Challenging Pople at Physics

I have changed my mind.

Food tech will not be the death of me.

Geography will. 

Expect lengthly ranting when I have time, people.  

I’m spreading squeeeeeeees through time and space.

And thought I’d leave one here.

If you were to say to me this morning: “How goes you, Sophie?” then my probable response would be: “Gnyarghah.”

I still have a cold.

It has got worse.

I have a nosebleed.

I am very tired.

I need another tissue.

But hey, enough about me. How goes you?

“You have to take your hat off to a beast/ that keeps to itself for the most part, but when touched/ transforms a single thought into several thousand volts.” from Hydra, Armitage

I disagree with James. Poetry has produced a great many quotable quotes, and whilst “I’m so bored I could eat myself” is one of them, I by no means think it is the best. Even within the AQA anthology. Even within the poems written by Carol Ann Duffy. How could you beat her description of Nostalgia, or how she writes that “once again we play the game of turning love to pain”, or how her poem The Dummy makes me scream every time I read the last line: “You can do getter than that, can’t you?”?

Maybe it’s a girl thing, or maybe I am just a dysfunctional and deviant character, but it’s like someone is reading my thoughts, however cliched that might be.

Oh, and the quote at the top is from a poem about a slimy brown electric eel.

Besides which, if we didn’t do poetry, we’de have to spend hours telling the difference between fact and opinion. Or, I don’t know, on Shakespeare. Oh, we should do more Shakespeare! And watch the video of Much Ado About Nothing!

It’s the centre of London in the weeks before Christmas. It’s all of humanity pouring out of shop doors, it’s the bobbing and weaving between display stands, it’s the fact that everyone, everyone, is trying to sell you something. It’s the slither of whispers as you get off the train. Like snakes. On planes and trains, and the way your heart stops when the tube train grinds to a halt between platforms. It’s hearing the trains whoosh by you on either side, and the clattering of the windows and sitting in the dark and feeling like you’re going to die. It’s the way you have to hold on to your bags really tight, and the way nobody smiles and the way that people run into the road, knowing the buses won’t hit them. And who cares if they do?

It’s the way that your mother, your aunt, from a small Lincolnshire town, magically know which bus and which hurtling, joggling train to run for. The way that everyone is a superhero, and everybody’s nobody, and everything happens so quickly that you don’t get left behind, and everything is loud and fast and alarmy, and did I mention that they have snakes on their trains?

It’s the way that you go into a department store and it feels like home because everything is exactly the same, exactly, and the way that there are trains that dive off into the burning sunset over a city of fire and it’s the end of the world and it’s wonderful. And the way that people run for the tube even though there’s another one in three minutes, and the way that everyone is doing something important, selling, selling, and the way people don’t talk, don’t smile, and greet an old friend with a handshake, and it’s everything I hate and it’s everything that scares me and it’s everything that makes me want to cry.

But I love it.

I have three things to report, as I decided whilst this page was loading. However, I bet I can only remember two.

1. Abracadabra and I did not get to 10 in badminton. We merely equalled our record of 6. There will be no cheesy peas. I blame CERTAIN PEOPLE that will not be named, but can be identified by a VERY loud shriek followed by an offensive yet nonsensical comment.

2. Dammit, I’ve forgotten. Oh yes, Rosie’s head is shaped like an apple. It is. So there.

3. I can’t imagine I am going to get this. I am thinking backwards through my train of thoughts. Oh yes. LORELAI AND CHRISTOPHER ARE MARRIED. How dare they? Well, I blame her, because he has always been a dependent idiot, but she usually manages to keep him at bay. He takes advantage of her when she is at her weakest, with the whole “a child needs a mother and a father” thing Emily always says. Not when the child is 22 and hasn’t had one for her entire life so far, she doesn’t. Also, the whole “everyone knows we’re meant to be together” thing, which is not true because look at the internet polls. He’s soooo whiny. It’s like having an exped-worthy rucksack on all the time. As opposed to Luke, who is like a blister plaster. You know it makes sense.

In conclusion: I hate Christopher. I hate not eating cheesy peas.

I just checked to see if my blog had been updated.

It hadn’t. 

Isn’t an update fairy a good idea? I think so.

My immune system is clearly giving me the silent treatment or something, because it is doing very little to destroy my virus. My antibodies are all probably sitting around, drinking coffee and saying “oh yeah, there’s a virus.” “Should we go after it?” “No, lets just see what happens if we leave it.” 

Or maybe my antibodies are too busy playing sudoku. It seems like something my antibodies would do. 

Scarily enough, PE is now my favourite lesson on the entire timetable. There is no homework, there is no exam, and we can talk all lesson. 

‘Tis kind of almost the season to be jolly. Hence the title. Think dancing angels from primary school nativity plays. Only people who were at the same school as me will get it, so don’t go bursting your brains because your antibodies will be too lazy to go and clear up the mess. 

So everyone wrap up warm, arm yourself with orange juice, and let the hours of waiting in the freezing rain for the bus commence. 

Mayo and Potato,

Sophie 

I have a sore throat. It hurts. Emphasis on hurts.

We are entering the season of Family Friends, the before Christmas rush to pack in everyone you feel guilty for not having seen all year in 6 weeks. I’m practising my innocent smile and small talk. Pretending you are interesting in a vague way that you cannot ask any questions about is tiring.

I will update you on my progress.

Also, college applications. I have my first mock exam date. I have a mock interview coming up. They’re fake exams! They’re fake interviews! I think they’re a huge waste of time.

My throat hurts.

…that I didn’t whack my head on a can of evaporated milk.

I dragged myself out of the house in the freezing cold to go out to ASDA to buy food tech ingredients. I pushed the button to make the chickens squawk above the egg cartons (why do no other supermarkets have this?). I bought the ingredients: margarine, chocolate, condensed milk.

Got home. Packed ingredients: margarine, chocolate, evaporated milk. EVAPORATED MILK?! I CAN’T MAKE CARAMEL WITH THAT?!

Tried to bang my head on the table. Banged my head on evaporated milk. Hurt. 

Went to Tesco Express. They didn’t have any.

Went to ASDA again.

Came home. Packed ingredients.

Food tech is the bain of my existence.