My Name Is Jonathon Carter.

A short story I wrote at the tender age of 14.

"I knew what I'd done as soon as I's closed the door. I'd raced down the stairs. "Raced" - what exactly was I racing against? Time? My conscience?
My heart pounded and I could feel the cold of the wall I was leaning against. I flinched as the light of a passing car flashed through the window. The darkness had become a blanket, protecting me, keeping me out of sight. I was close to tears. Tears of sadness? Guilt? Fear, I think.
My heart followed the pattern of my fear fiercely; I could feel it hammering against my chest, throbbing inside my ribcage, as I carefully tiptoed out of the front door. I still have no idea why I tiptoed; she wouldn't have heard me, not then..."

I looked up at the young journalist, hanging onto my every word, desperate for a story. I shook my head in disappointment, in utter disbelief that something I had lived - no - struggled, through was just a pay cheque for her.
"Mr Carter?" her prying voice instilled disgust in me. I guessed the readers would be the same. They didn't actually care, just wanted something to read, someone to pity whilst drinking afternoon tea, to make their own lives seem somewhat rosier. But I had to do it. I had to prove my point. I had to justify myself to the world, myself, the journalist, and her ...
I sighed and carried on;
"I stumbled out into the street, no idea what to do next. I ran my hands through my hair, clenching my fists around clumps of it, hoping it would help me think clearer. The cold wind raced down our street, in between houses and shaking up trees and grass. It's icy cold slap hit me square on, whipping my face and neck. My hands were clenched into tight fists. I was so cold that I wouldn't have been surprised if the tears escaping my eyes turned to icicles, freezing in their tracks instead of completing their journey down my face.. I could see my breath as I panted, exasperated. Desperate for clarity, I knew I had to take one of two options; I could go and face up to what I'd done and also face the consequences, or I could run ..I had no idea where I would run to."

I looked up at the journalist and paused as her phone rang. She really did seem to have absolutely no interest in me or my story, which showed when she answered her shiny pink mobile, flicked back her blonde hair and proceeded to chat to the anonymous person the other end of the line. I obviously made my impatience clear as after a while she made her excuses and hung up and gestured for me to carry on.

"I ran, but I ran back. I just couldn't go. I knew I had to see her again. Just one more tim. My desperation had made me weak but reckless. I sat on the bed and ran my hands through her soft, chesnut hair. My tears decided to spontaneously defrost and poured drom my red rimmed eyes. My sobs racked my body and I felt like they's never stop.
This, unfortunately gave me time to reflect, and think - torturous. I should have just run."

The journalist, whom I'd learned was called Lizzy, took a sip from her glass of water and gestured for me to stop for a moment as she gets it all down on her pad. She told me to carry on and recall exactly what had started all the misery that had lead to this moment - that she was earning from.

It all started with the argument ...
"You're being irrational!"
"No, I'm really not!"
"Well, I can't back out now, I've already said yes!"
"Don't even consider my feelings then! Hell, I'll just up and move, quit my job, move away from my family and friends!"
"Don't be childish, Jenny. It's a great opportunity for both of us!"
"Childish?!"
"Yes, lots of people re-locate to different countries, but I guess it's generally when they're both grown up, so maybe we should wait a while, huh?"
"PULL OVER! Stop the car. This conversation is over. Over."

And it was over, just like that. The screech of brakes, my screams, her screams, the crash of metal ...
I felt a jolt of pain in my left ankle, but apart from that and a couple of cuts and bruises, I had escaped unscathed.
"Jenny, Jenny, are you OK?" My voice was barely audible.
The reply I was anxious for did not come.
"Jenny?" I repeated, panic setting in.
I turned my head slowly and carefully to the right. She looked so pale, her eyes closed, and a substance that instilled a stab of fear in me trickled down her forehead.
I tried to get out, but it was impossible, we were trapped. I closed my eyes, suddenly exhausted and took her hand.
"It'll be OK, Jen, they'll come soon."
I heard sirens and saw the flash of the blue lights that symbol help through the fog and a wave of relief washed over my tired body and I rested my head on my seat.
They got us out - me practically unharmed... Jenny on a stretcher."

The journalist hesitated and stopped writing. She looked up at me as if seeing me for the first time, newly found emotion in her eyes - I couldn't decipher whether this was pity or whether she understood me at last. It was a surreal moment, abruptly cut short by them, marching me out by handcuffs. I wasn't too fussed, it would carry on tomorrow, but then, I had another night to reflect.

She returned the next morning, a look more of kindness and understanding replacing the old one of care-free and uninterest in my case. I carried on ...

"I waited and waited in the white clinical room.
"Mr Carter?" I was called in to where she was lying. She looked so fragile and pale. My heart missed a beat, this couldn't be Jenny? My strong, independant, fiery Jenny? That woman, lying there unconscious and helpless? What had I done? I was about to find out.
"Your wife has suffered severe brain damage due to the impact of the crash, I'm very sorry ..."

The journalist hesitated again, and took another sip of water. I wondered what was going through her mind right then, which is ironic as this is what a nation of people are wondering about me.

They soon found out. Tears again haunted me as I read the article the following Monday. It read:

"Jonathon Carter, 31 years old, jailed for life."

The title:

"My name is Jonathon Carter, and I killed my wife ... twice."

Reality TV.

6.00am and Bob is making himself some cornflakes. 6.15am and Bob has successfully finished his cornflakes. 6.17am and Bob is sitting on the sofa staring into space, obviously exhausted from the cornflake eating, and picking at his feet. Riveting. Definately worth staying in for.

Monday, 12th August, and Amy had "exclusively" revealed (on national television) that she is not going to end things with John.
Well that's a relief, wasn't it? We were all so very worried for John.

Reality TV. From the sublime and ridiculous to the mundane everyday occurrences in peoples' lives - it's pretty much all broadcasted.
Whether we like it or not, we will be hearing, reading, seeing, talking about our favourite Cockney girl, Mandy's, new bunion. In fact that very bunion and its tragic tale will probably have enough air-time to fill an entire episode. Excellent! Oh c'mon .. would you rather watch Bob eat more cornflakes? Although it's been rumoured that tomorrow he's holding a bit of a revolution .. porridge! How exciting! Just think, we'll be able to be with him every oaty step of the way.

Okay, enough. You get the idea. You probably get the above storylines rubbed in your faces every single day. A classic example is that of the case of Peter and Jordan. A story to divide the nation. Never have we seen such loyalty to people we don't even know. Actually, scrap that - we probably do. Their obvious need for attention and their slender grasp on privacy, sanity or the concept of "dignified silence" has led to the entire population knowing far more about them and their everyday 'adventures' (riveting scenes of them both sleeping, eating) and their bodily functions come to think of it - than we'd ever have cared to have known.

Programmes like Katie & Peter, Katie & Peter do U.S.A (yes, really - their daily routine was riveting enough to go international!), Big Brother, X Factor and god knows what else - all take up too much of our TV schedules these days.
Personally, I am sick to death of watching idiots play up to cameras, then get bored of playing up to cameras, then just going about their mundane, tedious daily lives - still being filmed because apparently that is what is classed as entertainment. Oh. Dear. God.

Then we are told we are becoming mindless TV-watching machines with not a thought for culture or education - is it any wonder?! Put something on our TVs that is stimulating, interesting and entertaining! I'm not even talking about making every channel a carbon copy of the Discovery Channel or Animal Planet, i'm just suggesting something a little more productive. Instead of some bunch of idiots on a show, telling us they've got what it takes, then telling us about their single Mum of three with kidney failure, one leg, three fingers and no eyebrows, then winning the competition after millions of viewer's spending money on voting, and then we never hear about them or their unfortunate mother again. Something to make us think, question things and absorb knowledge.Rather than just learn the obviously ground-breaking knews that Bob made the decision to stop feeding his cereal habit and switch to toast. (Yes, really! You didn't hear? Shame on you!)

Get rid of pointless Reality TV, thank you very much. Or would you rather we carry on the descent into a society where all we have to talk about is Katie Price and Peter Andre's split? No wait, hang on ...

Age.

I have been thinking lately about the ridiculous age guidelines set by the government. How we are allowed to raise a child at 16, care for an ACTUAL human being, but not drink/purchase alcohol legally? Doesn't that sound stupid? We can bring into the world and nurture a child and have sole responsibility for said child, but not vote and have a say about who runs our country or drive a car?



So are the government saying that at 16 I am more than responsible enough to handle the pain of labour, the looking after, feeding, providing for and emotional drain of a child? I can cope with all that but I can't handle making a sound judgement on who I want running the country? I can cope with ensuring the child gets the best education it can, I can inspire and ensure said child has hopes, dreams and aspirations, and do everything in my power to ensure that this child reaches it's ambitions, but I am not responsible enough to drive a car or conduct myself responsibly around alcohol?



That makes a whole lot of sense.





Love a slighty miffed,

Poppy

x x x

Well.

I feel all uninspired. There are lots of things I could blog about, funny anecdotes about how my 'hilarious' mother had friends over at the weekend and how they got drunk and started a competition to see who could juggle for the longest amount of time *sigh* whilst I entertained our Spanish 'lodger' with the only decent thing on TV in the next room, having absolutely no excuse for the insanity of the household in which I live. I could also tell you about my day today, which has been eventful, how Tesco's have decided they may have a vacancy for me (joys!), how Dunnelm Mills has just this second (as I was typing) called me and asked if I am available for an interview on Saturday (actual joy, I love their candles, and furniture actually), how I was asked out by a co-worker of my Mum's for a 'coffee' after his shift tomorrow (not joy, I don't want to date him, he's very funny and nice, and i thought we'd be great friends, obviously not) and how I had to explain to four quite angry/confused Spanish 14-15 year olds that as the bus routes have changed, they would have to walk an extra two minutes to catch the bus home. Their reaction was a moody "Thanks much." Even though I had got up at 6 to make sure I had them there in time for college, so their gratitude was overwhelming, quite obviously.
I could tell you about how I got a phone call that made me kind of reflect and cry a bit. But I am glad I got that phone call, concerning something I have been wanting to fix, but haven't known how. I hope very much that it can be fixed now. I know the person who phoned me reads my blogs, and I very much hope that person is reading this one, and knows that you kind of made my day. I very much want to fix this.
Well. That was meant to be a brief update. Haha, but it's not so brief, so i'll take this opportunity to stop typing and rambling and go and do something productive.

much love from a very surreal and dazed feeling,
Poppy
x x x

ps. also reading a very good book. called the Memory Keeper's Daughter. it's about a doctor who when delivering his wife's twins, discovers one of them had Down's Syndrome and tells his wife that the baby has died, when he actually send her away with a nurse. It's very good.

Blossom.

you gain something with every risk you take.

this shall be a rule i will apply to my life as of now.

x

ps. this is not MY arm, or tattoo.

Who's Baby?

Haha. The joys of a seven year old sister.


Me: ooooh, she's pregnant! Who's baby is it? (watching Eastenders, haven't watched in awhile)
Rosie: Er, it's her's. Stupid. (muttered under breath)

:L


x

Old & Senile.

i saw this and it reminded me that for the next week i shall be spending all my time with my relatives.
half of which deserved to be sectioned.


One of these relatives is my Great Uncle who everyone calls "Uncle Diz" or "Dizzy". And no one knows where this originated from, as his real name is Harry.
One of Uncle Diz's many hobbies is chasing any relative he can find around with his false teeth. He even chased my Mum on holiday once, false teeth in his hands.
It's all very quaint.
Wish me luck.
I'll be needing it, luck . . and a bone or something for Uncle Diz . . .

x



EDIT: actually his name is Henry? wtf. the over-use of ridiculous nicknames has some serious long term affects.. i wonder if even he remembers his name.

I really should stop. .

. . reading my horoscopes.

i hardly ever believe they apply to my life. however, sometimes they are uncannily similar to my day. this could just be because there are billions of people in the world, a horoscope has to apply to at least one person, right?

Today's:

PISCES - February 20th - March 20th
You can't fight a bullying bureaucracy at least not today. Trying to swim against the tide will just leave you battered and bruised. It's better to play along, even if your conscience is screaming in agony. Resist the urge to drop your duties for the sake of pleasure. If people see you having fun while everyone else is toiling away, you'll be a social pariah. A love affair may feel more oppressive than pleasurable. Break things off now, while you're still in control.


This is from Russell Grant, which I read almost daily. I shouldn't.
After a ridiculously unproductive day of missing a dentist appointment due to bloody buses and then unsuccessful job-hunting, this isn't what i wanted to read.

argh. a dollar for every person who can cheer me up.
i'm not american, and have no dollars, however it sounds better than a pound.

peace
ish
x

The getaway car is parked outside ..

.. where is it taking you?

all the way to Vegas. Las Vegas, not Skeg Vegas.

If you owned a shop .. what would you sell?

books. i love books. & would love to work at Waterstones. actually, scrap that . . maybe an old book shop, where the books smell musty and well-loved.

What things would you put in a time capsule to be opened in 50 years?

I did this once! but i put it out to sea. i think i put in a teddy bear necklace and some other random stuff that my 12 year old self treasured. now, i don't know what i'd put in. probably some of my favourite music compiled on a CD, so that my kids/grandchildren/great-grandchildren could learn about me now, through the music that I listen to, and each song would represent a part of me (memory, etc) that i could explain and share with them.


Do you preffer to write with pen and paper or on keyboard?

pen and paper. it makes me feel creative and really happy. especially when it's in a bulky notepad.

What do you always have to have with you when you travel?

my iPod. i rarely leave the house without it. even if i'm going to the little shop around the corner. i'm such a rude pedestrian, you don't get conversation you just get a huge manic smile, which i hope radiates politeness. whilst i secretly rock along in my head.

A piece of advice everyone should hear..

listen to Baz Lurhman's song - Wear Suncreen.

Defend your vice.

my vice is talking too much so .. that's slightly ironic :P i'll let people decide if it's productive or not. my family will tell you it's most definately not. :)

What famous people have you seen in real life?

russell brand, bear grills, chris akabusi (i think that's how you spell it - he's an athlete)

What got you into trouble as a child?

attempting to drive my Mum's Range Rover.

Where's your favourite place to people-watch?

Starbucks. it is the best place by far. i have seen men checking their reflections in the windows not realising i was sitting there looking and laughing at them. priceless!

Return of The Pop.

Hullo strangers :)

I am back, having completed my exams and left school :D !!

I am now very excited about the rest of my life. I gave myself a week to recover by doing practically nothing but chilling, and tomorrow the summer really begins! :)

Things I have done since not blogging:


I found an awesome photographer;

I have stopped watching Big Brother; as this year it is utter rubbish.

I have decided that I most likely want to become a; journalist. but this will change. it always does.

I have applied for the Junior Apprentice; which I hope to God i get on. I'd rock Sugar's world.

I have been for lots of walks; some of which have included hiding under a metal bridge from the lightening and random encounters from strangers that have restored my faith in people in general.

I have taken up; drawing for fun again. I may post some of my drawings, if I have absolutely nothing else of interest to say.

Well this was just a brief catch-up; more intellectual shizz will come soon. But for now go with the flow :)

Peace

x

Unhealthy.

Another self-obsessed blog from yours truly. (Y)

So, the other day I was clearing out stuff from underneath my bed, which was, effectively an enlightening experience. I found out three important things about me;

1) I like to hoard.

2) I have an unhealthy obsession.

3) I have been sharing my bedroom with a rather massive spider. Shown below. I'd like to call him Insy Winsy, but that depicts a lack of orginality & this spider was by no means "insy".

*shudders* Anyways, after this beast had been disposed of by my Mother & her trusty companion, Henry Hoover - oh yes ;) - I carried on clearing stuff out, finding lots & lots of rubbish that I had collected over the years & just shoved under my bed. Along with this rubbish I encountered an unhealthy obsession . .

The above picture is my 8 year old sister. & her disapproving face is because of the 55 magazines I found under my bed. That does not include the other 15 Glamour magazines in my wadrobe.

In this incriminating photo, there is £98.27 worth of magazines. Yes. That is only £22 pounds ish less than my prom dress. These have been collected over the last year and a half. Not good. Especially as magazines are seen to be bad for self-esteem , etc. Will I stop buying them? Probably not. Will I cut down a bit? Most likely. These magazines do not make me stupid. Celebrity culture, new fashion, etc is all just people feeding curiosity. I'm not going to act all mightier-than-thou, cos' I know they're probably of no actual use. But - oh - wait, look . . Jade Goody had an affair?! OhemGee!

Laters Bloggers

x

Promzilla.

& so a Promzilla is born.

Delay between posts is as I have given up my laptop. Only on here to post these for a few people who have requested them. *cough* Megan. *cough* *cough* Mr. Benton *cough*

So .. basically. I wasn't all that bothered about prom, just an excuse to have a bit of a get together, etc. Wasn't excited really by the whole date prospect, going with my most recent ex, who I am still good friends with, so there was nothing too special about that.

BUT.

The dress .. has changed it all. To quote Carrie Bradshaw : "The dress just upped the anti."

I have been re-born as a Promzilla. A breed of girls who have fits about the prom. A breed of girls who obsess over their dress, make-up, hair, nails, tan, etc. for the night of the prom.

I never saw myself as one of these girls. But voila! Here i is.

I never thought I was the type of girl who would stress herself about getting a tan because of the most stupid-est of reasons . . because her date is naturally tanned & she didn't want to look pale next to him in the pictures. Now seriously.

HELP.

all my love
x

Outrage.

Last night, I was watching The Hospital on Channel 4, last night's "theme" was Teenage Pregnancy. This programme has induced a bit of a rant (Y).

If you haven't watched the programme, it's series about the NHS dealing with "teen excess", drug/alcohol abuse, obesity, teen pregnancies, that sorta stuff.
Last night's ep was based in a hospital in Birmingham, & it was honestly awful to watch. I don't know how to post this blog without sounding like a stuck up snob, but these really are teens that give teens in general a bit of a bad name. I understand that mistakes happen, but seriously .. there are sensible approaches to these kinda situations or there's these kinda attitudes ...


"I'd been having unprotected sex with him for a while, so I didn't think I'd get pregnant."
-One teen Mum, when asked about contraception.

"I'm sorry, you can't have a birthing pool, that's more for low-risk pregancies." - Qualified doctor to young teen Mum who was having major complications.
"I hate you all!" Teen Mum's very mature response.

"She might be a baby now, but she won't be a baby for the rest of her life."
- Pearl of wisdom from a teen Mum about her new baby girl.

"Dya know, I haven't had a fag yet!"
- A teen Mum. She hadn't had a fag because she'd been in the operating theatre.


I honestly believe that your age doesn't neccesarily affect whether you'll be a good parent or not, but with the attitudes & statements above, that's what is going to determine a struggle.
I don't think these girls are seriously stupid, I think that these girls needed more help & education on the subject of sex & contraception. It's about time the NHS stopped just showing programmes like these making teens out to be idiots, & started properly educating the teens, then see the pregnancy rates slow.

Adios 'till my next post.
x

Clarissa The Avenue.

Hello bloggers.

I really should be in bed, but am in a state of too much hilarity to manage the journey there.

I am in this state of hilarity as I have been discussing porn star names.

Take the name of your first pet, & add it to the name of your first house, street, etc.

My name would be . .

"CLARISSA THE AVENUE".

Major LOLs. Had a funny time pondering with Lukee, exactly what this avenue is . .

& we are making a film, about Clarissa & her wild ways. So stay tuned bloggers. . .

:)

x

ps. if you are interested in playing the part of Clarissa The Avenue, requirements are:

- tall

- pretty

- blonde

- huge breasts

auditions shall be taking place sometime in the summer. enquire to myself or my fellow director if you are interested.

pss. the above picture of a rabbit is because Clarissa was an albino rabbit .. Clarissa was also a dude rabbit . . :L

Creativeness..

.. Or the lack of it. My creative mood has kind of run out after the three days of a solid arty feeling. So to carry of the creative feel of the blog, whilst I "ummmh" & "aaaah" about when and how my next creative outburst will occur, I am posting about something creative I did a while back.

The above bag was made by me, not sure if that's a good or bad thing to own up for tbh, but hey-ho. It wasn't an impulse or creativity, wasn't spontaneous, this, my friends, was a compulsary result of alot of nagging from my Textiles teacher fer coursework. Now all that's left is for me to finish the written work. Bad times!

Oh yeah, anyone feel like inspiring me, re-firing my creativity. Go ahead.

Love

P x

:)

Hunting.

I have been hunting all morning. For the above Easter eggs (& quite a few more, but they didn't escape my chocolate feast this morning).
Firstly, I would like to point out how ridiculous the little eggs were to find, my mother obviously has major issues.
It has been fun. I now feel sick, but it was worth it. Happy Easter!

Pearl of wisdom:
"Easter is the PMSing teen's saviour."
- Me, to my mother when she enquired as to why I was eating so much chocolate all before 10 o'clock.

Inspired.

My last post inspired me to make a few of my own Post Secret postcards. I won't send them, because they're not really true, and a couple aren't actually secrets, they just looked good. I was feeling creative, so I though I'd share some :) The above picture was taken in my bedroom, as it's a picture on my wall, and then I just edited in some font. I was listening to the Plain White Ts song :)

The above is for my family & friends who make me feel taller than my 5ft 5".

:)

x

Secrets.

Howdy bloggers :)

http://www.postsecret.blogspot.com/

Most amazing blog of all time.

Postsecret is a community art project, which gives me mixed feelings everytime I go on there.

Think . . All American Rejects - Dirty Little Secret video.

People send in their secrets anonymously on customised post cards, some are funny, some are sad, some are heart-warming, but all are a load off some anonymous people's mind.

Definately worth checking them out, and maybe even making your own :)

Happy PostSecreting!

x

Femenism?

Good day, bloggers :)

Somewhere in between waking up, having a major cleaning spree in my room (which included polishing my skirting boards, but i don't have OCDs ..), doing all of my ironing which I haven't done for , er .. a while, getting all childish on the trampoline, having a mini rave (by myself) to cheesy nineties R 'n' B on the tv, I had a bit of a brainwave about what I would talk (rant) about on my first (second, if you count the nice introduction) post. This should hopefully keep Megan off my back for a while. (LOVE YOU!) :)

Yesterday, whilst being bored, I was flicking through articles and features on Cosmopolitan.com, which is the type of girly rubbish I like to indulge in when not feeling all intellectual, along with the monthly Glamour, fortnightly Look, More and Closer. Anyway, on the named site, I found an article which literally made me laugh so much I slightly questioned my ability to control my bladder.

Named article : (http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/relationships/train-boyfriend?click=main_sr)

You may need to read it to understand why what I'm saying is incredibly witty and funny.

Name Of Article : 6 Ways To Train Your Boyfriend.

Yes, TRAIN. Written and inspired by .. animal trainers.
I seriously question what type of guys these girls are going out with, and if they're even of the same species? Also questioning the respect they have for their guys, and how would they feel if their beloved beaus (which could very likely be your own dog, Fido, so watch it. Yeah and you, Patch!) wrote an article titled; "6 Ways To Train Your Girlfriend". Better yet, "6 Ways To Train Your Bitch." - Female dog, right? What an outrage that would cause amongst the many so called "femenists" out there.

I, Poppy, up until about a year ago, liked to consider myself as a "femenist". Never let a guy pay, never let a guy tell you what do do, never let a guy CHANGE you. After all, we deserve it, after women have to fight for our rights, yeah? Fight for equality. Yay, woop, amazing, Margaret Thatcher, a new generation of business women, woo ... write an article that teaches other amazing independant women to TRAIN a man in a relationship? Riiight. Makes sense. I think not.

See, "femenists" of today, are not just femenists, fighting for equal rights. They have become hypocrites. (Disclaimer, right here: I am in no way saying it applies to ALL femenists, but certainly a majority, and this is the feeling I am getting at the moment.) They're perfectly happy to complain about men looking at them like "pieces of meat" and using derrogatory language, but then think it's okay for them to do it, as it's only "a bit of fun". Women are perfectly happy to protest and fight to not be manipulated and controlled by men, but then write articles about training men? What?!

In my opinion, I think us women are a bit confused as to what we want in life , from a man, and how we want to be treated by a man. We expect men to know what we want, when we don't know what we want ourselves, this, my friends, will only end it more tears and emotional break-ups. We wanted men to help around the house, be more sensitive, etc etc. Now we want them to man-up a bit? Wouldn't you be confused? So maybe we should give guys a bit of a break as we're just as clueless sometimes, as they are?

Hmm.

ponder in peace!
x

My first.

Right. S'up.

Name's Poppy, & if you've read my profile bit thingy, then you'll know that I was told to do this, by my best friend, who I shall not name untill I have the link to her blog, & she can be named & shamed. Unfortunately Megan (*shock* *horror* said your first name), has gone to bed, therefore I am writing this, not knowing what to say, or even how to use the site much (Y).
I also have no followers as I have just set this up, so I kinda feel that I'm talking to myself.. healthy? I think not.

So yeah .. blogs, huh? Awesome.. woop. Thing is, never blogged before. You may just have to put up with a few random posts of absolute rubishness untill I find my feet in the blogging world.

My first amazing piece of witty rubishness (ish) will be on sometimes during the next couple of days, probably sooner if Megan has her way.

Peace out!
x