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This it’s what the leap into adulthood is really like:

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Sgonfiato

I write to you from lovely Italy where the sun is shining, birds are singing and mosquitoes incessantly bite. And although my legs do make it look like I’ve caught the plague the view more than compensates for it. Currently at 32 degrees sunny Calci brings many treasures to the naked eye. From the burnt out yet still beautiful forested mountains surrounding me to the glimmer of the church tower in the evening sun. The pool - although a glorified bath is more of an appropriate term for it - shimmers just below our veranda.

But enough of all that. Work and general education has taken me away from this blog however I am hoping to get back into it. I gave up on my ambition to learn Gaelic because it turns out near-dead languages are somewhat difficult to resurrect. I even attempted to move my plight to Duolingo but with no success. Instead I’m now learning Swedish. Even though Sweden is somehow more expensive than the UK and I have no intention of going there in the near future, I must say I am enjoying learning it. Utterly pointless and yet hugely gratifying.

I’ll end this with my favourite word at the moment which is ‘SGONFIATO’. It means ‘deflated’ in Italian (I’m being cultured).

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Malcontented

For some unknown reason I have just dedicated myself to learn how to become Northern. Why I hear you ask? I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s my heritage calling to me. Maybe I can hear the highlands whispering. Either way insults originating from northern slang sound so much better. I feel that maybe this is just another tool of evasion, my mind trying to distract me from all the vital things that I need to do. But no matter. Learning new things broadens the mind.

Another revelation is the purchase of iron on print your own t-shirt designs. As a comedy fan one cannot not have numerous humour-filled tops, it just wouldn’t do. So many different ways I can horrify my friends, oh it brings me great joy. I cannot decide what to put, maybe just “Dinsdale!” Or something equally obscure (to the squalor that is youth that is).

One more exciting point is that my love of the League of Gentlemen has grown so much that I have acquired tickets to their live show. How glorious it shall be. How equally jovial to grotesque. And yes perhaps I am just using large words to acquire a certain class but one does not simply state how one’s morning coffee was in painful detail.

My word of today is malcontented. Whether it is satisfying I cannot decide.

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Dégoûtant

Christmas! What a wonderful time. Really and truly, not too much to complain about. A warm fire, numerous gifts and of course time spent with far away family.

Unfortunately, Christmas brings out the giddy idiots in truckloads on the World Wide Web. I am, surprisingly, one for a good bit of merriment. But some people take it too far. Not just on Christmas it seems, but all year round extensive punctuation use is found all over. For example, on Amazon reviews there is an uncanny way of telling which reviews are mere fabrications. The three exclamation marks give it away slightly. I don’t understand the need for two let alone three. I feel physically attacked every time I scroll down my Facebook and see these exaggerated almost hyperbolic statements pushing up into my feed, attacking all the innocent punctuation users of the internet.

Another computer misuse item commonly seen not just in adults, but teenagers now, is words (or even sentences *shivers*) in capital letters. Why? What is the point? We understand that you are excited/angry. We understand that you wish to tell us this. What we do not understand is why your skills at articulation seem to shutdown temporarily. Instead, you’re fingers seem to perform the art of screaming. Whenever I receive a message in all caps all I can hear is the senders voice, shouting some message at me. I’ll link this back to my original point. This morning I awoke to find three texts on my phone. They were as follows: ITS CHRISTMAS, I FUCKING LOVE SANTA and lastly IVE BEEN UP SINCE 8:29. I replied that I wasn’t as excited as her for this grand Christmas so she said she would “slap the Christmas into me”.

That’s all for now and I’ll finish with my word of the day, dégoûtant (pronounced deh-goo-tant). Christmas! What a wonderful time. Really and truly, not too much to complain about. A warm fire, numerous gifts and of course time spent with far away family.

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Abrasive

One thing that does get in the way of the continuation of my life is abrasiveness - especially when formed from neither fact or experience. Those who come off as a little sharp from first glance, well they must be forgiven as this is not their true personality. And this is not to say that the need to be abrasive does not appear in day to day situations. In fact, I myself find the occasional call to harshness rather amusing. It is those that are deliberately and thoughtlessly abrasive for no other reason than sticking to their life goal being an utter arse. 

For example, today my dearest (ish) friend spat at me. Twice. She actually pooled the spit in her mouth and then delivered it onto my jeans with such force that even my evasive movements could not prevent it. I cannot fathom why. I didn't have the nerve to ask as I could see her mouth primming for another shot. Although it may seem harsh on her part, I have forgiven her - partly so I can go on in my quest to achieve what the youth call 'chillness'. It's always a bonus that I have now got her DNA.

I thought it only fair to name the word of the day as abrasive in honour of this occasion.

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Moist

After to listening to my Arctic Monkeys vinyl around 50 times, I realised that I do in fact own other albums (none in the same style but oh well). I then went on to listen to an album by Bastille, and unfortunately came to the conclusion that most of the songs were very similar. A sad realisation. However, the singer did just say exhumed so that makes up for it. 

Moist is an extremely good word.  Just thought I 'd mention it.

After countless recommendations from many friends, I started watching the Netflix original the OA. What can I say except wow? Each scene effortlessly captures the emotion of this head-spinning drama whilst entwining different people's lives and stories together. The main character (Prairie Johnson, a young woman who is miraculously found after a 7-year disappearance) happens to be an entirely life-like character. Although what she has to say is strange you find yourself empathising with her. Everyone is also quite shocked to discover that Prairie isn't blind anymore. So far I've been taken on the journey of discovery of her past and what really happened to her during her disappearance.

Thought I might add this to today's blog, just for fun. The depressing song of the day is Hurts Like Hell by Fleurie. I can't be a teenager forever so I might as well enjoy it whilst it lasts.

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Plinth

I spent most of the day writing and reading. My father granted me the use of his Monty Python biography which is an incredible read. So far I've read about the birth of Python and a small part dedicated to Michael Palin (one of my favourite Pythons). If I'm honest I just love the surrealness of it all, including the Monty Python films like Monty Python and the Holy Grail (not forgetting Life of Brian, the end scene to it had me in fits of laughter). It also completely ridicules the authoritarian state, something that I didn't understand when I was younger but now as a teenager supporting the torrent of school I feel the same.

Another surreal and controversial British comedy show that I've been watching is the Mitchel and Webb look. It's brilliant, completely ridiculous, but totally unashamed of its humour. I also love both comedians that star in it so that's a bonus.

Just now I was watching Grimm (a complete contrast to the programs mentioned earlier) and the description of this episode included this: Nick and Hank investigate a series of bizarre invasions perpetrated by malicious Wesen goblins. I mean, this sort of thing is repeated throughout the entire 5 seasons that stand on Netflix but it adds a light tone to the usual drama-filled series. I do find myself encapsulated in the storylines (with many running throughout the series) and have a growing attachment to the main character Nick Burkhardt (a confused cop who discovers his superhero-like powers in chopping off 'monster's' heads). The villains do somehow seem to always be the people with monsters inside (or Wesen as they're called in the show) which seems strange as the whole point is that not all of them are bad.  

Anyway, during my progressive watching of Grimm today (I know, so energetic) and someone said plinth. I have never realised how brilliant that word is.

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We will never end the fight against the menace that is L’otters

L'Otters

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Ratatouille

The complete and utter boredom that is swallowing my soul at this moment cannot be put into words. This teacher is the bane of my existence, as well as others I'm sure. Never have I met someone as insolent and idiotic. She did teacher training? I'm not so sure.

Her voice physically hurts me - a croaky monotone fills my ears (usually at an extensive volume). The drudgery of it. She repeats the same fact every week, teaching us things that we already know because we're not year seven.

Although her lessons (all of 50 minutes) are boring and painful to endure, I do enjoy her attempts to guilt trip the class into respecting her. Just today she said, "you care about each other, but clearly not me or my mental health". I almost feel pity for her, until she sat me on a table on my own. In the corner. Her favourite and most commonly used phrase is "this is just not a thing". For example, "you want to go to the toilet? This is just not a thing!" Another is "You're being so rude!" (screamed at a high pitch of course). I do find it hard to grant her the respect I give to all the other teachers, or to even attempt to enjoy her lessons - even paying attention is testing. She says "tedious" a lot, but another good one is "you make my eye twitch out of stress which can cause heart disease".

On the other hand, I had 100 minutes of English today. Not as bad as some may expect. We were taught how the examiner will mark our narrative and descriptive writing in the GCSE - writing is a real passion of mine so it captured my interest.  I received 20 minutes to write the opening of a book, which is hardly enough time to write one good paragraph. I ended up speed writing, my hand almost dropping off at the end of the lesson. The girl next to me (a good friend of mine luckily, my class is very smart but the boys are totally insane) always surprises me with her dark writing. You wouldn't expect it from her if I'm honest.

Anyway, my favourite word of the day is ratatouille.

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Nutmeg

Whilst sitting in the waiting room of my orthodontist I notice how bad the carpet and seating design is. The awful cream of the carpet layered with mud and grime from the continuous stampede of feet contrasts dreadfully with the tacky faded orange seats (with very uncomfortable foam cushions). The other so-called seats (more like padded coffee tables) are grey and green. To top that off, the crappy 80's music radiating out of a minuscule, thankfully, radio. Probably heart FM. Nice lighting though. And an open view out of the bay windows of the grimy street with the thrum of cars partly drowning out the dreadful music. There seems to be a residual theme of cream, with splashes of grey here and there. The smell doesn't quite help either. Like a hospital but more plasticky. It only gets worse once I leave the waiting room and enter the surgery.

Today my heart almost stopped beating when I thought my new vinyl had a long white scratch on it. A white curve shone out from the black base of the Arctic Monkeys album, after being played on repeat at least fifty times. Luckily, I discovered the huge white line was but a cat hair, donated generously by my tabby cat Sybil (yes, Faulty Towers).

This traumatic event- as well as a bad cold- forced my decision to go to bed early. I end today's shorter blog with the fact that nutmeg is my favourite word today.  

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Conflate

Now that I am nearing my GCSEs my teachers have picked up the annoying habit of informing me how much work we all need to do at home for every lesson. Twenty minutes on one subject, ten on another, at least once a week- just to keep it fresh in my mind. Jesus shit, I'm tired enough already with the regular amount of homework and the insane complication that the normal lessons have taken on.

Anyway, an important realisation has formed in my mind. After watching this weeks episode of the 15th series of Strictly (well most of it, two hours of irritating people cause my brain to explode) I have discovered that I am, in fact, a fangirl. I used to pride myself on not being anything of the sort, but now, I must confess, I always have been. From my first episode of strictly a special place in my heart has been reserved for Anton du Beke. He is the most charming, adorable man I have ever laid eyes on. Maybe he isn't as 'fit' as the other professional dancers, but it's Anton. If I were ever on Strictly I would beg for Anton, the older ladies don't really need him as much as I do. Because it is a need.

Today I also reached a dark pit of youtube, where I ended up listening to women/gay empowerment songs. Not my usual picks but who can judge me at 12:00pm, alone, sitting in a dark room. They weren't too bad if I'm honest, a lot of lightly clad women dancing with other barely clad women singing with lovely scenery behind them. I'm in it for the costumes if nothing else. Much better than the crap that is playing on Jules Holland at the moment that is becoming an invading presence in my life. Why are the worst songs always the one that becomes the dreaded earworm?

As it is now past midnight, and my arm hurts from typing onehanded, I'll end it there with the fact that conflate is my favourite word today.

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Millennium

I have decided that I have no room left in my life for decorative hair pieces, perfect hair and people that always have perfect hair.

Decorative hair pieces only look good for a brief period of time before a slight gust of wind tangles it so far into your hair that you almost cut half your head off plying it out of the numerous knots that have almost magically sprung up. After having ridiculous curly hair for so many years I've written off all things associated with beautiful delicate grips and flowers.

Perfect hair is only an option when I stay inside, not moving, wrapped in bubble wrap. And even then my hair will find some way to (as Google put it) "twist together into a confused mass." I've given up and just let my hair hang dead around my head, I mean, who is there to impress? My friends? They all endure the painful life that long hair brings along with me.

I don't think I will ever comprehend how some people manage the trawl to school without a single hair blowing loose. Is it that they spend ten minutes in the bathroom at school, redoing their hair before classes come? It is a mystery to me, and one I am sure that I will never solve. Mostly because the effort required is more than I am willing to expend.

I have also got many reasons for wanting vengeance (preferably violent) on the English weather. About nine months of the year it's raining, or windy, or just generally bad weather. I only need to step out into the oblivion (also known as the 'outside' *shudders*) for my carefully blow-dried hair to go into the afro mode. But without regret, which I felt every time I stepped outside- almost hearing my hair rush to entwine itself, we shall never learn.

I have exhausted myself from writing this rant about hair so I'll finish by stating that my word of the day is millennium.

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Skived

Went onto tumblr at school (you little rebel you). 

I just discovered I have a- small be it- following. And one of that number is in fact, my mother. Many of you will never understand how depressing that is.

But anyway, back to the more joyful sides of life. Today I have experienced my first episode of League of Gentlemen. Never have I witnessed such extreme characters and dark humor- but I loved it all. I have a soft spot for British comic monsters. Characters like Edward and Tubbs, who kill anyone who dares enter their "local shop for local people" are prime examples.

Today my friend and I decided that as we watched Dirty Grandpa (which I must say is quite a sweet film if you get past the constant obscenity) we'd stalk several people's social media to see if any good looking people do exist at our age. Unfortunately, it won't count towards our science GCSE grades, although it is a challenging and risky experiment. You see, my year group is disappointingly vacant in the hotties department (although most of my friendship group have resigned themselves to be lifelong members of the forever alone club. Well, until college anyway). Not that we can't appreciate those that fit into the cute category, just from a distance. However the risk factor in our entertainment is serious and can cause total social embarrassment- accidentally liking someone's photo from seven weeks ago, or even worse, years ago. I've done it before and stared at the screen of my phone in horror for a few moments.

This very same day, my friend gave me a tour of her neighbors. A relative of the Argentinian royal family (along with her maids and chauffeurs), an owner of an illegal cat and a hardcore Tory. The latter had put a 'Vote Conservative' poster up and recently caused a scene by screaming from her window at a passerby for walking on the freshly mowed grass outside her flats (justified late by the fact that they were ignoring the tiny 'keep off the grass' sign). I suggested putting a 'Vote Labour' poster up to replace the Tory one, to which my friend replied she had said to women "Make June the end of May" on election day as she passed her by.

Today my word of the day is skived.

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Humdinger

Today was boring. Life seemed to stop revolving around 10:00 am as the teacher droned on and on and on... 

But now that I have escaped to the confines of my room I can play a game. What will my Daily Mixes include today? As you may or may not know, Spotify grants you the service of offering up three daily mixes of songs, all specially tailored for you. It doesn't always get it quite right. It is a very exciting game I assure you and creates much light entertainment.  I click on the tiny round green circle that holds the future of this blog in its incredibly advert full hands and up pops Spotify. And of course a few notifications and an advert.

So, Daily Mix One today includes a magical array of songs. Sinking Man by Of Monsters of Men (a beautiful song, if a little depressing at points but one must enjoy their teenage years), Take Me To Church by Hozier (another real classic that contains depth in its lyrics and a stunning minor piano accompaniment) and She's So Lovely by Scouting For Girls (I can't explain this one but went into a fit of laughter when it played. I suggest you give it a listen, see if you recognise it).

You may have realised that I am a music student and I do apologise for my enthusiasm and pointless detail.

However, Spotify let me down with a few songs including a few Five Seconds of Summer Tracks (I apologise to any fans) and even Crashed The Wedding by Busted. Just no to that last one. The God damn awful lyrics with a generic accompaniment as well as a few uncalled for zippy sound effects- I couldn't even find solace in the singer's voice.

I was pleasantly surprised by Paramore. I usually steer clear of this band as I find their tracks dysfunctional and irritating but The Only Exception was a simple yet effective song. Her voice coincides well with the strummed chords of the guitar. The lyrics are meaningful and I was truly captivated by this song, listening to it on repeat until an advert interrupted me and spoiled my mood.

Okay, I went over the top with that last one. The Only Exception is a good song and surprised me, but is nothing compared to the likes of Yesterday by Paul Mccartney.

My favorite word today happens to be humdinger.

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Elixir

As I sit here writing this impromptu blog, I listen to the shrieks that are emitting from my mothers Ipad. Just another episode of Strictly then, played at full volume, blasting my door off its hinges.

It's not that I don't get the appeal of Strictly. I mean, it's a simple idea. The 'glamming up' of celebrities (and the occasional politician) followed by dancing that varies from utter cringe-worthy crap to my mother and I playing spot the professional. The only thing that stops my love of the show in its tracks is the way the crowd goes completely berserk at the smallest thing. Oh, and that it holds the same qualities of the Never-Ending Story. You just want it to end. The boredom drives me insane. Apart from looking at the smoking hot professional dancers of course.

This morning after realizing that I must endure another round of what the school has name Drop Everything And Read (or D.E.A.R. for short, another genius move) I decided that I was going to re-read the series of books I bought on my holiday to France- we stayed in the most gorgeous place, practically a shared mansion with zip wiring off a mountain nearby to top that off. The only downside was the invading wild boar. But anyway, the series contains six books, the characters are incredibly realistic (helped by the fact that there is a TV adaptation of the books with more smoking hot people on the side) and I can't get enough of it. I decided to look up other reviews of this series to see who agreed and under topics, it stated that the books consisted of magic and fantasy, adventures, monsters, ghosts, and vampires. That pretty much sums it up if I'm honest. The storyline is incredibly immersive, with action-packed drama and a splash of romance on the side- I couldn't get enough and was incredibly upset once I had engulfed each novel.

So the clearest way forward was to ignore all the other books that are bursting off my shelves and re-read them. Obviously.

Today my favorite word seems to be elixir.