French Oral Angst

I have to stop worrying about how my French oral went... it's driving me insane. What's horribly ironic is that before the oral I was Monsieur Cool, unphased by all manner of complicated questions on social problems and economic crises, and now that's it's over and I can't do anything about it or even find out how I did I'm a nervous, eyebrow-twitching wreck, forever starting at the thought of imagined grammatical blunders and staring regretfully into the distance thinking about all the sexpot phrases I could've thrown in as filler but didn't.

And it's a pretty inconvenient time for all this worrying, as my music practical, which is significantly more important than the oral (50 fucking percent of Leaving to be exact), is tomorrow morning. So I need to relax, and I need to relax NOW. I'm considering having a drink or two before bed, that's how twisted my logic is while I'm in this fretful state.

Que Sera Sera......... Fuck you Leaving Cert, fuck you in your fuck ugly face.

everybody hates me

I've noticed something about these blogs: I only ever write them when I have nothing to do, and I spend most of the blog whining in a pathetic way about how crap stuff is or how good stuff is going to be or what I do when I'm at a loose end. I've realised this is because when I'm actually out there ENJOYING life I couldn't care less about blogging. So with that introduction I'm sure you know what's coming...

Noone wants to do anything ever! They're all big losers and I'm not a big loser because I want to do stuff but nobody wants to do stuff but I want to do stuff and when I ask them to do stuff they say no and then I get angry and then theyre losers! I know what you're thinking, gentle reader: 'what a sad-sap... clearly you just have no friends. People are out doing stuff, I can assure you... just not with you'. And to some degree that's probably true. But unfortunately that's no consolation when you're sitting at the computer on a Friday night just having finished your mocks flicking between the 'Balla' and 'Próifíl' pages on your Facebook as Gaeilge and listening to Lady Gaga.

I must have some kind of inability to shake the feeling that I could always be doing something more fun than I'm doing right now. Some day I'll just join some sort of cringy group therapy session and meet other people with the same paranoia and restlessness, and they can be my friends... But you what sitting at home on a Friday night REALLY makes you think about: that the Leaving Cert. sucks, because you never get to see people or go out anywhere (even though you do, loads, but it's never as much of a bender as it might ideally be). It just does you know? I just wish I could skip the next few months and glide into a summer of blissful drunkenness and that be the end of it.

Somebody up there likes me

I actually found the ocarina. I had almost given up hope, when suddenly there it was at the bottom of a wicker basket full of childhood drawings and wasted crayola markers, dusty and battered but earthier than ever. It has a small crack near the bit you blow into which I don't remember it ever having before. But it looks as though it must've got broken somehow, and that then someone took the time to glue it back together; I like to think this gives a satisfyingly used, 'there's a story behind this old thing you know' air to the thing. Even if I don't know what that story is exactly... but that only adds to its mystery.

Damn its piercing though... it was awful, because I found it at ten last night and was yelled at from the playing of very first note. Hasn't stopped me practicing every chance I get though. If I get good enough before my interest wanes I may even upload a video of myself giving it my all on the ocarina (I do love to spoil (both of) my readers from time to time). Any requests will be taken into account...

A Link to the Past

What should I be doing?

Studying for my Mocks which begin next week.

What am I doing?

Trawling the internet for a cheap ocarina.

I don't know: I just came home from school on Friday utterly shattered and thought, you know, I deserve some relaxation here people. So I figured what better way to unwind than with some soothing music, and who better than myself to play it? I honestly couldn't tell you where I pulled the idea from, but it struck me to look for our old ocarina, the one my parents bought me at some market stall on an family holiday to Menorca. As I recall this was an excrutiatingly dull holiday on an island which I'm pretty sure couldn't have existed before tourism, and as far as I recall I ended up spending most of my time out on the balcony of our apartment complex accommodation learning to play the ocarina. Handily enough it came with a pamphlet explaining how to play the ocarina for beginners, and by the end of the 2 weeks I could play such popular hits as Happy Birthday and The Sound Of Silence with its help.

I found the leaflet of course... but the ocarina itself seems to have been thrown away or lost in time (and I can say that definitively enough because I spent a worrying amount of time looking for it). My new tack is, being from the generation I am, to look for one online. But it hasn't proven to be a very fruitful search... See all the ones online are really artificial looking, nothing like the earthy, authentic clay one I had when I was ten. The whole thing's a bit stupid really, because all I want is my old one and nothing else and I'm hardly going to come across that, even on e-bay... and the sound of the ocarina, to be honest, is not a soothing one at all. It's piercing. Still, I don't seem to be able to rest until I've found one... so if anyone can point me in the direction of one, or you know if anyone has an unwanted ocarina lying around the house, you know what to give me for my next birthday.

A Dastardly Plan

So I've decided I'm going to solve all my problems by teaching English as a foreign language. I'm just going to do an online TEFL course, which the TEFL website tells me is so easy I can 'even do at home in my pyjamas', and then I'll take down our ancient old globe that still has Yugoslavia marked on the map, spin it around, close my eyes, and go wherever my finger falls (and as it happens I don't want to go to any of the places formerly known as Yugoslavia, so that dodges that particular landmine). I'll teach in an off-handed yet zestful manner for a couple of hours a day, then perhaps wander the cobbled streets of the town I'm in (in my head the town has cobbled streets), chancing upon curious little shops, having encounters with the locals when I go to buy fish at the market (there will also be a market, naturally), communicating through broken tongues and a mutual understanding of good-naturedness in eachother. At home in my quaint, slightly tumbledown accomodation, maybe a bungalow, I'll write stories and blogs and letters home, and sketch little cartoons which will cover the walls. I'll eat well on the local cuisine. I'll cycle to the beach at the weekend and go swimming, or take photos of the coastline which I will later paint at home. I'll strike up unlikely friendships with my garrulous foreign neighbours, who will have me over for dinner regularly, and they will always spill wine on the floor because they're so animated and foreign. I'll fix up the little patch of garden I have, and repaint the cracked outside wall of the house, and I'll get a good tan from working outdoors. My whole life will be a combination of sun and sea, ancient local history, lesiurely unfinished works of art, and simple pleasures of food and drink.

Oh but it's all just a dream really.... For now I'll just go to school in the rain, and learn everything ever, and order dominos, and hang out with the same friends, and be tired all the time, and sit inside watching Friends and Scrubs every single day at the same time.

But I'll be dreaming all the while.

Updates

Sorry for the lack of blogs lately. I'm not best pleased with my blog at the moment... Reading over some of my more recent ones (I always seem to be doing that... how desperate am I) I've noticed there to be a distinct lack of continuity to them. I know there's nothing exactly wrong with a lack of continuity; as with everyone, the only constant factor in the events of my life is me being in them. But what bothers me is that I seem to construct settings in my blog whereby follow-ups are promised or would be necessary to complete the 'story' of a particular blog and I never deliver. I suppose its not a big deal because a) nobody reads this and b) if I meticulously followed up every subplot of my life alluded to here for the sake of it, I'd probably be writing because I felt some obligation to do so and not because I had anything interesting to say, and I'd probably lose interest in writing them altogether if I did that. But I still think I should answer a few things, just to finish the stories.

Remember Cian McLoughlin the artist guy? He eventually did turn up at school. He gave a very interesting talk about his work and what gives him inspiration. His commitment to his work astounded me, he said he usually paints 8 hours a day. If anything it put me off a career in art because I don't think I have rigour and the passion necessary to do it well. And the choir thing? I got my CD! I am very pleased with it, the sound is good, but most of all I love just having it, being able to put it in a CD player and think 'I wrote that'. It's pretty cool, but I can't play it too often because it's not good enough to warrant playing over and over without it getting a tad annoying.

Did I even mention Midterm was coming up? That's another thing I seem to leave out of my blog a lot, the lead up to things that seem like they deserve a lead up. Well at this stage it's almost come and gone: we're back to the grind on Monday (mock French oral on Wednesday, fuck ye...). I'll fill you in on what I've been up to. Though that's not very much, as you'll see.

I jetted off to the beautiful city of Rome for five days with my Latin class, a group of people none of whom I have any problem with, which considering how judgmental I am is quite something. That's not 'not very much', I hear you pout, quite jealous that I was in Rome and you were at home wasting your life away in the grey landfill site that is this city. Be patient... the story's not finished yet.

So we arrived in Rome on Monday at about 9am, having got up at a disgusting hour of the morning to catch our typically school tour 'first plane out of the airport' flight. Before our flight had landed I knew I wasn't feeling too hot. Get some panadol, I thought. So I looked for shops in the airport at Rome, asked around everyone. I only got any after we had reached our hotel (3 hours after landing). So I had that. Nothing. Had some more later. Seemed to be getting worse.

By the time we were halfway through our tour of the colosseum I was shivering, feverous, barely able to stand up because my headache was so bad, all my energy was sapped. I was so bad I had to retire to the hotel, curl up in the dark and drink water all day while the others continued with the tour. At night I didn't sleep at all, and I must not have drank enough water through the day because I was having delusions about some sort of cloning factory in the room, the blue light by the door was part of some machine and the pictures on the walls were kind of boxes stationary on a conveyer belt. Sounds lovely and trippy, but really it was horrible, the night seemed endless. By morning I was even worse, and I ended up dragging my sorry ass down to reception after the guys were gone off for the day to ask them to summon a doctor. He came; it turned out I had really bad strepthroat, whatever that is. All I know is it's hell.

I won't bore you with more details. Spent the next 2 days imprisoned in the hotel room, the only notable points of that time being when I kept vommiting up the contents of my stomach - water, and antibiotics - in reaction to my drugs, the battle with the doctor to convince him to prescribe me something else, his extortionate fees, and the hotel maid coming into my room and not realising I was there for a full minute or two, then running off when she realised.

There was a slight consolation on the final day as I was well enough to go outside again, though my symptoms were all still threatening me. Despite them I had a reasonably pleasant day seeing Pompeii (actually very, very impressive). But of course, now that I was starting to get better it was time to go back home, though not before a 12 hour wait in the airport on account of delays. You go Ryanair.

So now I'm back. Upcoming news will include mocks, orals, music practicals, and possibly the end of the world.

Spring Cleaning

Just a quickie:

I spent the entire day finishing the sorting of my room (I don't care if I'm a loser - it feels GRR8! (already I regret saying that)...). All of the crap I never used has been thrown away, all my notes for school and my sheet music are in reasonable order, and for the first time in about 8 years I have desk-space. To tell the truth it's pretty bare and depressing at the moment, but I've always thought it was sort of bland and cold (the heating has never worked so this is literally true) anyway. I've decided I'm going to make the best of it though - when I get the chance I'm going to paint it, knock up some shelves, buy a beanbag/reasonably soft chair, and acquire an assortment of alternative posters which make it look like I have an interest in art house cinema and old rock bands. Of course, 'when I get the chance' means after the Leaving... So I suppose, since there's nothing left to be organised, I'm going to have to actually start studying there now.

Parting thought: whenever you feel like things couldn't be worse, remember that you are not a naked mole rat:

Unofficial Snow Day

I've taken the day off from school on account of all this snow, though as far as I'm aware we're not officially allowed to... I've just kind of got the idea in my head that this particular form of precipitation exempts me from all obligations. It's the school's fault really; they sent us home from school early yesterday 'because of the snow', though no logical reason could be given, planting the seed in my brain. I took it to mean that all bets we're off, that I could go into hibernation mode until the 'harsh weather' and 'dense snowfall' subsided.

As soon as I got home I knew that I wouldn't be leaving the house for some time. I closed the curtains in the sitting room, so that I could pretend it was a harsh Winter's night, naturally, and prepared myself a stack of choice dvds, set myself up on the couch with a blanket and a packet of mini muffins. I put on the fire. It was all 'luvly juvly'.

About 15 minutes into House of Flying Daggers I was disturbed from a knock at the door, but I had barely enough time to mumble 'go away' before the door opened. It was one of my piano students M. Ah yes, she does have a lesson around now. Hopefully she didn't see the beetroot colour of my face in the darkness. What I do know is that she saw me there curled up in a purple blankey covered in muffin crumbs, half asleep, any sort of mystique she might have ever attached to me was utterly gone.

It just didn't occur to me that the world would continue turning in spite of the rapidly melting half inch or so of snow. And rather than learning from that experience, I'm taking the day off to watch House of Flying Daggers in it's entirety (this time with figrolls because I ate all the muffins), and you know what, maybe I'll venture up to the shop to get new batteries for my alarm clock, I don't know. God Bless Snow Days...

A Bedroom

The lonesome Texas Sun was setting low
And in the rear-view mirror I watched it go

Lying on the floor looking up at the half-blank walls dotted with blobs of blue-tack, which stayed stuck there on the white expanse when all the colourful posters were ripped off, rolled up, and sealed in boxes.
When it gets late like this the cold half-light makes it look like it was someone else's room,
a room no longer in use;
the pile of books is a shadow toppling over against the skirting boards and the little bits of crinkled paper everywhere and the unmade bed are not the signs of lively clutter,
but of a sudden abandonment.

I can still see the wind in her golden hair
I close my eyes for a moment I'm still there

Shadows of trees glide across the walls stained orange in the descending city night,
without a sound, back and forth,
and everything else is completely
still.
But you can almost hear the echo of the door being shut for the last time with a short, sharp, weighted sound, deliberate as a full stop on an old typewriter or a hammer driving home a nail.

I wanted to plaster these walls with memories and little projects, maybe get the heating fixed and sit up here just because I wanted to, listening to CDs; wanted to:
it seems childish now. I'd feel like a vandal scratching the mural of cartoon strips whose idea had
so excited me when I was smaller, like someone engraving their initials in a wooden school desk for a legacy.

It's too late now.
The floor's cold with my back on it.
(why wasn't the heating ever fixed?)
The colourful posters are all ripped from the walls, leaving them patched with plaster where the blue-tack took the paint with it, awful-looking. The toppled pile of books is a splaying
of envelopes under the front door of a house where someone used to live.

The bluest eyes in Texas are haunting me tonight
Like the stars that fill the midnight sky her memory fills my mind

A siren swells in the distance.
Everything outside the window is deep purple except for one lonely orange street lamp.

I don't live here anymore.

A Very Adult Blog

I'm going to take up from where I left off last blog, when I was speculating on when I might be able to get a copy of the recording of my composition with the aforementioned choir. The answer: an indeterminate, possibly interminable amount of time. Yes... The plot thickens...

You see, it turns out that the project which gave us wannabe composers the chance to do this in the first place was (up until the end of last year as far as I can make out) state-funded (that dreaded phrase). As everybody has been reminded again and again for the past forever or so it would seem, the economy is pretty much shit at the moment. And as everybody also knows, we have a government whose first priorities don't even lie in education or a properly organised health care system, let alone anywhere near the arts. So I suppose it should hardly be surprising that the funding for a project such as this was probably the very first thing on the government's list to be removed when they realised they needed to cut loose a few sandbags. Hardly surprising at least to someone who keeps even remotely in the know about current affairs... it certainly caught me a bit by surprise anyway, me in my little 'my daddy's job is secure enough that I don't have to give a toss about anything except where I'm going interrailing next summer' bubble.

Upon further inquiry, I found out that not only has the possibility that the project would be continued in coming years been completely written off, but they've actually turned off the tap on the funding for the current project as well, which is obviously well underway. So everything regarding the recordings, everything, has been thrown up in the air, and no one knows what's happening at all at all.

(At this point I'm going to go very out of character and try to step back and consider the position of someone other than my horribly selfish self in this mess.)

Thinking about it, it's deductable that the choir who were running this programme are no longer being paid for there work regarding it. And, after educating myself on the matter a bit, I've found that they're no longer being funded for ANY of there projects. They were reliant on the state funding which up until so recently they had been receiving. That day at the recording in DCU, they weren't even being paid for. Now, I know it's difficult to put forward a case for their right to funding at a time like this, and it's undeniable that there are much more necessary causes which themselves have been cut; I'm not going to go as far as saying the choir deserve some state support more than, say, a school for the disabled that's had to tell it's students to go find somewhere else to learn as the state in cutting its losses and abandoning you (let's face it, you're not an investment that's going to 'pay off'). But at the same time, the waste of talent that the end of a choir like this, considered by many as the best of its kind in the country, a choir that can lend itself to faciliate and to inspire young people to write their own music, just seems unjustifiable to me. It is a travesty, plain and simple.

I'm a completely self-professed airhead when it comes this whole buisness of the recession, but based on the little I know about the economic climate, job losses and funding cuts, I'm brought to wonder at what is being done to invest in the future, and I don't mean next year or the year after that. My english teacher at school, who we'll call K, is adamant on this subject about the need for investment in young people and in education. You only have to look back through the countries history to see that that is true; the building of primary schools throughout the entire country back in a time where the economic issues weren't looking so hot either was the biggest single investment ever made into the country's education, and the pay-off is plain to see in our highly educated workforce and in the number of international buisnesses who choose to set up their bases here. So why isn't education the buzzword of these recessionary times? Why aren't people saying now's the time to pour investment into schools?
Another thing K likes to say is that when you were born in Hollis Street 18 years ago, you had no greater or lesser potential than a child born on the same day whose parent's were not as financially well off. The difference is, he now has a 50% chance of ending up in jail at some time in his life, while you have a 50% chance of being his barrister. Whatever about those statistics... A more obvious example of the failures that still exist in the education system, there ain't.

If people never in their life receive support or inspiration to achieve what potentially could achieve, what chance are they going to have in these gloomy times to succeed in making a happy life for themselves? The source of this kind of support and inspiration for many comes from the home, though not for all, but it should certainly come from school for everyone. Not even necessarily in the classroom... on the pitch, in an after-school club, in the friends you make there, even in the Young Scientist for god's sake. Or in a music programme which gives you a little bit of focus, a little bit of a nod to say 'you might actually have a few ideas there', a sense that you've made something real, a look through the window into the world of greatest singers you're likely to find.

Oh god, reading over this I cringe at how unbelieveably up myself I am...

But ye, it pretty much comes down to the fact that the government are a shower o' bastards who should know what really matters. Capitalist swine and all that, blahblahblha... But seriously, this blog could have been written by mashing up a tape recording of my english classes from the past two years and a website of the 10 most greatest inspirational speeches of all time. oh dear...

Les Choristes

Ok, so I said I'd explain about this 'Composition Workshop'(it was a workshop) to which I referred in my previous crap list blog. Now, a very reputable Irish choir have for the past few years been running a workshop for Leaving Cert. students in which you get the chance to write a piece of music for the choir, to hear them perform it, and to have it recorded and put on a cd, and they do it all for free out of the goodness of their generous, musical hearts. So one day about a year ago our music teacher Ms. D suggested a few of us enter... etc.

After a long time spent not doing it, and then a considerably shorter and more rushed period spent franticly to get it finished some time back in October, the day of the great recording finally arrived last Wednesday, and all the villagers rejoiced and were merry. A motley crew of music freaks (of which I was a member) made the long and perilous journey out to DCU, their absence excused notes already written into their journals, in some cases twice for good measure. Having just enough money TO THE CENT for bus fare, and narrowly escaping an encounter with a 12year old knacker girl who was speaking very loudly on her mobile indeed some way down the bus, we made our way into the grounds, and ascended the spiral staircase to the recording room. I was pissing my pants so fucking much you'd have thought they were that shade of dark, slightly shiny blue to begin with.

So we ran through the pieces, as you do, and they sang as amazingly as expected, and better. Precedings were slow and, even though there were only 4 of us with compositions to be performed. Because of our lack of experience in the area of writing music for a professional choir, or for anything else, it has to be said. They would sing it their way, beautifully, we in our I'm-a-bigshot-composer-now way would want it another and make our little comments, and any suggestion any of us were bold enough to make was greeted with a number of expert throat clearing noises, and our vague suggestions would be discretely dismissed for the choir director's superior, more, shall we say, experienced musical decisions. This buisness was pretty tiring, and we were given a 15minute break after the first 2 pieces had been recorded.

And so for the last few days I've been restraining myself from pestering Ms. D with questions about when the recordings will be ready so that I can begin flaunting my talent, slipping the cd on the background whenever people are around and saying 'oh this old thing?'. Though I said the piece had been a rushed job, I actually did put a fair bit of work into it, and I was pretty pleased with what I ended up with to be honest. So I'm literally bursting to hear it again. In fairness it's quite a novelty to have your own music performed by such a esteemed and talented choir when you've never written anything before and are unlikely to again. And if anyone, you know, wants a copy of the CD, just send me a blank CD and a tenner and you'll get it within 5-10 working days.

A List of Things I'm Looking Forward To

1. Interrailing - Turns out people do enjoy having fun - we're going BABAY! I have this unignorable feeling that it's going to be absolutely epic on toast. Since we've finally booked our flights the whole thing seems more official, not just one of those up-in-the-air projects where you go 'we so totally have to...' and then never bother to do it. The sense of freedom jetting off to the Continent after all the nastiness of the exams is finished with is going to be mindblowing. To say that I can't wait hardly expresses it.

Also...There's a stack of hash brownies in Amsterdam with my name on it...mmmMMMmmm!...ahem

2. Latin Trip - It's gona be maaaad craic; with Mr. O'Suilleabhain along for the ride how could it be anything else? Don't really know what the weathers going to be like in Rome in February, but I'm firmly optimistic thats it's going to be better than in this shithole.

3. Panto - Sad to say it, but the Christmas season wouldn't have been complete for me without a trip to the Gaiety with the whole Brady Bunch that is our family. I'm told it's Cinderella this year (by 'I'm told' I actually mean 'I researched online to find out, because I'm that pathetic - LOVE ME') which is very fitting, as I used to watch this movie over and over when I was 4, embarrassingly enough. Hopefully matters will be preceded by a delicious (free) meal at somewhere reasonably fancy, and I'll get to buy one of those colourful spinning things they sell for a fortune a pop at these kind's of 'events'...not to be missed

4. Lanza - Oh the potatoes... with a big dirty mountain of green mojo on the side fur dippin'... who wouldn't want to have sex with that? Spending time in Lisa's 'happy place' as she calls it is going to be QUITE SOMETHING. Once I've finished getting Ann/Sue on board with our plans and it's a done deal I can sit back and wait, drooling.

5. KERRY 2K9 - Presuming I pass my driving test, a major trip to the gee, and beyond, is in store. I'm going to make the bold statement of suggesting that this will be the THE minibreak to top in the years to come.

6. Being Able to Drive - After only one lesson so far I'm already kind of hooked on the idea of being properly mobile for the first time.

7. Getting my Music Composition on CD - I'm not going to explain this one here; I'll devote my next blog to it. See how I leave you in suspense to keep you coming back to read my insubstantial whingings?

8. College - A new beginning would be very welcome at the moment. 6th year can't end soon enough.

9. Seeing Crystal Castles live sometime this year - because it IS going to happen.

Planning for the future instead of studying FTW

SAD - '2k9, not so fine'

Yes it's that time of year again, the time of dark January mornings and early evenings and going back to school, the warm, fuzzy edges of christmas time having been shaken sharply into focus, and now we can see clearly enough to realise just how fucking bleak the immediate future actually is. The Mocks are coming. Everyone is always in bad humour. Summer is an eternity away. No (reasonably) good weather. No FUN.

I'm pretty convinced I suffer from a condition known as SAD (though I'm equally convinced its not a condition of mind, rather a kind of animal instinct). For those of you not familiar with the term, this doesn't mean that being a pathetic loser has been declared a medical condition. SAD stands for 'Seasonal Affective Disorder', and those who suffer from it are said to react more severely than others to good or bad weather; for example, a really nice sunny day might put a SAD sufferer in high spirits for no other particular reason, making them feel relaxed, healthy, energetic and enthusiastic, while a dreary grey drizzly day could send them plummeting into the depths of depression, unable to sleep, uncertain about the future, and uncharacteristically short-tempered.
Now, I've pretty much trawled the interweb for information about SAD, and I've done all the 'do YOU have SAD?' personality tests you like, and I have come to the conclusion that I am one of the many people who suffer from it, whether or not it is actually an unnatural occurance in a person. Every year, come January, I get the blues in a maaaaaaaajor way man (again I stress my view that it's pretty obvious that everyone gets them too, but that's not going to stop me complaining about it);
I find it difficult to get up in the mornings, I have less desire to engage in conversations with people, I find my friends irritating all the time (but when I'm not with them I mourne whatever fun I might be missing out on), I've little motivation to do anything proactive other than plan to do things in the future, and the simple pleasures like stuffing my face, watching tv, playing the piano, drinking, just don't have their usual ability to raise my spirits.

It just one of those things. I know it'll pass, it always does, but it's easier to say that than to believe it. This time of year is really lonely; everyone's got a heavy workload, and they're tired, and because of that they all piss eachother off. I'd love to meet up with all the people I haven't seen in yonks, but I bet if I did I'd just have nothing interesting to say and everyone would get on my nerves. And I could be wrong about that, but as you may be able to tell I'm pretty pessemistic right now.

And ANOTHER thing! Our 6th holiday, initially planned to be interrailing, is pretty much fallen through, as no-one is 'up for it'. I don't even care if we don't go interrailing, I just want to go somewhere where I can have fun with my friends, I don't give a shite where or for how long or how many people are going, but this trip being a shambles is just another monumentally shite thing about the present.....

ugh i need a break....fucking shitness of January!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And NOBODY had better say anything like 'onwards and upwards' in the coming weeks, or they can just fuck off.

SERIOUSLY