I'll Never Write the End of This

So, university is over until next year.
For part of my final creative writing assignment I had to write a play or a bit of a play. So I did. And here it is:

As you can see, I didn't pay much attention to stage directions or making it make any sense but, as I've said before, I am an artist.


KATHY: I never liked him that much. I’ve liked people a lot more. But they were bad people with ugly habits and grim futures. From the beginning I knew he was good, he had good intentions. And, yeah, everyone said that he was boring but I didn’t think so. And anyway I was sick of all those ‘fun’ characters who got off their faces every night and were taking break dancing lessons. I was more like him than them.
We met at work, both temping at a huge company in town. Being temps, no one would associate with us. So we ate lunch together, walked to the station together. Then we started going to the pub to complain about our days and slag off the permanent staff. And all of a sudden, before either of us could even notice, we were together.
For a while it was good, really good. He treated me really nicely and I think I was quite decent to him too. We had a good time.
But after a few months he started annoying me. First of all it was just little things he did, words he used, the way he made sandwiches. But then everything about him irritated me. His hair, his weird lopsided smile, his trousers, his key ring. The way he quoted newspaper articles all the time, as if he had no opinions of his own. His overuse of the word “nice”, his fingernails. His hair, his voice, how indifferent he always looked. The position he slept in, how he acted around my friends, his answer phone message. How he called me Kath or ‘K’, the way he sometimes spoke about himself in the 3rd person. The outrageously stupid things he came out with, his ringtone, his hair. And yet I stayed with him.




A busy café in central London. Christmas music is playing from a small radio and there is some tinsel decorating the till. A couple in their mid twenties are sitting opposite each other at a table.

KATHY: Are you going to get anything to eat?
SIMON: I don’t think so.
KATHY: Me neither. Just coffee.
SIMON: Yes, I’ll have coffee too.
KATHY: Cappuccino?
SIMON: No, filter coffee.
KATHY: Oh. I thought you’d get cappuccino.
SIMON: I was considering cappuccino. It was between cappuccino and filter coffee.
KATHY: And filter coffee won.
SIMON: Yes, but it was close.
Silence as they examine menus. A WAITRESS appears beside them
WAITRESS: Hi, you guys alright?
SIMON: Hello. Can I have a filter coffee please?
KATHY: Can I have one too?
WAITRESS: Sure, two coffees.
WAITRESS exits
KATHY: So, have you done any of your shopping?
SIMON: I’ve done most of it.
KATHY: What did you buy?
SIMON: I got the majority of it from the Oxfam Unwrapped catalogue.
KATHY: Really? Like, toilets and donkeys?
SIMON: Yeah, I got a goat for my sister and a well for my mum.
KATHY: Oh. Have you gotten me anything yet?
SIMON: Yes but it’s a surprise.
KATHY: Is it from the Oxfam Unwrapped catalogue?
SIMON: Yes.
KATHY: Oh, right.
The WAITRESS reappears with two coffees
KATHY: Thanks
The WAITRESS exits
KATHY: I went to the cinema last night.
SIMON: What did you see?
KATHY: That new film, I don’t remember it’s name. American, you know the one with the guy in it, that new one.
SIMON: Oh yes. It got a really good review in The Guardian.
KATHY: Yeah, it was really powerful. I went with Michael.
SIMON: How’s he?
KATHY: He’s alright. Broke up with his girlfriend though, was feeling a bit rough, needed someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on.
SIMON: Ah. I’ll give him a ring later on.
KATHY: No, it’s alright, I already sorted it out, he’s better now.
SIMON: I’ll ring him anyway. Haven’t spoken to him in a while.
KATHY: Fine.
SIMON: Why don’t you want me to ring him?
KATHY: I don’t not want you to. Go ahead and ring him. I was just saying that I already sorted it out. Pause Why would you ring him anyway? You’re not even friends. You’ve only met him twice.
SIMON: Don’t be ridiculous- I’ve known him for ages. Mick and I are good friends- I even bought him a Christmas present.
KATHY: From the Oxfam Unwrapped catalogue?
SIMON: Yes!
KATHY: He won’t have gotten you anything. And why are you calling him Mick? No one calls him that.
SIMON: Kath what is your problem?
KATHY: I don’t have a problem. How’s your filter coffee?
SIMON: I’ve had better. I suspect that it is actually instant.
KATHY: Yes, that’s what it tastes like. I’ll be back in a minute.
KATHY stands and exits. Simon gets his mobile phone out of his pocket and dials a number
SIMON: Mick, it’s Si! How’s tricks?



Time passes. Kathy returns to the table. They sit in silence for a while.

SIMON: You alright?
KATHY: Yes.
SIMON: Good. Mick is going to come down in a bit.
KATHY: What? Did you just ring him now?
SIMON: Yeah. He’s up for coming to the gig with us later.
KATHY: He hasn’t got a ticket.
SIMON: I don’t think that will be a problem, I doubt it’s sold out.
KATHY: Why?
SIMON: Why what?
KATHY: Why wouldn’t it be sold out?
SIMON: Well, this girl isn’t exactly well known is she?
KATHY: Just because you’ve never heard of her.
SIMON: I have heard of her, I read about her in-
KATHY: I know, you read about her in The Guardian.
SIMON: Yes.
KATHY: I’ve known about her for months.
SIMON: Oh, well done.
KATHY: We always go to gigs together, you and me. Just us. That’s what we do.
SIMON: So? You want me to call him back and tell him not to come?
KATHY: No, I wish you hadn’t called him in the first place.
SIMON: Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise that us going to gigs alone was so important to you. He doesn’t have to come tonight, he can just hang out with us here before we go.
KATHY: Fine.
Enter MICHAEL
SIMON: Here he is! Mick! Over here!
KATHY: Calm down, for God’s sake.
MICHAEL walks across stage and takes a seat at the table next to SIMON
MICHAEL: Hi Kathy, you alright?
KATHY: Yes.
SIMON: What’s going on, Mickey?
MICHAEL: Oh, not much. Just been in bed most of the day.
SIMON: Still feeling a bit rough, are we? After breaking up with Sarah?
MICHAEL: Yeah, well. Not brilliant.
SIMON: I never really liked her all that much, to be honest.
KATHY: You never met her.
SIMON: Well, I didn’t like the sound of her, from what Kath told me.
MICHAEL: So, what’s this gig tonight?
SIMON: Ah, well, about that. Kath says you can’t come.
KATHY: Simon! It’s sold out.
SIMON: It isn’t. She says we can only go to gigs together, no one else is allowed to come.
KATHY: It isn’t that, Michael, he’s just being a bell end.
SIMON: So, sorry. I would have liked you to come, someone decent to talk to.
KATHY: Stop being like this, you’re making him uncomfortable.
SIMON: What? You’ve been horrible to me all day.
KATHY: I haven’t. I am just sick of this. Sick of all this stupid, petty stuff.
SIMON: It’s not me! It’s you! Always putting me down, going on and on about stuff that doesn’t matter, trying to make me look stupid in front of our friends, treating me like I am an idiot.
KATHY: They are not ‘our’ friends, they are my friends. You have no friends.
SIMON: You see, Mike? This is exactly what I am talking about!
KATHY: You have no friends so you try to steal mine. But they don’t like you, no one likes you because you are a fucking idiot.
SIMON: So you don’t like me? Why on earth have we been together all this time then?
KATHY: I am not talking about this now. It isn’t fair on Michael.
MICHAEL: Um, yeah. I think I’d better go anyway.
SIMON: No, don’t let her make you feel like you have to leave.
MICHAEL: Nah, mate, I’ve got some stuff to sort out. I’ll give you a ring later.
MICHAEL stands and exits
KATHY: Do you want another coffee?
SIMON: I suppose.


Well, there you go. Oh, and by the way: Six Sentences is really cool. My Christmas Tree story went up on there today so you should go and read it in a different font and/or submit your own six sentence story.

One Little Christmas Tree

Oh my days it's Christmas soon! To celebrate I've written a festive, feel-good story:



One Little Christmas Tree

The one we’ve chosen is a four foot Norwegian that claims to possess excellent needle retention, good branching, and a scent far superior to that of it’s fellow trees. When we get it home and take it out of the netting we see that it leans precariously to the left and is missing numerous branches. There isn’t enough tinsel in the world. We sigh and it just wobbles apologetically. We sigh again, louder. I know you feel I’ve let you down, it says, but trust me, you could never feel as let down with me as I do with myself.


I'll probably write some more Christmassy stories in the coming weeks. I encourage you to do the same because Christmas is cool and writing wrocks. Go on, go on.

"Look at these assholes"

So it's fair to say that I failed at NaBloPoMo. I was, like, busy and stuff.

The past few months have well and truly flown by and now it's nearly the end of term. On the whole I've enjoyed it- it was well weird at first but now it's all cool.

I am supposed to write a play for tomorrow. I don't do plays. They are too difficult. And I am expected to do well or whatever since I 'studied' acting for two years. Whatever.

I saw The Darjeeling Limited yesterday and it was so, so great. I recommend it. STRONGLY.

Met This Girl on Monday...

I wrote this in a rush before creative writing club today. So, like, yeah, whatever.

In April we went for coffee and we didn’t touch each-other. It had been over a year but it was still too soon. You looked uglier than I remembered. You were losing your hair and you looked even thinner than before. I talked constantly, hardly pausing for a breath, and you just sat there, watching me.
In May we went to the zoo. It was too cold to go to the zoo but we went anyway. We touched and you made me laugh. I didn’t remember you being all that funny before but now you were. I laughed a lot and you liked it. We saw all the animals and we touched each-other.
In June we went drinking. It was the day before my birthday and you got me a card. I saw that you’d drafted the message in pencil first and then traced the letters with a pen so you wouldn’t make any mistakes.
We went drinking and then we went to the park and threw grass and soil at each-other. You stuffed a load of it down my top and it was all in our hair. And then you asked if you could kiss me and I wanted to say, “I don’t know, can you?” but I didn’t say that, I said “Um, yes”. And you kissed me.
A bit later in June we walked along the South Bank and I asked if we were back together or not. You said we were and we both changed our status on myspace.
Even later in June we had a sleepover at your house. I bought new underwear and we had sex on the wooden floor. It wasn’t great. After, we ate pizza and watched a Tim Burton film in our pajamas. And then we did it again on the sofa and it was better. We stayed up most of the night talking about our favourite ever gigs of all time and how stupid everyone else was.
In July and August we went to a lot of places. We were good. We went to Warsaw for a week to drink a lot of vodka and hang out in old churches. On the final night you proposed and I cracked a rib laughing.
In October things took a turn for the worse. You stopped calling so much and I slept with someone else (someone who, by the way, DID appreciate me and didn’t have such SHIT taste in music and wasn’t such a fucking WASTER LOSER IDIOT).
In November we needed to talk and so we did. You held my hand and said that this wasn’t working out for you anymore and I said fine, whatever, me neither. And that was that. We changed our statuses back and acted like nothing had ever happened.

How Come Stuff Like This Never Happens to Anyone Else?

Get this:

So, on Sunday I bit the inside of my lip when I was eating some bread. It hurt but I didn't draw blood or anything. So I forgot about it.
Monday night I got home and happened to look in the mirror. I saw a mark just under my lip- a purple mark. I was like "WTF?"
I said to my dad "WTF is this?" and he was like "Oh, you must've burst a blood vessel" and I was like "!!!"
So I showed it to everyone the next day and they were like "OMG Eisor WTF is that?" and I was like "Burst my blood vessel up innit" and they were like "Oh my days".
So that night when I got home I looked in the mirror again and the mark had DOUBLED in size. You can imagine what I was like.
So today I did not leave the house. Because you know what it looks like? It looks like a lovebite. A lovebite on my face. And that is so not cool. I have a very classy image to uphold! What a blow.


I am currently reading 'A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius' by Dave Eggers and it is well good.

Also: How unfair is this? What exactly has he done to get on the Sex Offenders Register? Who is he harming? What a world. Hahaha.

Slipping Down Slowly, Slipping Down Sideways

More top quality writing:

This morning I was up at 5 o’clock- beating the sun by miles. I had an unusual craving for tea. There was no milk or sugar so I drank it straight. It was really disgusting and I couldn’t finish it. I swapped it for a can of coke, lit my first cigarette of the day and made a list of essential items.
It’s changed here, not half as good as it used to be, we say like we’re 70. Newcastle has lost it’s sparkle. We remember hide and seek in the pet cemetery, searching for the price of a mix-up in the gutter, playing chicken on Chily Road, drinking blackcurrent squash and eating peanuts in the Free Trade’s beer garden while our parents played Joni Mitchell on the jukebox, building dens in the backlane, reading the legendary graffiti in The Tyne’s toilets. Sunday afternoons in Chopwell Woods, school trips to the castle, getting lost in Eldon Square, sitting outside the library watching Mad Malcolm play the guitar and shout at red cars.
The city hasn’t changed, we have. We’re older, looking through cynical, bored eyes. We’ve done everything there is to do, gone everywhere worth going. We’ve outgrown it.
We are frequenting the same pubs our parents did when they were our age. The ‘l’ from the Jesmond Swimming Pool sign is still missing but that stopped making us laugh ten years ago. We spend every day with the people we went to playgroup with and they’re talking about getting jobs at BT and buying cars. And we’ve seen too many movies to be content here anymore.
I am on my way to your house to take you away. As soon as you open the door I am going to tell you to pack your leather jacket and laptop and come with me to Central Station. I know you’ll come, we’ve been planning this for months, I am only doing it for drama. We are going to elope. Elope to London.
Last night I sat on the back steps with my mum for the final time. We drank Lambrini (1.99 from the Spar) and listened to Carole King.
“How come you always stayed in Newcastle? Didn’t you ever want to explore?” I asked her.
“This is my home. I was born here and I’ll die here. God, how depressing”
“But it doesn’t have to be like that. You could leave anytime you wanted”
“I’ve got you kids, I couldn’t leave”
“But we’re grown up now, mum. You can do whatever you want”
“If only” she said and drained her glass. “Another?”

I’ve said goodbye to the cat and my bedroom. I’ve got a rucksack on each shoulder and I’m walking.
Down Dinsdale Road- twelve years ago I fell off my rollerskates and cut my knee just over there, by the postbox.
It’s a classic cold morning in the North East. But it’s bright and the air is fresh. I wonder how I’ll cope with the pollution in the capital. I’ll get used to it, probably.
For some reason I’ve got ‘Fog on the Tyne’ in my head. I went to school with the guy who wrote that’s granddaughter. She’s got two kids now and he’s dead. It’s a good song, sort of.
There’s Heaton Park where you can “go and see sex at night” according to my cousin, Annabel. I don’t know about that but to be honest I haven’t ever been there at night. It’s dangerous, even in the daytime.

They filmed a bit of Byker Grove over there- although we all know they filmed most of it in Durham. We all hated Byker Grove.
Sid’s Shop- where mum’s chuckie is about 400 quid so we can’t go in there anymore. We have to run past it usually but today I am leaving forever so I don’t care.
Down the hill towards The Cluny where mum and Annabel work as waitresses. I say work, whenever I go in they are just eating chips and gossiping. Luckily the manager is my auntie so they can do as they please- what’s she going to do- fire them?
Walking by the Ouseburn canal now, nearly there. God, the water is so filthy. Adam Baker jumped in once and sliced his foot open with a broken bottle. We had to take him to the hospital and he needed all sorts of injections. Idiot.
“Hi”
“Hi”
“Where’s your mum?”
“She’s asleep”
“Okay, good. Come on”
We are on the number one bus. We are excited, excited like we were on the day Alan Shearer visited our primary school. Excited like when the Methodist church burnt down. Excited like we used to be every Halloween and Bonfire Night. But this beats those things by a long way. We’re leaving, leaving together, leaving for somewhere we’ve never been. Leaving for good.
We look out of the window and know we’ll remember this place fondly, and it will always be our home. But we’re wasted on this town.

A Better Day

I watched 'Delicatessen' for the first time today. It was so awesome that I couldn't quite believe my eyes.

I am off to see Lez Zeppelin tonight!
I am sure it will be fantastic. Can't wait.

Yeah! Come on!

Near Death Experience lol

Yeah, I nearly died today (sort of). Here's the story:

I was passing a bus stop (with a bus at it) on Oxford Street when there was this MASSIVE loud noise- like an explosion. Then all this smoke started coming out of the bus. Naturally my first thought was "oh good another terrorist attack" and everyone else seemed to have the same thought as we all started running for our lives. Problem was that there were many, many people and we all ended up crushed against a shop front. Everyone was screaming and it was fucking terrifying. But then the bus drove off and I was like "What?". People started walking away. I was like "What?". I turned to the girl standing next to me and said "What? What just happened?" and she told me.
Turns out some jokers lit a firework and threw it under the bus.
There was a crowd gathering around something so I asked the girl what that was about and all.
She said: "Everyone turned around and ran and this old woman got knocked over and trampled on. She hit her head. She's got a walking stick and everything- those bastards"

I went on my way shaking like mad.

How stupid do you have to be to do something like that? Not only was it totally dangerous but it also made hundreds of people think they were about to die.
You just don't do that on Oxford Street. Everyone is well jumpy ever since that day when it all kicked off. How fucking stupid do you have to be?

Well, that ruined my day. Oh, and on the tube home there was this abandoned Twirl chocolate bar on the seat opposite me and I was convinced that it was a bomb and drove myself half mental. How ridiculous.

They turned on the Christmas lights today. It's the 7th of November for crying out loud! What a world.

People

Okay, here's a well long bit of writing.

People, People Who Need People (The Luckiest People?)

1
He said I was beautiful as if saying it would make it true. He was saying what he thought he was supposed to. He didn’t believe it though and neither did I.
I liked Daniel and he liked Michelle but they wouldn’t consider either of us for a second so we teamed up. We didn’t like each other that much. We went everywhere together and held hands on the street. On Valentine’s Day he took me to see Lost in Translation and then we went to Café Rouge. We bought cards and he gave me flowers. But the whole time we kept our eyes open, looking out for something better. We were together for three years but we never really liked each other that much. We just happened to be free on the same days.


2
On Thursday the post is always late. That’s because we’ve got two different postmen now- Martin and Barry. We’ve known Martin for years, he delivered all the children’s 11 plus results and is always so nice and friendly but he’s only working part-time now so we have to put up with Barry three days a week. Barry is incompetent. Always late, uniform not ironed, headphones in his ears. He’s a disaster- did I tell you he’s got a tooth missing? He has tattoos all over his arms and he doesn’t even have the decency to cover them up, he always wears the same grubby blue short-sleeved shirt, hardly buttoned, with nothing underneath.
“Alright Mrs. King?” he says, handing over my Lakeland catalogue and Ted’s Private Eye. “Hmm thank you” I always reply before quickly closing (and locking) the door.
At night when Ted is asleep, the garage door is locked and the teasmaid is set, I put my fingers deep inside myself and think of Barry and his ghastly unbuttoned shirt.



3
We are sitting in the back yard. My mum is talking about her new boyfriend:
“He says he is going on a walk. Whenever I call him he’s in Heaton Park. Always in Heaton Park”
“Right”
“I’ve heard things about Heaton Park. I’ve heard you can go down there and… see sex”
“So that’s what you think he’s doing, dogging?”
“I don’t know. He never tells me anything”

Wojtek comes through the backdoor

“Wojtek?”
“Yes”
“Where have you been?”
“Park”
She looks at me
“What were you doing there?”
“Drink”
“Drinking? Alone?”
“No, with friends”
“Which friends?”
“New friends I meet today”
She looks at me
“Polish or English?”
“English”
“Men or women?”
“Yes. One man, one woman”
She looks at me
“Where are you going now?”
“I go bath”
“What are you eating?”
“Potato”
“Where did you get that?”
“Shop”
He disappears indoors.

She turns to me
“See?” she says, “He never tells me anything”

4
Friday night was Film Night and it had been for two years exactly. They watched two films each time. Usually American indie films as those were their favourite but every now and then they’d try a blockbuster for size. He had a big widescreen TV in his room and they usually sat on his bed while they watched. Afterwards they’d discuss each film in detail and give it a mark out of 10. Then he’d walk her home.
But not tonight. Tonight she’s not coming. She’s got a date, she says, with Bill from the video shop.
He’d always assumed that they’d end up together. One Film Night he’d pluck up the courage to kiss her and soon after that they’d get married. And be together forever. But that couldn’t happen now, no, not after this, no way.

5
She knew there was a way to eat spaghetti without making a prat out of yourself but her mind had gone completely blank. She could barely hold a fork, let alone remember how to use it.
She liked him. He had nice eyes and teeth. The rest of his face wasn’t all that but she didn’t think that was important, really. What counted was that he wasn’t a complete monster and he liked her, liked her enough to ask her out and she was grateful for that.
It had been so long since she’d kissed someone that she worried she might have forgotten how to. She’d practiced earlier on the back of her hand but it wasn’t really the same. Maybe he didn’t even want to kiss her. Maybe he thought of her as a friend. Maybe he only asked her out because he felt sorry for her. God, that didn’t even bear thinking about.
He said something she didn’t quite hear or understand but she laughed anyway. Hahaha, yes.
He didn’t seem to be having any trouble with the cutlery. Did he go on a lot of dates? He probably did, all the time, loads. Non stop.
He didn’t look very happy, he was probably ruing the day he asked her out. She asked how work was and concentrated on smiling and nodding at the right times and pretending to eat.
Jesus, he just looked at his watch. It’s over before it’s even begun. She should just excuse herself now and save them both a lot of awkwardness. If she left now he might ask her out again. Before she got drunk and vomited on him or started talking about her childhood. She should leave now. Right now, while they still have a chance.



6
Our whole relationship was built on lies. LIES. Two years ago, when we met, he told me that he was a doctor at Great Ormond Street. I was impressed, obviously. He moved into my flat after a couple of months and we were Very Much In Love. After work he’d come home and tell me about how he’d just separated some Siamese twins or given a nine-month-old baby a heart transplant. It made me feel bad- he saved the lives of children and I answered the phone for a company that made chairs. Compared to him I was a complete waste of space. But I though that by being his girlfriend I’d be special too, a bit of his magic might rub off on me.
On my birthday he brought home a card signed by all the terminally ill children at the hospital. I wept over it, I really did. And he was so wonderful to me- always telling me how amazing and beautiful I was. How he’d never met anyone like me, never had a connection like this with anyone else. He talked about the future- babies, a house in country, holidays in Switzerland.
One night in August it all came out. He didn’t work at Great Ormond Street. He wasn’t even a doctor. He was assistant manager at a branch of Superdrug on the other side of town. He didn’t think someone as special and amazing as me would even consider someone like him. So he bended the truth a little. He didn’t intend to carry it on for so long but he was scared. Scared I’d leave him. But now he knew that I loved him for him, not for his occupation. I did love him for him didn’t I? We’d be okay wouldn’t we?


In my opinion- the best thing about this is the title. But it seems that a lot of people don't know where it's from which is just disgraceful. If you don't know I won't tell you.
Anyway, yes.

Joke of the Day

Joke of the Day:

Two snowmen are standing next to each-other
One says to the other "Do you smell carrots?"

Hahahahahahaha.

Yeah!

There is a 'shocking' story on The Sun's website today.
It's about this fifteen-year-old girl off the X Factor. She's the token sad sack because she nearly died of this illness a few years ago- but her love of singing pulled her through or whatever. She can't sing for shit but everyone loved her.
Until now.
Turns out she's not such a nice girl. She's in a gang (her gang name is Lady Shiverz). She threatens to cut out people's eyes. She's been caught on camera "battering" a random girl.
I am looking forward to hearing her excuse. Was she rehearsing for a play? Was she possessed by the devil? Did the girl call her mum a prostitute?

Whatever she says, she's getting voted off on Saturday.

Speaking of X Factor- it's the worst thing on television at the moment (apart from Dragon's Den, Loose Women, Most Haunted, Honey We're Killing the Kids, Market Kitchen, anything with Gordon Ramsay in it). I hate everything about it- the contestants, the judges, the songs, the audience, the voiceover, the opening credits, the adverts they play between breaks, Sharon Osbourne's hair, face and voice.
It is disgusting, a joke of a show obviously all set up to finally make Simon Cowell the RICHEST MAN IN DA WORLD EVA and it is extremely insulting to our intelligence. And it's the nation's favourite programme. Huh.

Update: Surprise surprise!

Have You Seen...

The new spatula has gone missing. She hasn’t seen it, I haven’t seen it. We check behind the oven, under the fridge, in all the drawers. It is no-where to be seen. We suspect that the heat, greasiness and caked on food has overwhelmed it and driven it into hiding. We have no sympathy. We need the spatula to make pancakes.


Buckets more coming soon.

A Polish Man in London and The Fit Girl on the Tube

My homework for Writing London- Creative Writing About London this week was to:
Write a character description of a stranger. Like, someone you see sitting outside a cafe, on the bus etc. And then write what you think they think of you.
I didn't really stick to the brief but, hey, I'm an artist.

Check my writing skillz

4:30pm on the Central line, Eastbound. The bunch of yellow carnations are squashed and dirty. He’s been up and about since daybreak and is exhausted. But he’s clutching the flowers to his chest and smiling to himself.
He’d come to be with Ana. She’d been working as a cleaner while studying English s:
part-time. Her English was great to begin with- why did she need lessons? If anyone needed them it was him. He couldn’t speak English for shit. At school he’d been top of the class in almost everything but he had come to realise that this counted for nothing here. He couldn’t do plastering or bricklaying. He was no one.
Ana had said that there were lots of Polish people in the U.K. He wondered where they all were. He saw a lot of black people. A hell of a lot. And not just black, Indian, Chinese- they were all here. He kept his bag close.
Ana was living with 8 girls- 5 Polish and 3 Ukrainian. The Polish girls were all from big cities like Warsaw and they teased him, calling him “farmer boy”. He usually stayed in the bedroom whenever Ana was out- he thought that was for the best.
When Ana returned from work in the evenings they went to the pub with her friends. Her new friends. They all spoke English to each other. Ana translated as best she could until she got too drunk.
Ana has been in London for five months. The first month she was on the phone every night, crying and begging him to come and join her. He had booked a ticket as soon as he had the money. When she met him at the coach station she had cried and hugged him harder than ever before. But now she was distant and seemed to resent his presence. “I can’t hold your hand all the time!” she shouted. “You are supposed to be a man- go and get a job, make your own friends- look after yourself!”
Today is their anniversary. Three years since their first date. After Ana leaves, he ventures out into frosty, sunny London in search of the perfect gift. He’s heard that Oxford Street is the number one place for shopping so that’s where he goes.
Many hours later he returns, bruised, battered and triumphant. He lays the flowers on Ana’s side of the bed and collapses next to them, spent.


Yeah it's not like... properly finished though. So, I did that. And then I did this:

She’s looking at me and writing in a notebook. Is she a policewoman? She doesn’t look like a policewoman. Maybe she is undercover.
I wonder why she is wearing sunglasses on the train. She could be blind but I don’t see a stick or a dog. Maybe she just likes sunglasses.
Her handbag is made out of pink, see through plastic. There is a lot inside it. It is very messy.
Now she’s laughing at something the short man sitting opposite said. He is wearing sunglasses too. She’s telling him a story. She speaks fast and with a lot of exclamations. She makes the wanker sign with her hand. Now they are both laughing. She laughs like a witch.
She takes off the sunglasses and rubs her eyes. She looks tired. The short man hands her a wad of cash and she puts it in her purse, quickly. Maybe she is a prostitute? Or maybe not. She doesn’t look like a prostitute. She is wearing a cardigan.
They continue to chat animatedly. She doesn’t show her teeth when she smiles. Maybe she doesn’t like them.
She puts the sunglasses back up on, stands up and they get off at Debden.


My thoughts on both 'pieces':
I like parts of the first one. I like the basic idea and I like the character. It's obvious that I lost interest towards the end though. And it's not very good technically but who cares, really? Who cares?
The second was totally difficult and I am not pleased with it. Apart from She doesn’t look like a prostitute. She is wearing a cardigan. which I am sure is genius.

Oh- the wad of cash was the deposit for Gerel's new house and he asked me to hold onto it for safekeeping. Just to clear that up.

Don't You Just Hate It When...

You buy the ‘Hair’ soundtrack from Morrisons for £2.99 and it’s only when you get home that you find out it’s “as performed by The Stage Door Orchestra”?

Geeing back doon toon, man, it's reet canny there, like

Alright?

I am off Up North for two weeks on Saturday to help my mum move house. I am travelling first class- how cool is that? You get free tea, coffee and packets of shortbread. And the chairs are nicer. And there's less chance of a madman coming to sit next to you, trying to touch your face and telling you that he is "looking for virgins" and has "about four or five planes".
Yes- first class will be a whole new world.

I am looking forward to my stay in good old NE2. Mainly because I'll get a break from my silly job as a rubbish waitress. No more polishing glasses! No more burning my hands on hot plates! No more being called "hey, girl, hey you girl there"! No more idiot boss telling me off for not pronouncing the T in water! For two weeks.

Yes, it will be nice to get away. A change of scene and all that jazz. On the downside I'll have only my family for company and no internet access. Boo.

I made up a well funny joke:
What do you call a cow that is a philosopher?
Camoooo

I told it to Daniel and he went "What? What? I don't get it. What's Camus?". That's because he is silly and uneducated- not like me.

Anyway- that's all from me for a while. Later daze.

"We're the future, we're the pride"

I don't know if any of you subscribe to Popbitch. Some people do, some people don't. My dad does. He called me today and said "Oh my God Eisor you won't believe what was on Popbitch today".
In the section 'Things That Make You Go Hmm' was the 'Teesside Song' from the early 90s. My dad was heavily involved in producing it and even got his five year old daughter (me) to star in it.

I think you'll agree that I make the song.

OMG it's all different!

I know! I am feeling the new template. I like the red/orange. It's fresh. And that font is pretty kicking too.

We are all going to die

Reading the news ONLINE this morning something catches my eye:

Warning as tick diseases on rise

OMG tick disease? Ewwww.

The public has been warned to take extra precautions against ticks as the warm weather heralds a peak in numbers of the blood-sucking parasites.

I caught head lice when I was eight. It was horrific. Fucking monsters drinking my blood and itching up my head. It put me off parasites for life. I don't want anything more to do with them.

Then I read:
They are common in woodland, heath land and in particular areas in Scotland where deer graze.
Well that's alright then. I don't spend much time in heath land so I am probably not at risk.
More recently they have also been found in urban parks.
Oh God. Not urban parks! I go to those all the time!

So, apparently they pass on Lyme Disease. Didn't Ms Hoover have that in The Simpsons? What is Lyme Disease?
Lyme disease varies widely but can include a rash and flu-like symptoms in its initial stage, followed by the possibility of musculoskeletal, arthritic, neurological, psychiatric and cardiac problems.

Fuck. That's pretty heavy.
Now I am terrified. Of course- I will get this Lyme Disease. I probably already have it. Shit shit shit. They say that it is severely debilitating and can be fatal. SHIT. What have I done to deserve this?
And how rubbish is that- to be killed by a tiny little insect? What a pathetic way to die. I'd rather be burnt at the stake or shot in a gang war.

For everyone else who is as paranoid as me, here's the Bite Prevention Guide:

Wear trousers tucked into socks
Use insect repellent
Check yourself thoroughly
Check warm folds of the skin
Carefully remove with tweezers
Never burn off
Do not try to drown in Vaseline
Be aware of favoured habitats

Do not try to drown in Vaseline? That's pretty strange. But it's lucky that they told me this as it's probably the first thing I'd think of doing. Before setting myself alight.

So, I've done my bit. Tell all your friends about the dangers of ticks.

"I like that song by The Fratellis"
He picks up a glass and polishes it. I do the same.
"That song by The Fratellis, huh?"
"Yeah. You know the one on the ipod advert"
"Would you say that's your favourite song of all time?"
"No"
"No?"
"No. My favourite song is 'Hey Jude' by The Beatles"
"By The Beatles, eh? Not sure I know that one"
"Classic song, man. You should check it out"
"I might just do that. Thanks for the tip!"
"What's your favourite song then?"
"Oh, I don't know. I like anything and everything really"
"Tell you what: I'll make you a CD"
"A CD?"
"Yeah, a mixed CD. Put some classic tunes on there for you, educate you in the ways of music"
"Well that would be super. Thanks, man"
"No worries. Pass me another glass"
"Sure"

I work with idiots.

Last night I worked at the McLaren Test Centre in Woking.
They were launching a new car, priced at about £450,000.
There were lots of insanely rich people there. Draped in gold and silk. Smoking cigars and eating cheese.
They were all getting in the car and making the roof go up and down. Laughing hysterically. I stood watching, waiting for them to go home so I could clear up.
My New Best Friend Leon came over to stand with me. He handed me a chocolate truffle he'd stolen from the kitchen. I thanked him.
"Makes you sick doesn't it?" I said
"What?"
"They've got more money to spend on one car than we'll ever have in our lifetime"
"Oh well. At least we get to spit in their soup"
"That's true"


Been working most of the week. It's tiring. I had today off so I drank a lot of tea and watched Shipwrecked. Working again tomorrow. What have I become?

I know, I was shocked too

Would you believe me if I told you that I have been offered a place at university to study English Literature? Me with my four GCSES and a BTEC in performing arts?
No, you wouldn't believe me. You'd think I was lying (again).
But no! It's actually true!

I am more than a little surprised. I don't actually believe it. I never thought I was clever enough. But maybe I am! Maybe I just never realised! I might be a genius for all I know.

So, I got an UNCONDITIONAL offer from University of Westminster. It isn't the best university in the world but it's better than West Thames or whatever it's called. I went there for an open day a few months ago and it looked pretty fly actually.

So it looks like I'll be staying in London for a few more years. That's alright though, I quite like it here.

Ah... It's nice to get good news.

I Had You Under My Skin But Now You've Gone and I've Got a Big Plaster on My Face and it Looks Really Stupid

Well. Well, well, well.
I am no longer Cyst Face Smada.
Now I am Eisor Eisor Plaster Face.
Want to see a picture?


As you can see my plaster is 'skin colour'. But, unfortunately, not my skin colour. Someone else's. Oh well, I only have to wear it for A WHOLE WEEK.

I already found my celebrity lookalike:



Yes. Nelly. That's cool.

As a tribute, I took a picture of me looking a bit more street:



Ignore the Care Bear posters in the background, they are not in keeping with my new image.

The surgery was traumatic. I was stabbed repeatedly with a comedy sized needle (unbelievably painful) and then cut to ribbons (loudly) with a knife. I say loudly because I couldn't feel or see anything, only hear. And what I heard made me want to projectile vomit all over my self. But anyway, it's over now.

Oh, and I am scarred for life. They forgot to mention that until 30 seconds before the knife was pulled. Yes, a lifelong scar. Cool beans.

"Mouthwash gives me the confidence I need to face the world each morning. Without it I'd just sit in my house crying and slicing myself with knives"

"How does mouthwash make you feel, emotionally?"
My evening was full of questions like this. Because this evening I did some market research thing.
Me and four other girls aged between 16 and 20. We sat in a tiny room with a massive mirror on the wall and microphones hanging from the celling and 'discussed' mouthwash. It was very, very dull.
We talked about what we look for in a mouthwash. We talked about what the best flavours of mouthwash were. We looked at some bottles of mouthwash and commented on their design. We talked about what the ideal mouthwash would be. For hours and hours.
Near the end, the man who was asking the questions leaned in and said "What would you say if I told you that you could buy mouthwash and toothpaste... combined?"
"You must be kidding me, that would be a dream come true!" I cried.
He gave me a nasty look, like I was taking the piss or something. Which, to be fair, I was.

Well I got £60 for my trouble. So I took a walk down to Borders on Oxford Street and bought two Bukowski books: Factotum and Ham on Rye. Brill.

Don't forget to tune in on Thursday to hear all about my surgery and hopefully see some pictures of me with a huge bandage on my face.

More rejection, plastic surgery and licky mental patients

Here is what has been happening:

I have been rejected from 4 of 5 of the universities I applied to. This sucks pretty hard.
But! University of Westminster got in touch and requested a portfolio. I've spent the past 48 hours trying really hard to write really good things. I am semi-pleased with the results. I will send it all off to them in the post tomorrow morning and hope for the best. It's all I can do.

I am getting surgery on my face!
About a year ago this cyst appeared on the right side of my face, on my cheek. It's not that big but it is noticeable. I hate it. Anyway, the doctor is going to cut it out, on the 1st of March. It counts as 'plastic surgery' which is pretty funny. Hopefully I'll have a cool scar.

Well, I can't be bothered to write anymore. I just had a midnight bath and it's made me very sleepy. So I'll just copy and paste this:

The Ghost Story

We had just moved into a new flat. The walls were bare and you couldn’t move for boxes. It was late at night and the rest of the family were asleep. My younger brother and I were still awake, on our respective bunks reading by torchlight. “Tell me a ghost story” he said.
“Okay. There was this woman, this really old woman, really old”
“Older than Grandma?”
“Oh yeah, older than Grandma for sure. She lived in a cottage in the countryside, alone with her pet dog”
“Like Grandma’s dog?”
“Yeah, a bit like Grandma's dog. Anyway, the old woman loved the dog more than anything, it was her best friend”
“That’s a bit sad”
“Yeah. Anyway, every night the woman and the dog did the same thing. The woman would turn off the light and go to sleep and the dog would lie on the floor right next to her bed. And if the woman had a bad dream in the middle of the night, she’d put her hand down to the floor and the dog would lick it to stop her feeling scared. Then the woman would just go straight back to sleep”
“That’s nice”
“Yeah. So, one night the woman was listening to the radio and she heard about this escaped mental patient on the loose, attacking old women who lived alone in the countryside”
“Oh God”
“So this shook her up a bit, obviously. She found it hard to get to sleep and when she did sleep she had horrible dreams. After one of the said horrible dreams, she put her hand down by the bed and the dog licked it, making her feel better”
“I wish I had a dog like that”
“Who doesn’t? So the dog was licking her hand and the woman turned her head the other way, so she could see into the next room. The dog was in there, lying by the fireplace. And something was still licking her hand! The end”
My brother leaned over the top bunk and asked:
“How could the dog be licking her hand if it’s in the next room?”
“It wasn’t the dog licking her hand”
“Then what was it?”
“The escaped mental patient”
“So who was in the next room?”
“The dog”
“But, I thought the dog always lay by the bed incase the woman had a bad dream”
Well… yeah. But the mental patient probably pushed it out of the way”
“Wouldn’t the dog bark and make a lot of noise if that happened?”
“No”
“And, wouldn’t it put up a bit of a fight, dogs are very loyal to their owners”
“When did you become such a dog expert, Cai?”
“It’s common knowledge. The dog wouldn’t just go and lie in the other room without a sound”
“Well, this one did”
“And why was the escaped mental patient just licking the woman’s hand? Why hadn’t he attacked her already?”
“Because that’s not scary, just killing her outright”
“What, so he does kill her?”
“Maybe…”
“Why didn’t you finish the story then?”
“I did. That’s the end”
“But he was just licking her hand. How scary is that?”
“Jesus! I don’t need to say “and then he killed her”, you’d think that would be obvious”
“But when the woman was listening to the radio she heard that women were being attacked, not killed necessarily”
“Look, that is where the story ends and you are supposed to decide what happens after. It’s scarier that way, imagining all the awful things that could take place”
“Well, I don’t think he killed her, he didn’t kill the others”
“Okay, fine”
I turned off my torch and settled down to sleep, above me my brother did the same. I waited until he was drifting off, stood up and licked his right hand.
He screamed the place down.

Dream

Last night I dreamed that I fell in love with someone who was half man, half wolf.

He had hairy hands with claws instead of fingernails.

He was embarrassed about being half wolf, he said he hated it. I told him that I thought it was cool. He thought I was just being nice but I wasn't. I meant it.

I kissed his hands and he smiled. We listened to Indigo Girls and ate goat's cheese.

I asked him if he'd rather:
Never hear any of his favourite music ever again
Or
Hear his favourite music, but it would always be so quiet that you could hardly make out what song was on

He said he'd rather never hear the music again. I am still not sure if this was the right or wrong answer.

I went to the toilet and when I came back he'd gone. He left a note though, saying he was sorry, he had to go but he'd be back soon. He had extremely impressive handwriting (even in dreams I am excited by good handwriting since mine is so terrible).

I woke up before he got back. This pissed me off, big style. How unfair, I meet an awesome wolf man but then I wake up before anything good can happen. Typical.

I miss my dream wolf man.

No, No, No

Manchester has rejected me. Oh, the pain.
On the up side, Manchester is a shit hole. I used to live there. It just rains all the time and everyone is miserable. I don't want to live there again. I am GLAD they rejected me without even an interview. Yeah, they've done me a favour for sure.
Owch, owch it hurts! How could you do this to me Sara Delaney, Admissions Manager?

Let's keep our hopes up for:
East Anglia
Royal Holloway
Westminster
Northumbria

Send out positive thoughts for me, please.

A funny thing happened on the way to the Jobcentre!

A partly fictional but mostly completely true story.

So, I was walking down the street today.

I walking down the street listening to Alien Ant Farm, wearing my huge hoodie, Japanese t-shirt and mega hip 5 years ago trainers with multicoloured laces. I'd just bought 'The Wasp Factory' (which I expect to be a laugh riot) and 'Hardboiled Wonderland and The End of the World' from Oxfam (my local Oxfam always has a brilliant selection of books, and for cheap too). I was high fiving and head-banging my way down the high street. Rocking it, quite frankly.

When all of a sudden!!!

Something happened!!!

A police car pulled up beside me and some police men got out of it. One of them wrestled me to the ground while the other kicked me in the face repeatedly. "What seems to be the problem, officers?" I asked. "We have reason to believe you are carrying crack cocaine on your person" Officer Wrestle replied. Officer Kicker kicked me some more.
"You must be mistaken" I cried, choking on my own blood (and teeth) "You have me confused with someone else, that man over there perhaps, he looks a bit foreign and therefore guilty".
"No, we are not mistaken" replied Officer Wrestle "You are certainly the guilty one". Officer Kicker bent down and licked my bloody face. "You certainly taste guilty" he sneered.
"I don't know anything about any crack cocaine" I sobbed "I've never even heard of it, what is it?"
"Eisor Smada, you have the right to remain silent but anything you do say etc etc" he said as he pulled me off the ground.
"No! Don't put me in that car! I am innocent, innocent God damn it!"
"No one's putting anyone in any car just yet" said Officer Kicker. "First we'll strip search you"
They proceeded to strip search me in the middle of the high street, outside Clinton Cards. When they realised I actually didn't have any crack cocaine they got a bit red faced and shuffly. "Well, sorry about that Miss Smada" Said Office Wrestle "You are free to go".
"I must admit I am a little vexed by this whole charade" I said, putting my clothes back on, moodily.
"I feel really bad about this mix up" said Office Kicker. "Look, let me give you my police badge. Think of it as a peace offering".
"For real? To keep? Wow! You guys are the best!" I said, flashing them a black, gappy smile.
They waved goodbye and got back in the car.

Feeling a little dizzy, I carried down the road, whistling the theme to the Italian Job. I didn't notice the screams of "Oh dear God!" and "Mommy, what happened to that lady's face?". Because I had just got myself a genuine police badge.

Did you notice the bit of fiction I threw in? It was pretty obvious. Yeah, like I'd be caught dead listening to Alien Ant Farm!

Oh, I do have a larf with myself. And only myself.

Snow Day

My phone rings at 7am, waking me from a quality dream.
"Look outside" you whisper
"What? Who? What time is it? Go back to bed"
"Look outside"
I get out of bed and stagger to the window, phone in hand



"It's snowing" I say
"Would you like to come to the park and play in the snow with me?" you ask
"Yes please" I reply

I dress quickly and brush my teeth. I dig out a pair of gloves and a scarf from the cupboard and leave the house.
It's about an hour before sunrise. Everything looks blue, clean, alien. The sound of my shoes against the ground brings back memories from my childhood, back when it used to snow every winter and we'd spend days off school sledging down hills and stuffing snowballs down each-other's coats. I love snow.

I assume that the tubes won't be running so I take the bus. The commuters are grumbling, the "fucking snow" has made them late. These people have forgotten what really matters. I bounce up and down in my seat and strain to see out of the steamed up windows.
We roll down the high street past boarded up buildings, smashed up telephone boxes, Poundland. Usually a soul-crushingly ugly and dead place, the high street is now alive, beautiful, magic. I wipe tears from my eyes and dial your number. You pick up after one ring.
"I'm on the bus, almost there" I say "where shall I meet you?"
"Don't worry about that, I'll find you"
"No, come on, where?"
You hang up.

We come to my stop and I wave goodbye to all the passengers. Only an old drunk waves back. I jump off and walk through the park gates.

The park is empty apart from a few dog walkers. I can't see you anywhere. I sit down on a bench and wait.
A snowball hurtles past me, smashing against the bench. I stand up and turn around. The next one hits me square in the face.
I duck, narrowly escaping another blow to the head. I hear you running up behind me. I swivel round and you jump on top of me knocking me to the floor. Your cheeks are pink and your eyes wild. I haven't seen you in weeks.
"Hello" I say
"Did I surprise you?"
"No"
"Yes I did"
"Okay, yes you did"
"Close your eyes"
I close my eyes. You put your face right up close to mine, so that the tips of our noses are touching. I can smell your mouthwash. I am expecting you to kiss me but instead you shove snow down the front of my jumper. It's colder than anything. I open my eyes and grab a handful of snow. You run off, laughing and I chase after you.


"Everything looks so much nicer with snow on it, don't you think?" I say, lying next to you on the ground, soaking wet and shivering
"It will all be gone soon"
"You thought that all would last forever
But like the weather
Nothing can ever stay gold"
"That's the theme to 'The Outsiders'"
"I know"
You lean over and kiss me on the forehead. I find your hand and hold it.
"Let's move to Greenland"
"Okay, when?"
"When all the snow has melted"
"Okay"
"As soon as it's all gone we'll go"
"Okay"
"We'll jump on a plane and be there in no time. We'll buy a little house in the woods with shutters on the windows and a stable door. We'll get a husky dog and a goldfish. And we'll spend every day playing in the snow. Every day will be a perfect one, like today"
"Okay. Let's stay right here and wait for the snow to melt so we can go"
"Okay"

And we wait.