An Oarful Dilemma

Recently - yesterday, in fact - Marie-Clare arrived at my house. The understanding was that we would watch an enormous number of films in the hours that were available to us. The films in question all had one thing in common: the presence of Jude Law, even though he died in most of them. Unfortunately, Marie-Clare and I have differing opinions on the matter of these films. It's the next day now, and we still haven't agreed over certain aspects of them. So, we formulated a new plan. Marie-Clare and I have each written what we thought of several of the films we watched, written below. It is up to you to judge who is right and who is wrong. Except bear in mind that this is my blog, and therefore I'm probably right.

GATTACA (1997)

Leslie

Anyone who reads this blog regularly is already aware exactly how unbelievably, unbeatably awesome I think the film 'Gattaca' is. I've seen it five times now and I hold the belief that it gets better every time. I think NASA even voted it to be the most realistic science fiction film of all time. It is dramatic, written from a believable premise, and intensely moving. Especially the end part, contrary to Marie-Clare's beliefs.

Marie-Clare

So, Leslie hyped it up a lot. It was like Avatar. Really hyped up, but then a big letdown. Well, it was better than Avatar, but you get what I mean. Jude Law's character, I must admit, was stunning. The other actors just couldn't live up to it. I did like the theme about it being set in the not-too-distant-future. Everyone knows I cry a lot in movies, but this one just didn't hit the spot. It wasn't moving. At all.

Leslie

Ok, I know I've already had my bit, but I'm not letting this go. ALL the characters and actors were fantastic. Also, I'm not taking this from someone who thought that two distinctly different characters - played by two distinctly different actors - were the same character, right up until they actually had a scene together. Also, what's not moving about DEATH?

THE TALENTED MR. RIPLEY (1999)

Marie-Clare

This film was not what I expected. Not for the squeamish, this film was disturbing from the beginning. There is a lot of death and unfortunately Jude Law dies quite early. Matt Damon is very good at portraying Mr. Ripley, and is also good at portraying Mr. Ripley portraying Mr. Greenleaf. I think it's much sadder in the end than Gattaca. Mind you, I still didn't cry.

The most disturbing part for me was not actually seeing anything but hearing the playback of a certain death scene. The other two hadn't affected me like that, despite the fake blood and Tom Ripley's freaky murder face.

Leslie

'The Talented Mr. Ripley' is about a man who kills people and steals someone's identity. I'm allowed to tell you that because it's not part of the plot that you're surprised to find out. It's a murder mystery without the mystery. And you were supposed to identify with the murderer.

I admit this film is probably not for people who don't enjoy seeing Matt Damon bludgeon his best friend to death with an oar. In fact, just about every character Mr. Ripley gets close to, he then goes on to either kill or attempt to kill. Part of what was so disturbing about this film was that I still don't know whether Tom Ripley was gay or not. You'd think I would have figured it out after a whole film, but no. I have genuinely no idea.

SHERLOCK HOLMES (2009)

Marie-Clare

This film I had already seen quite a few times, but it had a good plot line. I liked the fact that Jude Law didn't die in this film, which was a change. The only part that I didn't like as much was the fight scene in the boxing ring because that was quite disturbing. Although it was still less disturbing than 'The Talented Mr. Ripley'.

Again, I didn't cry in the end, although this one isn't really a sad movie. It was kind of murder mystery, kind of comedy. In my opinion, the film was witty, edgy, and action-packed. Well, that's what it says on the box.

Leslie

Despite the murders and graphic fight scenes of this film, I am forced to admit that it was way less graphic than Mr. Ripley. 'Sherlock Holmes' has a midget buried alive? Well, 'Mr. Ripley' has a man who attacks his best friend with an oar. And then steals his identity. I'm of the opinion that if Sherlock Holmes had been in 'Mr. Ripley', lives could have been saved. Although seeing that Jude Law is in both films, I'm not sure it would have worked. It would have been intensely confusing. Perhaps as confusing as the way Mr. Ripley KILLED everyone he liked, thus utterly destroying his own chances of happiness. I'm sorry, this isn't really a review of 'Sherlock Holmes'. But I'm still hung up over 'Mr. Ripley'.

And there are our opinions of the films. Although it should be noted that since writing about 'Mr Ripley', we Googled the ending and discovered that it actually made sense and that Mr. Ripley is not just a mad, psychopathic murderer. He is a psychopathic murder with a reason. Like a rebel with a cause. In fact, after learning of this ending Marie-Clare has stated that if she had realised it at the time, the movie may just have been sad enough to make her cry. Then again, Marie-Clare cried the time when we were watching Concert for George and Paul McCartney walked on the stage - which wasn't even a sad moment - and therefore her opinion is not as valid is it would otherwise be.

Marie-Clare has spent much of the non-film-watching time pestering me for a last name. The only other people in this blog who have achieved last names so far are myself, my family (who obviously have the same last name as me), and Giuseppe L. Schneider.

The problem, as I see it, is that Marie-Clare will be unable to decide her last name. When she raised the issue a couple of months ago, she wanted to have 25's last name, which I didn't give her, partly because (a) it's also the last name of a writer I like, although spelt differently, and I wouldn't do that to the writer in question, and (b) it was creepy. Now, after the benefit of some thought, she has decided she wants to go with Zuckerberg. This after viewing the Social Network and ALMOST crying. For those of you who aren't as centred on the Facebook CEO as Marie-Clare, here he is:

LESLIE (L): You can't have the last name of a real person.

MARIE-CLARE (MC): I'm not having the last name of a real person. Besides, I bet there are lots of people with the last name Schneider.

L: So what, Mark Zuckerberg isn't a real person?

MC: No. And Facebook is made up as well.

L: Then how can you explain the fact that I saw you going on Facebook yesterday?

MC: It was all in your imagination.

Marie-Clare has claimed that she 'deserves' a last name now as I have embarrassed her on the blog. Again. Also, she accuses me of having chosen a bad picture of Mark Zuckerberg. To which I say: I was writing that ALL down as we were saying it. It's completely accurate. Yes it is, Marie-Clare.

Marie-Clare and I were both on her supposedly non-existent Facebook page yesterday, chatting with an unsuspecting Facebook friend of hers. I was typing, Marie-Clare was talking, and overall I think we made a confusing impression upon her. Here is the conversation, almost in its entirety, although we have taken the liberty of removing certain information- as well as some people's names - that may give a clue as to her identity:

hey

hey

How are you this fine Canberran evening?

lol

well

just watching gossip girl?

you?

I wouldn't pollute my eyes with that rubbish, that trash, that foul garbage that passes for acceptable television. Apart from that, however, I am exceedingly well and perfectly fine.

lol

true

a guilty pleasure of mine

Are you experiencing feelings of excitement at the prospect of returning to our place of education?

HELL YES!

23 sleeps!!!

less than a moth

month*

I know. I, too, am overwhelmed with an influx of contradictory emotions. Excitement, worry, happiness, loss, guilt, euphoria, hunger . . . the list is endless.

lol

wow you use a lot of words

Well, one doesn't want to get out of practice when one intends upon doing not one, but two courses of English in the coming school year.

very true

I, personally, am currently listening to classical music while performing a ballet routine choreographed around the story of my life, writing a new and incisive biography of Oscar Wilde, and training a group of small, determined sea lions to sing in the key of A minor. While talking to you.

holy crap

you're amazing

Well, one doesn't like to boast of one's personal achievements, but I have recently been awarded both the Booker and Nobel prizes for my combined literary and scientific work, as well as being made Time magazine's person of the year. In fact, I'm rather hurt I received no congratulatory notice from you or your office.

oh wow

congrats!

i had no idea

Well, it's a little late, but my thanks to you all the same. It's a pity you didn't think to tell me before I decided to abandon my life in Australia in disgust at the lack of recognition I received, and attempt to seek my fortune in America.

wait

you're moving to america?

you are so kidding

and what are sea lions?

On the contrary, I have been living there for the past two weeks. I'm attempting to set up a joint venture with Mark Zuckerberg in order to destroy Bill Gates' grip on this and other nations. As for sea lions, they are the natural predators of sea monkeys, and I'm surprised you never covered it in Biology. My classmates and I covered the topic thoroughly during our time in Year 8.

yeah i know

but you're teaching them to sing?

you're just on a holiday in america

right?

NB: Marie-Clare has recently returned from a holiday in America, which is why we had the idea.

Yes, it's part of a project for the winter science fair at my American school. Sea lions are naturally prone to emitting a high-pitched keening noise - I believe it works to entice their prey, the sea monkeys. I am merely attempting to teach them to alter their pitch to such a degree that they have the ability to sing in harmony.

uh huh

You sound unconvinced.

well you never mentioned this

in our previous encounters

and you never used this kind of language either

plus this is over facebook

how do i know this is even you talking?

I am appalled at your lack of trust in the security of my Facebook page. I don't see why I should not be permitted to broaden my vocabulary - I consider it a useful skill in this modern world.

it's just

this conversation was totally out of the blue

and people's facebook's are easily hacked

and i know you have been or are in america

It's true that Facebook can be hacked, but why, if I were a hacker, would I be enticed into a long and intense conversation with somebody I didn't know? Furthermore, I have the ability to prove my identity, and I shall do so now.

ok ok

I'm sorry

I LOVE 25

lol

Would anyone other than Marie-Clare say that phrase?

and who before that?

who did you love before that?

One doesn't like to disclose a gentleman's name on a public forum, but as you insist: I believe the person you are referring to goes by the name of [insert name here].

yes he does

and you already disclosed 25's

25 is not a gentleman.

Hahaha

He is a sex god.

lol

k k i sincerely apologise

for doubting your identity

And I, dear friend, accept your apology humbly and sincerely.

and you have every right to expand your vocabulary when and as you please

Thank you understanding my pressing need for words; very few people are able to comprehend my addiction, as it is not, per se, of a physical kind, but I consider my word-love every bit as important as my love for 25.

lol

quite charming

Thank you. In fact, I think it all stems from my deep-set belief that I am the reincarnation of the late, great, prophetic man of words, Oscar Wilde.

Haha

that's cool

Yes, it's a fact I'm rather proud of. I aspire in every way to be like him; I spent my last holidays attempting to break into Reading Gaol.

Not, you understand, that Wilde was a man for burglary or felony of that nature, but he did spend a not inconsiderable period of time there and as such I wished to spend time in the same location.

ah i see

Have you ever had the feeling that you, too, may be a reincarnation of some great soul?

no i can't say i have

Ah. Alas, you are missing out on more than you could know.

Next time you see me - as I intend to visit Australia once more upon the commencement of your school year - you should raise the subject with me. I believe we could have a great deal to converse over.

well marie-clare you are quite something

sure thing

and what school will you be attending?

Thank you for your opinion on the matter; it's certainly high praise.

Whilst in America, I shall be attending the renowned institution of Taylorsville High, Salt Lake City.

i thought you said that salt lake is disgusting

anyway i must be off

bye

And yet I intend to make my home there. How quickly one's mind can change. You will already be aware of that fact, of course.

Looking at 25 and [insert name here] and my swift change between them.

yes

Well, if you must depart, I'll say farewell as well.

Ciao!

For now, I am not giving Marie-Clare her last name, until she thinks of something original that she will not change her mind about in two weeks. Although Marie-Clare does change her mind often, I think we can be fairly certain of one thing: she won't be going for Ripley. At least not any time soon.

And In The End . . .

Dear everyone,

It is, basically, the end of the year. Exams are over, spring's come - at last - and the holidays are, once again, in view. It's time, once again, for my end-of-the-year post (that is to say, considering I started this blog some time in July, it's time for my first ever end-of-year post. But that sounds less effective). 

In fact, any number of interesting things have happened between now and the publishing of my last post. Unfortunately, I've been far too busy to write about them. And even more unfortunately, my school is a fairly interesting place, and my year group are people who do fairly interesting things on a more or less regular basis. I could be a slacker, I suppose, and try and fit everything into one post. But really, I have no excuse for doing that. I have no homework - at least, none that's assessable, although the Geography teachers clearly still have much to learn about the pointlessness of giving us assignments after our exams have finished - and as I'm currently spending my time moving between Facebook and trying to find a website that will let me watch that episode of Top Gear with Andrew Hansen and Craig Reucassel on it (something I haven't succeeded with yet, so any advice would be welcome), I think I can devote the time that is needed to truly cover this end-of-the-year fiesta.

So, don't consider this as an end-of-the-year post: think of it as end-of-the-year part 1. I'm hoping to cover many of the school related eccentricities that have been occurring in my - and others' - day to day life. My next post will cover everything about school I haven't had the time or the energy to write about in this one, specifically stuff related to the way the different teachers and subjects I take are reacting to the end of the year, such as my last-ever PE lesson, the time I nearly killed Gwen, Falcon spilling acid on himself, and why I'll never be able to look at Pacman in the same way again. I think I'll only need one more post after that, about everything that's been happening out of school, from Malice in Wonderland, Vyvyan's torch-breaking experience, a truly insurmountable amount of time spent in town, and exactly why Peanut should never be let near anyone religious. For now, though, the educational end-of-year celebrations.

The end of the school year is a time of great celebration. We get the fete, exams, and the end of exams (which is, frankly, a lot better than the exams themselves - obviously). 

The fete is, generally speaking, fun. It was a lot more fun this year as I was one of the Year 10s who hadn't volunteered to help out, and there's something quite enjoyable about watching your friends slave away to entertain/feed/help the bored/hungry/incompetent masses. I arrived about half an hour after the fete started - only hoping I wasn't too late to prevent the fateful moment that seems to occur every year. For the story of what happened up to that moment - and what occurred afterwards - read on.

1. Arrive at fete. See Gwen, Kapeesh, and Marie-Clare - both of whom volunteered to help - standing at school entrance, holding big cardboard signs saying 'NO PARKING INSIDE SCHOOL'. Go to talk to them and gloat about the fact that I don't have to do anything.

2. Talk to Marie-Clare, who is bored and tries to persuade me to stay with her.

3. Pick up cardboard sign. Stand with Marie-Clare. Berate myself for being such a pushover.

4. Man comes up to talk to us. Asks how we got stuck with this job. Explain to him that I have no idea.

5. Begin to question logic of having Year 10s holding sign when sticks would do the job just as well. Decide it is down to high price of sticks, whereas we are basically slave labour.

6. Peanut, Ness, and Shoelace arrive.

7. Abandon my post as cardboard holder. Walk off with Peanut, Ness, and Shoelace, with Marie-Clare's threats ringing in my ears.

8. Peanut and Shoelace decide to go on a ride. Ness decides not to. I decide not to. Ness and I are left holding their things. Decide cannot be bothered to carry Peanut's hat, so wear it instead.

9. Vyvyan arrives. Refuses to go near me so long as I persist in wearing two hats. She tells me I could not be more embarrassing.

10. I prove that she is wrong.

11. Vyvyan agrees that she was wrong, and furthermore asks me not to sing in public when with her.

12. Vyvyan films Shoelace and Peanut on the ride (which I cannot find a picture of, but which looked like a kind of partial ferris wheel).

13. Ness and I look forward to seeing Shoelace and Peanut screaming in a terrified way at top of ride. Are much annoyed to see they are, in fact, having a calm conversation. While upside-down.

14. Wander around looking at stalls. Everyone is extremely amused to see signs marked 'pre-loved'.

15. At this point I bought some things, but I don't think it's really important to mention what as the moment of truth was coming up: the moment which I have, since coming to this school, learnt to dread.

16. The moment of truth arrives. Shoelace spots the White Elephant stall.

I don't think I can go on without explaining exactly why I dread this moment. So I'm going to smoothly segue into an anecdote. The last fete I went to - not last year's, as I was on camp, but the year before - I was unfortunate enough to be left behind with Shoelace. It was the end of the fete, and in the White Elephant stall, they had this thing going in which they gave you a cardboard box, you filled it up with whatever you wanted, and they charged you $2. Shoelace, who is always glad to find a bargain - in the past, she's bought items of clothing from Hot Dollar, for heaven's sake - was keen to take advantage of this generous offer. However, she does have several unrealistic notions as to what you can reasonably fit in a cardboard box. I was looking at something when I turned around to see her (unsuccessfully) attempting to shove huge blue beanbag into a box.

LESLIE (L): Shoelace, that is not going to work.

SHOELACE (S): Yes, it is.

(We both watch as she tries, fruitlessly, to cram the beanbag into the protesting box. A small girl arrives)

GIRL (G): Sorry to interrupt you, but I was just about to buy that.

S: Well, you can't. I saw it first.

G: But I only left it there so I could go and get the money!

(I intervene. The small girl drags the beanbag away with her. Shoelace looks disconsolate)

S: I was just about to buy that!

L: How would you have got it home on the bus?

S: Oh, yeah. Right.

(We both go our separate ways again. Once more, however, I turn around to see Shoelace trying to fit something inappropriate into the box)

S: Leslie, can you give me a hand with this?

L: Shoelace, I appreciate that you're trying, but there is NO WAY you will be able to fit a swivel chair into that box.

S: Just watch me.

She didn't get it in.

That was the last fete I went to. This time, I was more prepared. Also, Vyvyan was with me. We managed to talk Shoelace out of buying an owl made of shells, a fluffy picture frame, an intercom, several classical music tapes (yes, tapes. Not CDs), and a box of biscuits that had expired some time in the previous decade. All in all, we were rather off our guard when she spotted the miniature spacehopper. Luckily someone else bought it just in time. Shoelace was annoyed.

'That was the only thing I wanted to buy!'

'In that case, can we go and buy ice-cream now?' Vyvyan wanted to know. So we left. A potential disaster neatly averted, I thought.

Then again, I can't really talk. After the same fete where Shoelace tried to buy her chair I came home with two toast racks, a suitcase and a Doctor Who lunchbox.

The fete was actually some time ago - a few weeks, anyway. But it's in the pre-exams period which, to me, at the moment, feels like years in the past. We did the exams this week. Geography, then Maths, and then English first thing the next day. I don't actually mind exams and tests so much as some forms of assessment. They're over relatively quickly. Still, there's nothing like the moment when they're over, as anyone in Year 9, 10, 11, or 12 will agree.

The Year 12s, for whom the end of this year is probably far more significant than for any of us (that is to say, it's a path to later life for them, while for me it's only a source of material for me to rant on about in the vague hope that some of what I write turns out to amuse people), get muck-up day. The really excellent thing about muck-up day is that I always forget when it's on. Which is why it was especially confusing when I turned up at school a couple of weeks ago to realise someone had constructed a giant string maze in the Year 10 locker area. Don't get me wrong. It was AWESOME. I get to school ridiculously early in the morning - thank you, new bus timetables - and there were very few people actually there. The few that were there were having considerable trouble trying to get through the string to their lockers. It's actually a lot harder than it sounds, trying to get through a string maze to your locker while carrying a large bag on your back. Oh, yes, and the lockers were all sealed with cable ties. Nevertheless, I was prepared to give it a go. Chinny, who also gets to school early, watched me with surprise. 'Leslie, what are you doing?'

'Just a minute,' I told her. 'We can continue your Chaser education as soon as I've gotten through this. Can you hold that bit of string up for me?'

(NB: As Chinny has had little or no contact with popular culture over the course of her life, I'm attempting to solve this by showing her a Chaser video on my blue iPod every morning. Not sure if it's working or not, but I'm determined to give it a go anyway).

Chinny tried to hold up the string for me, but, as mentioned above, I was wearing my school bag - 'extremely tangled' doesn't cover it.

'Why are you trying to get through that string?'

'So I can get to my locker,' I said with as much dignity as it is possible to muster while tied up in jute string. Chinny sighed.

'Leslie, your locker is on the other side. If you just go around, you can get to it without having to go through the string.'

I considered this. 'In that case, can you help me get untangled?'

As it turned out, by the time I was fully untangled my history teacher had come out with a pair of scissors and was cutting the string with an annoyed expression on his face (well, where else would his annoyed expression have been). I considered asking him to leave it up, remembered that he was (a) carrying a pair of scissors and (b) not in a good mood, and decided not to. He was halfway through the cutting of the string when Tip arrived unexpectedly. He gazed around in astonishment at the string, the cable ties, and the clingfilm (which had been artfully arranged between several poles). 'So this is what it's like when you get to school early!' he said in amazement.

I won't go into the rest of the day. I'm sure people wouldn't be interested in hearing about how Year 12 somehow managed to get Pink Floyd's 'Another Brick In The Wall' to play out of the school loudspeakers, or had a real MarioKart race at recess (they were using cardboard boxes with pretend wheels stuck on; several people in my tutor group found one of these cardboard karts during tutor period, and pretended to drive around in it until it broke), or persuaded one of the most serious teachers at our school (in my opinion, anyway) to do a version of the Old Spice ad.

Being in Year 10, the end of the year is fairly significant for us too. We're all choosing subjects, getting prepared for Senior School. I swear that there has never been a less decisive bunch. I believe I wrote a post about it some time ago, although I can't actually remember (you'd think I'd be able to, but I was reading some of my old posts a couple of weeks ago - right before the English exam, actually - and I couldn't remember half the stuff happening, let alone writing about it). Anyway, I wrote something about how Midge was one of the more certain ones. Not so. I have been up to Mr L's office with her three times now, to change her subject choices. The first was to swap from Photography to Biology. She then realised that she was doing six Ts, and swapped from Geography back to Photography. Finally, she swapped from Maths Methods to Maths Apps. Marie-Clare isn't any better. I can't remember how many times I've been up with her so she can change subjects, but it's a lot. Mr L now knows me as 'the girl who accompanies people'. He knows Midgie and I so well he's taken to letting us out the back way of his office.

Not that I can be entirely absolved of blame. Until recently I was doing a double English next year. Then I decided that it would be sensible to 'broaden my portfolio', as a lawyer put it to me, by taking a single English and doing Chemistry instead, just in case I ever decided I wanted to become a doctor (which is not going to happen. Really. I can't even watch the gory bits in House without closing my eyes. I refer you back to my post 'Tales of Mocktails and the Fail Whale', August 5th, about a third of the way down the page). Even more recently, however, I made an important discovery:

I SUCK AT CHEMISTRY

Like, I've doing it for a whole term and I STILL can't remember the difference between an ionic and a covalent bond. Or the whole 'base + metal = salt' thing, or whatever that's about. So possibly - just possibly - swapping to Chem next year wasn't the brightest thing I've ever done. Coupled with the fact that I somehow managed to get full marks in the English essay - despite using the word 'bigness' twice - confirmed this fact.

Which leaves me heading back to Mr L's office for the sixth or seventh time this term. Luckily, Marie-Clare was with me, as she'd decided to do what Brandine did and swap from Methods down to Apps. We both managed to swap - I went back to double English - reassured Mr L that this time would definitely be the last time we'd come to see him (I doubt he believed us; I certainly didn't) and went back to the locker area. I don't think it will be the last time. So much for decisiveness.

Anyway, that wasn't the point I was trying to make, I was just trying to fit a mention of Marie-Clare in so she doesn't come to my house and stab me in the middle of the night, something she once told me she'd do unless I wrote something soon. In fact, I think I might finish this post with a little archive of the comments Marie-Clare has made to me on Facebook regarding my non-completion of certain posts. Assuming I get time, of course, I don't want to wake up dead tomorrow.

The point I was actually trying to make was about the Year 10 jumpers and jerseys. Almost everyone in Year 10 recently received their choice of a jumper or jersey to commemorate the fact the fact that we came to this school. You got to choose a nickname which was written on the back. Some people went with their real names. I went for 'Leslie M.' on the back of my jumper, for reasons which you should have picked up by now. A gratifyingly large number of people went with the nicknames I'd given them. In some cases - Peanut's, or Lala's, for example - this had nothing to do with the blog, it was just their actual nickname. In the cases of Giuseppe, Marie-Clare and Aviator (to name but a few), they all went with blog names. I love the nicknames. It means I don't have to think when picking a name for somebody new, I just have to chase them around and figure out what's written on their back. It's not that much simpler, but there's less thinking involved - although I do then have to think of an excuse as to exactly why I was running around after them.

At last count, me, Giuseppe, Ness, Shoelace, Peanut, Marie-Clare, Eggleston, Gwen, Aviator, Lala, Midgie (who is now Brandine), and Ames (ditto Sharona) all went for their blog names. If you have gotten your blog name on the back of your jumper/jersey, and I've forgotten you, tell me; I'm hoping to get a group photo of our backs to post on the blog. I may not be able to reveal any of our identities, but I don't think our backs are going to give much away.

At the very least, the jumper/jersey nickname thing has shown that I have several readers, at least. Actually, a surprising number of people I don't know all that well have turned out to read it. This has led to a number of interesting incidents. I've discussed this blog with my Geography class, my PE class, someone I was running a race with (while we were running), with people in line at the canteen, and I recently had a conversation with somebody about it over my English classroom; he sits on the opposite side to me, leaving a fair number of people between us wondering what we were talking about (the person I was talking to doesn't have a nickname yet, but you know who you are: I recently had a loud, albeit brief argument - well, it was more yelling than arguing - with you in the library as to whether Matt Smith or David Tennant really is the better Doctor. Why does everyone disagree with me about this?).

Also - quick point of interest - if you Google 'gratuitous Andrew Hansen' my blog is near the top. So if Andrew Hansen ever gets up and goes 'Man, I'm feeling pretty gratuitous today. And it's about time I Googled myself again,' he'll find it. It could happen. That wasn't related, I just thought you might find it interesting. If you didn't, just don't read it. Which you can't, because if you're reading this bit, you've already read the bit above. Whatever. Seriously, what else were you going to do with those fifteen seconds of your life?

If you read the blog, and like it, tell me - as you'll soon see below, I get enough negative comments already. I'd like to find out exactly how many people read this blog. At first I thought of doing something like going 'If you read this, stick a post-it note on locker 669' (which isn't my locker, it's Peanut's), but I'm not sure what I - or Peanut - would do with that many post-it notes. So if you do read the blog, please tell me. Believe me, read Marie-Clare's comments and you'll see why I need it.

Here ends part one of my end-of-school experience. Read my next post to figure out exactly why I've been too busy to post recently. Here, for your enjoyment/disgust/delectation, is:

Marie-Clare's Negative Blog-Related Comments Throughout The Ages™

(from Andrew Hansen's birthday to the current date, featuring Ness)

NB: Whenever the name of the comment's author is not mentioned, the author is Marie-Clare

18 September: "LESLIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! why did you not post anything on your blog tonight???? hmmm???? Not happy."

27 September: "LESLIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am disappointed :( Why have you not posted something on your blog recently??? Not happy."

28 September: "You still haven't written anything!!!!!"

2 October: "Stop making that minging scarf and type something on your blog."

3 October (NESS): "Dear Leslie, 

We (your wonderful friends) are all getting pretty bored without new posts on your blog. So I am begging you to....STOP KNITTING YOUR GOD DAMN STINKING SCARF AND START TYPING WOMAN!!!"

3 October: "Good evening....

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Can you not just type something on your blog, it is really starting to get to me. If there isn't something written on your blog by Saturday, there will be SERIOUS consequences....."

6 October (NESS):  "WRITE SOMETHING WOMAN!"

16 October: "Another good effort on your blog, though a little more of me would be nice....."

20 November: "Write on your blog woman!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You haven't written anything all month you slack ass."

And they wonder why I take so long to write the posts.

What I Did In My Holidays

I would like to take a moment to apologise to my small number of fans, and slightly larger number of easily enraged readers, for the long time period I've left between my published posts. Clearly you people have a collective power I hadn't bargained on. For my own personal safety (and yes, Marie-Clare, the threats have mainly come from you), I am now presenting you with a post summing up my holidays, from the last day of school up to the present moment, so far. I could publish it in a number of smaller posts. That would keep you all off my back (metaphorically speaking) for any number of weeks. However, I have decided to do the noble thing and instead write a single post in sections. Some of what I've written was actually finished at the time, I just never got around to publishing it.

I would also like to take a moment out of my busy schedule to thank Giuseppe for standing up for my blogging integrity against the combined forces of everyone else, who really should have known better.

So, now I've frustrated all of you with this needlessly long description and apology (serves you right, too - you know who you are. Clogging up my Facebook page with negative comments regarding my blogging consistency. NESS. MARIE-CLARE), I present you with:

What I Did In My Holidays

an epic saga in four parts

1. Part the First - last day of school

Last day of school, thank you - for lack of a God - whatever it is you thank when you're an atheist. It coincided magically with the day I (a) brought my iPod to school and (b) discovered that my iPod has a video camera. I may do Media, but I think I have a great deal to learn in the filming department. I took a film of Chinny running away, one of me asking Shoelace to dance (for the sake of interesting filming - she gave me a quick jig and then gave up), and a two-second one of me confronting Aviator, yelling 'Smile!', with him responding 'Please don't'.

As it was the last day of school, the teachers should, by rights, have been just as keen to get out as us. They should have shared this feeling of approaching freedom by showing movies, playing games in class and maybe even letting us out early into the relatively glorious beginning-of-spring weather.

Unfortunately, teachers are also very unpredictable.

In English we analysed a poem of that most excellent of English writers, Robert Browning, entitled 'My Last Duchess'. Oh, yes. Nothing like spending your last day studying a poem about a man who hated - and possibly killed - his wife for being too nice to others. Wahay!

Following an entree of English was the main, double Geography. Actually, that wasn't too bad. We watched an Australian mini-series called 'Marking Time'. I quite enjoyed it. For an Australian series, I mean. Obviously it has nothing on Fry & Laurie.

Marie-Clare was sitting next to me. The main actor in the series wasn't too attractive, so I settled down for a peaceful hour and a half of watching, knowing that she would be unlikely to disturb me. Unfortunately - and he really should have known better - the father in the TV show mentioned George Harrison in passing, while discussing his love for the guitar. She didn't calm down again for a good few minutes, after disturbing most of the multiple Geography classes watching with her excited cries.

PE, then Chemistry to finish with. In PE we are playing lacrosse. WHY? I'd thought that game had gone out of fashion way back in the 1950s. In England it's only played by posh girls in private schools. In England, they have more sense.

Can I catch a lacrosse ball? No. Can I throw a lacrosse ball? No. Can I pick up a lacrosse ball from the ground with one of those ridiculous little nets on the ends of sticks you're supposed to play with? Yes. Barely. After several goes.

Half of the horror of this PE lesson stemmed from my inability to wield this stick with anything approaching competence. The rest, from Vyvyan.

Vyvyan is not a good person to have around while playing sport. When we did badminton, she hit me in the face with the racquet. When we did table tennis, she hit me on the wrist with the racquet while trying to give me a 'racquet hi-five' and then again in the face (this time without the racquet) when trying to give me an actual hi-five. I'm not sure if it's uncoordination or malice. Probably some sick combination of the two. All I know is that within ten minutes of picking up a lacrosse stick (or 'crosse', as I've just discovered they're called), she'd hit me once in the forehead with a ball, hit me twice in the shins with a crosse, and then hit me on the head with the net on the end of the crosse because it 'made a good hat'. This is what they look like.

Lethal, aren't they? All you need is a bit of a spike on the end and you'd have the perfect weapon. Assuming you were fighting people who didn't have guns, poison gas or long range artillery, that is. In that case it might not be such a perfect weapon.

Anyway, the second lesson - which is the one we had on the final day - I was more prepared.

Also in our PE class is a friend of ours called Beartrap (his chosen name. I didn't choose it. Still, it seems to work for him). He frequently claims to have either no heart or a heart made of complete evil. I'm a little confused about this, actually. I mean, he can't have both. Maybe he's just conflicted. Anyway, he seemed the perfect person for the job I had in mind.

LESLIE (L): Beartrap? Can you do a job for me?

BEARTRAP (B): What is it?

L: I need you to act as a bodyguard.

B: I could assassinate someone for you if you'd like. I'm not so sure about the paid protection thing.

L: That would work too. Can you assassinate Vyvyan?

B: No! I can't kill a girl. Why would you want me to kill her?

L: Well, it's like this - hey! Give that back!

(Vyvyan steals my shoe. I threaten her with my sock and then push her off the bench. Shoe is thankfully retrieved)

B: I can see why you might need personal protection. Can you pay me?

L: Yes. In a non-literal sense, of course.

B: I can't do it then.

L: Well, how about instead of paying for my retirement in fifty years time you give me personal protection now?

(Long story, but earlier this term we made a bet, the deal being that the loser would have to pay for the winner's retirement. Beartrap lost)

B: That sounds . . . reasonable.

That made this lesson far more bearable. Entertaining, too, as Vyvyan took grave exception to my having hired protection against her. Luckily, Beartrap took the brunt of it. I don't think I'll be missing my retirement money.

Last in the day was Chemistry. Not my best subject, especially on the last day of school. I made up three elements in the quick quiz our teacher gave us (although I'll be pleasantly surprised if 'Thithium' turns out to be real) and then spent the rest of the lesson talking to Falcon about the epic battle we intended to have later in the holidays. Read below for more. Anyway, the bell went, we followed shortly, and school was OVER for another term.

2. Part the Second - post-birthday dinner

The last day was over, school was complete, and I could now relax for the holiday? Not so. For I had organised a dinner at a restaurant near my house to celebrate both my birthday - despite the fact that it was weeks afterwards - and the end of term.

I had invited about eleven people, but only five ended up making it - Gwen was at the opera, Chinny was 'busy', Midgie, Shoelace and Vyvyan couldn't come for reasons I have now forgotten (but they must have been good ones, as otherwise I would've remembered), and Peanut somehow expected me to believe the flimsy excuse she gave of no longer being in the country. I'm serious. To show how committed she is, she even posted on HER blog about how she's gone to America - all lies, obviously. I mean, we all know she's just hiding in her house, refusing to answer the phone. Still, what can you do with someone like that? She even left school a day early, claiming 'that's the day the aeroplane is leaving'. Ridiculous.

Aviator had wanted to be invited. After I turned him down point-blank the first time he asked, he decided to use slightly more subtle techniques, such as this one.

AVIATOR (A): Hello, Leslie. How was your afternoon yesterday?

LESLIE (L): Good, thank you. And yours?

A: Oh, well, I didn't have dinner last night. My parents never give me dinner. It's terrible, it really is. So hungry . . . so very hungry . . . if only there was some way in which I could get dinner, maybe go to a restaurant with a kind friend . . . but that's probably just a crazy dream.

L: Nice try, but no.

Anyway, the point I'm trying to get across here is that the only persons in attendance were Marie-Clare, Ness, Lala, Ariane, Giuseppe, and myself. Ness arrived first. I gave her a quick tour of the house - featuring Drummer Boy, doing what his name suggests, as the main attraction - and we then retired to the kitchen, where we played with the magnetic letters on the fridge. We may be 16, but we're no more mature. Ness was considerably annoyed at the way there were no 'm's on the fridge. 'I mean, how can you spell words properly?' she complained, after fruitlessly searching for the letter that would change the phrase she was working on from 'happy en' to 'happy men', for reasons best known to herself.

I was perplexed. 'There are lots of 'm's.'

'I can't see any.'

'Look, there's one here!'

'That's not an 'm'!' she said indignantly. 'That's an upside-down 'w'.'

Ariane arrived shortly afterwards and changed it from 'happy men' to 'hoppy men'. After that, Marie-Clare and Lala arrived together. Lala had ignored my express wishes and brought me a present. I unwrapped it suspiciously.

'Have you nearly got the paper off?' Lala inquired cheerfully.

'Nearly - what's this?'

'Yeah, I wrapped it twice,' she explained. 'Once in proper paper and once in newspaper.'

Ariane, standing nearby, laughed. 'Why couldn't you just have used the paper or the newspaper? You didn't need both.'

'You know, I have no idea,' Lala told her thoughtfully. So nice to have this insight into the minds of my friends.

Anyway, once the present was unwrapped, it was revealed to contain (a) a pen that looked like a pencil (b) a stuffed panda and (c) a small box. Lala promptly seized the box, got down on one knee, and proposed to me with the ring that was inside. I accepted. Obviously we were married before, but it's nice to have it made official. I wore the ring for the rest of the evening and most of the next day. Then it got uncomfortable, so I took it off. It's still a commitment.

At this point, all necessary persons had arrived, and we made our way to the Vietnamese restaurant we'd chosen. I hadn't originally meant it to be the Vietnamese restaurant. I'd wanted to book at an Italian restaurant, for the sole reason that Marie-Clare is incapable of eating Asian foods. I'll never know how she managed to survive her sojourn in Japan: I suppose it's just one of life's mysteries. However, that restaurant had been booked out. Which left me a little worried as to what Marie-Clare was going to be able to eat. Still, we'd face that when we came to it.

We got to the restaurant in good time, and had ordered before Giuseppe arrived. Marie-Clare had decided that she actually quite liked the idea of sweet-and-sour pork, and ordered that. I don't have time to devote all that much to Marie-Clare's bizarre eating habits. In fact, I'm considering writing a post all about that - what to do when escorting Marie-Clare to a movie or restaurant. It could be invaluable to 25, you never know. However, I won't discuss it now. Enough to say that she got by mainly on the rice, which, thank goodness, was plentiful.

There's not a lot to say about the dinner, except that Lala and Ariane decided to try and convince Ness that Ariane was red-green colourblind, and enlisted everyone else to maintain this illusion. Sorry, Ness, if you're reading this now.

After the dinner we returned to my house, to await the arrival of various parents in an hour's time. We decided to pass the time by playing Monopoly. Lala was bank, I was property, and Ness suggested that Ariane take houses. Ariane looked at her sorrowfully. 'How can I give the houses and hotels out when I can't even tell them apart?'

'What are you talking about? They're different colours -' I began, before suddenly remembering the colourblind thing. 'Which, of course, you are unable to tell apart.'

'Don't worry,' Ariane assured me. 'I'm used to people not knowing.'

Anyway, Lala got a little carried away with the whole 'banker' thing. Being keen to play Monopoly I can understand. Putting a pimp hat on, drawing a moustache on in eyeliner, and glaring suspiciously at anyone trying to take money out of the bank is a little harder.

I was the one actually drawing with the eyeliner. We kind of forgot about the Monopoly then. I gave Ness a heart on her forehead (never know when it might come in handy), drew a flower on myself (which is harder than it sounds - it came out like a diseased cloud), and the Ariane and I collaborated in drawing on Marie-Clare. We drew her initials on one cheek and the initials of 25 on the other. We never got around to drawing on Giuseppe because she left early. Before she left, she presented me with a present, which was from her, Marie-Clare, Ness, and Shoelace (in absentia): a hard drive, with about 300GB of music, TV shows and movies on it. Does nobody pay attention to anything I say? I'm not complaining, though, I now have about three times as much music as I ever considered existed, as well as the complete series of The Chaser's War On Everything. In fact, I think it's about time for a gratuitous Chaser picture (yes, that time again):

Anyway, thank you again, Giuseppe. After Giuseppe left, we decided to completely forget the Monopoly game, much to Marie-Clare's annoyance. It seems fated that I am never to finish a game of Monopoly I have with Marie-Clare. Very strange. At any rate, I got my iPod out and made a number of short films of everyone. People left one by one, until finally only Lala remained. We'd decided to film a nature documentary with my panda, and were just setting up, when her sister arrived to take her home. Tragic.

3. Part the Third - an epic battle

For a long time, Falcon and I have had quite a serious argument going. He sees it one way, I see it the other, and there doesn't seem to be any way of compromising our views. Eventually, we decided we would have to take this argument to the next level and sort it out, once and for all. Permanently. No turning back.

The subject we argue over is 'Who is the best Doctor Who?', and the battle we intended to have would be one of watching television.

The problem is this. Falcon believes that David Tennant is the best doctor of all time. I, on the other hand, believe it is Matt Smith. There seemed no way of making a decision.

We managed to think of one, thought.

Early in the morning in the first week of the holidays - early, that is, for a group of teenagers not on school time, which is to say at about 9:30 - I, Falcon, and our chosen three judges arrived at my place of residence. Well, I was already there, but you know what I mean. The judges had been selected individually on the basis of their Doctor Who-ignorance. Aviator, the first judge, had never seen an episode and was openly sceptical of the concept. I personally am of the opinion that he only turned up in the first place for the sake of the bet contract he'd made. More about that later. Our second judge, Giuseppe, is easily the most ignorant of all the people I know. She was once yelled at by her entire English class for not knowing what a Dalek was. Our third and final judge was Marie-Clare. I'd opted to have her on the basis that she owned all the series of Doctor Who except for the Matt Smith ones, meaning I'd only have to hire the latest series. Also, although she didn't have a particular favourite Doctor, she was inclined to lean towards Matt Smith. Falcon was indignant when he found this out. 'Are you trying to cheat, Leslie?' However, he soon came around and we settled down to watch. It was extremely hard first of all. Giuseppe and Marie-Clare tried to continue an argument they'd been having as to whether it was appropriate to celebrate John Lennon's birthday with a shop-bought cake or not, only stopping when Giuseppe got a call on her mobile and was forced to answer that for a few minutes. We managed to get a few minutes further in before Aviator pretended to get a call on his mobile and talk loudly on it for a few minutes. Eventually, we put subtitles on, and managed to get through four episodes, two for each of our chosen Doctors, with only major interruptions between episodes.

Of the people who read my blog, I'm not sure how many of you watch Doctor Who. I was going to add a list of the episodes we watched, but reconsidered it on the basis that most of you wouldn't understand it. So here is a clarified version for you non-Whovians.

EPISODE #1: THE GIRL IN THE FIREPLACE

DOCTOR: David Tennant

ACTUAL PLOT: Clockwork, humanoid monsters invade the life of Madame de Pompadour, mistress to Louis XV of France, via a number of time windows contained on board a spaceship, in the hopes of removing her brain and using it to power the ship.

SIMPLIFIED PLOT: Ticking things try and kill the king of France's girlfriend. They don't manage to. The Doctor saves the day.

COMMENTS:

GIUSEPPE (G): I don't think that was a proper episode.

LESLIE (L): Why not?

G: There weren't any Daneks.

L: It's pronounced 'Daleks'. And the Daleks aren't present in every episode.

G: What? Are you serious?

MARIE-CLARE (MC): Giuseppe! How can you not know that?

L: Right. What did you think, Aviator?

AVIATOR (A): Well, the girl was pretty hot.

FALCON (F): She was, actually.

A: Can we watch another one with a hot girl?

EPISODE #2: THE ELEVENTH HOUR

DOCTOR: Matt Smith

ACTUAL PLOT: The Doctor appears to a young girl, and fixes a crack made in space and time in her wall. He comes back to her as a woman, and discovers an alien called Prisoner Zero hiding in her house. The Atraxi, who originally held Prisoner Zero hostage, threaten to incinerate the Earth unless Prisoner Zero is returned to them. The Doctor eventually takes on the woman (Amy) as a new assistant.

SIMPLIFIED PLOT: The Doctor mends a wall, finds a snake-thing, and gives the snake-thing to a giant eye-thing. The Doctor saves the day.

COMMENTS:

A: WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THIS GUY?

F: You're right. What do you mean?

A: He comes out of his box -

MC: TARDIS, it's called.

A: - finds a little Scottish girl, and forces her to cook for him, then spits yoghurt in her face. Why would you do that to a kid? She was adorable. I want a kid just like her.

L: Really?

A: A kid that can cook, AND has a Scottish accent? That would be both awesome and hilarious.

G: Yeah, he doesn't come across as a nice person.

A: Although when she grew up she was pretty hot. Let's watch another one with a hot girl.

EPISODE #3: FEAR HER

DOCTOR: David Tennant

ACTUAL PLOT: The Doctor and Rose (his companion) discover a girl with the ability to trap people in drawings. After she traps an entire stadium full of people from the 2012 London Olympics in a picture, the Doctor realises she is possessed by an Isolus and is able to free her of it, as well as releasing everyone in the pictures.

SIMPLIFIED PLOT: Girl possesses creepy powers. Doctor discovers she has been taken over by small white annoying flower-thing. The Doctor saves the day.

COMMENTS:

F: Did they know that the 2012 Olympics were going to be in London when they filmed this?

MC: Maybe they didn't! Maybe the writers have secret powers.

A: No, I think they knew. They have these things organised way in advance. Who was the blonde girl, again? She was in the first one we watched as well.

L: Rose. Well, Billie Piper.

A: Wasn't she in that TV series about a prostitute? It was called something like 'The Life of a Prostitute'.

L: 'The Secret Diary of a Call-Girl'.

A: Yeah, she was pretty hot.

EPISODE #4: THE BEAST BELOW

DOCTOR: Matt Smith

ACTUAL PLOT: The Doctor and his companion (Amy) arrive on the Starship UK. After some investigation, after which they are almost fed to a mysterious beast (which is 'below' the rest of the ship - oh, you cunning, cunning title writers), they discover the animal is actually a Star Whale and is being tortured in order to fly the ship. Amy prevents the Doctor from killing it, and proves that it doesn't need to be tortured to fly.

SIMPLIFIED PLOT: The Doctor and friend arrive on what is basically England on a space ship. They wander around a little, are shoved into the mouth of giant mystical space whale-like creature, escape from the mouth of giant mystical space whale-like creature, and generally make everything good. Amy saves the day.

COMMENTS:

A: I'm serious. There is something very, very wrong with this guy.

L: How do you mean, exactly?

A: Did you see in the beginning, how the Scottish girl was floating around in space? Well, he was looking up her skirt. And she was in her NIGHTDRESS.

MC: How does that make it any different?

A: Well, who wears underwear to bed?

L: What are you talking about? Who doesn't wear underwear to bed?

A: Actually, I -

L: I don't want to hear it!

G: He's right. That is unduly creepy. At least David Tennant never did that to any of his assistants.

MC: No, but he did kiss Madame de Pompadour. Which is a bit strange.

A: That's acceptable, though. And not creepy.

F: What did you think of Amy, though?

A: I thought she was hot!

The watching over, it was time to vote. Before we did that, though, Aviator had a suggestion to make. 'Look. I made this bet contract yesterday. Basically, whoever loses has to do something. I don't know what yet. I thought we could decide now.'

We considered this for a good while. Aviator was unhelpful.

A: I think if Falcon loses, he should have to pull his pants down and run around Leslie's house.

MC: How can he run with his pants down?

A: That's part of the fun!

L: He'd have a hard time getting around my house, there's a fence and a garage in the way. I don't think it's a good idea, anyway. My family are easily scared.

A: It's a serious bet here, Leslie. It needs serious consequences.

F: I'm not doing that.

A: Come on, Falcon, we won't film it. Actually, that's a great idea! Leslie, do you have a video camera?

G: Forget it, Aviator.

A: You'll come round to my point of view eventually.

We didn't.

Eventually we decided that if Falcon won, I would have to knit him a scarf, and if I won, we'd get to spray Falcon with the hose for a minute and a half while filming it, and put it on Facebook.

Then, it was time to vote. I gave out voting slips, people filled them in, and then we put them in a pimp hat (actually, this hat has previously made an appearance in this post, as the one Lala donned to feel more like a banker. That hat has lead a rich and varied life). Here is the final result:

DAVID TENNANT: 4

MATT SMITH: 1

Remembering that I'd voted for Matt Smith, that meant everyone else had voted against me. 'All of you? Really?' I asked despairingly. 'I demand a recount.' It was still the same result.

'It was the yoghurt thing that did it, really,' confessed Aviator. 'I would have liked to see Falcon sprayed with a hose. But I just couldn't understand why Matt Smith would spit yoghurt at a Scottish girl. I mean, with that accent?'

This left me, then, having to knit Falcon a scarf. I did, however, manage to extract a promise from him that he would wear the scarf for at least one day at school. What's more, I would be able to pick any colours I wanted.

There IS such a thing as small victories.

Anyway, we had to stop at this point, as Aviator and Falcon were shortly going bowling and Marie-Clare was going to get her nails done. We spent the remaining time in my room, despite the fact that I'd done all I could to keep them out: I'm not the tidiest person. I showed everyone a love letter Marie-Clare had written for James McCartney the previous year, and that I had saved for an occasion such as this one. Aviator tried to convince us (a) he was an amazing jazz Irish whistle player and (b) he had syphilis (this is an extremely disconcerting thing to hear from someone when they've spent the last ten minutes playing your Irish whistle). Then everyone else tried to convince me that Matt Smith was gay.

'Come on! He's practically admitted it!' Aviator enthused.

'How has he admitted it?' I asked, annoyed.

'It's the hair,' said Falcon solemnly. 'Nobody can have hair like that and be straight. Google 'matt smith gay' and you'll get your answer.'

We did, and came up with an article he'd done for the Gay Times.

'That proves it!'

'No, it doesn't! Look, he's going out with an underwear model!' I said.

'A male underwear model,' Giuseppe contributed.

'No, a female one - look, here's a picture of her -'

We found a picture. Aviator sighed. 'All right, you win.'

'I do?'

'Yes, you're right. He's definitely bisexual.'

I was quite glad when they all left.

Everyone but Giuseppe, that is. For we had a nobler purpose in mind. We went into Civic with but a single thought: to buy the wool for Falcon's scarf. That is to say, our single thought was 'buy wool for scarf'. When it got down to the actual details of the thing, it got a little confusing.

G: You should knit his name into the scarf.

L: Not sure my knitting abilities are up to that.

G: You know what you should do - you should knit David Tennant's face into the scarf. Or Matt Smith's.

L: Again, my knitting skills aren't up to much. Either way, I'd end up with a blobby pink face and various distorted features. I'm not sure you'd be able to tell who it was.

G: That's probably right. It was a nice thought, though.

L: I think I'll just stick to stripes.

G: Well, you should make it vomit coloured. Or just generally hideous.

L: Sounds good.

We entered the wool shop. First of all, I settled on a charming lime green wool. Giuseppe approved. We then found some of that wool that changes colours as you knit, in a number of exciting colours and flavours. I went for one that swapped between lime green/dark pink/light pink. We were just deciding the last one when we accidentally stumbled across a type of wool that - well, it's hard to describe. It's essentially a think cord of thread. Except every five centimetres or so is a large pompom of wool. Obviously, this was hard to resist. Giuseppe was keen to go along the 'vomit coloured' route and buy the orange. I, however, decided that I wanted it to match, and went for some that swapped between green, white, and pink. I started the scarf when I got home. That was a week ago, and I'm already more than half done. It truly is a thing of beauty, insofar is it is impossible to look at for more than a few minutes without your eyes watering at the hideousness of it. I have to wear protective goggles while knitting. I'll have it done for the first day of school, Falcon, promise. I look forward to seeing you wear it. Serves you right for thinking David Tennant is the best Doctor. I may be down, but I'm not out.

4. Part the Fourth - family holiday

I've spent the past few days on holiday with my family. Not much to do. We watched many movies ('Brazil' was awesome. Everyone must watch it. With the proper director's cut ending, though, not the happy American one), played table tennis - I knitted and listened to my iPod.

Actually, a bizarre thing happened pertaining to my iPod (the blue one). One night, I was listening to it, perfectly innocently, when it completely cut out. The screen went black, none of the buttons worked, it wouldn't appear on my computer desktop, etc. I considered it to be dead and duly mourned it. The strange thing is that the next night, at about the same time, it came back to life again. I was pleasantly astounded. I would have been happy for it to stay that way, but it was not to be. The next night, again, at about the same time, it cut out again, right in the middle of what I was listening to. This time it still makes the clickety-click noises when I press the buttons. It just doesn't do anything. Not so much dead as comatose. I've a sneaking suspicion that it was what I was forcing it to play. Both times, it was halfway through an episode of BBC radio comedy.

Actually, come to think of it, that's not all that coincidental, seeing as that's basically all I listen to.

That was exactly a day ago. I'm hoping it'll come back to life in a matter of minutes. I'm not optimistic. Still, you never know.

And there you have it, dear friends and less dear friends (Ness. Marie-Clare. NO COMMENT). My holidays as they've been so far. There are only four days left now, so not a great deal more to sum up. There is, of course, a great deal I haven't mentioned here - mostly, it must be said, the unexciting stuff. For example, I briefly created a Wikipedia page for Gwen explaining how she was an expert on the use of hard 'g's is the English language. The Wikifolk have taken it down now, but I've still got a screen shot of the page if anyone's interested. I also created a page for one of 'my' comedians, Lee Simpson, which is still up - I thought it was about time he had one, although the Wikifolk clearly don't approve and have covered the page in irrelevant tags. The way I see it, I'm fighting against internet oppression. Nice to have achieved something. I'm also friends with two of 'my' British comedians on Facebook. Well, I'm friends with one, and friends with the alter-ego of the other. Yes, one of them has an alter-ego who is a therapist. Sound familiar?

I suppose it's not actual friends, really. I mean, they'd probably take umbrage if I turned up at their houses in the middle of the night asking to come in. But it's a start.

And so, I hope this puts to rest all the complaints and complainees of the world - at least, all the ones pestering me - and convinces them to let me sleep for another couple of weeks.