My worst nightmare

How come that everyone else gets their choice of work experience placement and I don't?

I put on my form; FASHION. I wrote it very clearly - block capitals and everything. It's all I've ever wanted to do. It's my dream - everyone knows I want my own label eventually. But did I get it? Ooooohhhhh no!

I wasn't even fussed when the great pink blob first told me she'd got me into a clothing factory as a pattern cutter for two weeks. Ok, it wasn't the design studio I'd hoped for, or even a boutique in the High Street; I was going to be cutting out old men's trousers and kid's vests and stuff, but it was still fashion, wasn't it? It was vaguely associated with the fashion trade (ish).

But then, just my luck - the factory burnt down! And before you even go there - no, I wasn't anywhere near at the time.

So what does my esteemed head of year come up with instead?

An inner city farm!!!!!!!!! Can you believe it? I am soooooooooo mad. I didn't even know till I turned up at the factory at 9 this morning to see a pile of smouldering rubble. And then Mrs Blobby rang me on my mobile and told me to go back into school to sort it out - and this is what she comes up with? Could it be any further removed from the career I'm hoping for? I don't think so!

Of course it doesn't help that Daniel is at a radio station (which is what he asked for) and Seema is in some boffin place lab working as a lab assistant (she gets to wear a white coat - which isn't my idea of haute couture, but it floats her boat) and Arl is helping out at the local nursery school like she wanted.

Why does this always happen to me? I'm supposed to be there at 7 in the morning. SEVEN! Can you believe it? And the guy said to bring my wellies - yeah, right! Like I own wellies.

I've said it before, but I'll say it again - MY LIFE SUCKS!

Malteser Squeezer

TGIF - big time.

OK - the worst thing about being in Year 10 is the humungous amount of exams we have to do, but on the other hand, we get STUDY LEAVE! (Aka - time off school) YAY!

And this afternoon's exam was Geography which, thank God, I don't do. (I wouldn't know my Med from my Menai.) So, I was all set for an early weekend when Spud ran up to me and handed me a box of Maltesers. Great, I thought. I know Spud's a bit of a nerd and he's had this crush on me for, like, forever but he can be quite sweet - except when he tells people I'm his girlfriend. Ok, Ok, I know I've ventured down that path once (yeah, once too often) but I'm thinking everyone's allowed the occasional mistake, right? Anyway, to get back to this lunchtime.

`Ooooo,' I said. `For me? How kind.'

`I thought you deserved them after a whole week of exams.' Spud was standing there grinning and leaning his cheek towards me like he wanted me to give him a kiss, but I'm thinking: acne alert! No way!

`Cheers, Spud. That's really sweet of you,' I said, moving swiftly on. I opened up the box and was busy handing them round my friends (you see, generosity is another of my good qualities) when this foghorn boomed out from behind me.

It was my old foe and adversary, Mrs Blobby. `Magenta Orange! No eating in the corridors!'

Which is another stupid rule this school has. Honestly! The only place you're supposed to eat is in the canteen. How ridiculous is that? I mean they'll be the first to get worried if they end up with a school full of anorexics because we're not allowed to nibble when we're hungry. `You know the drill Magenta,' she yelled. `Bring them here.'

Brilliant - now my present was going to be confiscated and I'd only had two myself. Life is so unfair sometimes. But just as she stepped forward to grab them, Billy O'Dowd (the career criminal of our tutor group) ran past me and knocked my arm. Running is banned in the corridors too, but did she yell at him - I don't think so! They always go for the soft targets. Plus, she was probably going to eat my Maltesers but she could hardly eat Billy O'Dowd, could she?

Anyway, my box of Maltesers went flying up in the air and then splattered down again like a chocolate rainstorm. Spud was picking them up, then rubbing them on his jumper and putting them back in the box - eeeewww!

`Fetch a broom!' she bellowed. Then the Great Pink Blob lurched forward ( I think she was trying to stop people crunching them into the floor of the corridor) but her foot slipped on the Maltesers and skidded forwards.

There was this windmill-like flailing of arms and a wail like an injured walrus as one of her legs shot forwards and the other went sideways. Then, with a momentary flash of lurid pink underwear (ugh - gross!) both legs went up in the air and she did a cartoon-type crash onto her back. It felt like an earthquake and at first I thought she was dead. The whole corridor went silent. Then:

`MAGENTAAAAAAAAAAAA!'

Ooops!

So, instead of having an afternoon off, I'm sitting in her office (supposedly) writing an essay on `The Dangers of Eating in School.'

Life sucks!

New Book - Yay!

OMG! We had our mock mock-English exam this morning. And Science this afternoon. What a nightmare - don't even get me started on the subject. I'm in shock.

But the good news is - the new book all about me is coming out on the 19th of this month and the publisher sent me some advance copies. Wow! You should see the cover, it's amazing. The book's called Magenta Sings the Blues and it's all about what happened earlier this year when our school did Battle of the Bands. There's a bit too about when I went to my first no-adults party (oh my days, talk about the night from hell) and my first rock concert (ditto - with bells on). Of course it also mentions about becoming a big sister, which is sooooooo the best thing that's happened to me for, like, forever.

But anyway, I'm not going to give away the plot, so you'll just have to read it for yourselves.

Now, if only I could find my exam timetable, I'd know what I was supposed to be revising for tomorrow - although I could just pop round to Daniel's and ask him. That sounds way more interesting than stupid revision. Yes, I think that's the way to go - defo!

Practise, practise, practise till becomes your practice.

Arl was asking me why I haven't been writing my blog so much recently - which I thought was pretty dumb question considering that she's got even less work to do than me (reference here to the fact that my sadistic father sends me to a tutor every Saturday so I get my school homework PLUS homework from my tutor) and she's always stressed to the max - so how does she think I feel?

Just about every teacher is giving us tests to get us ready for the exams after half term - which are mock exams for our real mocks in January. And when you think that the mocks are practice exams for the real things next year, then the mocks for the mocks are practices for the practices. So all the test we're doing at the moment are practices for the practices for the practices. And if anyone's even tempted to say `practice makes perfect' forget it, because all practice does is make me very peed off!

Anyway, Daniel's coming over tonight. We're supposed to be revising together but I've got this new sugar plum sparkly lip gloss, so I think I'll need to try it out on his lips. After all, if I'm ever going to be a perfect kisser, I'll need all the practice I can get!

A load of old bulls!

I know it's been a whole month since I wrote but, to be honest - I was in some godforsaken hole in Yorkshire for two of those weeks - without broadband OR mobile phone coverage (talk about the dark ages!) and it's taken me two more weeks to recover!

Let me fill you in on the holiday (ha! I thought holidays were supposed to be restful - well not this one!) First of all it took about a gazillion hours to get there along roads that were getting smaller and smaller by the mile - motorway, then dual carriageway, then single line traffic till eventually we were crawling down this track that was more mud than tarmac and Dad had to keep backing up to let other cars and tractors and lorries and even sheep go past.

Belinda was going all dewy eyed: `Oh isn't it beautiful...' (Excuse me!) and: `Smell that wonderful fresh air...' (if that air was fresh, they'd better start making air fresheners called pigs' muck!) and; `Isn't it magnificent?' (Yeah, if you like the colour green - which, if you remember my bridesmaid trauma you'll know, I DON'T!)

Anyway, we finally got to Margaret and Ed's ("Call us Grandma and Granddad" - er... NO! because you're not my grandma and granddad) and I was put in this poky little room at the top of the house with a sloping ceiling so that I banged my head if I stood up too near the window. They might not have noticed but I am slightly taller than your average 2 year old.

I spent ages trying to get reception but Ed said the only place round here was up at the top of the hill - great! What he didn't tell me was that the hill went up and down like a roller coaster, so that every time I thought I was almost there, it dipped down again and then I had an even bigger hill to climb. Ggggrrr! By the time I got to the top I was exhausted - and I still only had one bar on my phone. At least I did get through to Daniel and managed to say about three words before it broke up, so I had to go down again. Still, I thought, that won't be too bad because downhill's always easier. But when I turned round - oh my God! There was a whole herd of bulls staring straight at me! Aaaagggh!

Now as you will know, exercise of any sort is not my favourite pastime, but on this occasion, I thought running was preferable to being gored by a bull - and lucky for me I'd got my new trainers on. So I set off - but I'd only gone a few meters when the bulls started running after me - and they were faster than me. If I wasn't careful I was going to get trampled to death in a stampede. But the worst thing was, I was running downhill so I was getting faster and faster and building up so much momentum that, when I slipped in this disgusting heap of ... well I'm sure you can imagine... I couldn't stop myself. I went head over heels, tumbling over and over, gathering speed and manure like a huge stinking snowball - or, in my case - cowpat-ball - until I finally came to a halt at the bottom of the first dip. Phew! But then I heard this rumbling and the bulls were after me again. Help! I had to get up and start the whole escape thing again. It was like a recurring nightmare all the way down the hill: climb mini-hill, run down, slip in disgustingness, roll in more disgustingness, come to stop, climb up away from rampaging bulls, run down, slip in grossness again etc etc etc

Then, as if that wasn't bad enough, I'd just got the gate at the bottom of the hill looking like Manure-girl Queen of the Cowpat, when this boy (who couldn't have been much older than me) was standing there grinning like some big, stupid grinny thing: `You've brought my cows down for milking, have you? That's saved me a walk. Thanks.' Then he gave a whistle and they all came over to him. `Do you want me to walk you back to the village with the cows?' he asked, still with this smug smirk on his face.

`I can manage,' I said and walked back with as much dignity as I could muster, caked in mud and poo. The countryside is disgusting!

Anyway, I'm writing this in the library and the great pink Blob has just come in and said she wants a word with me. Oh boy! That's NEVER a good sign. I'll tell you some more tomorrow.

An excess of grandparents.

I know, I know, it's been ages! But, I'll be honest, I've been freeling a bit fed up. My plaster came off and I'm off crutches now - which is BRILLIANT! But I'm still walking with a limp, like I'm some sort of arthritic crustacean. I mean, how unsexy is that?

I'm back in school again now - just in time to break up for the spring holiday, but you'll never guess what... my dad's only said we've got to go and spend the whole two weeks of it with Belinda's parents - in some back-of-beyond village in Yorkshire which is full of coffin-dodgers and yokels. And he says that this time Daniel can't come too. Their place is too small apparently - and it's a holiday for family! Durr - hasn't it occurred to him that they're NOT my family?

I've got Gran, and my real mum's parents are still alive (OK, so Tasmania is hardly round the corner, but they send me presents and stuff, so they still count.) Why would I want Belinda's mum and dad to try and muscle in on the grandparent stakes? That sounds like too much of a good thing, to me - defo!