Ah. It seems that a blog a day keeps boredom away. For about ten minutes. I'm running out of things to say. Pfft. No I'm not. I'll eventually start talking about how awesome the colour orange is.
Anyhoo, exams. Exams. Bloody exams. Well, not literally bloody. That would take some effort on the SQA's part. To date, I've sat nine national exams, all in quiet and stuff. I did okay in the first eight, I believe that I did BAD in the ninth. I don't think they were expecting me to compare Willy Loman to Hecate in my essay. Ah well. I'm stimulating their lovely examiner minds. Look BEYOND what he... wrote.... No. No. I've failed. That aside, y'know, the whole smart bit, I LOVE taking exams. Here's some space to get over that:
It's for the sole reason that the invigilators are from the most bizarre sections of society. I mean, I don't leave once I've finished the exam. I stay and WATCH them live their cheeky lives. There's an ex French teacher of mine who walks around the hall looking at everyone's answers. Now I'm no expert, but that's GOT to be wrong. And when she takes your exam.... she addresses you by name, then follows it with 'you'll be okay'. I had no doubt in my mind that I'd be okay, Mrs C. Now I do. In addition to exFrenchteacherlady, there's also Fleetwood Mac man, who is... epic. He really is. His hair is longer than mine and he's a gentleman of the Arran jumper. I love him a little bit, because during every exam he's sure to fall over. Now, I'm fully aware that older people falling over isn't funny... but it is when the older person's the one preventing you from having a bit of a chat about answers.
That's why I love exams. It probably doesn't serve me well to... watch... people... all Shia LaBeouf in Disturbia, but it's better than going outside and being accosted by a teacher screaming 'HOWDIDITGO?DIDYOUPASS?' Ow. My ears. My little ears.
Wednesday, 20 May 2009
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
So busy doing nothing.
Right. The story with me is that I've left school now. Off into the big, bad world.
It's a bit rubbish, truth be told. I mean unemployment sounds fan-bloody-tastic when you've got something to do. Yep. Watching telly all day. Eating Ready Brek at midnight. Excellent. But not quite reality. I mean, today, I woke up. Which was nice. Then I had a shower. Which was equally nice, because I looked less like Pete Doherty after a ruddy good night out. Then... iPlayer. iPlayer for many an hour. You end up watching things you have NO interest in, just to have something to do. I found myself engrossed in a documentary about sleep. That's not so productive having been awake for over six hours.
I had so many brilliant plans for my imminent unemployment. I was going to revise for the exams that just keep on truckin'. Haven't done much of that - do you blame me? Physiological homestasis vs. Katie&Peter Stateside? The decision's obvious. I had plans to write more. Nyeeh. I suppose I've done some of that. I am blogging after all. Look at me, all Riverbend. I had plans to make a souffle that doesn't make me want to commit any kind of -cide. Thusfar, unsuccessful.
So, all in all, I would like a job please. Pretty please.
It's a bit rubbish, truth be told. I mean unemployment sounds fan-bloody-tastic when you've got something to do. Yep. Watching telly all day. Eating Ready Brek at midnight. Excellent. But not quite reality. I mean, today, I woke up. Which was nice. Then I had a shower. Which was equally nice, because I looked less like Pete Doherty after a ruddy good night out. Then... iPlayer. iPlayer for many an hour. You end up watching things you have NO interest in, just to have something to do. I found myself engrossed in a documentary about sleep. That's not so productive having been awake for over six hours.
I had so many brilliant plans for my imminent unemployment. I was going to revise for the exams that just keep on truckin'. Haven't done much of that - do you blame me? Physiological homestasis vs. Katie&Peter Stateside? The decision's obvious. I had plans to write more. Nyeeh. I suppose I've done some of that. I am blogging after all. Look at me, all Riverbend. I had plans to make a souffle that doesn't make me want to commit any kind of -cide. Thusfar, unsuccessful.
So, all in all, I would like a job please. Pretty please.
Monday, 18 May 2009
I met me... and I wasn't talking to the mirror again.
Right. So yesterday, I went out. (I'll give you some time to get over that)
So I went out to a comedy club. Yep. Comedy club. What I love the most about going there, is watching everyone else. There are very different types of people that go to these places. There's the middle aged man forced to go by his wife, who attempts to surpress his laughter and ends up puncturing a lung with the effort. There's the meek little lady with her half glass of red, sitting in the corner, giggling away. There's the young lass there to get some stand up tips. And get pissed. Guess which one I am. Ow. My lung.
ANYWAY. The night's going by quite slowly. Some laughs. Lots of wine. UNTIL. My exact double came on stage. He looked like Ross Noble, and was just....me.... At some points I started predicting what he would say. It was great fun, especially when I managed to nearly upturn the table when I dropped my glarses. Eventually, he went off stage and... someone else came on. I'm pretty sure he/she was drunk. So I went up to myself after the last act went off, and we had a minichinwag. See, I want to be a comedian. That's the line which seems to make people laugh the most... And when I told him, he informed me that there's a night for upcoming comedians at said comedy club. Hmm. I believe my response to that was 'I'll be sick on the front row'. Now come on. NOBODY wants that.... do they? Sick on the front row? That's not funny, that's just an Amy Winehouse gig.
So I went out to a comedy club. Yep. Comedy club. What I love the most about going there, is watching everyone else. There are very different types of people that go to these places. There's the middle aged man forced to go by his wife, who attempts to surpress his laughter and ends up puncturing a lung with the effort. There's the meek little lady with her half glass of red, sitting in the corner, giggling away. There's the young lass there to get some stand up tips. And get pissed. Guess which one I am. Ow. My lung.
ANYWAY. The night's going by quite slowly. Some laughs. Lots of wine. UNTIL. My exact double came on stage. He looked like Ross Noble, and was just....me.... At some points I started predicting what he would say. It was great fun, especially when I managed to nearly upturn the table when I dropped my glarses. Eventually, he went off stage and... someone else came on. I'm pretty sure he/she was drunk. So I went up to myself after the last act went off, and we had a minichinwag. See, I want to be a comedian. That's the line which seems to make people laugh the most... And when I told him, he informed me that there's a night for upcoming comedians at said comedy club. Hmm. I believe my response to that was 'I'll be sick on the front row'. Now come on. NOBODY wants that.... do they? Sick on the front row? That's not funny, that's just an Amy Winehouse gig.
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