So, parent's evening...

was ok - I think?

I'm one of those middle of the roaders, the unextraordinary student who is nice tot teach but can't write an exam to save her life. I can live with that I guess. Mum doesn't seem fussed - she even got me a maccy's apple pie and a party dress after.

I don't know if I like the dress anymore but the pie was good. There's a definate correlation between my love of foods like said pie, and the way a perfectly nice dress becomes hideous when in contact with me. Pudgepudge.

Todo list for the rest of the week -

• Find a new favourite food that is less than 100% fat.
• Ban myself from ebay. And shopping. Unless I find a party dress that doesnt make me look like a giant, flightless sausage roll.
• Get on the exercise bike and reverse the effects of the pity pie.
• Fill empty wardrobe with current "carpet-clothes" that have engulfed my bedroom floor.
• See Avatar in 3D (popcorn is a maybe-not).
• Book dates for fun filled, friendy/coupley getaway to Wales and buy large jug to contain our yummo cocktails.
• Find recipes for yummo cocktails.

I also feel like some list making for America is fast approaching - as much as I love a good list, I don't know what on earth i'm going to bring. I've never had to consider weight limits before. Suddenly that emergency 10ltr bottle of shampoo and the 13 different pairs of shoes seem unnecassary and bulky. And I certainly wont have room for luxuries like my super duper lee stafford hair drier and paddle brush. Thank goodness that my new nifty mini straighteners are perfect for such ruthless packing restrictions - and with a haircut booked for wednesday, even I shall be a fraction lighter upon departure.

Must note, America is not going to be the sunbathed buzzing city that I have come acustomed to on friends and house and will and grace - no, this is more like the day after tomorrow where snow falls 10ft thick and uncovered flashes of skin will soon be frostbitten and useless.
Well of course i'm exaggerating, but it will be -5. That's pretty darn cold. Thick socks and triple layers!

I must go to bed - every night this week has been a stop up. I'm getting worse, there's always one more thing to do, or just another episode of how I met your mother to catch up on. Not to mention not getting home till gone 8pm 2 nights running now - it throws my routine right out. I've hardly even seen my gorgeous boyfriend since the weekend and now I won't see him till Sunday. And even then we don't get a lie in...

Just friday, then work, then my lovely free Sunday. No work, no school, no early start. Hello to the undisturbed lie in (compromised by the likelihood of either of my siblings using the phone, which plays carribean music into my room, or by either of them deciding they definately need to come looking for stuff in my room at that exact moment. Trust me, they will be pelted with anything to hand.) Yes, Sunday, you are my goal. I must reach you in order to end my week not being miserable about not having any offers, or not doing very well at school, or not having a black pen that WORKS. Sunday, you are my everest.

Goodnight, thursday - see you next week.

FAO - The World

Dear World.

Kindly shut up about snow and ice and get a bit warmer so I don't have to wear a huge coat and boots all day, every day. While you're at it, stop raining on me - it wrecks my hair and gets my books soggy.

Stop asking me about hoodies, and meetings and essays and pe and exams and revision because they're all stupid, I hate them all and I'm rubbish at them.

If you could arrange for a miracle in the form of me actually getting an offer, getting half decent grades, passing 6th form and going to university (we'll discuss passing my degree later) I'd be much obliged.

Until then, kindly piss off and leave me alone to sulk in my uselessness and drink tea.

It's my favourite kind of rain.

The frozen, powdery kind. No, I lie, summer thunderstorms are prolly my favourite, but there is no dispute over the sheer beauty of a snow covered Norfolk.

It was this morning when I loved it the most. sure, I had to get out of bed and go to work at 8am, but when I got out of the house and padded my way down that little road. My footprints were the first of the day, they made that wonderful squashing noise that only untrodden snow can make. And it wasn't quite day yet, it was morning, dawn, there were thick, dark, snow clouds throwing a fine covering of snow at me, and when it wasn't too windy for it to fall straight, you couldn't even see to the other side of the street through it.
And it's silent.
You can't hear snow falling, it just does, and it mutes everything it covers, snowy roads are so quiet, even with cars struggling to hold onto them and crawling at 3mph in 4th gear down them, it just sounds like someone walking on a duvet. It's brilliant.

I've had fun with my snow days, guilty kinda, "I-should-be-revising-not-making-snowmen" fun, but more fun then I would have had worrying about my impending failure at Notre Dame.

Roll on Monday.