Introducing Mr Crazy

Hear that? That's the sound of awkwardness. The sound of many numbers and a lot of letters that we don't need and would rather were scrapped to make way for the important stuff. I'm talking about November. November is hands down the most boring and pointless month of the year for many reasons, which I shall now list:

- It always lacks any exciting events.

- It's nearly the end of the year but not quite.

- It's bloody freezing but refuses to accept the welcome of snow.

- It's the third month of the academic year causing an abundance of 'cbf'itis

- It's the month of dread wherein mock exams are usually done.

- It's just a long 30 day wait until advent calendars can be officially opened. 

Alas, my dear friends, there is only a mere FIVE HOURS  to go before the mighty month of December. I have waited 11 MONTHS for December for one reason and one reason only. Drumroll please, and do be upstanding for the most tremendous event of 2010 and possibly of past centuries...HHHEEEAAATTTTTTTTT!

...what do you mean? Christmas? Who's Christ? Is that pronounced ChrisT like TreyC? Anyway, stop interrupting me with your insignificant affairs and let's go back to this amazingness. It is indeed, finally, slowly approaching those four !!!!!! days. Like a lion advancing on it's delicious prey. Yes, just like that. Then going in for the KILL AND RAVAGING THE BEING IT HAS GRASPED WITHIN ITS PAWS...oh. 

Remember that little thing I went to, I don't know if you'll remember it, it was called THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE feat. DAVINA MCCALL. It might ring a bell. Well I am preparing myself for identical mental happenings, which may include being speechless; giggling; gasping; within self screaming; speaking a language that has yet to be invented, etc etc. 

When I first got my work experience placement at Heat I went ape shit crazy. Proper loony screaming wetting self crazy. Said crazy symptoms lasted for around a week before realisation that I had to wait a whole year set in. So for the past 11 months Mr Crazy has been lurking at the back of my brain quietly snoozing, and at intervals would stir from his slumber and dip a loony toe into my active brain, causing an eye pop or a corner of mouth smile or maybe even (if I was lucky) a short burst of adrenaline. But now, oh now, Mr Crazy is wide awake and has adopted a penchant for divebombing into my frontal lobe and releasing clinically insane adrenaline through my veins and even to my voice box causing an excited MEEEEEP every now and then. 

Now taking Mr Crazy's antics into account, I am worried for the health, safety and sanity for everyone at Heat Towers, because this could go either way...

ONE - I could channel Mr Crazy into the creative and personality part of my brain and put him to good use, proving my experience to be a useful one and coming out of it with pride and knowing I made a good impression on the Heaters and that they enjoyed my company and ambitious and innovative ways.

TWO - Mr Crazy could completely take over and cause me to be a complete and utter wreck for the said four days, making me silent and awkward at some points, or obnoxious and embarrassing at others. I will be a fool and come home every day in tears with paranoia seeping through me and will therefore combust into a small pile of dust on the tube. I'd prefer the former way but let us let fate take its course.

I've waited years for this. Heat is the reason I wanted to become a feffin' journalist for feff's sake. I remember picking up a copy for the first time and buzzing with excitement that a bulb had just been lit in my brain, that I wanted to write stuff. Funny stuff, inspirational stuff, stuff that people would remember. The little man at the local newsagent used to have a fresh copy waiting for me on his desk every Tuesday morning before school. I'd read it in a certain order, passing it around at break and lunch, cutting out parts I wanted to keep. I did my whole GCSE Art final piece on Heat. MY BIRTHDAY CARD WAS HEAT...

Now I have a subscription and launch myself onto my bed every Tuesday, ripping the cellophane and spend devoted hours flicking through the pages. I'm going to BE there in 20 days. Me! There! 20 days! SCREAMFALLSEXPLODESRUNSBANGSBREATHES. I'll be fine right? Yeah. Just fine. Nothing to worry about. *leg jitters, eye twitches* Now if you'll excuse me, I have some patient waiting to do. X

CCHHARRRGGGEEE!!!!

GUESS WHAT?! NO SERIOUSLY, GUESS! I'M NOT TELLING YOU SO JUST TRY! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, MY CAPS LOCK KEY IS FINE. OH FINE I'LL TELL YOU.

pauljchambers: Yes, probably to the detriment of my mental wellbeing, I am appealing the decision as best I can. Purple firebananas.


WAHOOO! *dons party hat, blows kazoo, goes crazy with clackers* Paul Chambers is officially appealing to the High Court. We're standing our ground men! And ladies. MELADIES. Which happens to sound like melodies, which is a nice tune, meaning THIS IS A NICE THING. I'm going slightly off track.

HOWEVER, apart from the fact that this is brilliant news that Paul is going to carry on fighting his case, it does mean that he needs a hell of a lot of money to do it. £10,000 in fact. Can he pay that alone? No. It's a bloody hefty sum that, to prove to old Jackie Davo that he's a joker. So help him! Even a small amount will help, and seeing as I don't have a credit/debit card "I don't trust you Louise." I need people to do it for me. Here's the link  http://bit.ly/be8ike go give him all your wages for the next five years, then a bit more a donation of your choice, ahem.

NEWS JUST IN *presses finger to ear to hear from the gallery* There's even more exciting news to add the money news relating to the other more important news that involves A GIGIGIGIG. A gig. With comedians and such like. Awesome right? BE THERE. Or be spherical.

Another thing to BE THERE for is the High Court day. Hellsyeah I'm gonna be there *starts perfecting mum's signature* and I plan to BE THERE BE THERE, ifyaknowhattimean. I plan to awake at a time I haven't decided yet, I then plan to tweet that I am awake and rearing to kick some law ass, I will then wear this

and make my way to London with an 'I AM SPARTACUS' sign on my head. Once there, I will tweet my arrival and gather the troops. We shall have a serious pep talk in our matching outfits, although one member will be dressed as a squirrel. I'm yet to decide who shall bear that fate. Once briefed, we shall line up in a 'don't cross us, bitch' like formation, weapons at the ready,  waiting for the countdown. When the large oak doors to the courtroom dramatically fling open, silence will fall for approximately 5.25 seconds, before a large bellowing voice coming from somewhere within me will boom "ON THREE SOLDIERS. ONE. TWO. TTHHRRREEEEE!!!!!!" and then WE SHALL DANCE with our heads held high, fingers-a-tweeting, march into that courtroom to hear the judge quietly announce "Ohhhh, I get it now. LOL."

THEN WE SHALL ERUPT WITH JOY, THROW OUR HELMETS IN THE AIR (not a euphamism), AND SURF CROWD PAUL BACK TO IRELAND, VIA ROBIN HOOD AIRPORT.

You in? Cos this shit just got realz.

365 days later...

Well, here we are. Exactly a year ago I clicked 'PUBLISH POST' for the very first time. Probably the most important click of my life.

Life

Righto, first blog ever, here goes...

*realises I'm A Celeb is about to start and rushes off downstairs*

Ok where was I, ah yeah first blog. So I was thinking if I wanna be a journalist, work in tv/media, all that jazz, I should start writing these for practise, getting my opinion across and get used to to writing 'articles' which I suppose these can be called. Oh yeah, 16 and thinking way ahead ;) Doesn't happen often, might as well grab it with both hands.

Over the past couple of days I've been thinking about my future loads, probably too much to be honest, it's driving me crazy. Looking at what subjects to take at A level, courses I can take, Unis to go to, getting different opinions from people, I didn't realise the choice! I'm scared I'm gonna go wrong somewhere. Found out that I'm crazily lucky though. I have the most amazing friends, live in a pretty nice area that's conveniently close to the centre of London, go to a really good school and I'm pretty smart so should get good GCSE's *shudders at that combination of letters*. I've made some new friends too recently, thanks to twitter (which is probably the best creation ever invented...ever, I'm addicted to it, made for celeb stalking, I mean er following, taking an...interest...yeah) Jonny Nutz, Grace Dent, and everyone at Heat have been amazing to me lately, giving me advice and telling me what they did to be where they are now. They're such an inspiration to me, one day I'll meet them all and tell them in person what they mean to me. Well, unless I end up working for them *sigh* yes pleeeaasseee. I keep thinking it's fate I've met these people, I also think that if something happens, it's meant to be, so I really think everything that's happened to me lately was meant to happen, my life's meant to lead out how it's planning at the moment, and I couldn't be happier. Like meeting Caz and Grazio in circumstances that I wasn't even hoping and searching for, it just happened! Caz's husband works for Off The Kerb, the agency for comic genius' like Michael McIntyre, Lee Evans and Alan Carr, and so does Grazio, I spent about nearly 3 hours chatting to him last night and he was so lovely and gave me loads of advice too. He's Michael's tour manager at the moment! Sitting in the O2 on the 3rd watching the best comedian ever, looking around at the thousands of people in there with me, and all the 50 odd dates of the same amounts of people made me think that I am actually one of the luckiest 16 year old girls alive right now. Thinking to myself 'I'm probably the only person in here who actually knows the people working on this show...' was so crazy! And to think that it was a year ago that I first met Michael in Southend, after one of his shows, he was soooo lovely and I remember it so well, but would never in a million years have thought that a year later I would have seen him twice again, met him another time and actually spoken and became sort of friends with his manager and agent's wife. Even writing it down now is making me think WTH! 

So yeah, that's my life right now. Pretty damn lucky, but still stressful, but I can't be arsed to explain that side now, it can be saved for another blog. *scrolls up* bloody hell this is a long deep first blog, I never write so seriouslly! I could get used to this...

Over and out ;)

I'm glad to have now acquired the skill of watching I'm A Celeb AT THE SAME TIME as writing blogs.

I remember writing that. I remember writing it and thinking it was really long the most amazing piece of writing ever. Haha. Looking back it's embarrassing, blimey. But it was all true! I thought I was the luckiest girl alive then, speaking to Caz. Caz who I still talk to and have met. I couldn't believe that I'd been talking to those people on Twitter. I freaked out everytime I got a reply  from them. Cor if I could tell Louise back then what would happen to her in a year because of setting up this blog. Who she'd be talking to. She wouldn't believe it, course she wouldn't. She didn't think she was capable of anything.

It was three months after I started that I got my first paid journalism job. I thought it was AMAZING, but weird. I thought 'What the hell? Why? He doesn't know me? What does he want from me? Not surprised, a stranger was asking me to work and pay me for it. But if only I knew what that one job would do for me. It wasn't long after that that I started talking to Sali, my now oracle. I got my work experience placement at Heat. I met Paul and Sali in person. I did more paid work. I had lunch with Paul and Sali. I did more paid work. I met DAVINA MCCALL.

All because of this blog.

This blog that got me awarded Channel 4's Young Blogger 2010. An actual award for writing whatever shit comes into my mind. I'll never get used to people reading what I write. I'll always believe that there's nothing special about me, and that I'm literally a normal moody 17 year old who prefers to ramble and rant to an inanimate screen rather than to an actual human being. Freak.

As I said a year ago today, 'I keep thinking it's fate I've met these people, I also think that if something happens, it's meant to be, so I really thinking everything that's happening to me lately was meant to happen, my life's meant to lead out how it's planning to at the moment.' Oh, little Louise, if only you knew how right you were, you bloody genius.

WELL DONE CHAPS. Team effort. Hip hip hooray and all that. Let's roll on with year two. Oh and to you, yes YOU, thanks. I'd be nowhere without you all. *runs, jumps, smothers you all with hugs and snogs* I love ya innit. X

Hey Twitter, I've met your terrorist

I've met a few people on Twitter over the past year. They've all been nice and pretty much just how I expected them to be after exchanging emails and tweets and speaking to people who've already met them. They're known for being successful and lovely and have tons of followers because of that. But the two people from Twitter I met last night are different. They tick those boxes for the wrong reasons. And they are two of the loveliest, bravest and bloody amazingest (yes it's a word, and what) people I have ever met. FACTOID.


London was cold and busy last night. I was on Oxford Street with my "I'm NOT leaving you in London on your own on a Friday night!" mum finding somewhere to have dinner. We went to Strada, obvs, and after pleading for a table we got comfy and I ordered a delightful rare delicacy of SPAG BOL.


"So who are we meeting here?" 
"Well you know the Twitter Joke Trial fiasco?"
"*silence, tumbleweed*" 
"Okay well basically this man threatened to blow up an airport and he was arrested and is now going through court stuff." 
".......I do worry about what you get yourself into Louise."


She doesn't understand. She will never understand. She will never get Twitter.

I've wanted to blog on the #twitterjoketrial for months, but every time I've gone to do it, I end up just repeating words that everyone else on the bloody Twitter planet has already said. It's ridiculous. It's a joke. It's fucked up Paul Chambers' life and the lives of his family, because of a few odd people who clearly have no sense of humour and spend their lives wrapped up in cotton wool. Well thank you very much Few Odd People (let's call them FOP), you've now transferred some of your suffocating cotton wool to Paul and basically the whole of Twitter. And we don't like you, FOP. We're gonna stick by Paul until the very end of this shitxperience when his life regains many LOLs and when you realise what fools you are. FOP OFF. AMEN. *collapses*


Well that was a nice speech/rant. A sprant. Where was I? Where am I? WHO AM I?! Oh. *ahem*


After having my nose pressed against the restaurant window for half an hour, metaphorically, I spotted a rather tall @pauljchambers and a rather wrapped up @crazycolours coming in. Two hours later we were full of Italian (food not people) and conversationed (I should make my own dictionary) out. We (I say 'we', it was more just me, Paul and CrazyColours ((that's her REAL NAME)) cos mum had no clue what we were talking about most of the time, bless her) talked about Twitter, blogging, the trial, The Apprentice, Ireland, London, school, and other stuff. C'est amazeballs. It was like on Twitter. But in person. I know right, ACTUAL conversation, whodathunkit.


CONCLUSIONS *pushes glasses up, smokes pipe, strokes beard*: They are the best people from Twitter I've ever met. They're polite, interesting, interested, chatty, friendly, lovely, funny and a whole other hoard of adjectives. And they most definitely do not deserve all the crap they've had to go through over the past year.  If he's a terrorist then I'm an evil unicorn. Yeah. AN EVIL UNICORN.

Oh, and referring back to my earlier "WHO AM I?!" question, I am Spartacus. 

The little things

1. Hearing a song  from your childhood.

2. Johnson's baby lotion.

3. Silent roads on the walk home from school.

4. The sound of the wind.

5. Waking up thinking it's a weekday when it's not.

6. Cuddles from your grandparents.

7. Sand between your toes.

8. A beautiful sky at dawn or dusk.

9. Your mum's smell.

10.  Crunching through autumn leaves.

11. Watching home videos and going through old photos.

12. Standing on a sunlit carpet.

13. Daydreaming.

14. Exchanging smiles with a passing stranger.

15. The feel of hot water on your skin.

The beautiful  things in life. What are your 15? Comment below or write a blog post of your own. Forget about the hassle in your life at the moment to think about what you love and appreciate. Enough of the negative this week. X

Bit of red paper on your shirt?

I won't lie, I'm a tad worried about this post I'm about to write. It's serious, controversial and could well be personal for some people. But I had a chat with my dad and we both agreed that I should do it, for a lot of people's sakes, but especially for Jon Snow's.


What's the first thing you think of when you think of Remembrance Day? Poppies? Yeah, me too. Why? Because that's the flower that grew after World War I? Maybe. More likely though because everyone (on TV) wears a poppy around this time. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that you shouldn't wear a poppy, but why have people suddenly thought it necessary to wear one? Why has Jon Snow been branded with a disrespectful title because he's not?


For the past week people have been offering poppies in the common room in exchange for a donation. I thought of getting one but whilst rummaging around in my bag for a spare 20p (er, hello, there were aeros in the venders and you know how I like my aeros) I pondered about why I exactly wanted one. My conclusion: Flowers look pretty, it will make me feel good, everyone else is wearing one. Not for the real reason, to remember those who bravely fought and risked their lives for us in war. I have a poppy on my Twitter avatar but I wouldn't have if I hadn't seen others 'wearing' it. For remembering, of course, but it looks nice too. Poppies should be personal, not a trend.


I've even seen people blinging up their poppies with sequins to make them glam.... Oh right, no complaints about that then? *facepalm* SURELY THAT'S WORSE THAN NOT WEARING ONE?!


Jon Snow won't wear a poppy until Remembrance Day and I don't have a problem with that. I squinted my eyes a smidge and got a bit fidgety when I found out but only because of the backlash that I knew it would cause. But I can guarantee to everyone who thinks he's a 'bad man' that he is one of the loveliest men I have ever met and, although yes he does stand his ground which could been seen as stubborn, would never ever want to hurt anyone's feelings. And I totally understand why he's done it! Every single person you see on TV at the moment is wearing a poppy, but there's no way in hell that it's on their own accord. No way. It's fixed on them just before they go on air so their image isn't put down. They're not necessarily wearing it to remember the brave, and to be honest in some cases they won't even know what the poppies are for. They're following the herd. "Don't be a sheep Louise, just cos your friends have iPhones doesn't mean you need one." 


Jon is in no way disrespectful. He's speaking out and saying that he shouldn't have to wear a poppy just because people tell him to. He will wear a poppy on Remembrance Day and pay his respects in his own way. Good on him! "But he's setting a bad example." No he's not. For a start, his concluding film The Art Of War from Channel 4's The Genius of British Art series was shown last night. A film which he is deeply proud of. 


Stripping the meaning away from the poppy, you're really wearing some red paper on you with some green plastic and if I was going to be really pernickety I could say that you're wasting trees. You don't need a poppy to remember. Grow your own poppies if you want one and just make the donation.


Lastly, there are some people who don't just remember the ones we've lost in war on one particular day or period of days. They remember all year round. They remember in their dreams. They don't have to remember because they are reminded every day that there's an empty place at the dinner table where a father, brother or son should be. They don't wear poppies all the time. Would you dare say that they are being impertinent? 


Disrespectful? Why did you really 'buy' your poppy?

My fwend Max wote a storwy...

Max is small. Max has big hair. Max is Matt Smith's twin. Max is bendy. Max is a bit weird. Max made me laugh today and I feel the need to share it with you. Why? Because I think Max's geniusness (yes it's a word, and what) needs to be known to all my stranger friends. It's how I roll. #louisehasnorealfriends #louisetalkstoherselfinthethirdperson #wrongsocialnetworkingsitelouise

I might rename him Magic Max