I want, I want, I want!

• To have lots of money.
• To keep my job in the florists (!) even if it is in the Vale.
• To have an exciting secret admirer.
• To have a brilliant birthday, I reckon I deserve it.
• To get decent GCSE grades (fingers crossed).
• To maybe dye my hair dark brown/full fringe again? (Maybe when it's a bit longer, after summer just before september, I'm thinking.)
• Keep my nails beautiful, it distracts me from things.
• To lose a bit of flab.
• To make sex a regular exerscise routine.
• To wear my heeled boots that have been withering away in my mother's wardrobe for the last 15 years constantly as they are absolutely remarkeable and scream "90's" which makes me love them more.
• To learn my French and German orals. I must nag myself into doing it, infact I would go to learn some now if it didn't give me that sinking feeling in my stomach...
• To start making my own clothes again.
• To remember to make Eth1 a textiles piece for her birthday, KITTY DO NOT FORGET YOU KNOB.
• To get someone hilarious to give me an India ink tatoo, I'm thinking maybe dear William?
• To buy mucho fake tannio for Espaniol.
• To stop writing to do lists.

And honey, you are never gonna change.

Seeing as I have barely been leaving the house in the hope that I will use my time wisely and revise, this means Jake and I have not had the time to get together and organise our music.
This spurred me to take the matter into my own hands.
I have been researching women with a similar voice to my own to try to examine their styles and how they pronounce their words. I've been trying to analyse the songs, how the tone in their voices highlight the lyrics, how the imperfections of their voices could be staged to have emphasis and how I could carry all these tecniques across and merge them into something me and my voice can accomplish.
I'm also seeing which styles of music suit my voice best, at the minute jazz/acoustic and a bit of rock go with it quite nicely.
Basically I'm giving myself singing lessons because I can't afford proffessional ones.

In my aimless wanderings trying to find women with a similar voice to my own, that maybe I could do cover versions of, I found her. Probably the person who has inspired me the most to continue with this band and make me believe I am capable of it.
Laura Marling.

Her lyrics speak of years of experience in life, yet she is so young, and her voice is like the perfect shade of paint for the empty canvas of her songs.
Sounds naff but it's so true.
Her voice almost fills a song, so much so that it seems exciting, like that thrill that you get when an epic song like Spellbound - Siouxie and the Banshees or Blue Monday - New Order comes on.

We have similar voices only I lack the american accent she sometimes gains and also the heavy almost jazz-like tones that she can hit.
My voice sounds a lot more delicate, hopefully with more practise/smoking I will get there.

Living like a potato.

Bored.
Due to a huge lack of money/time, while I could be going to either Barfly or some club in town tonight, or even TGi's with Alec & Nicole, I am stuck in, feeling absolutely miserable.
I thought the best things in life were supposed to be free?
It seems all of my exciting plans need money to function.
However, I am going to Four Oaks tomorrow to see Fran and stay at her house, which should be good.
I miss her so much:(
But even then, I doubt I'll be able to afford the train fare to get me there and back (4 quid, how depressing).
Still, eeeeeeeeeeee:)
I expect we'll do something for Alec's birthday on Sunday, fingers crossed.
I really need to get out, spending days in revising and chain smoking with my brother are good, but I proper need to get out the house, I want Scotland againnnnn:(
As a form of entertainment I have decided to rape 4OD and watch all of the Skins episodes from the very very first series all the way through to the third.
It's less sad than it sounds, honestly...

Home

tomorrow, and I am so excited:)
I can get myself and my things sorted out, for example, my work, my book (which I am still writing), my poetry/songwriting, my art and this blog.

Might I apologise for the lack of colour/pictures in this blog, it's really unlike me to do this but i've been on my dad's work laptop so if I save any pictures to it then he'll get bollocked, plus I can't get any of my pictures on here anyway:/
But I can understand how boring this thing must be to read.
At the same time though, this blog really is for me, but if you have the patience to read it then thankyou:)

This is probably going to be my last chance to give a proper review of my time in Scotland, and I have to say I think it is wonderful here.
Unlike in Birmingham, there is so much to do and see, I don't think I have ever been bored in Glasgow, ever.
It's huge and the people are so remarkeable.
It's an absolutely magical city with stone steps, old buildings, hidden little art shops/galleries, talented buskers performing songs like 'Wonderwall', bagpipes and drums playing in the distance, mad women donning neon (maybe for a hen do?), beautiful unique looking people, everyone with a smile on their face.
I love Glasgow, it is impossible to feel anything but happy there.
Apart from one girl who was crying on the steps, but she was a Goth and her assumed boyfriend looked rather guilty so...
Like everyone else, I think I will jump to my own conclusions on that one.
Anyway, mmm, yes, Glasgow knocks Birmingham flat on the head any day.
I really really miss Manchester though:(
I haven't been back in so long.
I am determined to take a couple of people up this summer.

Even if Birmingham is a shit-hole compared to these places, I can't wait to go back and see everyone:)

Foreign

languages have always intrigued me.

GLASCHU
'S math a ghlan iad d' aodann:
smùr nan linntean air a sgrìobadh
's air a sguabadh air falbh
le siabann gainmhich;
's tha do cheann dorch a-nis
ruadh is bàn is bòidheach
Tha clòimh-liath fhathast a' fàs
air do bhallachan,
ach dè 'n diofar ...
fhad 's nach seall duine 'na do bhroinn
chan fhaic iad an aillse
a tha ga lobhadh;
chan fhaic iad an suarachadh
air cùlaibh nan uinneagan lasrach
a' falachd ann am breugan do shùilean.
'S nuair a tha d' àilleachd gar dalladh
's do mhaise gar mealladh
coma leats' mu na tuill
ann an sàilean do bhrògan.


by Anne Frater.
I found an english translation and it is actually really beautiful.
I would love to learn gaelic.

Thinking.

After muchmuchmuch thinking, we decided that we wanted to go in the direction of an acoustic band, because having a drummer would imply that we are taking things too seriously, and an extra person would add extra pressure.
I think that was a good decision, this was it's much more personal, it's just between me and Jake (the guitarrist) and it will make things less overwhelming in the long term.
People don't seem to take me seriously when I say we are going to make music because some of them think the word "band" and see huge mainstages with flashing lights and speakers the size of Italy.
That is not what we want to be about, this is for us and maybe some others (given that they like our taste) to enjoy.
For me, this is also to learn a couple of lessons that I need to learn, like the responsibility of thinking for others, the confidence to be able to sing when I'm not drunk (which frightens me, actually) and just for me to break out of my comfort zone and experience something different.
Not a lot of people see that.

Honky tonk.

I think I am now in a band.
Before you scoff in dissaproval, might I add that it is only a bit of fun for us to put our creative energies into and that we certainly do not think we are going to hit it big and be living in L.A. in a couple of years.
Oh no.
I think it is a good thing.
It gives me something to own, something to be mine, to be my baby other than my novels/art and sketch books.
We already have a "manager" basically someone to make sure we stay on the right tracks and that we don't become crap, she has impeccable music taste and she is one of my closest friends that would never lie to me or use us for personal gain.
I think we have a drummer, our "manager" is sorting that one out. She will also be our co.songwriter.
I will be a songwriter, along with any extra instruments that may be needed, e.g, xylophone, keyboard, extra guitar, tambourine that kind of thing, and if we find no one else I will also be the vocalist.
We have a guitarrist who will also be a songwriter/backing vocals.
We haven't yet come up with a name, we are waiting until we are all together to figure one out, but suggestions would be very much appreciated, so feel free to leave them in comments on here:)

Fantastic women.

Firstly, Soko.
I think she is the only French woman I have ever liked.
Her accent is so crap it's hilarious but her lyrics are dead on.
And her music is yummy.
Mmmmmmm.
I was on Youtube today, finding videos of bands I like, and how gorgeous is Karen O!
She is stunning, she pulls off the bowl cut so well.
I've always loved the YYY's but I had never really noticed how fantastic she is before. And she's brilliant live, her stage presence is increadible.
Lastly, Sia.
She is so amazing, with her lack of makeup and her mad fashion.
And her cute Aussie accent, mmm:)
Her voice is perrrrfect to go to sleep to, try it.
Notice as well that all of these women are real women, they're not stick thin little "celebrities" who are famous for doing nothing.





Lady Ga Ga is a fucking disgrace, to women and generally; in my opinion.

Proof God does not exist.

Eoghan Quigg has released a CD.
Why.
Just why.
Why.
Why.
Seriously, why.
WHYYYYYY!

Watching the races.

Sat opposite my Dad as he watches the races and eats his toast.
He may be short, his hair going white (I tell him it suits him) and he may support Bolton Wanderers, but he's a truly remarkable man.
I love my Dad.

It's times like these where you begin to appreciate everything.



Apart from the fact that after yesterdays hormones and fireworks, today's day of gardening doesn't really appeal to me.
At all.

Chemistry.

I have probably learned one of the most valuable lessons in life today.
I was walking about in Glasgow doing some shopping and I wandered into an Art Gallery.
I worked my way through and as I was walking about on the 2nd floor I noticed a security guard. He wasn't a typical security guard, he was basically some student in a uniform. He was tall, a little chubby, probably about 19, pale with head full of choppy black hair and tattoos just poking out from the sleeves of his jumper and an ear stretcher (probably about 20 mm) in each ear.
He was not at all the kind of person I am usually attracted to but I felt drawn to him.
He wasn't exactly unique looking, there are plenty of pale men with black hair, tattoos and ear stretchers; none of his features were particulaly distinctive but I could not stop staring at him.
And I think I had exactly the same effect on him.
He kept his eyes on me constantly, I could tell from his expression that it wasn't because I looked shifty or that I was going to vandalise the art that hung around us, he genuinely was staring at me.
I kept seeing him and catching his eye wherever I went, and he was everywhere.
It was then I realised that not only could I not stop looking at him, but I was attracted to him, this stranger who I had merely looked at from across the room. I felt an odd rush, my heart began to quicken and I felt a strange need to run over and talk to him, find out his name, find out anything about him, just to talk to him.
I put it down to hormones and walked away, but he followed me and seconds later we were looking at each other again.
As I turned to leave, he returned to where he had been when I walked in, but didn't stop looking at me.
It was odd.
But I have realised that it doesn't matter what anyone looks like, or even their personality really (even though they both contribute majorly in the long run). A relationship is nothing without that connection, that spark that thing that will hold you together even if your partner doesn't look how you want them to look or isn't as funny or kind as you want them to be. It really doesn't matter at all because you'll be willing to put up with it. You might not even notice it's there.
It was the weirdest thing I think I've ever experienced sober.

Memory man.

My earliest memories are from around my 2nd birthday.
Don't be fooled, just because I was very young does not mean they are all happy, like a birthday party. I can't remember any of my birthdays until I turned 6.
Cartoon network had just finished on the television, so it was about eight at night. I realised that the house was dark. I'm claustrophobic, always have been, so I started to panic and call for my mom. No reply. Then I started to call for Dad. I heard a slight muffled sound from upstairs and the noise of someone quietly closing a door. I began to stumble around our two up two down trying to locate the noise and my father. I crawled up the stairs and burst into my Dad's room.
I found him on the bottom right corner of the bed, with his head in his hands, his huge glasses just peeking out of the top of his fingers. I don't think he even heard me come in.
"Daddy?" I whispered.
I knew he had heard me. His back tensed as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have done but he didn't move. I slowly and quietly walked over to him. I knew something was wrong but it didn't even occur to me to try and think of what it was.
I removed his fingers from his face and he looked at me. His face was wet. It then clicked. He had been crying.
"Oh daddy." I said. Seeing him sad made me sad. It seemed to have a similar effect on him as he scooped me up into his arms and we sat, crying together.

Blank.

I'm in the overgrown back garden on my bright red little swing, I can see Mom in the kitchen, every now and again she looks up from washing up and smiles and waves at me. It's warm and sunny, I can see the rays shining from gaps in the cloud overhead.
I look down at my swing.
I try to stand on it, like all the big kids do in the park, I shout to my Mom.
"Look, Mummy, I'm a big girl!"
My swing goes upside down, with me still attatched.
I cling on for dear life, terrified, my face inchest from the hard-baked dirt beneath me. I begin to cry and scream, my fingers hurt but I will them to gold on, refusing to let go.
Then huge hands scoop me up and the sunlight blinds me, I never saw a face.

Blank.

I'm in nursery, with my friends Thomas and Jessica. We were eating cherry tomatoes, only I didn't like them, so I pretended to eat them and spat them out under the table.
It's now playtime and we are behind the climbing frame.
No one but us went back there because they were all too scared of the spiders and creepy-crawlies. We weren't.
We would spend all playtime back there, making mud-pies. I was the loud one, Thomas was the destructive one, Jessica was increadibly intelligent for the age of 2, and showed us how to make daisy chains. i could never get the hang of it and Thomas was too clumsy. When it was hometime we would always pat the rock wall behind us three times before climbing through the climbing frame back to reality. I still don't know why we did that, but we never once thought to question it. We just did, and that was that. My first two best friends.

Emily.

Your lips are still moving,
But I stopped hearing,
The silence is soothing.
You shake me, a picture of panic,
Your once soft touch is burning.
I don't want you to touch me,
Not anymore.
My heart is in my stomach,
Burning in the acid.
It's dissolving.
It hurts, and my battered soul takes it all.
Burning in my eyes until salt tears fall.
I am young, a picture of youth.
I feel old, immobile, fragile.
Get your fucking hands off me.
The blistering heat overwhelms me,
The anger and hurt bubbles,
Concealed in my pulsing chest.
I'm an angry rottweiler on a chain.
The relief in me is amazing,
When I unleash the hounds of Hell.
As you fall I float away.
My smiling retreat,
Your painful descent.
How does it feel?

Strongholds.

This was written a while ago.
Back when I actually cared.



You may be pretty,
Extremely pretty,
More pretty than me,
But I had the strongest hold of his heart.

You may be thin,
Small long and trim,
But my curves and me,
We had the longest hold on his heart.

You may cry to him,
Tear after tear for him,
I think you can see,
You can't have my hold on his heart.

You may love him,
Slay all for him,
I know he loves me,
Although I have let go of his heart.

You barely see him,
Anxious to speak to him,
While he's calling me,
No one will take my hold off his heart.

Right, well

Not been on here in a whiiiile.
I'm in Scotland at the minute, seeing my family.
There is absolutely no signal in this fucking house and I never get a minute to myself so I've resulted on hopping on buses for hours on end to get to Glasgow and Edinburgh.
Edinburgh art gallery is immense, especially when you're on your own and you can take your time, I would really suggest going. Plus the gift shop is amazing, I bought Tracey Emin's book Strangeland for under a tenner there and it is probably one of the best fucking books I have ever read.
In my boredom here I have written some poems and I'm working on an ongoing personal novel (I dunno if I should call it a 'novel', makes me sound a bit up myself but it's hardly a book. It's on A4 sheets of paper, it looks like a script! It's not about me either) as well as revising my little arse off and cramming as much art in as I can.
Things are pretty hectic but it's alright.
I'll put the poems on here at a later date when I can be bothered/when I have the time.
I don't expect you to understand them, though.