I was a part of London 2012 Olympics

Wembley StadiumLast night I was one of the 70,584 spectators at Wembley Stadium, watching the women’s football match between Brazil and Team GB. A few of my football questions were answered. I learnt that the players do not stop playing to watch the replays and that when the ball is kicked into the audience, they are expected to throw it back. I still have no clue what the offside rule is all about, but I have a feeling that no one does.

I screamed ‘Team GB’ until my voice was hoarse and took part in no less than eight Mexican waves that went around the entirety of the stadium, so frequently that the match was just a little extra entertainment. We were the people who provide the sound effects for your television screens, the boos, the gasps and the cheers. We deafened each other with our joint voices and after only a few minutes in the stadium, I had a buzzing headache that stayed with me until this morning.

Women’s football is unlike men’s football in that there are far less fouls and they do not mess around, throwing themselves to the ground in hopes of a penalty. From what I observed, women play clean and follow the rules. Let’s hear it for the women and for the London 2012 Olympics, unless the traffic and television take over are spoiling your summer!

The End

Today marks an end. A chapter in my life has closed and as much as I would like to put a bookmark in it, nothing can stop natural progression. I’ll miss that old chapter, and I’ll remember the general contents, although the exact words may evade me. My favourite characters will be remembered fondly and may be carried on with me to the next chapter and others will die as an idea within those pages but all will have an impact on the rest of the book; my life.

Analogy over and done with, let me return to the basics. Today was my last day of school. I have been in this school for five years. Five years are a long time. I will return only for exams that will end in mid-June. I will see my classmates only in states of nervousness and then we will depart onto bigger things, farther apart.

It seems strange that I won’t be waking up at 6.45 each morning to wear the same uniform to take the same journey to get to the same school, as I have done for the past five years. I’m glad to be finished but also sad. I didn’t realise how much I loved my school until I was leaving it, how much the teachers cared and how the students weren’t all that bad after all (most of them).

I’m not going to get all emotional in text, I was incapable of shedding a tear today. So, as everyone was bawling, even the known sociopath, I was taking pictures of their teary moments. We showed the entire school a video montage of out time, gave small speeches and left the teachers with one last surprise. Ellen’s Dance Dares!

If this new phenomena has not yet trended near you (Antarctica?), the rules of the game are simple: sneak up behind people, dance, don’t get caught and catch it on camera. Being the daredevil I am, I got behind two teachers and busted a few moves, and being the darling angel I am, they did not see it coming. The result was a hilarious collection of unsuspecting teachers going about their normal, daily routines and a band of sneaky, hoodied-up leavers waving, bopping, shaking and anything else that would classify as dancing. Unfortunately, we failed to get the headteacher. She was never around when the camera was out, or perhaps she was watching us on CCTV and knew to stay away.

It hasn’t really hit me yet that I am leaving. I still remember being in my first year and watching the year’s leavers say their goodbyes, thinking that they were so lucky to go and that I still had ages left before being set free. I did that every single year for four years and now it is my turn, but, I just feel like holding onto the chains, even as they loosen to let me go. I really am going to miss my school.

If I’m not going to cry, the least I can do is write to express what sadness I must be feeling. I know I am sad, I just don’t feel sad. I say I’m sad. I just don’t feel sad. It must be because I know I’m not really leaving. I shall, not by choice, be popping round for exams from time to time and then, any feelings of sorrow will be overshadowed by nervousness and panic. Even then, I’ll still pass by every once in a while. I hope.

*Exams coming up. I might have to use my computer for more productive activities. Pray I do well. The future of many mentally unstable people depend on it.

KONY has earned himself a blog post

I don’t normally share YouTube links on here, I’m surprised I even know how. I am more of a writer but sometimes pictures have a far greater effect. If it is a half-hour long stream of moving pictures, more so.

Watch this video and pass it on like a game of Chinese whispers- without the whispering part and without the mishearing and misinforming…So, maybe not Chinese whispers exactly. Nevertheless, I was brilliant at that when I was in primary school and now I’m playing it on the net, at a far greater scale.

I wonder if the African children in Uganda ever got to play games like Chinese whispers…

Joseph Kony. Evil. Don’t whisper it.

It’s here!

Rejoice! Celebrate! Skip joyfully around the entire house and let everybody know that it’s snowing! School will be out for the next few days, cars will be blanketed in a layer of white wonder and everywhere will become a giant playground for children and adults alike to throw themselves in the snow and throw the snow at each other. That is, unless the spoilsport of a sun decides to shine intensely on our excitement and create a sloppy mush in place of the snow that is at this minute falling delicately, as every person in London leans their face against the glass.

I can’t help but check every few minutes that the snow is still falling and give an occasional squeal when I see that not only is it still falling but it is falling faster and heavier. It too is desperate and in a hurry to settle, accumulate and be played with after such a long period of still admiration. I enjoy playing in the snow but the still admiration is probably my favourite part. After a few minutes playing in the snow, I feel wet, cold and unimpressed, every single year, but I never tire of watching it fall. It looks so perfect, pure and untouched in the early morning and I resent the person, or cat, that disturbs it with its footprints and the cars that turn it into murky, brown slush and the cruel men that sprinkle their deadly salt.

The whole city is transformed and looks more beautiful than it has ever been under the frosting of millions of tiny little snowflakes. It hides the dirt and draws your attention away from the problems, as well as creating a few of its own; transport is treacherous but if everyone just stayed inside and admired the snow without having to venture out, that wouldn’t be the case.

I think I must have gotten up from my chair and checked the snow out of my window at least eight times during the writing of this blog post. It is still snowing. It is settling. It is magical. No wonder so many poets attribute numerous poems to its praise. I would too.

If it’s snowing where you are, enjoy the snow and make the most of it. Make a snowman, pelt a total stranger, stick out your tongue and catch the flakes… Due to global warming, you may never see the snow again.

Jungle Fever Making Me Sick!

As I type, my fingers are aching, as is my back, my legs and every other part of my aching body. Today, I woke up tired and despite lazing around the entire day, I will probably go to bed exhausted to wake up tired the following morning and all because of my wild Friday night. Instead of running free at the sound of the bell, dragging my book bag behind me I decided to stay at school…for the night.

It’s not as bad as it sounds, in fact it was a charity sleepover for a great cause (Save the Children) and everybody had a great time, even though they complained about everything from the food to the entertainment. It is so much easier to complain than to be grateful and say thank you and it’s not until it is your turn to organise such an event that you realise how discouraging it can be. Whilst my friends and I were running around (in heels), trying our best to make the evening memorable for everybody, there were a few girls (brats) that would moan that they were bored or would look in disgust at the food we served them, making us fume and just feel like giving up, not even bother. We were putting in a great amount of effort, but it seemed that whatever we did they never appeared to be content. We gave up once we noticed that those complaining were the ones that wouldn’t take part in any of the activities and would wipe their plates clean; they had resolved not to have fun and were determined to remain bored.

As well as a few complainers there were also many slackers and the division of labour was abysmal. The sleepover was an event, organised by my class and more specifically my class council, of which I am a part of, but during the event all that was conveniently forgotten as a few people worked themselves to my current state of exhaustion and others partied hard. The headteacher commented that she always saw the same few faces walking up and down the corridors, carrying, distributing, cleaning and organising and as one of those people I can do nothing but agree. I know I work hard, but the kind of person I am wouldn’t allow me to watch as things go downhill especially if I can do something about it and I know that if I don’t do something about it nobody will or it will be a long time before they do.

That’s why, whilst some girls were getting dolled up for more than an hour, I made my getting dressed a five-minute job and headed off to prepare salad and why when they were pouting in front of their cameras for another half hour, I was setting up the dinning area. I don’t even know how to pout! Then, whilst we were running out of activities, trying to entertain a bunch of hungry teens that couldn’t understand the concept of a midnight feast (“you can’t have it before midnight!!”), they were locked in the English room, sat in a circle taking shots of red bull. You would think that they would put all that concentrated energy to good use but they still manged to lay dead in their duvets the next morning whilst my friend and I made hot jam and chocolate spread sandwiches for the whole school! I burnt myself, they woke up and actually had the nerve to look at the clock, say they weren’t that late and asked to be served breakfast, even calling for another croissant from where they were sitting. I may be ranting on my blog but at school I kept my mouth shut and failed to smile.

Although slightly overshadowed by the negative, I did have a fun time and more importantly we did make money for charity. I jumped up and down on the stage, yelling lyrics at the top of my lungs until we were told to turn the music down and the decorations were admired by everyone; brown and green paper chains, butterflies, vines, fairy lights, snakes and monkeys gave the school a wild feel which along with the loud racket everyone was making in their animal prints transformed the place into a real jungle. The best part was falling asleep in my pink duvet to the sound of giggling and the worst, was waking up and dettaching myself from said pink duvet to the sound of younger years voicing their hunger.

Congratulations! You can now pay tax!

This afternoon, I arrived home from school to find a brown, rectangular envelope with my name on it. It is not a common occurrence so I immediately ripped it open, with much vigor, to find a highly anticipated letter. Whether this anticipation was in dread or excitement, I am not yet sure.

Mr HMRC (HM Revenue & Customs) has finally decided to end my tax-free existence and so I am now (when I start working), a tax-paying citizen of the United Kingdom. I will be amongst the common folk that will pay a large sum of their mediocre wages to tax, whilst the rich get richer and evade it. The tax man will be my boss.It sounds worse the more I write about it. I am beginning to question my earlier sanity, as I jumped around the living room in pure delight at the fact I had to pay tax! What was I thinking? Of course, it marks a great step in my life and is an important part of my transition into adulthood but the idea of complaining about the rise in taxes rather than laughing at those complaining does not have a very large appeal. Perhaps, I will just buy a house in Monaco, Dubai or any other tax-free country with electricity and running water.

What do you think? Feel free to offer you condolences or congratulations.

Save the Children with a Movie Morning

Roll up! Roll up! Come and get your tickets for the greatest movie event of the year, my school council’s movie morning for the Save the Children charity.

All of last week we we had been selling tickets and pre-selling snack boxes to students to raise funds for our chosen charity, Save the Children and we had been rolling in it. We all thought that we were making easy money, no stress, no fuss, just take the money and laugh. Ha! We weren’t laughing when someone (not me) lost the ticket records, we weren’t laughing when someone (not me) oversold tickets for a single movie screening and we weren’t laughing when someone (again not me) did not buy enough sweets the previous day and only realised early this morning.

Morning of the event, the clock was ticking, school council members were last minute shopping, the movies were scheduled to start, food was meant to be being sent out and we were all gathered around a chicken waiting for it to lay popcorn.

The frustration I felt at the incredibly slow chicken was unbelievable. Pop chicken! Pop! We have impatient kids with the munchies to feed! It even took a break to stop itself from heating up. Now, that’s what I call high maintenance. The frustration was that regardless of what I did, there was nothing that would speed up the process. We were all stuck at the chicken’s leisurely pace, until we called in microwave popcorn.

Disaster avoided, It was still hectic. I was all over the place, putting nachos in rooms, distributing lists, fetching DVDs, looking for the people I distributed the lists to, taking back the nachos because I had placed too many in one room, panicking when the DVD

Nachos and popcorn

failed to play, downloading a media player to play the DVD and urging people to getmoving, acting like a human egg timer. Phew. The best moment was when everyone had settled down, eyes glued to the screen, mouths stuffed with popcorn and I could move from classroom to classroom asking if everything was okay knowing that I would get a positive response.

Yesterday, after we had spent two hours in front of a spreadsheet typing up the names of the entire student body only to be told that we could have been given a copy electronically and saved ourselves the trouble, our headteacher suggested that we keep notes of all the things not to do and pass it on to the following school council as a parting gift but we shot her idea down in the interest of justice. Why must they have it easy when no one gave us a list? It would be an absolute pity if they were to miss out on the frantic scurrying up and down the corridors in harmonic panic. Besides, learning from your own mistakes is character building and definitely more effective than learning from the mistakes of others, don’t you think?

Today, I learnt that microwave popcorn is the way forward, planning is key and to always have a back-up. I wonder what I will learn tomorrow…

School Fight Under the September Sun

Dark and frosty in the morning but by lunchtime, boiling. Whatever happened to September puddles? You may not think 28°C is boiling and if I was the least bit bothered about science I would probably agree with you but when it is the end of September and the weather is unnaturally hot there can be no other way to describe it. Summer seems to be stretching and that’s great but must it occur whilst we are stuck in school? When we’re on holiday it is wet and gloomy but as soon as we are back in the classroom the weather we should have had all summer arrives a few weeks too late. Tell me, where is the justice in that? I’m not asking for a thunderstorm but better timing would be much appreciated.

As I broke free from the school building this afternoon, without my school blazer which I left in my locker, the outside temperature hit me like a falling piano. Imagine that; walk out of school, breathe a content sigh of relief, then get crushed by a piano falling from a classroom window. Now, replace that piano with hot air because my school doesn’t have a piano or a window above the front entrance. That is more or less how I felt as I gave a very audible gasp and fanned myself exaggeratedly. The heat was driving me crazy and I wasn’t the only one.

Minding my own important business, I made way towards the bus stop, only to see a fuming, red-faced ex-student charging in the direction I came from. Not one to miss out on a fight, I did what any thrill-deprived teenager would do and slowly walked a few steps backwards, in chase of a fight. That is exactly what I got.

The gloves came off and the claws came out, girls style. The raging girl was even wearing leopard print to match her predatory stance. Right there on the street this older girl started shouting at two girls in my class over something they may have done to her younger sister. Insults were exchanged, names were called but not once did either of them strike. That’s how us girls operate, we’ll hurt you with our words but we won’t touch you. Its sounds like safe fighting but sometimes words hurt more.

However, (in today’s connected world news travels fast) by the time I arrived home word had already reached Facebook and if what the rumours said were to believed, it had been an all out battlefield. It was a spectacle at most.

“She’s prettier than you, she’s cleverer than you…you’re nothing compared to her.”

“We don’t know you. Who the hell are you? We don’t know you!”

“You dirty things! You are going to die!”

Trivial…truly trivial. I don’t remember ever being involved in a fight at school, I’m too much of a goody two shoes, but I’m sure that I would have smarter things to say than that. I would leave the opposition speechless, bowing down to my genius! If only I could get a word in edgeways…

Have you every been in a fight at school? If not, how would you fare?

Stand up for the elderly

Usually when I take the bus, I always ignore the first few seats at the front and make my way towards the back even if they are empty. It is not that I prefer the back as it is usually the stuffier, noisier and smellier part of the bus and depending on how packed the bus is it can be quite difficult to navigate through the crowd and make it out of the doors. However, I am ashamed to say, I do not like giving up my seat to old people.

When you’re old and wrinkly, access to the front seats becomes a right of passage and as soon as you enter you expect them to be vacated immediately, especially if the person sitting is a lazy, able-bodied teenager. I have no problem with that and I try to give up my seat as often as I can but sometimes, I don’t know why,  I just get embarrassed to do so even though I know I shouldn’t. Why feel embarrassed in doing a good action?

I suppose sometimes I fear that I may offend them so I feel awkward and get stuck for what to say when offering up my seat. Umm… excuse me, you look great and really fit even though you have reached a mature age and to congratulate you for such an amazing achievement, not because I think you look frail or tired, I think that you deserve my seat. Somehow, I don’t think that would go down too well. Many old people are in denial and still see themselves as sparkling fit youths, not liking to be treated the age they are. I’m terrible at judging age and I know that the day will come when I offer my seat to a proud mutton dressed as lamb and live to regret it.

Then, you have those old ladies that tell you to keep your seat because they’re not going far even though you can seem them leaning against the yellow bar, supporting their balance. What do you do in that situation? You feel bad and would like to insist but really don’t think you should argue with someone five times your age. See the dilemma?

This morning, I took the bus with my mother and unlike I would usually do, we filled the two front seats. Coincidentally, an old lady came on at the next stop and stood in front of us, expectantly. My mother immediately offered up her seat and insisted about five times before the lady would accept it, telling her that she felt bad. Now, that’s quite commendable of her and I would love to be able to do the same but I don’t think I could as I am a generally quieter person and not as out going as her. I don’t like to be under the spotlight, in a bus full of spectators.

Someone must have been trying to test me because right at the next stop another old lady hobbled on, taking the previous position of my neighbour. She too claimed not to be going too far and I pretended not to see her, but the old lady on my right pointed at the “priority seats” sign besides me prompting me to get up and evacuate.

So, damned if I do, damned if I don’t; either way I get embarrassed. Therefore, next time I will get over my fear and do the right thing…. or I could just sit at the back.

What do you think? Am I just being irrational? I can’t help it.