Yes, I own red jeans.

That's all.

(I thought I'd better blog this to make sure I didn't look like I like the yellow jeans more.)

Hi. You all need a recipe for Eton Mess, since it's a gloriously delcious desert.

(Serves four)
200g Strawberries
250 mls Double cream
4 tbsps sugar
2 tspns apple juice
6 shells of merange (buy them, don't cook them: there's no point)

Chop the stawberries into quaters, and add the sugar and apple juice to them, before putting to one side.

Whip the cream. Break the mernage into it, and mix. Take the srawberries, and add most of them to the merange and cream and mix again.

Spoon into bowls, decorating with the rest of the strawberries.

Serve, and eat.

I'm eating this now. My God, it's delicious.

Hullo again.

It was a long day yesterday, what with my orthodontist appointment and all. (God, my teeth. I have another appointment, however, in eight weeks. On the appointment after that, my teeth and I shall be released from our metallic, painful shackles, and I shall be free to eat apples and move my mouth without wincing.

Then I'll get a retainer. Again. And I'll have a goddamn lisp. Again. And, God, people'll think my name's pronounced Shairsha (That is, when they don't think it's Sour-reese or Sarse). Again.)

Anyway, today was a lot better. I was rather tired so maths didn't make much sense, but Triple Science (meant to be on Tuesday...) was as interesting and not-bad,-really, (what am I saying? I love triple science. Replace "not-bad-really" with "great and entertaining", will you?) as it was last week. Oh, and we did trampolining in PE again, and I found out that I can still do a seatdrop.

More interestingly, Robert visited at first break, which was nice.

Yeah, that's all.

Today, my science teacher said that stem cells were magical.

I thought that really warranted a post of its own.

I need to do a real post. That last ramble was just to remind the Internet I'm still alive.

Of course, I shouldn't be on my blog now. Because, of course, Year Ten means Coursework and Coursework means Actual Work, and Actual Work means not blogging. But it, of course, also means I get to mention Coursework in my blog and moan, just a little.

So that's good.

Anyway. Last night, I went to a bar, which was odd, because it's a whole year before I can even drink Shandy legally, and more before I can actually drink properly. But there was lemonade. And it was fun. The lemonade, yes, but also seeing people and such. I'm going to miss everyone so much as they all run off to university and Canada and Sri Lanka and Another School. Apart from Emily; I'll just miss her when she's in Graphics. And not much, since it's only forty-five minutes long.

Apart from that, a new girl's started in my year: Alice, who's very nice, very talkative, and bilingual. Her brother is also bilingual, and he can break dance. Her sister is bilingual. Her dogs are bilingual. Or trilingual, I suppose.

Depends. Is barking, sniffing and so forth a language? I mean, dogs can communicate, is primitively. Or do they? I'm really not sure.

See, I feel like blogging. And see, I feel I should blog. But, see, I have nothing to blog with. So I'll just say what I like until I figure something out, like always, I supppose.

I like that: a mystery blog. You have no idea what you might end up reading. Enjoy!

Someone should do that; get about fifteen people to blog on one blog, not saying who it was. It'd make for a very interesting person.

Yeah.

I'm sitting here eating toast with marmite and butter, with some, yes, of course, Patrick Wolf song playing on my iPod and Jakov asking me via MSN (I feel un-pedantic, sorry)what I think of my form tutor.

This is nice. Even if I did lose my second-favourite badge today.

Yeah.

I'm happy. I feel really quite happy.

Ah, it's probably just the marmite.

Hi. I don't have much to say, but I haven't blogged in ages, so, well. Here I am.

The summer holidays are over, which is both a terible thing (wot no sleep? (some genius icon thing made out of lines showing the man with the nose poking over a wall. something like:
. .
-----()----
-----------
----------- but much better. ) and quite good, really. I love holidays as much as the next fourteen year old girl, but, my God, how much time can I spend reading, really? And how much can I say I spent reading, but really was lying around singing along to Chicago? Too much, really, of both.

But, yes, I am back at school; yes, I am terrified that I'm key stage four; yes, I have to know acknowledge that I am working towards GCSEs that can only, really, ever lead to a mortage. Or a housing accosiation's list. Nearly as frightening; at least it doesn't have the word "death" in its title. (Note people who did only Spanish and have no idea what a single French word, even Cafe, means as a result: "Mort" means "Death".)

But, yeah, Year Ten.