Bbixoahble Ahn.

Weekend.

A re-run of Dick and Dom in Da Bungalow is playing, possibly one of the most hysterical shows in Da world. Tonight I'm off to Tandras house, and we're going to watch Romeo and Juliet, from way back when Leonardo de Caprio was hot. Don't kid yourself that Leonard Whiting was. Tomorrow me and my new school mates are heading off to Southbank. Should be fun. I've suddenly been raised into the category of "cool person," because I am now a brit kid, and everyone thinks that at least four of us will get famous. Trust me, I've met them, we're not that cool. I like the name though. Lmao. I'm a BRITkid. Then on Sunday me and Zoe are going round Shivum's.

Hey, this is a good time for me. I'm young, healthy(ish), rich and alright looking. Things can only get better, right?

Irrational Sunday Traditions.

Every Sunday is the same. I wake up at half eleven, do a bit more art, fall in love with a new indie-boy, realise that it's half one and I have no plans and call Lydia. She'll say she's not allowed out on Sundays, have I not yet realised, you disturbed church, etc. etc. I'll decide a new pair of plimsoles is WAY overdue, and a dress would be nice, so I hop on a train and go into London town - I'd be judged if I went round more locally on my own. So I'll wander into Flagship Topshop, find some beauties and leave. I have nothing else to do with my day, so, still plugged in to Too Close For Comfort on repeat, I'll take a trip to WHS, just to admire the art equipment. Every single week I end up buying something. You see, theres something about buying new pencils, its a kind of satisfaction. And then you go home all excited like, I HAVE NEW PENCILS, MAAAN, sitting on the floor of a southeastern service train. The next bits th best bit. I get my brown paper out and draw. Satisfaction? I think so. I know so.

Where Castles Are Made Of Sand, We'll Start To Dance.

The sky is pink and the grass is green and the flowers are purple. My nails need a new lick of violet paint over the scabby stains that I've been hiding from my form tutor all week under my sleeves. My hair needs cutting, and as much as I'd like a fringe, I know that it's just an on going circle of getting a fringe, getting bored of it, spending ages growing it out and finally getting another fringe. Silly Billy. I quite like how it is. It kind of nearly looks like if I was going for a kind of "skee-wiff" look. If that exists. I have a teeny sweeping fringe which kind of holds the big side of my hair down, with a load of matte-curl fly aways decorating the rest of my mid-arm length rich-brown hair. I need to sort out my make up bag, too. A load of foundation spilt in there and now it's no longer the kind of black, shiny, scrathcy stuff they use for the interior of makeup bags. It's just grey with a la peche stain. I don't even use frickin' foundation. Some chavs tried to get into a fight with me and my friends in becrec last weekend. That was... interesting. Lets just say that raised voices gives me hysterics. At times like these, it's best to walk away and get on the first bus you see. Even if it is the 54 to Woolwich. So, me and Holly in Woolwich. Well, there's something I'll never forget. Ooh, drama festival on Wednesday. Lets just say that I've successfully petrified my half of the year with my solo "Welcome to Stepford," cheesy smile and awkward stance I held for what felt like ten effing hours while I waited for Liane to exeat the thrust. And now ime grounded. I got off on some MEGA-TIME tantrum at my grandmama's house cos I called her Gran. She only accepts Grandmama. Yep, that's two effing mas. Grr.

Coconut Cream and Coffee Coloured Eyes.

I need to be cool. I need to be thin and mysterious and not get drunk on half a glass of blue fizzy stuff. Hmm, Natalie Rose, as of now is cool. Some one out there will love me.

oh, yeas.