YEAR END LIST 2011

TOP 10 ALBUMS

1. Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows - Hans Zimmer

2. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe - Harry Gregson-Williams

3. Doctor Who: Series 5 - Murray Gold

4. Iron Man II - John Debney

5. What Did You Expect From The Vaccines? - The Vaccines

6. Velociraptor! - Kasabian

7. Iron Man II - AC/DC

8. X-Men: First Class - Henry Jackman

9. Robin Hood - Marc Streitenfeld

10. Still Got Legs - Chameleon Circuit

HONOURABLE MENTIONS (SONGS): Otis (ft. Otis Redding) - Jay Z and Kanye West, I Got A Thing - Hanni El Khatib, Louder (ft. Sian Evans) - DJ Fresh, The Road Goes On - A.R. Rahman, Christopher Nightingale and Varttinna, Kristofferson's Theme - Alexandre Desplat

TOP 5 FILMS

1. Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows - Director: Guy Ritchie, Starring: Robert Downey Jr, Jude Law

2. Bridesmaids - Director: Paul Feig, Starring Kristen Wiig, Rose Byrne

3. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2 - Director: David Yates, Starring: Daniel Radcliffe, Ralph Fiennes

4. X-Men: First Class - Director: Michael Vaughn, Starring: James McAvoy, Michael Fassbender

5. Fantastic Mr Fox - Director: Wes Anderson, Starring: George Clooney, Meryl Streep

HONOURABLE MENTIONS: Thor - Director: Kenneth Branagh, Starring Chris Hemsworth, Tom Hiddleston, Paul - Director: Greg Mottola, Starring: Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, Whip It - Director: Drew Barrymore, Starring: Ellen Page, Drew Barrymore

TOP 5 TV SHOWS

1. Doctor Who - Starring: Matt Smith, Karen Gillan

2. Bones - Starring: Emily Deschanel, David Boreanaz

3. Merlin - Starring: Colin Morgan, Bradley James

4. Psychoville: Series 2 - Starring: Reece Shearsmith, Steve Pemberton

5. True Blood - Starring: Anna Paquin, Alexander Skarsgard

HONOURABLE MENTIONS: Frozen Planet - Starring: David Attenborough, Misfits - Starring: Iwan Rheon, Lauren Socha, Life's Too Short - Starring: Warwick Davis, Ricky Gervais, Rev - Starring: Tom Hollander, Olivia Colman

MAN OF THE YEAR

[On his two cats] "Eighteen months ago, I'm saying: 'I don't want any rescue pets within one hundred yards of either of my residences. I'm sorry. I don't want some, like, tripod, abused animal.' I was adamantly opposed to the whole idea. And now I couldn't imagine living without them. I've become one of those people where the Missus is like: 'They don't want to see iPhone pictures of our kittens right now. Stop it.'"

- Robert Downey, Jr

WOMAN OF THE YEAR

"I went through my high school year book recently. I was surprised people wrote I had a good sense of humour. I don't remember being funny."

- Kristen Wiig

PERSONAL HIGHLIGHTS

1. Getting to university. I don’t mean moving away or grades or anything, I mean finally getting to university and realizing that things happen when you make them happen. I’m genuinely looking forward to getting back down to Falmouth and getting back into all the things I’ve started.

2. Getting my maths GCSE. I finally have a C, and though it might not be the most impressive thing in the world I’m certainly proud of myself for getting it together and taking the exam. The pressure is off and it feels great.

3. Getting back into football. I am secretary of the women’s football team at Tremough and have made it clear that I take the game seriously. I can’t wait to start playing matches and scoring goals.

4. Mallorca with the family. A really good two weeks of sun and relaxation. For the most part!

5. Being friendly and reliable at work. Though it might not be the most glamorous job in the world, it did make me feel good to know that people would come into the shop just to see me. A regular came to my leaving drinks before university, what more do I need to say?

6. Chillin’ with my buddies. Particularly poignant in the year we were scattered across the country. Whether it involves parties, cheesy chips, Doctor Who or birthdays, I love you dudes, I really do.

Targets For 2012:

1. Find a nice, three-bedroom house in Penryn with Natalie and Bryony.

2. Score a hat trick during a football match.

3. Pass my shorthand exam.

4. Finish the year with a 2.1 (or above would be nice. I’m being practical).

5. Go/travel somewhere.

6. Get work experience in journalism.

First of all, apologies for not blogging since the 1st of this month. I had planned to do a couple of entries over the course of the last few weeks but being at home and having my own bed and the Xbox and food and sofas and general Christmas shenanigans meant that I haven't sat down and put any thought or effort into writing.

Christmas is over and done with for another year. I had a really good one, did you? I got just about everything I wanted and then some. Highlights include Bridesmaids on DVD, a fantastic furry hat with paw extensions and ears, a pen knife, a book all about fonts and a brand new Carlisle shirt that I can't wait to wear next term at training. And under my kit for good luck, of course.

My only disappointment came in the form of Doctor Who, and I can't tell you how rubbish I feel saying that. I thought it was a bit flat and the story was just rushed. I don't know. Maybe I need to watch it again. I didn't find it particularly funny (unlike dad, who laughed hysterically through the whole Lily/Cyril's room bit) or sad either, to be honest. Move on Jane, move on. This is blasphemy. I was genuinely grinning at the end though, with Amy and the Doctor. That was nice.

Anyway my next blog will be focusing on the last year and what happened and what I hope to happen next year. That should do it.

What did you get?

It's December 1st, and this is an obligatory 'it's December 1st' post.

When I bought this advent calendar in ASDA, the conversation with the checkout man went like this:

Man: "Is that Peppa Pig calendar yours?"

Me: "If I say yes, will you judge me?"

Man: "No. I love Peppa Pig. I'd have got the exact same one."

Anyway I opened the first window whilst listening to a certain Mariah Carey Christmas classic on the radio so I'm feeling pretty festive this morning. I also just downloaded the Love Actually soundtrack.

I'M COMING HOME IN 10 DAYS!

I have a lovely little group of friends here at UCF. As many a wise owl told me before I moved down here, I would find people who liked the same things I do. These people share the same opinions as me and enjoy the little things, like drawing zombies in our notebooks and playing endless games of pool during our free time. I guess (as people in general) we're all pretty desperate at the beginning of university to make friends so we end up becoming this exaggerated version of ourselves. Like some sort of weird animal attraction display. I admit I blew my crescent like any good Parasaurolophus in the first week and yes, I did speak to people but it was after the first week that I finally settled down and talking to new people actually became just the normal thing to do rather than some sort of omgIhavetomakefriendstalktomehahahahahaaa.

So there we were, my group of sandwich-eating ornithopods, at half ten in the morning some time last week. Probably Thursday. We were in the Stannary (student chill-out area/canteen) when a load of guys rolled in and ordered a round of beer at the bar. At half ten in the morning. Was I wrong in thinking 'blimey, they're a bit early'? I guess if you want to drink from half ten in the morning then you can, who am I to judge. I caught the eye of a Parasaurolophus on my right and went back to my roll. Half ten on Thursday morning might suit you as a pefect time for drinking, especially if you're a heavy set Ankylosaurus like these blokes were.

And then today I was sitting back on a stool in the Stannary before I was joined by two students I know, both in their second year. It wan't half eleven. No exaggeration, every two minutes I was asked to go and get a drink, to buy a drink, to go and get a drink, to have a drink, to go and buy a drink. And I got so sick of it. I like these people, but I almost just walked away. What is so unfathomable about not wanting to drink alcohol in the morning? It was like I was trying to protect my eggs of moral highground from a pain in the arse Dilophosaurus (the one that kills Wayne Knight in the original Jurassic Park).

This is why I'm glad I'm a Parasaurolophus. Because I have a herd and we like each other and all agree on the same things. And there's no real pressure to do stuff we don't want to do. My crescent is finally a nice, healthy colour.

And that's not a euphemism.

So here I am, back in Falmouth after a week at home. I have to say that I was surprised at how much I missed being near London. It was a weird feeling getting off the train at Paddington last Saturday. Dad wasn't sharing my excitement at the new tubes on the metropolitan line or the lovely interior of St Pancras. It certainly cemented in me the fact that no matter how much I might like the countryside and being near the sea, I feel like I belong either in or close to London in the future.

I had a pretty good week. It was busy and despite being called a 'reading week' I think I read more of Caitlin Moran than any newspaper over the course of the seven days. I walked round Verulamium in the drizzle and went on the swings and played CoD: Modern Warfare 3 with Maddy and had a posh lunch in Tunbridge Wells. I also got my hair cut because it had got to a stupid length and now it's nice and manageable again.

I have four weeks until I come home for Christmas. That's no time at all and yet I have so much to do. I'm currently restless about not being able to crack on and get going.

The train ride between Paddington and Truro (four and a half hours) was interesting. It was quiet until we reached Plymouth and then all hell broke loose. I specifically reserved a seat in the quiet carriage but these two oldish ladies got on and started talking really loudly between themselves. Another lady got on and took the seat opposite me and within two minutes had put her iPod in. She said I was allowed to poke her if she was playing it too loud, because I was trying to do shorthand, her excuse being "I need to drown out those two". Then everyone and the dog (literally) got on, including two eleven year old girls who proceeded to eat a pomegranate between them (I watched them, bemused, in the window reflection) and unpack what seemed to be all of Plymouth's Toys R Us. They were sitting across from the loud ladies, who were now quiet and watching disapprovingly as the two little girls covered the table in plastic boxes and toys. Then one of them got over-silly and spat her Oasis all over the table into the lap of one of the older ladies. I would have laughed if I hadn't found it so disgusting. She then laughed so hysterically she fell out of her seat and onto the dog. Her friend sat and ate salted cashews loudly the whole time.

I was glad to finally get off.

I get back into the flat and within five minutes of my arrival the walls are trembling with the bass music from the room across from me. I thought I was going to explode but didn't have the time as I was on all fours mopping up the pond on the floor of my flooded bathroom.

Good to be back, eh?

Congratulations to me. This is my 400th blog entry!

I could say that everything is fine and dandy (and for the most part, it is) but I'm looking forward to coming home and getting my head out of this place for a little while more than you could think. I know I have to come back at the end of my week off, but I'm hoping I'll come back feeling better about everything having been given the chance to step back and write down everything my weeks are full of, and think about everything I've done so far.

Football was utterly brilliant last Thursday. We played outside, in my perfect conditions. The ground was wet and soft which meant control was key, and I happily put away at least six goals before netting the 'last-goal-wins' winner, too. Kirsty slide tackled me, leaving me to walk home with one leg compeletely brown from the mud but I didn't care.

I slept at Bryony's house last night. She lives in a tiny Cornish village called St Newlyn East, and I thought it was gorgeous. I've been re-reading The Hound Of The Baskervilles for about the hundredth time and it was very much like what I imagine Grimpen to be like. Anyway we stayed up late and watched Sherlock Holmes (of course) and discussed the more pressing matters in life, such as whether we'd still date a guy if he laid eggs like a chicken.

Madre has informed me that Padre was 'quite taken' with my idea of building a Hobbit-hole style door up at Grandma's house. They've got the planning permission to do the conversion at Easter and seeing as her house is called Bank End (only a wee difference from Bag End) it makes perfect sense to me. Can you imagine? With my plans for my own birthday treat (too early to tell) it would just be amazing. I'm not getting my hopes up, just sayin' is all.

Happy 400th Post Day!

Today, in shorthand, our tutor Sue decided that the next word she was going to teach us was TARDIS. So she wrote it out in shorthand on the board, and asked "okay?"

It was not okay for me. I didn't know what to do.

The shorthand only uses the letters T,R,D and S. There is no capitalisation. As TARDIS is already an abbreviation I was tempted to ask if you do still need to use all the respective symbols? She'd already moved on to the word ROBOT by this point so I ended up rather regretfully doing the shorthand as she'd done it, but making sure to put the capitalisation mark down too.

There are going to be serious problems if I ever have to interview someone from Doctor Who.

She also taught us the symbol to write BATMAN, and invited putting the capitals mark down because it's "his name". But it's not his name. And I said so, sitting between Paul and Mike who both agreed with me that it's his alias.

I was going to write out BRUCE WAYNE but she'd already moved onto TORTURE. How apt.

I feel like I should be doing something productive with my day. Currently it's 10:36am and I've been up for an hour because it's also my 'day off'. I have breakfasted (2 mini chocolate brioche, a roll with marmalade and a glass of milk) and now think it's important to note that I am eating properly again, or at least trying to. Chicken curry (out of a box) on Sunday night, and lasagne (out of a box) last night. I'll probably have to do a run to ASDA today because I'm sick of couscous and I have almost an entire tub to eat having pre-prepared far too much. I feel a bit perkier anyway.

As far as today goes, I think I'll watch Boromir die with the cast audio commentary after writing this while I digest breakfast. I'll then finish my shorthand crossword, pop down to ASDA and maybe go to the library. I don't know why I'm telling you all this.

For one of our projects this semester we have to set up a blog. Seeing as I already have this one my lecturer said there's no point setting up another one, but I'm not sure if by 'blog' he means a specific one, with a focus (e.g. film, reviews) or this, which is basically me rambling about rubbish and deciding how to fill my days. Is it a good idea to let my lecturer know that I spend equal parts of my day doing shorthand and then watching Aragorn lop an Uruk's head off? I don't think so.

Football training has moved to 5:30-6:30 on a Thursday for the next 5 weeks which is absolutely pants because my last seminar finishes at 5:30 and I have to get the bus to the sports centre in Falmouth itself. So I guess I won't be going until after the 5 weeks when I've been told they'll look to changing it to a Sunday. I'm not exactly pleased, as I've now told the guy taking the seminars that I'll be attending them all from now on after missing last weeks and I can't imagine he'll be best pleased if I vanish half an hour before the end to go and play football.

Urgh. Anyway. Back to Middle Earth I go.

Time for an update, I think.

At some point in the last week I stopped thinking about not being in my own bed. I guess this is my home now, and certainly my room has become my haven. I'm getting used to where everything is, in fact people ask me for directions so I must look as though I know what I'm doing. I think this is probably due in part to finally getting the ball rolling. My weeks are pretty busy and this week especially is full of excitement.

I went to the Freshers Fayre on Sunday and signed up for the student paper and radio, as well as women's football and judo. I spent the best part of this morning wandering around Falmouth searching for shin pads but apparently they don't wear them down here. Hopefully there won't be too much slide tackling going on during my first training session on Thursday. Signing up for football also meant I needed to buy new boots and astros, and they have been ordered and are (the last I heard) with the courier awaiting delivery. I did order them on Sunday night and it's now Tuesday so I'm starting to get twitchy. It's judo tomorrow night, so Ma and Pa have sent my green belt down in the post and I'm actually quite looking forward to it.

EDIT: Boots and astros arrived and they are b-e-a-utiful.

I've been learning the shorthand alphabet. It's actually quite simple once you get the hang of it but you have to get it absolutely right or you'll get your H's and P's mixed up and that's never a good thing.

I've got a bit of a cold so have been drinking water and eating soup. Yesterday I made the startling discovery in Asda that you can get spaghetti bolognese out of a tin. That's dinner sorted for tonight! Along with the Great British Bake Off final of course.

You know you want something so badly when adverts about it make you cry. Take this one for example:

Maybe I'm just emotional because I'm under the weather. Yeah, that's probably it. Pull yourself together girl.

Things I have learnt in the past week:

- Seagulls are enormous. One came pelting straight at me earlier and I thought 'this is how I'll die'. A sea bird through the face and a bottle of Ribena in one hand.

- Microwaves are a Godsend. I honestly don't know how I've gone for this long without one. It takes me two minutes to make dinner. Dinner! I'm used to waiting twenty minutes and that's the quickest I can make anything!

- The world is very small. Today I got on the bus with someone who used to teach a gymnastics club at STAGS and has a friend who goes to Nicholas Breakspear.

- Falmouth is extraordinarily pretty. There is bunting! And lots of little boats and water taxis and clotted cream ice cream. Actually, on that note, yesterday I walked past a kiosk selling ice cream cones with jelly babies stuck all over them and they were MASSIVE. I dragged myself away as we were supposed to be working on a project.

- There is being lonely, and then there is being lonely but surrounded by people. Believe me, the latter is worse. This is really tough, much tougher than I expected. I miss having friends. I keep walking past things and thinking 'Laura would love that shop' or 'Caitlin would suit that jumper'.

- Freedom is actually becoming a nice thing. Once I've learnt to relax in my surroundings (it's happening slowly) I find I enjoy it a lot more. For example, this evening I sat on a wharf and read Doctor Who Magazine for an hour and half in the sun. I can do what I like and though it's scary I'm getting used to not worrying about what other people think about it. It is my three years of freedom, after all.

- Libraries are wonderful and quiet and this one is open 24/7 as of Monday so I expect I'll be spending a lot of time here.

- I didn't realise I'd missed academic work so much, but I do, and I'm desperate to get started next week on things like writing for the media and shorthand.

- And finally, pasties are fantastic.

Aragorn was right. There is always hope.

I got in from town on Saturday afternoon and there was an answerphone message waiting for me from Falmouth. I didn't really want to listen to it, if I'm honest, because I was still pissed off about the sharing rooms thing to feel amicable towards them but I listened to it anyway. And they told me some single rooms had become available. Did I want one?

So I screamed a little bit and sent an email to them pretty much straight after.

Then yesterday they emailed me saying thanks for getting in touch and my new offer should be in my inbox by tomorrow (Tuesday). Just before mum got home, maybe half five-ish, my offer appeared, dad and I sat through all the confirmation stuff again and I have now officially got a single room!

There is hopefully a lovely double bed and en suite bathroom waiting for me when I arrive on Thursday. You can't understand how relieved I am. I can take my DW calendar and not feel awkward about it!

I haven't blogged about anything 'me' related for a little while so I figured I'd do a little catch up. I have plenty to rage about but I don't feel justified to do so because of situations that are out of my control. Let's just say things have been a little up and down.

To start off, for those who don't know, I passed my maths GCSE retake. So that's more than a load off. I can actually go out into the world safe in the knowledge that I have standard required grades and can get a job I really want. If I'm offered it, of course.

I'll be sharing a room (bunkbed) at Falmouth in a couple of weeks. Don't even get me started. I'm actually getting angry writing this. Despite telling me, and I quote directly from the email -You will receive a formal offer of accommodation between the end of August and early September via an email alert asking you to check your room service account - that's an EMAIL. An EMAIL. So I take my laptop with me to Mallorca to find out that they RANG the house offering me a single but by the time I could get in contact with them (I got the message via a text from our catsitter on Friday night, the accomm. place is closed weekends, I phone on Monday) they tell me all the places are gone and I'm in sharing. So I'll be living here.

It's a positive thing to know that is the only picture on the entire website of a shared room. They are obviously so proud of their accommodation arrangements.

Hmm.

Anyway I got back from 2 weeks in Mallorca on Saturday which was very nice and incredibly hot. In between pretending to be a corpse in the swimming pool and accidentally speaking French in a Spanish supermarket I got a good tan and managed to unwind a little bit. We also managed to construct a sand toilet, much to the amazement of the Germans who we shared the beach with.

Only on a Jardine holiday.

It happened in a very quickly. In fact, at first I wasn't sure whether it'd happened at all or if my eyes were just playing tricks on me. After all, it was ridiculously dark. Like Drew Baylor's 'last looks', this expression has cemented itself on my brain and planted a thought in my cerebral cortex that I don't think I'll ever shift: I hate Hollister.

For starters, who the hell invites members of the public into their shop by getting topless men to stand outside? I couldn't walk past without have a flyer and a nipple shoved in my face. Anyway, I take the damn flyer and enter the shop and immediately regret it. It's so dark I'm squinting like a backwards mole. The music is awful and loud. It's a shop designed for skinny people so there is no space to move between the french tourists and girls in tiny shorts hanging around waiting to be 'spotted'.

It's like The London Dungeon for hipsters.

Anyway as I wander around, bumping into stacks of £80 cardigans and stepping on the feet of pre-pubescent girls with more makeup on than I've ever owned, I notice the place is populated by pretty people. They just sort of loiter. Like handsome lampposts. The girls flip their hair and the boys flex their rippling muscles but they don't seem to be doing any actual working. We wait around for ages listening to some miserable frontman yowling on about love and his lack of it. I speculate as to how many members of staff have banged each other in the last week, month, year.

Then this tall blonde guy gets asked to go and do some work. My friend wants some flip flops in a larger size so he wanders off and gets a younger girl to run about finding said flip flops without messing up her hair. He comes back and mutters something about it not taking a long time. It takes a long time. Anyway, eventually we're all paid and done so we head to leave and on the way out we pass the blonde guy. As is custom in polite society I give him a smile of thanks and he returns the look with the expression that was the catalyst of my anger.

He just raises his eyebrows. That's it. Maybe a centimetre or so, but enough that he clearly expresses a look of disdain. Maybe second-hand embarrassment. He's thinking 'why is she in here?' I'm just glad I'm leaving. I push past the sea of nipples and into fresh, normal air.

Just so Hollister know for future reference - no, I will never buy anything from your shop and half naked men will not change that. Yes, like Bridget Jones, I will always be a little bit fat. No, I'm not going to change the way I dress because you want me to. I will wear comfy jeans if I'm wandering about London for a whole day. And finally, £80 is far too much to charge for a cardigan that quite frankly my grandma could have knitted.

So thank you for your custom, but no thank you. I think I'll choose to buy my clothes from a shop that doesn't make me feel inadequate. Cheers.

They say we should do something everyday that scares us. I don't think this is particularly helpful advice. Eventually people would end up pushing the boundaries of their abilities and throw themselves off cliffs and swim with great white sharks and build jetpacks in order to get their kicks. Which, I'm sure, are all very achieveable in the correct place at the right time, but are not particularly practical if you decide to put a wetsuit on when you're supposed to be heading to a business meeting and as a result get your head bitten off by an angry sea creature.

Nevertheless, courage is something I think we all feel we need to have in some form or another. To use another fishy metaphor (I watched Ocean Giants on Sunday night) southern right whales have bollocks that weigh one tonne. That's a lot of balls. Unfortunately I am neither a whale, nor have bollocks and a result my confidence levels, for the most part, are not very high.

Getting a job helped; I can now behave like a normal human being in a shop. Having had experience seeing how rude people are to shop assistants I feel as though I have a good grasp on how to get them on your side and that it's not a completely insane thing to do if you ask for a little more salt on your chips. That being said, asking me to cut a sausage roll open lengthways and fill it with ketchup is disgusting and you should be ashamed. I digress.

My point is that as a person who keeps getting emails from her university saying SEE YOU IN ONE MONTH, I feel distinctly lacking in confidence. I haven't bought anything. I attempted to make a shopping list but the task was mammoth so I watched Bradley Cooper flashing his eyes about in Limitless instead. Seeing Anne was a bit of a breakthrough I suppose, because if she can go all the way to the other side of the world for six months and come back in one piece then moving three hundred miles away (and remaining in the same country) isn't such a daunting thing. It's still a challenge.

I think I have to start being a little bit more selfish. I am very concious of the fact that I spend a lot of my time worrying about other people. I need to stop, and focus on myself. Be my own best friend. Bilbo Baggins admitted to being selfish, and he lived to 111 and a bit. It worked for him. The tricky thing is it's very hard to change a way of thinking that you've relied on for so long. Especially when you don't know how it's going to pan out. Someone close to me made the good point that surely moving away, where no one knows you, and where presumptions you carry from home can finally bugger off, is something to get excited about rather than fear. She was right, of course. Why carry an albatross squawking negativity on my shoulders when I can pick up a nice snowy owl that doesn't really know me yet, but is ready to find out?

I figure that's the point of university.

That and you know, getting a degree to have job you want.

"Like all of us waiting for the start of the new season [Daniel Craig] was so desperate to see the beautiful game he tuned in to watch the Women's World Cup. And apparently his enthusiasm had nothing to do with the shirt-swapping after 90 minutes."

- Gordon Smart, The Sun, 21/07/11

This from a man who is married to the daughter of Dunfermeline Athletic's director of football. I understand that The Sun is desperately scraping the barrel at the moment, what with their lord and saviour being pied at every chance the public gets, but resorting back to boring old sexism is simply way too predictable. I imagine there were whoops of joy around the office when Rebecca Leighton was arrested. Finally! Something to put on the front page other than pictures of David Beckham holding his baby daughter and people being jumped on by a leopard in India.

Gordon Smart manages to turn a story that could have been positive - Daniel Craig is quoted as saying "It looks great. The standard has gone through the roof. I was watching Japan v Sweden and I thought it was a men's international, it was so fast." - into yet another negative piece on women's football.

His Wikipedia page states that he is still an 'aspiring journalist'. I think we can probably all see why. Grow up, Mr Smart.

It came to my attention yesterday, just as we were taking our seats in Pizza Express, that Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, was a terrible party host. Granted, in The Fellowship of the Ring he obviously takes great care to invite a nice variety of men, elves and dwarves. But whose silly idea was it to sit the Mirkwood elves and the Durin dwarves next to each other? That's only going to end in catastrophe. And then he sat Aragorn and Boromir apart, probably because he knew Boromir was going to be a total nob, but nevertheless - he and Aragorn could have swopped numbers or something or asked each other what their favourite Gondorian football team was. Not a chance thanks to Elrond's bad planning. I suppose it's a miracle at all that Aragorn was there. I don't think he was invited. He just sort of turned up with three little people asking to see Frodo. It's likely that Elrond never invited Aragorn because he's sick of Arwen pining over him all the time.

"Ada, where is Aragorn?"

"Oh deary me sweetie, it turns out he rejected the invite I sent him. I don't think he wants to see you ever again. Now, lets pack a bag you're going to live out of for the rest of time and get you on that boat to the Undying Lands."

He didn't even provide snacks! Not even a little bowl of M&Ms or cheese puffs! What a cop-out. No wonder Sam was so keen to go back home; he'd realised they weren't getting lunch. It was probably tough for Elrond to have friends over. It stems from a bad sleepover with Isildur when they were younger. Isildur had marshamallows and they were about to toast them when Elrond got all bossy and started bellowing "ISILDUR! CAST IT INTO THE FIRE!" Little did he know he'd be repeating those words later on but in a slightly different set of circumstances.

He wasn't invited back.

Mind you, it could be worse. You could have ended up travelling with Merry and Pippin and the Uruk-hai. I notice Pippin didn't even bother asking about second breakfast when he was with them. As we all, I'm sure, remember, the Uruk's "...ain't had nothing but maggoty bread for three stinkin' days!" Given the choice I think I'd rather eat nothing. Then they kill one of their travelling party and eat him so all in all, it is a bit worse than Rivendell's lack of cheese snacks.

Or Moria, where everyone is dead and the Balrog is wandering about thinking about taking old wizards into his pit. Ooer.

I understand the point of YouTube, but frankly I'm never going to be one to sit down and make videos and expect people to watch them etc. I like watching Vloggers but on the whole, I'll never be one. Nevertheless, YouTube is very important because where else would you go to watch cats hugging each other or episodes of Recess or interviews with Bradley Cooper in which he speaks fluent French (hoooo my God!!).

Occasionally a video comes along that is a real gamechanger.

This happened to me today. Storming straight into the list of my favourite YouTube videos of all time, behind Maru, Jurassic Park 'Hey', Cinema 2009, and Nike's 'Write The Future' is this masterpiece:

God knows what'll happen if someone makes me watch this after a few drinks. Watching it today I've already been screaming with hysterical laughter. Tim Berners-Lee would be proud of what we've achieved with his creation.

I like the buttery biscuit base. Peace out.

Ten Things To Look Out For (Spoiler Free As Promised):

1. A Twitter revolution.

2. Oswald freakin' Danes.

3. "Captain Jack Bollocks".

3. Ear muffs.

4. Ramblers.

5. The Severn Bridge meets the CIA.

6. "What if you detatch the head?".

7. Mother/daughter bickering about a diet of lard.

8. An old name is recycled.

9. Someone hurts their arm.

10. A rocket launcher on a Welsh beach.

As a side note, the episode was fantastic. I'm desperate to see episode two but it looks like we'll have to wait until after July 14th, the unconfirmed air date. It had pretty much everything we love about Torchwood (action, dark humour, Captain Jack) plus some new, great characters like Bill Pullman being a crazy, creeper, Lecter-like criminal which is definitley a reason to sit down and check out the show, even if nothing else tempts you. Which, frankly, is unlikely.

Today I was punched in the eye by Laura's cat. Hence the teeny tiny black eye. Granted it was probably my fault for sticking my face right near hers but still. Ouch. The day did not improve from here, it has to be said. Mother, I'd stop reading now. Please.

Penis

Lol haha willy

Lmao big spunky chode

Hmm motorboarding...

This was the point at which I, in bold, realised that I wasn't actually texting Laura, as I'd assumed, I was actually texting my BOSS. This would probably explain my confusion as to how Laura was texting me back whilst still playing LA Noire. Anyway I texted back with this:

Omg! Those were meant for my friend Laura!!! Now I'm embarrassed! Major apologies! x

And I got this in return:

Lol I just found it very funny! It's cool :) xx

Thank God for a good working relationship. I doubt the editor of The Guardian would find it as funny. Yikes.

This post has done nothing to quash the cat lady rumours. Not that there were any...

My Life, My Future (minus the American-ness).

Hi. Let me tell you what is happening right now. I am sitting on my bed, writing this. I have eaten my toast and finished my mug of green tea. It's raining a lot. I am listening to the Arctic Monkey's new album Suck It And See because it came out today and I just bought it. Oh, and I have my first maths re-take this afternoon. So I'm going a little insane but weirdly I'm not as panicky as I was yesterday. This may or may not be a good thing.

Yeah, so I'm off at 12:30ish because I need to pick up a black pen in Morrisons (I am so organised, can you tell?) and then I get to the place which is a church so if I need to pray Jesus is close by. At 1:30 shit gets real and I do maths for an hour and a half before coming home and counting down the hours until Friday when I have my second one.

For those who don't know - I've never really been fantastic at maths. It's not that I don't want to learn it or anything, it's just some stuff I can't understand no matter how hard I try. I've definitely got more confidence now than when I did last time I did these exams and failed so that's nice. I can do an exercise over and over again and then someone will ask me a question and I will still not be able to give them the right answer. Luckily the first questions in these exams tend to be things like TELL THE TIME or WRITE 1,234 IN WORDS. So I don't know why I'm worried. I guess I just don't agree with exams very much but who does?

Also on Thursday I'm supposed to be working 9-3, which was originally 9-3:30 until I told my boss I have to be in London for an important thing which she obviously didn't believe but I have proof if she wants it that badly. I don't particularly want to work on Thursday. My exam starts at 8:30 on Friday morning and I want Thursday to go over stuff and revise. But no, I have to work and then get a train and I won't be home until 6ish by which time I really don't want to get into revision. When I made the point my exam is on Friday morning, my boss said "Well that's fine because you finish at 3". Yeah, and after that? Bahh. Totally the reason we used to have something called 'Study Leave'. Utter pooballs. All this is simply going to mean I'm going to be a panicking mess on Thursday all day and Friday morning is going to induce a meltdown.

Thanks a bunch Plimmons!

I don't know what life will be like at university but I'm pretty sure it won't consist of shoving my cat's arse into my mum's face and shouting "Smell the fart! Smell the fart!" and then laughing like a crazy witch. Welcome to another normal Tuesday dans le Jardine maison.

Because I lack originality I'm going to do what Caitlin and Laura have done and write my letter to television.

Dear Television,

We don't see each other as much as we used to. I remember watching The Simpsons and Robot Wars and Blue Peter almost religiously. But those days have gone, cast off into the wind along with my bright green primary school jumper and Pokemon cards.

Nowadays I watch you for about two hours a week. And when I say that, I mean that's the time I actually sit down in front of you, in a chair and watch your screen. The two programmes that have currently been given that honour are Doctor Who and Psychoville. Otherwise I guess I just sit upstairs, usually on my bed, watching all the other programmes that I can't watch downstairs. Bones and True Blood, basically. I'm going through a bit of a Bones phase right now, re-watching all of my favourite episodes and seeing as there have been six seasons that's a lot of mangled corpses to get through.

And then when Doctor Who finishes on Saturday until later this year (ahkfdkajskja) I guess it'll only be half an hour for Psychoville that we see each other anymore.

I'm sorry, my friend. But my bed is just comfier.

Love, Genie.

Yesterday at work a man and his daughter came in for cheese on toast. The girl must have been two or three years old, and she sat down at one of the tables whilst I made their lunch. They sat for a while and eventually got up, paid and left. Why are you telling me this Jane? This is boring! Indeed it is. But bare with, because it's about to get wild.

I was sweeping the floor, and had made it the rolls area, when I looked up to see a stuffed toy Piglet (as in Winnie the Pooh Piglet) sitting rather folornly, watching me, from one of the tables. I don't know why I suddenly felt a rush of sorrow, perhaps because my mum calls me Piglet (alright, alright stop laughing) and and this Piglet had been left behind. I don't want to be left behind, so I felt a connection with this little toy. Actually, it wasn't very little, it was a good thirty centimetres high and obviously well-loved. It wasn't grubby per say, but it had evidently seen its fair share of the world. Anyway I dropped the broom and cried "Oh no! The little girl has forgotten her Piglet!" to which Mork snorted and insinuated that it wasn't the end of the world or anything.

But I was determined. I spent the next ten or fifteen minutes desperatley trying to remember the company the man worked for and looking it up on my iPod. The broom lay forgotten. It was a sports company...or a health centre...Herts something? Perhaps I could ring them, get his number and tell him I've found his daughter's Piglet. That sound like something a deranged paedo might do but I'm not. I promise. I just care.

Twenty minutes rolled by and I wandered back to the broom to finish sweeping. Almost immediately upon my hand touching the handle, I heard someone say "Erm...excuse me?" from behind me.

It was the man and daughter! The little girl had obviously been crying and the man looked desperate. He asked if they'd left anyone behind and I reunited the little girl with Piglet. I swear the guy almost hugged me. I felt pretty good after that. Like I'd done my bit for the world. The little girl thanked me and they disappeared out the door and on there merry way.

Not three hours after I put up my Four Point Plan, it's already chugging away towards that oh so fabulous goal. Bring it on.

WHY I SHOULD NEVER GO TO THE BAFTAS

When I arrive outside the building, be it Grosvenor House or wherever, I'd go all silly and giggly because ohmfgkajshdakjd over there is Matt Smith! And look! Martin Freeman! Gillian Anderson! You get the picture. So I'd hurry up the carpet and probably go over on my ankle in my heels, and during my descent to the floor I'd grab onto Trevor McDonald's coat tails in order to remain upright. People would be pointing and staring so I'd run off to the loo to find that my face is bright red. I promptly down two glasses of Moet.

I take my place at my table, and Graham Norton or whoever comes out and I become aware that a cameras are flying around all over the place so I assume a facial expression that's a cross between absolute fear and tipsy embarrassment. Attractive (Anthony Head! Positions!).

Gradually the awards would start to roll out and I'd clap a lot and laugh loudly at jokes that aren't particularly funny. Like when Mr Norton says something like "The Only Way Is Essex? Really?" and people give a small ripple of giggles and from the back of the room you can hear me going BAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA when it all goes quiet. At this point the people on my table are wishing they were over there with Miranda Hart or Steve Coogan.

Then it would come to my category and my stomach would be in knots and I wouldn't be able to focus on the little video thing before so I'd forget to clap at everyone's work and then a camera would come on to me sitting there like a sweaty, stuck-up lemon. Then they announce that I've won and I promptly burst into tears. I make my way up to the stage wobbling about a bit due to my sore ankle and wine consumption. I'd kiss the presenter the wrong way and put the BAFTA the wrong way round on the podium. My speech would go like this:

"Oh blimey. This is very strange. I feel a bit like I'm going to faint, scream, laugh hysterically and wet myself all at the same time. Oh hey Matt Smith! Anyway, this is a very nice award and if there's anything I need it's a big gold face staring at me while I'm on the loo because of course it will go on my bathroom shelf. This is very toilet-oriented and my mother would be ashamed. But it's late, and I'm drunk. Hey Matt! So thanks to everyone I've worked with and that, and thanks to my friends and stuff. Screw you Beaumont drama department you f****ing tits! G'night all!"

There would be an akward pause and then people would clap and I'd sit down and do a head desk as a joke, not noticing that the posh bangers and mash that we'd ordered for dinner had arrived so my face gets covered in potato and dead pig.

In the after party, I attempt to talk to Matt Smith but he sees my eyelashes are full of buttered starch and runs away in fear. I go home clutching a BAFTA but full of shame.

The next day the newspapers run with the headline 'LATERS POTATERS!' and I never appear on television ever again.

The End.

I could fill this first paragraph with an apology and some sort of vague explanation as to why I haven't blogged for a long time. But I'm not going to. Instead I'm going to leap straight in to productivity with two stories from my week.

Today I went on a tour of the BBC White City, Media Centre and the Television Centre. I don't want to ramble on but I will tell you I saw where they film The One Show, the Top Gear and TARDIS meeting rooms, the area where Doctor Who Adventures (along with hundreds of other BBC magazines) is assembled, the news rooms, studios and 5 Live radio rooms, the massive aircraft hangar-type two-story space where the journalists and researchers go to make sure the BBC news programmes and sites run smoothly (which was both terrifying and fascinating at the same time) and also the Blue Peter garden which was absolutely tiny but so, so cool to stand in.

Not that I was expecting it to be stereotypically 'British' and very stoic and all about the work, but I was pleasantly surprised to find walking about the Media Centre that there was a definite element of fun. It was brightly coloured with, for example, Australian and Vietnamese sections which were random to get 'in the zone' and more unusually-shaped chairs than you could shake a stick at. Everyone seemed very happy to be there and rightly so.

The second story involves, for legal reasons, a bakery chain that for the sake of this story is called 'Plimmons' and a man who is called Mork. Anyway Mork slept in a week or so ago and promised not to do it again after Plimmons head office gave him a verbal warning. He was telling a young, impressionable and highly skilled, reliable, well-trained, responsible and all round catch called (for the sake of this story) Lane, whose name is pronounced with a J, about a festival he was going to with his fiance. Mork told Lane-with-a-J that it was a horror themed festival and he was going as the Devil. He continued to explain that he was planning to wear mechanical wings that extended to eight foot (four foot each side). Lane-with-a-J thought Mork was an idiot, and that surely that would irritate anyone withing an four foot radius of him, but said nothing, after all, she's extremely polite. Mork said his fiance was going as the girl from The Ring, inside a real television set. Lane-with-a-J found it difficult to hide a look of withering scepticism.

Mork didn't come in for work on Tuesday. It turned out the Devil and the scary Asian girl had been at the front of the crowd and the TV had cracked Mork's fiance's ribs. Lane-with-a-J didn't want to question why they didn't get out of the way when they realised there was a problem, but quickly remembered that Mork had been caught and fined for possession of cannabis and cocaine the week before. Lane-with-a-J assumed Mork and his ladyfriend had been too high to notice anything. Apparently Mork had been selling some kind of inhalable gas drug thing (see how hip and 'in' I am?) at the festival and also ended up in a police station.

Mork is getting fired soon from Plimmons.

Lane-with-a-J is hardly surprised.

I was going to post this blog, in fact I was halfway through writing it, when I heard the news that Lis Sladen had died. Then I went on holiday for a week, so it's a little belated, but the general gist stands out even more now I think. This is a blog post about Doctor Who.

There is no other programme in all of time and space that makes me as excited, emotional and comforted as Doctor Who does. It is the longest-running science fiction programme of all time; a multi-award winning myriad of bizarre monsters, relatable female companions and a mad man with a box. To sum up Doctor Who in one word would almost certainly result in a total event collapse. So I won't. Instead, I'll explain why I love it so much as simply as I can.

The Doctor

A Time Lord, the last Time Lord, running from his past and seemingly having fun doing it. Nine was a moody bloke from the north, fresh from the Time War and still reeling. Ten was a converse-wearing, occasionally Scottish goofball who fell in love with Rose Tyler and bounced about the TARDIS like a child. Eleven is a bow tie wearing master of silly jokes, sillier walks and a lover of fezes. Written like that the Doctor doesn't sound particularly serious, more an inter-planetary clown with uncontrollable mood swings. But somehow, be it due to the writing or the acting or whatever, he's the most lovable, heroic, intelligent and reliable being in all of creation. And he's just like us. It doesn't matter that he's over 900 years old and an alien because just like the rest of us mere mortals he runs because he's not ready to face the big things yet.

Amy: Have you ever run away from something because you were scared, or not ready, or just...just because you could?

The Doctor: Once. A long time ago.

Amy: What happened?

The Doctor: [gesturing to himself] Hello.

He has his fears and fails to hide them. He can go from joke telling friend to man fuelled purely by rage in a matter of seconds. He understands humans better than we understand ourselves and has proved to us time and time again there is a reason for creaky floorboards and our fear of the dark or why we got our most-wanted Christmas presents. He's totally himself all of the time and makes it okay for the rest of us to be that little bit weird sometimes, because he shows us that nothing really bad can come of it. That's why I love the Doctor.

That, and his incredible hair.

The Companion

Amy Pond is hands down my favourite companion ever. I guess because she embodies everything I loved about Rose and Donna, and Martha. She's reckless and courageous and clever and funny and just spot on. Without the companion there'd be no show. Or at least, there'd be Doctor Who but we'd have no idea what was going on. The companion asks what we want to know. They bring out the best and worst in the Doctor. They are arguably the most important character.

The Monsters

Everyone loves monsters. Sometimes, yes, they are pretty crap. Abzorbaloff anyone? But most of the time they are pretty ruthless and pretty terrifying. Watch Blink, or Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead or...well, actually, any Steven Moffat episode if you want to be freaked out. He takes our childhood fears and twists them into the scariest things you could think of. Indeed, the Silence are spine chilling and I'll be surprised if the BBC don't get complaints about how dark series 6 is so far. Especially considering parents complained about the Gelth being too scary. I mean, come on. Skeletal mind-altering men in black who you forget the minute you look away, or ghosts from Dickensian times that take over dead bodies. Take your pick, parents.

Doctor Who is brilliant because for 45 minutes a week you forget everything you were worrying about and finish feeling better about the things you were worrying about beforehand because you've just watched this impossible man and his friends prove that actually, there are far more good things in the universe than bad things. And Doctor Who will definitley add to your pile of good things.

What a day. Today was the 2011 Johnstone's Paint Trophy Final at Wembley. This is the same thing as the Football League Trophy, so it's kind of a big deal. Anyway we were up nice and early and in the Civil Service Club for sausage baguettes by half 9. The presentations went down pretty well and Lee Maddison's little interview was entertaining. We left for Wembley stadium and arrived in our seats at quarter to 12, for a 1:30 kick off.

I had a bet on either Curran or Marshall scoring in the 53rd minute, and Neil had his money on Peter Murphy scoring in the 64th, but we were both wrong. Sort of.

Murph did score, and his 12th minute goal was all the more impressive due to the fact his son was born on Friday night, and was in the crowd being held by his mum. Adorable. Promising Ben Marshall may be forced to end his season early due to a harsh tackle resulting in rumoured ligament damage, and there were some dodgy referee decisions but it didn't matter - when the final whistle blew the place exploded. They were playing Freedom Fighters by Two Steps From Hell as they went to collect the trophy and medals and there were balloons everywhere and confetti was flying about and it was just awesome.

I'm very, very happy.

Mum and I were just looking out of her bedroom window, which has a view of the back garden. We were watching Ruddles and Spider romp about in the garden, and spotted Herbie coming over for a visit too (our house has become a cat drop-in centre). Anyway, Mum was expressing her annoyance at the fact no-one bothered to get out of bed last night to find out what the strange banging noise coming from the living room was. I said I was too scared and terrified that someone was in the house, attempting to steal the Xbox. Note that I said Xbox there and not 'priceless family mementos'. Priorities, see? Anyway, my story was true, I was sat bolt upright in bed, straining my ears for a gruff cockney dialect and the sound of a shotgun being cocked.

Turns out someone had shut Ruddles in the front room all night and he'd been trying to claw the door open and wailing to no avail. Yes, I do feel guilty in retrospect. Don't blame it all on me, however, as Neil was apparently too frightened to move as well.

Anyway, so we were looking out of the window at the cats and the garden and the conversation went a bit like this:

Mum: I love the tree when it looks like that.

Me: I spent ages in Morrisons trying to decide which Empire cover I wanted. The blue one or the Fassbender one.

Mum: I love the tree when it's like that.

Me: I decided on the Fassbender one because, well, it's Fassbender. Everyone loves a bit of Fassbender.

Mum: exasperated Jane, that's nature out there!

Me: Fassbender is nature too, he's a human being!

The point I'm eventually trying to make is perhaps my priorities are not as well thought out as perhaps they should be. Who cares? I just priority booked my ticket to Empire's Big Screen event at the O2 arena in August. Movie previews! Secret screenings! Amazing guest appearances! I'm excited already.

Combining two things in one here.

Cor blimey. I literally flailed when I saw this yesterday. I don't think I've ever been more excited for a new series. Laura and I have many theories as to what will happen vis a vis River, my favourite being that she's actually the Master. That would be amazing.

Anyway, loads of stuff in there to look forward to, especially Toby Whithouse's The God Complex which I really hope will be an incredible episode and be one of those that really sticks out in the mind of Doctor Who fan. It's going to be epic and I can't wait.

Also, my graphics tablet finally arrived, so I thought I'd celebrate by whipping together a rough little doodle of Eleven, because that's how I roll.

Oh, and I've confirmed my place at UC Falmouth, so that's where I'll be living for the next 3 years in case anyone wanted to know.

I had a very strange dream last night.

I was in a hotel room with Daniel Craig who happened to be completely naked. I said "Daniel, please put some pants on." We got on a plane. Mr Craig had settled for just wrapping a bedsheet around himself like a muscled adonis. Anyway we ended up on some random Mediterranean island, on a white sand beach. There was a desk and a chair up ahead of us and Judi Dench was there but as per usual was playing the part of M. Mr Craig had taken his bedsheet off because of the heat and she rolled her eyes and said "Bond, please put some pants on." Then I looked into the sea and there was a girl on a surfboard who hadn't noticed a large and rather vicious looking shark swimming underneath her. I yelled "SHARK" and she freaked and started to swim away, at which point I noticed she was half girl, half seal. Anyway the shark was chasing her and I was running next to her on land, telling her to keep going. It was at this point I thought it would be a good idea to find a stick or something so that I could pull her along as she wasn't going fast enough and was only getting slower. Even in my dreams I vastly over-estimate my athletic prowess. I paused the shark/seal girl chase, so they wouldn't go anywhere and tried to climb up a big white brick wall, until I found a dog chained to a post. I unchained the animal, took the lead and went back to the seal girl. I thought for a moment whether it would be better if I were to just shoot the shark, but A, it would be absolutely wrong of me to shoot an animal that was only doing what it was created to do, and B, I didn't have a gun. So I clambered back down the wall with the dog lead and was about to re-start the shark/seal girl chase and save the latter creature when Mr Craig appeared again with no clothes on so I shrugged my shoulders and thought 'sod it'.

Then I woke up.

I don't know what this says about my priorities, or whether it's wise for me to watch a James Bond film before bed. Oh well. Just thought you'd be interested.

I've just ordered a graphics tablet. I've been meaning to do it for ages, but only just got round to actually sitting down and selecting one. Anyway, I'm hoping it might help to snazz this blog up a bit as I feel it's lacking in oomph.

I think I have developed trench foot. Or rather, as close to trench foot as I can get without coming into contact with liquids or dirt or mites. Anyway, my feet are absolutely killing me because I've been working solidly for the last three days (this is not a complaint, it's been really good fun) but somehow I've managed to do more harm to myself in those three days than in the whole year so far.

I've cut myself, burnt my fingers, bruised my arm on the coffee machine, been kicked accidentally, punched accidentally, burnt my tongue, damaged my cuticles, broken many a nail, cut my lip and fallen over rather spectacularly after slipping on the wet floor, thankfully when we'd already closed up.

In other news (news that makes me feel a whole lot better about life) the powers that be have released the full length Captain America: The First Avenger trailer, and with it came three little words that I've already told Joe made me explode a little with excitement: "Now Mr Stark".

1.12. I'll say no more.

Oh poor, neglected blog. What have I done? You did nothing to deserve this abandoning I have left you to suffer. I do love you, very much. Just sometimes other things get in the way, you know?

Anyway, today I went to town with Laura and spent £13 on Iron Man 2 related things. HMV finally reduced their 2 disc version to £12, so I pounced, and I'm also currently listening to John Debney's FANTASTIC score that I borrowed from the library for a single pound. This is like a total repeat of last year where I essentially spent all my time either watching Iron Man, reading the comics, gushing over RDJ and covering my walls in posters and cut-outs from magazines. I did also buy Blade Runner for £4 because (before I say it, I know, it's shameful) I've never actually seen it the whole way through.

Can I also advise people to go out and get their hands on anything by The Vaccines. Dad sent me an email last week in which he quoted NME's review of them as 'just a bunch of pricks'. I disagree. NME have still decided to include them on their awards tour for 2011, which is a bit hypocritical of them. Their songs are excellent, especially Family Friend and Norgaard, and guitarist Freddie Cowan is the younger brother of Tom Cowan, or Tomethy Furse, from The Horrors - another of my favourite bands.

Norgaard by The Vaccines

Count In Fives by The Horrors

Doctor Who comes back very soon, and Matt Smith has apparently signed on for S7, which is some of the best news I've heard in a while. Though Laura and I have predicted he'll only stay on for three seasons. But that's a long way away and we still have S6 to enjoy first.

I have maths tomorrow (my multiplication grid time is down to approx. 3 mins 30 secs each time now, which is excellent seeing as before it was over 6 minutes). I have work at some point, though I definitley have the early shift again on Saturday, which means I'll be opening the shop for the first time by myself. I'll get there for 6am just to give me a couple of extra minutes in case of problems. This is worrying. I hope my boss comes in because I don't want to spend all day there. I'm not prepared enough for that yet. Plus, I'm not the deputy manager, just a Saturday girl, remember? Remember head office? A Saturday girl. Bumsy.

Adieu.

I'm back from Whitstable. I had a pretty good time, especially the bowling under the names 'Han Solo' and 'Chewbacca' and the numerous second hand book shops. The food was good, the people of Kent were lovely and it didn't rain all that much. Plus we watched a lot of Midsomer Murders, Come Dine With Me and Coach Trip. Laura's grandma was really lovely and welcoming, and let me eat all the chocolate cereal in the variety pack.

Dad's just told me we're probably going to Mallorca this summer, home of Shagaluf. Except we're not going to Shagaluf, obviously (we're going to Puerto Pollensa, which in turn is not the home of a small yellow grain), as that would be a bit weird. I imagine I may find it to be a wee bit of a culture shock. Me, with my book on the Crusades and Star Wars t-shirt, and the party-goers, with their t-shirts reading 'SHITTER' and their in-flight boozing.

Basically, Whitstable was excellent and I had a fantastic week. Thanks to Laura and her family.

I'm not neglecting this blog, I'm just busy. Chester gave me an unconditional so that's 5 out of 5. Also my pay has gone up by 10p or something pointless. My feet hurt because I seem to be wearing the same pair of shoes day in, day out. X-Men Origins: Wolverine was one of the most disappointing movies I've ever seen. I don't really know what else I can do with this blog. Bumsy.

1. Matt Smith

2. Karen Gillan

3. Harrison Ford

4. Simon Pegg

5. Jason Schwartzman

6. Emily Deschanel

7. King Colin Firth

My reasoning behind these decisions are as follows:

I am sat next to Matt Smith because...well...do I need a reason? Next to Matt Smith is Karen Gillan because everyone knows they are pretty much BFFs in real life so they can tell us all about what happens on set and make us laugh until we cry. Next to Karen Gillan in Harrison Ford because if he sat next to me I'd be too scared to say anything. At position 3, I can see him across the table quite clearly and I'll be asking him to pass me the profiteroles and the mini yorkshire puddings every five minutes. Simon Pegg is next to Harrison Ford because I think he would be in awe and that would make me happy. Even though Harrison Ford doesn't seem to like talking about Star Wars, I'm sure he's got stories and if we gave him enough wine he might spill them to the table through the encouragment of Simon Pegg and myself. Jason Schwartzman is next, because he's fast becoming one of my favourite American actors, and he's funny as well, so sitting him next to Simon Pegg seems logical. I need another lady at the table, so Emily Deschanel is there because she's awesome and I can shout "ANGELA" at her and I'll have someone to sneak off to the ladies with if I need to go and don't want to go by myself. Finally, King Colin is next to me because I love a bit of Colin Firth and hopefully with the help of Matt Smith and Karen Gillan, he will phone The Moff and ask when he can be on Doctor Who. I think he'd be a pretty funny guest, and sensible and clever and witty and generally the perfect addition to any table.

DO YOUR OWN!

This merits its own post. I'm going to be a journalist!

(Booo, Chester)

Choices in the south of England leave Jane Jardine conflicted. A weekend spent visiting Winchester and University College Falmouth has presented a difficult decision for the ambitious young journalist.

See what I did there? I did it all like what they done do in the news and stuff. Because I'm going to be a professional journalist and such like. Apologies for the lack of blogging in the last week. It's been a bit mad.

Friday was my Winchester interview, and I left feeling really rather nervous about the whole thing. I went to see Dark Star before getting in the car and bent down close to her little furry schnoz, whispering "wish me luck". She did a fishy burp directly into my face. The day did not improve from here. Anticipating a screen test and three written aptitude tests before lunch, then my personal interview in the afternoon, I was a little thrown when they took a group of about seven of us down to the canteen to read a paper each for half an hour, telling us we'd be interviewed and told to analyse a story. I had The Independent, and chose two stories, one of the BAFTAs and one on the Wikileaks fiasco. I got talking to everyone on the table and we had an excellent (to quote drama terminology) 'group dynamic'.

I'm not sure how much I should say about my interview other than that I think I may have come across like I wasn't aware it was a news reporting course, though I think I impressed when I mentioned I'd been on the Winchester Journalism site and had a look around. I came home not feeling particularly confident but comforted by the fact that I'd met someone else in the New Yorker who had an interest in nerdiness and entertainment journalism.

On Saturday, after sitting through the dismal Carlisle/Swindon game, which we won, but was still dismal, Dad and I drove down to Falmouth. We were staying with friends, and in preparation we spent Sunday on a nice walk in the countryside, followed by lunch and a long game of boules at a lovely pub. That was pretty good.

Monday. The interview process at Falmouth consisted of a morning workshop, a guest lecture and then lunch, followed by a campus tour and group interviews in the afternoon. It all went pretty smoothly, and I ate lunch with a girl from Bristol, a guy from St Austell and a girl who lived literally across the road from the campus. Our group interviews were relaxed yet thorough, we were each asked why we wanted to do journalism and what we could bring to the course, before a debate on the troubles facing modern journalism. I think I did pretty well; the guy from St Austell assured me I'd come across really well.

The best thing about Falmouth was that we were made to feel like journalists right from the off. For me personally, I was made to feel like I could go into that course and stay true to the kind of journalism I want to do, which was something I'd been waiting for.

We couldn't stick around (Dad and I) as we had to get home, so with waves and wishes of good luck, we came home. We stopped once to eat authentic Cornish pasties and drink an enormous coffee each, and got home around 9:30ish. Work rang on Tuesday morning asking if I wanted to come in, but I said no. So I'm working 8:30 to 4:30 tomorrow.

No rest for the wicked.

I miss my friend Anne. She's gone to Australia until August. She's already time-travelled which makes her infinitely cool in my opinion. Me on the other hand? I'm in bed at 9:45, listening to the Lord of the Rings soundtrack and looking forward to reading some more of my book.

I had a conversation on the way back from work on Saturday that went a little like this:

Me: Last night I watched three Indiana Jones movies and I'm looking forward to getting home so I can catch the end of The Empire Strikes Back. I am going out for drinks though. It's a wonder I have a social life, to be honest.

Temporary Boss For The Day: I'm surprised you're not dead.

Which I thought was a little rude. I love watching nerdy movies. Today I ordered a t-shirt with the words HAN SHOT FIRST written on it and if it wasn't for my interest in (awesome) sci-fi films, Paul would've made no sense to me at all. I don't think there's anything wrong with that. If it makes me happy, what's the harm? It's hurtful to assume because I like to watch Star Wars that must mean my social life is lacking and I must be suicidal.

I make my own fun, thank-you-very-much.

Valentine's Day. Money wasting extortionate rubbish. However, if someone were to get me either of these, I wouldn't mind so much.

Especially if they had nice feet, hair and shoulder blades.