyvyan came up to me and said, very seriously, 'I didn't break the torch, OK? No matter what anyone tells you, I didn't break the torch.'

She then started laughing so hard I couldn't figure out what she was saying for the next thirty seconds.

Luckily, Peanut explained it to me: Vyvyan had been fiddling with a torch and it had somehow, magically, 'got broken'. I was unsurprised. If you're going to leave torches in a bookshop and then allow people like Vyvyan to come in, you're bound to end up with one or two breakages. Probably more, depending on how many other people are there to protect the merchandise.

Eventually it transpired that she hadn't actually broken the torch. It's just that while the correct method of turning it off would have been to twist the handle (in exactly the same way as she managed to turn it on), Vyvyan was somehow convinced that it would turn off if she banged it on the table a few times. Which worked, although it did give the impression, once everyone had worked out that that wasn't how you were supposed to turn it off, that the torch was broken.

Anyway, Gwen somehow managed to organise us into the movie theatre, where we watched the film (well, OBVIOUSLY). Nothing major occurred, excepting only one incident, when a snake leapt up suddenly on-screen and Peanut panicked, jumped off her seat, and kicked Vyvyan in the ankle all in one smooth move. That was far funnier than it was traumatic, anyway.

All in all, the movie was a success. Gwen looked extremely relieved once it was over and she could stop hassling reluctant people to do things.

And finally - the main event of the end of school year (for us, anyway. It's probably not such a big deal for people who didn't actually get to go). I present to you:

YEAR 10 SEMI-FORMAL

(Yes, you can see our faces, but it's so small I don't consider it to count. It's not like I've labelled it. Photo courtesy of Vyvyan. That is to say, I haven't asked if I can have the photo, but I really don't think she'll care. This is a public website. It's like her first gig as a professional photographer)

The formalities of formal - well, it tends to vary. Luckily, we all got half a day off school to attend to these formalities. The boys spent it picking up their suits and playing Xbox (at least, so Falcon has led me to believe). It was a little more complicated for the girls.

Peanut and I, neither of us being the kind of person who is overly comfortable with hair and makeup stuff (I don't even know the technical terms. I just call it 'hair and makeup stuff'), banded together for the afternoon. This began with going to a place to see someone who DOES understand about hair and makeup stuff. The journey there, however, was fraught with hazard. Peanut's mother drove us; they have a large blue van, which is probably necessary as Peanut has four brothers and sisters (that is to say, two sisters and two brothers. Not four of each). Anyway, it's one of those vans that doesn't really have a boot that's separate to the rest of the car. It's all joined together, meaning that you can theoretically get to the boot when only the front door is open, if you don't mind hanging over three rows of seats. Peanut explained all this to me shortly after we'd gotten out of the car, when she'd realised that she'd left her phone in the boot. 'So you see, I should be able to get my phone out without having to move the car and get the boot open,' she added, while climbing through the door. Peanut's mother and I watched with interest as she suspended herself over two rows of seats and began to try and reach over the third. 'You look uncomfortable,' I observed.

'That's because I am . . .'

Suddenly, she froze. 'Oh no.'

'What is it? Did you find your phone?' inquired her mother.

'It's in my ****ing pocket!'

I almost expected Peanut's mum to get annoyed about the swearing, but luckily she was laughing far too hard to mention it.

We managed to get to the hair place eventually. I won't go in to what we had done in detail (partly because I'm not all that sure about what half the things the hairdresser/makeup person did were actually supposed to do) but I ended up with slightly curly hair and Peanut had hers straightened. One of the other hairdressers came to talk to us for a bit. 'So you're going to your formal?' she said cheerfully. We assented.

'Oh, good,' she said. 'So you're sisters, aren't you?'

There was a brief pause, during which Peanut and I both stared at each other in an attempt to see the resemblance.

'Um . . . no,' Peanut said firmly.

Anyway, after an hour and a half (it doesn't seem like all that much when you write it down, but at the time it took forever) we headed back to Peanut's house, where we put our dresses and shoes on and then practiced walking around in heels.

'I think it's a knack,' Peanut told me as she walked carefully past, trying not to wobble. 'There's a technique involved.'

I agreed. 'Perhaps if you try like this . . . no, hang on . . .' as I clutched a chest of drawers to halt my collapse.

Our walking attempts were stopped when Peanut's younger sister Hazel decided to become a paparazzo and chase us around with a camera (although we soon realised that if you can't walk in heels, you're unlikely to be able to run, and just stood still and put up with her aggressive photographic technique).

Eventually Aviator arrived with his mother, as Peanut's date. To her horror, he had brought her a corsage. 'It wasn't my idea,' he promised her as he presented her with it. 'I swear. My mother thought of it. Look, I have to wear a matching buttonhole.'

Even so, whenever I'm depressed I'm going to remember Peanut's face as he presented her with the white flowers (I think they were lilies). Her look of stricken horror will always have to be among my fondest memories of that evening. 'What do I do with this?'

'It's a wristband,' Aviator's mother explained kindly. 'You wear it on your wrist. Have you noticed Aviator's got the same flowers in his buttonhole?'

'I had,' Peanut said viciously.

Peanut put it on her wrist and then backed away, while her and Aviator's mothers conversed. 'How long do you think before I can lose this?' she asked in an undertone.

'You could hide it in the car,' suggested Hazel. 'Drop it on the floor and tell him it fell out the window,'

'Or actually throw it out the window,' I offered. 'Pretend you were pointing at something outside and it just fell off. Or that a sudden gust of wind took it.'

'That might work,' said Peanut thoughtfully.

'Anyway, it's time for more pictures,' Hazel ordered.

So we took about a frillion (well, probably closer to fifteen) more pictures, with all of us. 'I just want you to know that I wouldn't have chosen to take this picture,' Aviator explained to us as we got one with his arms around both of us, as his mother had requested.

'Well,' said Peanut, trying not to look away from the three flashing cameras, 'You are the year's biggest pimp.'

'Yes, it's expected of you,' I added.

(I should probably explain this; throughout the year, there has been an epic competition between Aviator and Lox to see which is the year's biggest pimp, a title neither of them want. In assembly that day, Aviator had finally been crowned the 'Biggest Pimp'. Now it's official).

Thankfully Falcon arrived fairly shortly after that. After numerous photos, we finally managed to leave the house. Aviator went in Peanut's car, I went in Falcon's. Somehow, despite the fact that we left slightly before them, they managed to arrive at the venue before us. I'm still perplexed as to how they managed this.

Everybody at formal looked truly awesome, and there's no point describing it because I'd be here all day. I can't really put pictures up but there are any number of albums about it on Facebook at the moment. My personal favourite is Vyvyan's album, which is why I stole the picture above from her instead of everyone else. A dubious honour.

Formal itself was a dinner/dance type of thing. There were a couple of DJs playing music (if you can call it music . . . they didn't even have the waka waka song when Brandine asked for it). If you liked dancing, you could go and do your thing up the front; if you liked eating, the rest of the room was basically tables. The tables were in groups of ten. On my table was Giuseppe, Falcon, me, Vyvyan, Chinny, Kapish, Gwen, Eggleston, Peanut, and Aviator.

Nobody on my table really danced until after the entree. In fact, the most interesting thing that happened during the entree was Aviator standing up. 'I'm going to request a song,' he informed us.

'What song?' Giuseppe wanted to know.

'What song do you think?' he asked, and left.

He returned about thirty seconds later, having spoken to the DJs. 'They said they're going to play it, and say it's a special request from me,' he said cheerfully.

'What song did you ask for, though?' asked Peanut warily.

'James Blunt's 'You're Beautiful', of course.'

I really can't remember if I've mentioned this before or not, but almost exactly a year ago, Giuseppe and I stole Aviator's school diary and refused to return it unless he recorded a cover of James Blunt's timeless classic. He did so. So far as I'm aware, virtually the whole year's heard it. It's well worth a listen - if only there were some way it were available on the internet, on YouTube perhaps . . .

Anyway, this is the song that Aviator had requested. For some reason the DJs chose not to play it immediately. Most of us assumed that they weren't going to play it at all, and so it was quite a shock when suddenly, in the middle of the main course, a voice announced 'And now, as a special request from Aviator . . .' and the song began to play.

I think the DJs were surprised when we gave the song a long round of applause. Aviator listened to it, grinning. 'You know what? I'm going to get up and sing it.'

'Don't do it!' I said quickly. Too late, however, as he'd already gone up the front and begged a microphone from one of the now even more surprised looking DJs. 'I dedicate this to Giuseppe, Leslie, and Shoelace,' he said magnanimously, before breaking out into song. He sang for a good twenty seconds before giving the microphone back to one of the now completely stunned DJs and running back to our table, to riotous laughter and applause. Again, I think the video's up on Facebook - twenty seconds' worth at least.

The rest of the formal was mainly just dancing and talking to people (there were, to the best of my knowledge, no other major Aviator-style incidents). I remember that at one point Aviator decided the dance floor was too crowded and found a space behind the curtains instead, where he pulled me and Giuseppe so we all had room to dance. And he claims not to be a pimp. Actually, there was a surprising amount of room behind the curtains. When I was looking for Falcon at one point, Skeith and I wandered around, looking behind all the curtains ('Just in case!', as Skeith said at the time). We eventually found him in the middle of the room.

The formal went from 6:30 to 10:30, and the time went surprisingly fast (far faster than at the hair and makeup place, anyway, although time never does seem to go particularly fast when someone's poking a small brush into your eye). Peanut never ended up losing her corsage; at least, if she did, Aviator clearly found it again for her, as she was still wearing it at the end of the night, although it was slightly the worse for wear. All in all, it was an extremely good night. Even breaking the end off the heel of my shoe in the car park didn't mar it too badly (mar the night, that is. It marred the shoe quite a lot).

And that was it. The end. The end of the year and the end of my overlong three-part coverage of the end of the year. And it's about time for both of them, I think. Roll on Christmas. And Senior School, but I prefer not to think of that.

Oh, yes, and me & Falcon are going out now. There's formalities for you.

Not-So-Sweet Sixteen

I turned 16 on Tuesday (the 31st of August, for those of you who aren't so good with dates).

I'm allowed to marry. I can drive in certain parts of the world. This isn't terribly useful, as I can already drive. 'Can' in the sense of 'am allowed to', not as in 'am capable of'. The last time I tried to drive I drove into the tree in our driveway. There is now a fetching dent in the front of our car. The tree, however, as I'm sure you will be glad to know, is fine.

I'm not all that certain being allowed to marry is useful either. Obviously, I was married before. Lala could tell you that. Also any of the fifty trillion people who now read this blog (well, it seems like that many. The word is spreading). But now, it's legal. I'll have to be careful of what I say unless I want to end up in breach of promise cases, bitter divorce court battles or even alimony payments. Still, it might be useful. If ever the urge takes me to marry someone suddenly, I will now be allowed to (don't hang on for it, though). With parental consent, of course.

The day itself was not noticeably different to normal days, except that every so often someone would sprint up to me, embrace me, yell 'Happy Birthday!' and run away again. So, not all that similar to regular days, really. Ariane was probably the best example of this, hugging me for a good two minutes before I managed to get into Physics classroom. Thank you, Ariane. Here is a picture for you. I found it ages ago and have been looking for an excuse to use it. 

Only three people actually remembered in the morning. Ness, Vyvyan, and Giuseppe. Giuseppe gave me a card she'd made the previous night. It was a blue piece of paper with a picture of me drawn on the front, and a caption saying 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY LESLIE M. HARPER'. On the inside it said:

'Dear Leslie M. Harper,

Joyous anniversary of your birthday. If it were not for you, we would not have an awesome blog to read, or numerous rants about Stephen Fry. Happy 16th ;)!

Love,

Giuseppe'

It's nice to be appreciated.

It did confuse me for a little, mostly as I hadn't realised the cartoon on the front was of me until Giuseppe pointed it out. I believe her very words were 'It's you. I made you look like John Travolta from Pulp Fiction. Anyway, happy birthday.'

Chinny didn't remember, but she's probably not to blame for this as I spent a good ten minutes trying to convince her she'd recently flown to the moon in a hot air balloon. It's hard enough remembering things without people attempting to convince you that you haven't seen them for a year (that being the length of time it takes to fly to the moon).

Word had spread by about recess time, so I wasn't sure who had remembered and who hadn't. Peanut informed me that she was going to make me a birthday cake. I thanked her and forgot about it. She actually turned up with the cake two days later. It was chocolate, and she'd decorated the top with fruit loops (as in, the cereal). She claimed they spelled out something. When none of us could see it, she pointed out, visible only to the trained eye, the words 'HAPPY LES' (yes, it didn't actually say that - my real name not being Leslie - but it would be quite pointless if I actually told you what my name is now. Almost everyone who reads this blog knows my real name, anyway).

Anyway, the actual day was quite ordinary. Media was quite exciting. And by exciting I mean excruciatingly painful. Let me set the scene:

Three Media students (myself and two others) are attempting to work on a group project with Drama students (six of them, including Peanut). It is a windy day. We are making a short film involving a balloon seller on the oval. Wide open space + wind + balloons = unsuccessful film. The balloons escaped nine separate times. Not counting when one of the sticks broke. Or when I accidentally let all of the air out of the crucial black balloon. I quickly took the role of Personnel manager, leaving the other two Media students to manage the camera.

STUDENT 1 (1): Look after this camera.

STUDENT 2 (2): OK.

Both students wander off. Camera falls over.

1: I told you to look after the camera!

2: I wasn't doing anything!

1: Well, you should have been looking after the camera! Go and hold the balloons.

Student 2 holds the balloons, then releases them to their freedom on the oval. Drama student runs and retrieves them.

2: Sorry about that. I'll hold them properly this time.

It happens again.

2: Well, I'll hold on to them properly now.

And again. Balloons are confiscated from student 2 and given to one of the drama students instead.

1: Well, you don't have the balloons any more. Can you please look after the camera while I talk to the Drama students?

A brief pause, then student 2 comes up and attempts to get student 1's attention.

1: What is it now?

2: Something's fallen out of the camera!

It didn't really improve after that. The only filming that occurred was the video one of the Drama students took on her phone, watching us fail in an epic manner.

I had netball after school, so I hung around in the library and pretended to be working on my English essay, while reading Giuseppe's copy of the play she was studying. I had to stop this when she wrested it from my grasp and sat on it (so I'll never know what happens in the end), so I went to help Shoelace with some pages she was photocopying instead. MBD is afflicting even more people than before, possibly because I devoted a whole post to it. There are some good effects, some bad. The best example of this is the Hugh Laurie poster in the library. I pointed it out to Marie-Clare and Giuseppe as we were passing it yesterday. Giuseppe was disappointed; for some reason, she was convinced that I'd written about a poster of Stephen Fry. Please. Not everyone I write about is Stephen Fry. I doubt he appears in more than three-quarters of my posts. Anyway, Marie-Clare supported the showing-respect-to-the-poster campaign by kissing it. It was touching. And more than a little disturbing. Giuseppe was less respectful. She kindly enough narrated what she was doing, 'So you can write it on your blog. I'm extending a certain finger on one of my hands - and now the other hand - and now I'm moving both hands up and down repetitively at the poster. Take that, Hugh Laurie!'

I think her mind's going. I'm under the opinion that she did this in order to take revenge on me. Earlier, she'd been trying to read me a picture book (can't remember why. There probably wasn't a reason) and I'd interrupted. So she made me stand in the corner for fifteen minutes. It's only too likely that she may attempt this so-called punishment on others. And so, here is one of my handy Leslie M. Harper Survival Guides™:

The Leslie M. Harper Survival Guide™:

What To Do When You've Been Placed In A Corner By A Deranged 16-Year-Old Who Refuses To Let You Out

#1. The most important thing that you DO NOT PANIC. Firstly, assess your surroundings. As your attacker is likely affected by MBD, I will assume you are in a library. The first step is to attempt escape. If your captor has forgotten about you, this will be easy. In fact, people have probably been wondering exactly why you've been standing in a corner with no one else present. Stroll casually out of the library. If your captor is standing near you but you can see the exit, make a run for it. You may wish to cause a diversion at this point. How you do it is up to you. A casual sentence such as 'My goodness, is that a T-rex over there? It appears to be coming straight for this corner' works well. If you're unable to think of an appropriate verbal attention-grabber, a swift kick on the ankle and a sprint to the exit is just as effective. If this doesn't work, or, as it was in my case, you have been wedged into the corner facing the wall, move on to #2.

#2. If you are, as I have assumed, in a library, this means that you have been placed in a corner made by (a) a bookshelf and a wall, or (b) two walls. If the case is (a), move on to #3. If the case is (b), go straight to #4.

#3. If a bookshelf is within your reach, as it was in my case, you may want to pull a book from the shelf and attempt to hit your captor with it. This will either (a) defeat them or (b) enrage them. If (a) is the case, you're fine. Stroll casually out of the library (or run casually, depending on how hard you hit your former captor with the book), making sure to salute any posters on the way. If the case is (b), book-hitting is probably no longer an option. In this case, move on to #4.

#4. If no potential weapons are within your reach, now is the time to look for potential allies. Do not worry about embarrassing yourself. Face it. You're standing in a corner next to an enraged girl prodding you uncomfortably whenever you attempt to move. You have no dignity. Scream for help. If an ally - such as, in my case, Marie-Clare and Peanut - does appear, encourage them to use brute force to get you out. If they are able to pry you away from your captor, stroll towards the exit (casually. Always casually). Otherwise, move on to #5.

#5. If you are on this step, I will assume that either (a) brute force has failed but your allies are still present or (b) it has failed and your allies have disappeared or been incapacitated. If (a) is the case, move on to #6. If it is (b) move on to #7.

#6. Brute force has not worked. Cunning may. Get your ally to so annoy your captor they, too, are forced into a corner. When Marie-Clare had spent some time hitting Giuseppe with books (it's becoming rather a habit with her), Giuseppe pushed her into the corner opposite mine. If I'd taken the above-mentioned course of action, by strolling (casually) towards the exit, I expect I would have made it. As is, I attempted to sneak quietly into the next row of bookshelves. Giuseppe noticed and I was soon recaptured and shoved into a new corner, similar to the previous one insofar as it was just as hard to get out of. The only difference was that in the new corner, I was immediately next to a glass door, through which I could see my tutor chatting to a different teacher. Despite frenzied gestures, she completely ignored my plight. Call this pastoral care?

#7. Your allies have been incapacitated. Marie-Clare's attempt to save me had failed. Peanut had collapsed to the floor laughing some time previously. Note to those who are in this situation: Peanut cannot be counted on as an ally. She is of no more practical use in desperate situations than a piece of scenery. At this point, your escape attempts have all failed. In the interests of preventing serious harm from coming to yourself - also, by this time there are likely only five minutes until the time of your release, the end-of-lunch bell - it may be sensible to simply wait. Do not converse with your captor. They're unlikely to be moved by your pleading, and you may accidentally impart some crucial information. I'm not sure what kind of crucial information you're hoping to conceal, but it's unlikely you want your captor to find it out, no matter what it is. If your captor does not attempt to engage you in conversation, fine. Simply wait for your release, at which point you will stroll casually towards the exit, or until hostage negotiations are opened. If they are attempting to talk to you, move on to #8.

#8. Things are urgent. Do not, under any circumstance, be moved into having a conversation with your captor. They have you trapped in a corner. Whenever they try to converse with you, simply state 'I can't hear you. I'm in a corner'. If they become so irritated with this they release you, congratulations! You have succeeded. Stroll casually and unconcernedly towards the exit, looking as if this type of thing is part of your every-day routine. At any rate, the bell will shortly go. Simply stand in your corner and pretend you don't know your captor. This may preserve some of your dignity. It's unlikely to, though. If you are at this stage, move on to #9.

#9. The bell has gone. You are released. Stroll casually past your captor to the exit.

I hope the guide is of use to you. I do apologise for that phenomenal, completely unrelated tangent I just tripped happily off on. Back to my birthday. I discovered Shoelace photocopying several pages from an art book. This may be a case of MBD, or it may just be Shoelace's natural vagueness. But somehow, when it asked her how many copies she wanted, instead of '1' or '2', she typed '447'. I found her at about copy #12, frantically trying to stop the machine. With Marie-Clare's help, we managed to stop the machine and restore normality. We disposed of the extra copies. I was still concerned about the photocopier - it's not every day it's asked to print out nearly 500 copies - so I tried photocopying something myself, when Marie-Clare had gone. I tried to find a book with a picture of Richard Hammond on the front, on the basis that if the photocopier did break, and printed out the remaining 435 copies, I could always give the pictures to Marie-Clare. Richard Hammond is one of her numerous loves. Giuseppe and I recently tried to act out their potential marriage ceremony. I was being Richard Hammond. Marie-Clare was unimpressed to find me kneeling down, claiming that this would make me closer to his actual height. What can I say, Marie-Clare? The man's short. I'm fairly sure he's already married, as well. And he's about three times your age.

Anyway, I couldn't find a book by Richard Hammond, so I grabbed the closest book and photocopied that instead. It turned out to be a large picture of Hitler. And this would have been fine had the photocopier not done as I'd predicted it would, and tried to finish its enormous photocopying load with my Hitler picture. We managed to make it stop after it had produced ten copies. We were forced to dispose of these in the recycling bin. There are few things in life as disconcerting as opening a recycling bin and seeing ten pairs of Hitler-eyes, staring up at you, as I discovered several minutes later when, having forgotten about them, I went to throw something away.

The rest of my birthday passed passably. It took me about three tries to blow out the candles on my cake. What can I say? Sixteen candles! What happened to the good old days when there were ten or less? And my dad was convinced that the generic 'Happy Birthday' tune was no longer appropriate, and played a completely different song on the guitar while everyone else was trying to sing normally. For my birthday I got:

1. An iPod. Whenever I tell people this, they always go 'Really? What kind is it?'

To which I reply: 'It's blue.'

They normally respond by saying 'Yeah, you're funny. Really, what type is it?'

Well, I DON'T KNOW. I'm sorry. I'm not a technological person. It's blue. That's all I know.

Also, people, here's a heads-up. I'm not funny in person. I don't know how I occasionally manage to make people laugh by writing things, and it's great that happens, but really. If you think I'm making a joke when you're talking to me, no. I'm just ignorant.

2. One heck of a lot of Stephen Fry books. I'll be quoting from them for the next year.

3. BBC radio comedy. Wahay! So far, the only thing I've used my iPod for is to listen to 'That Mitchell & Webb Sound', series 1. Is that a waste? Probably.

4. Anchovies. No, Giuseppe, not capsicums. I really like anchovies. I really, really like them. Can there be more joy in life than eating anchovies on toast while reading Stephen Fry and listening to Mitchell & Webb on a blue iPod? I think not.

Although if you disagree, I'd be grateful for your suggestions. I'm fully aware of how sad my life is.

All I need now is Andrew Hansen, preferably carrying some form of confectionary, to complete the list of ideal gifts. There's a gift suggestion for my next birthday. Only four more birthdays, and I'll be half his age. Wahay! I think it's time to finish with some gratuitous photos. There can be no better way to conclude a 16th birthday. And yes, my actual birthday was several days ago. But that's no reason to ruin this golden finishing technique.

Stephen Fry is in the building

Stephen Fry is in our country!

This may be less exciting to those of you who a) don't know who he is or b) don't care about him, but to me, this is a very exciting event.

He will do two talks in the Sydney Opera House, and then move on to Melbourne.

It would be more exciting, however, if I was allowed to actually see any of these talks.

No, despite my various attempts, I can find no one who is willing to either drive me to either of these cities, or lend me their car so I can drive myself. It's tragic, it really is.

I can't understand why Stephen Fry wouldn't want to visit our fair city. For a start, the weather. I mean, it's just as warm as either Sydney or Melbourne. It may be winter, but that doesn't mean it's not sunny. Today Aviator actually brought a fold-up beach chair into school. There were we, happily sitting on the grass, concrete, and benches respectively, when he wanders in holding a green chair, calmly unfolds it, and sits down. Admittedly he wasn't sitting on it for very long - it was stolen from him twice before lunch ended - but the fact that he was able to do this should surely show that it is warm enough.

I suppose Stephen Fry might be worried not enough people would turn up. Makes sense, really. Of all my friends, I'm the only one who really likes Stephen Fry. Except for Marie-Clare, who finds him attractive (although I doubt anything will come of it, considering the esteemed Mr Fry is both 35 years older than her, and gay).

So I'm just going to have to console myself with looking at the pictures of his trip he chooses to post on his website (link here, if you're interested: http://www.stephenfry.com/).

Speaking of British comedians - or rather, writing of British comedians - or rather, typing of British comedians (I don't know, it's too confusing), I recently found a funny, funny ad on YouTube. It's for the English 'Get a Mac' campaign. It's got the duo Mitchell & Webb in it - Mitchell is being a PC, and Webb is being a Mac. You may not find it as amusing as I do. You may think it only deserves one 'funny'. You may not even think it worthy of that. However, for those of you that are interested (for all those I spoke to about it today, it's called 'The Naughty Step'), the video is here:

Have fun. I would be concerned that I am brainwashing the minds of people that read this blog, by encouraging them to view Mac adverts, except I've watched it four times now, and all that's happened is I'm now tempted to buy a PC. And I've been a Mac user all my life. Clearly Apple needs to work on their advertising.

Still, who needs Stephen Fry when my ordinary life is so interesting? People of the internet, I so far have reason to believe that schoolitis is not fatal. Should this turn out to be otherwise, however, I have some information I would like to impart to you. It would be a shame if it was lost to the world.

It is a secret, the like of which has not been heard of before, and is unlikely to be heard of again. It is a control word. And the thing this word controls is Peanut.

Peanut may appear to be as any other person - give or take a few eccentricities - but she has a weakness. Say the word 'tubes' to her, and she will collapse with laughter. I don't know why it works. Well, I know why she finds it funny (it's hard to explain: it's the result of an in-joke we started two years ago), but I'm not sure why it works so well. I tried it three times today, and each time, a success. Try it. It's fun and entertaining.

I'd like to think that by sharing this information I have, in my own small way, made the world a better place. Let's be honest. I haven't. But come on, people. Isn't it enough that Stephen Fry is in the same country as me, but not within my reach? Haven't I suffered enough?

And Stephen Fry, if you're reading this (unlikely as that is), visit. Who needs the Sydney Opera House when you can come here and control Peanut? It's the obvious choice.