Friday, 31 December 2010

2011

For most people 2010 has been 365 days of shit, and looking back I guess that's right. Our soldiers are still in violent countries, we have a government that no one wants, killings are still dominating our news stories, and the recession is still affecting millions of people. And they're just a handful of the general problems, never mind the individual problems that have attacked, swamped and depressed people no end.

I'd like to say "Oh never mind, 2010's nearly over, 2011 soon it'll be fine!" But I won't, because I know that everything can't change overnight. As soon as the clock strikes midnight everything will be fine and 2011 will be perfect? Of course it won't. Things are still going to be exactly the same tomorrow. 

God that sounds depressing.

What I mean is that you can't expect everything to fall back into place and fit together just because the year is now 2011 and not 2010. Numbers can't change your life (unless you win the lottery), only you can change it. Maybe you believe in astrology and your planets and aligned (or something), or maybe you believe in Gods and 2011 is a good year for them, so go ahead have faith and believe in 2011, but if you really want next year to be a blinder and strike gold then bloody well try for it and don't wait for it to just land on your lap. Have some optimism, go crazy and say yes and not no, try something different and have confidence in yourself to make 2011 YOUR YEAR.

Yeah that's right, some fucking MOTIVATION. GO GET 'EM TIGER. GRRRRR. 

*shrugs*

2010 has been the best year of my life. I've met the most amazing people and done incredible things which I intend to carry on in 2011. 2011 IS going to be amazing because I'm going to make it amazing, and I suggest you make it too.

HERE'S TO 2011 CHAPS! SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE! X




Monday, 27 December 2010

HHHEEEAAATTTTTTT

Sunday 19th December. I woke up sick. I thought I had some sort of flu virus thing and instead of thinking "Oooh no but it's Christmas :(" I thought "Shit. Heat." Priorities. But after a while I was fine so I just must have been hungry or something. Then in the evening I felt vommy again. Why I am telling you about my health problems in short sentences, I hear you ask? Because I realised that the reason I felt so sick was because I felt so nervous and shit scared about going to Heat. Yes really. For a whole sodding year I was counting down the days with excitement, and now I didn't want to go at all. What if they don't like me? What if I said or did something stupid? What if I don't like them? etc etc. It even got to the point where I willed it to snow by the bucket load that night so I had an excuse to cancel it. I KNOW! Slap my wrists or sit me in the corner, but it was that bad. I was a paranoid wreck.

Monday 20th December
Didn't really sleep much. Mum flew open my door at 7.15am saying her friend Heather had text her saying that trains into London were delayed and there were severe delays on the Central Line. I took to Twitter moaning and stropping about this but got replies of "You can do it!" and "It's not that bad, honestly. I'm here." and "You've waited a year, and they'll remember you for fighting your way." Cor, motivation or what. So I donned my shorts and inappropriate snow footwear, packed my bag and was on the way to the station at 9am. I had to be there between 10am and 10.30am, and it takes around 45mins so I'd be fine. Haha. Lol. Yeah. Fine...

The following passages include a change in tense. Prepare.

Hello ticket queue snaking your way out of the station hahahacrycryCRY! Oh my travelcard is £15 not £10? Ah the train doors on Platform 2 are jammed shut because of the ice. Thought bad things were only meant to happen in threes? Look another train on Platform 1! It's only half an hour late. It's 9.30am so I should still be there in time. No I'm sorry love there's no room he...oh you're still getting on, yes that's my foot,  well I told you there weren't any seats, right okay yes stand there then. Fine. Thank fuck we're moving, or are we? We're going so slowly I CAN'T BLOODY TELL.
Someone's leaning their bag against my leg. Actually I think they're leaning against my leg. *forgets* 5mins later... My leg feels numb, you know when you put pressure on something and then you can't feel anything? A bit like that. Few minutes later... Oh my God. There is no bag and no person leaning and no numb leg. The man next to me is squeezing my leg and moving up my shorts. Shit shit shit. He's rubbing my leg. He's touching my arse and moving closer. What the hell can I do? I can't do anything. I can't move. I can't say anything because no one else can move. I don't want to cause a massive fuss. He could have a knife or something. We're nearly at Stratford, and if people get out at Stratford I can go and stand somewhere else, it'll be fine. Just stand it out Louise and think about something else. You'll be at Heat soon! All of this will be forgotten about. You'll look back and laugh! He's squeezing my thigh so hard, does he actually get off on this? STRATFORD! Never been so happy to see a construction site. Pervy man's getting off! He's staring at me. GIVE HIM EVILS LOUISE. Yeah that's right, get off this train and go die in a hole. I WIN. He's still staring at me on the platform. Wtf. He's walked past 3 times. No love I'm not getting off. Shit what if he gets back on? He is! Oh no he's not. What if he follows me all the way? Omg. I'm moving.
9.55am. London. About time an' all. Plus only minor delays on the Central Line now, there is a God! Tube's a bit busy but I've got a space and a pole to hold on to. Right. Good. Not good. Tube's stopped. "I'm sorry to inform you ladies and gentlemen that the train in front is defected, so we'll have to stay here at St Paul's for about 5 minutes until it's sorted." LOLZZZZ AS SOON AS I GET ON IT GOES WRONG! HILARIOUS! *rocks on the tube floor, sobs.* WE'RE MOVING AGAIN! That was only a couple of minutes. Oh Louise and you're exaggerating, you're so pessimistic! And you have a right to be. We've stopped again at Chancery Lane. 10 minutes later... "Hello this is the driver again *sigh* I really wish I could tell you more, but we just have to wait until the train in front is fixed again..." So many people are getting off. The train's empty. I have no bloody clue where Chancery Lane is though, I can't get off. Well at least I have a seat. 10.25am. I'm gonna be late. Lovely.
OXFORD STREET! Look at you with your pretty lights and busy people. I know where I'm going because I google mapped it. Just need to phone mum to let her know I'm here..."Hello it's me. I'm on Oxford St. Yeah the trains were mental it was horrible. No but they'll understand. Well now I'm walki...shit. No I. Wait. I don't know. I have no idea where I am! I thought I knew. I just kept walking but I don't know. Erm...Oxford St. I don't know mum! Okay. Hurry though :(" Well well well. Lost was I? Indeed. I'll tell Twitter, they might know. If I stay here by Dean Street I'll be fine. "Hello. Yeah I'm on Dean Street. No I'm not crying. Well it must be on Google maps. Yeah a road off Oxford Street. Okay good, so I can I get to Shaftesbury Avenue from here? Thank God. Don't go, stay on the phone until I know where I am..."
10.45am. Endeavour House. AKA Heat Towers.

TENSE CHANGE. I like to keep you on your toes.

I couldn't sign in. My hands were so red raw and cold from having no gloves on that I physically couldn't grip the pen. I didn't realise how cold I actually was because I'd been in such a state getting there, and it wasn't until I was in Bauer reception, sitting down and getting myself together before Giselle came that I properly looked at myself shivering and shaking. "Louise! Jesus Christ you're freezing, are you okay?! I read about your journey nightmare..." The power of Twitter. I kept on apologising for being late, I thought I'd get told off. But I went a bit :O and :| and ooohhhhh when I went into the Heat office. I instantly recognised a few people and they seemed to recognise me. Lucie, David and Boyd came over to say hello, and Boyd even said I was famous. Lol. That's literally what I did. Just lol and say "FAMOUS?!" in a proper Essexy way. Oh the shame. Didn't really have time to register I was finally at Heat at an actual desk, because Lucie wanted me to go to their meeting...thing! Where they talk about their next issue. This is when I realised that the Heat lot are effing HILARIOUS. I couldn't stop laughing at their banter, jokes and swearing in like every sentence. It was AMAZING. I met Jen (love Jen, best lesbian evahhhh) and Sam (who I concluded was the second funniest person in the office after David), the was editor of Heat.
Now instead of boring you with every single detail of what I did. I shall bullet point, because let's be honest I've written shit loads and it's only Monday and I can't be arsed as much as you can't be arsed.
I WROTE FOR THEIR WEBSITE! They actually let me research and write 3 articles for the website. Actual amaze. ACTUALACTUALACTUAL.



That's pretty much all I did all day. Lovely one bullet point. Apart from meeting the other workie, 20yo Beth, and going out for lunch with her. Pretty chilled first day. Well apart  from not getting home until 9pm after more cancelled trains and dinner with Heather, who saved me.

Tuesday 21st December
Tuesday could not have been worse than Monday, and it wasn't. It was a million times better. Only a short train delay getting into London but I was there at 10am. A whole hour earlier than the day before. Result. Sorted the post out with Beth first, which I strangely enjoyed and was sad when there was nothing left in the post bag. I'm a Virgo, so I like sorting things out and organising stuff. Then we had to log Karen's review things. All the books and DVDs and  CDs she gets sent we had to log on a document. I love Karen. She got me my work exp placement in the first place so I ultimately owe this blog to her. I'm also very jealous of her job at Heat. Reading books, watching films, watching TV shows, listening to new music, and then writing a review on them. Plus interviewing loads of music celebs and going to a gazillion concerts. Er, YES PLEASE.
After, me and Beth (who became a team and ended up doing everything together) were set a mission to find red ribbon and red gift tags on Oxford St for presents. So armed with a credit card and strict instructions, we fought our way through crowds and queues and bought those red gift tags and red ribbon, then had McDonald's as a reward. I will never tire of their santa boot shaped nuggets. Back at Heat we were then introcued to the fashion cupboard, which Beth took an obsessive liking to (me and fashion don't mix. Beth was dressed in the trends of the season with perfect hair and make up) and wrapped these books. It was very therapeutic.

I was even home in time for dinner.

Wednesday 22nd December
La journey etait PARFAIT. That may be right but I don't do French anymore so my froggie legs have gone and something something french toast something snails something. No but seriously I was in at 9.45am with Beth, we met at Tottenham Court Road and went in together. Post, logging, tidying up, wrote some fake Week In Pictures things, gave our opinions on celebs/style/the mag in general for Lucie. Oh and we got make up bags from House of Fraser. SCORE.

Thursday 23rd December
And lo, my week (3½ days) at Heat was coming to an end. But what a last day it was. After sorting the mag archive thing out and going to Topshop for Giselle, we were given babycham and told to basically piss about and wait for the Heat Awards. WELL IF YOU INSIST. Was sitting opposite David who had a megaphone and kept saying "Christmas" through it. Why I found this so hilarious is beyond me, but I did and it kept me entertained. Boyd gave me Grace Dent's new book and some DVDs and we got MORE make up from Giselle! Like Christmas come early. PRESENTS.

I gave Lucie and Karen thank you cards, cos I'm well nice innit (and a soppy cow), and laughed solidly for an hour during the Heat Awards. At 1pm I did the rounds saying goodbye, sob, and made my way home with a McDonald's. It was a bloody ACE week and almost surreal to be in the actual Heat office with the actual people that make the actual magazine with their actual genius minds. I was sharing genius space and genius air.  I was proud of myself too, I went from a paranoid omgwtfhelp self concious wimp, to someone who was chatty and confident and having an amazing time. I like the latter Louise.

Roll on Heat 2011. Oh yes. I'm going back... X

Saturday, 18 December 2010

CHATTYMAN PART 2! feat. twitter journos mania

Right well you know how I went to see Chattyman in September? Davina McCall and Katy Perry were guesting remember? Huh? What do you mean you only started following me because of the Channel 4 win? You're expecting clever 'major issues' posts? Oh well sorry love but I'm not all rant rant opinion rant, I love my celebrities, TV and funny shit too. Er, hello, 17 year old girl here. 


If you DON'T know about my Davina love then read July's Big Brother OMGxperience here and Chattyman part 1 here. Now back to last night...


I've loved Michael McIntyre (yes you did hear that right) since his first Royal Variety performance back in 2006, his big break, and since then I've met him 3 times and seen him 5. So when I found out he was being interviewed on Chattyman I was like "Caz, babe, MicMac, me, same room, any chance?" and lo and behold ITV Studios Friday 17th December was GO. 'Now who do I take as my plus 1?' I hear my thoughts ask me. Well. Only CHERYL COLE was guesting too so I had no choice but to take Emma. You don't know Emma. I shall explain the enigma that is Emma. Emma would be a perfect character for The Only Way Is Essex (in a good way obv) and idolises Cheryl Cole to the point where if you say one bad word about her, heads WILL roll. Emma is a fashion fanatic with amazing knowledge of make up and shopping. Emma may love Heat more than I do. Emma goes to King Edward VI Grammar School in Chelmsford, the 4th top school in Essex. Yes, Emma is also stupidly clever. Her life could easily be made into a book and film, which would include these quotes that escaped her lips last night:


"Like, I think there's something wrong with me. Seriously. My lip was totally spazzing out yesterday and I thought I was having a stroke."


"Yeah she lives in Wrexham in North Wales, it's right next to Cardiff." Emma's doing A Level Geography.


"Is that ice cream hot or cold?"


I love Emma.


ALAS a potential flaw potentially twarted our potential plan. Snow. "snow (or s'now) is an abbreviated form of 'stop leaving your house now'." There was a light dusting Thursday night and Friday morning but not enough to stop us going to London. Oh no. Even if 456 feet of the stuff lay on the ground we'd have still gone. Skiied there. Although mum wasn't too impressed...


"Louise do you HAVE to go to London?"
"Yes."
"Are you planning on putting any more layers on?"
"No."
"You're gonna freeze."
"Cool. HAHA gettit? COOL!"
*tuts for all eternity*


Emma had heels on.


We went to Oxford Street first and I had my Selfridges virginity stripped from me. I was so out of my depth in that place. I've been to Harrods but that's just touristy; Selfridges is a proper big expensive Lakeside but with rich people strutting around with their immaculate hair and make up, donning the latest fashion trends. And there was me wearing Primark and mum's make up having dyed my hair with Boots' BOGOF deal. However I did get great joy from carrying around Emma's Harrods and Selfridges bags pretending I was dead trendy and posh. 


After consuming spag bol and chocolate ice cream in Strada (where else, they're gonna name a table after me soon) we were soon at ITV with our silver wristbands on hanging with the famous peoples' friends. Oot oot. I will never tire of saying "Hi we're guests of production, we're on the guest list for Chattyman?" like a total pro. I'll also never tire of having seats with my name on. But this is where it gets exciting, dudes, more exciting that the show itself. We were settling down in our seats, removing layers and surveying our view, when I turned around and clapped my eyes on the seat names behind us. Natalie Edwards and James Ingham. I can guarantee that most of you won't have a bloody clue who they are, but I do and they're journalists I follow on Twitter and to me, they're famous. I freaked. Quietly. I freaked even more when they turned up. They were sitting behind me chatting away, I spent more time watching them doing their journo stuff rather than watching the show, and I wanted to talk to them SO BADLY. But let's be honest, a flustered teenager turning around to them and going "OMG HI I KNOW YOU I FOLLOW YOU ON TWITTER AND YOU REPLIED TO ME A FEW  TIMES!" wouldn't really have been the best introduction would it? Emma threatened to turn around herself and start a conversation, before I punched her.


I won't tell you everything that happened during the show, because that would ruin it for Monday, but I'll give you some condensed teasers:


Alan: "We need a drink after that." Cheryl: "Yes, a stiff one." *everyone erupts into laughter. cheryl cringes*


Stacey: "Who doesn't love not thinking?"


Chezza performed two LIVE songs, an acoustic version of Promise This and The Flood, she looked stunning and was annoyingly nice making me like her. Damn.


Michael was hilarious, natch, but something inside me was niggling away and I can't help but think he's getting a bit too confident. He kept interrupting Alan and almost making it his own show. But still, he's so popular now that it doesn't matter and I can't wait to be there in the audience of BGT in January when he's judging. Meeting number 6 here I come.


Stacey is the nation's sweetheart and still doesn't know how loved she is. Shaun's nice but seemed a bit druggy and slurry.


Alan Carr tweeted me this morning.




That is all. X

Saturday, 11 December 2010

A 17 year old's Christmas

Once you hit 13 years old you don't get excited about Christmas at all. The fairytale's over, you don't want My Little Pony's princess castle plus accessories anymore, the realisation hits that all camera footage taken WILL be shown to everyone in years to come so you try to act cool, and the thought of being around your family including the weird extended bunch for three days straight fills you with dread. It's just another day as far as you're concerned, just with more food.

A few years before you would've gone bonkers at hearing Noddy Holder (who you thought was THE Noddy) for the first time that year, got goosebumps at seeing decorations in Asda, and pricked up your ears at the creaking sound of your dad opening the loft door to reveal a grotto of red and gold tinsel after nagging him since November. The last week of school used to be the BEST with Christmas dinners, raffles, colouring in, wordsearches, decorating the classroom and giving out tons of cards to your classmates whether you've spoken a word to them or not. But at 13, going to sleep on Christmas Eve is no bother at all. The ritual of "Shall we put some milk and mince pies out for Father Christmas?!" gets a barely audible reply of "Gnmangunga." as you slouch up the stairs to perfect a new Myspace profile picture. Flicking through the TV channels and spotting Christmas With The Kranks would cause you to carry on flicking until you found Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. However the worst symptom of CBAC (Can't Be Arsed Christmas) is getting an advent calendar from your Nan...and eating it all in one go, which should be labelled a CRIME.

Something happens at 17 years old. A tiny Mr Scrooge lodging in the depths of your brain is moved on by tiny elves and leaves a pathway leading right back to Christmases 10 years ago. Flashbacks of constant telly watching, chocolate eating, game playing, present shopping, and adrenaline rushing all come flooding back with a consequence of downloading every Christmas song onto your iPod INCLUDING S Club 7's Perfect Christmas. Then you wrap up in woolly jumpers, scarves, hats, coats and gloves, even though they're not needed, and run to the co-op to buy their 3 for £1 yule logs and the Radio Times Christmas edition, circling every movie and TV special when you got home and making a detailed TV plan whist munching on your 4th mince pie. You don't wait  for dad to get into the loft, stuff it, you go up there yourself because you can reach the ladder now. Sliding boxes down the stairs and forcing your little brother (at 12 he's caught the first stages of CBAC) to help you put the tree up takes a  full day, ending with laying the lights out on the living room floor and unscrewing and switching each bulb to see which is the faulty one. Weekends are spent making up quizzes for Christmas Day, ordering presents from Amazon and quoting Elf. Hauling the Asda catalogue onto the sofa and cutting out everything I want, sorry I'd like, for Christmas, and tomorrow is the big day where me and Matt go to Chelmsford and raid Marks & Sparks, Next and HMV for mum's presents, followed by McDonald's. The plan's already made for the big day. Get up at 7am, run into Matt's room, drag him out of bed taking his stocking too, sit on my bed opening our stocking presents and eating whatever food is contained within them, fling open mum and dad's door and shower them in our stocking presents showing each in detail knowing full well that they got them in the first place but SHUSH don't ruin it. The 15 minute wait then begins while mum puts the turkey in the oven and makes sure everything is ready downstairs before filming us walking downstairs, oh so spontaneously, and filling the room with wrapping paper. I'll then spend hours getting ready, donning any new clothes and jewellery whether they go or not, and start playing Kerplunk. Babe, I'm sorted.

I feel 7 years old again. I'm on www.noradsanta.org every day playing the new games and the thought of tracking Santa on that website on Christmas Eve makes me giddy. We haven't got our icicles up outside yet because it's still icy and I'm getting flicking-on-switches-to-produce-pretty-lights withdrawals. I'm rocking as I'm writing this thinking about the Doctor Who Christmas special, all the comedy specials and the huge soap explosions which are coming our way. Mum's handmade Christmas cards are waiting downstairs for me to add some gold swirly handwriting to, as are the place names for Christmas dinner. Poor old Mr Turkey is in the garage (dead) surrounded by pigs in blankets. I want to play Guess Who, Twister, Snap, Bingo and CHASE THE ACE. I want an S Club 7 2011 calendar and the new Steps album. What's happened to me? God forbid I'm growing out of my hormonal moody teenager phase, I was just getting used to it. Alas, I won't complain, I'll embrace all things Christmassy and carry on. It's alright 13-16 year olds! CHRISTMAS WILL COME BACK SOON! *bundles mum, shoves a mince pie in her face and turns up 4music's Top 10 Christmas Hits*