Thursday, 30 April 2015

The British Tag

I got tagged by the lovely Layla to do the British Tag, and I hereby tag all my British people, because I can't be bothered writing all of you down, but I know you're there!

1. How many cups of tea do you have a day? How many sugars?
I feel like the anti-Brit when I say I don't actually drink tea. I don't mind berry tea, that's alright, but I'm not a tea drinker, I'm sorry.

2. Favourite part of your roast?
Aaargh. First off, I'd say you haven't lived if you haven't tried my mum's Sunday roast, I legitimately wait the entirety of Sunday in anticipation of my roast. It'll have to be a toss-up between yorkshire puddings and pork crackling, but I love pretty much every component.

3. Favourite dunking biscuit?
Rich teas or plain old digestives.

4. Favourite quintessentially British pastime?
Complaining about the weather, does that count? I wouldn't say it's my favourite, but I do it a lot!

5. Favourite word?
Probably 'bloody', because it sounds like such a British swear word to me, I can't imagine an American saying bloody if they aren't impersonating a British person. Also, it's so versatile; bloody can be used to describe something postiviely ('that was bloody brilliant') or negatively ('this has been the bloody worst day'), and I just love it.

6. Cockney rhyming slang?
I know what it is, but I don't use it. Apart from 'Pete Tong' (wrong) which I can't figure out where I picked that one up from. None of my friends even know what it means.To put it in context, you would say 'It's all gone Pete Tong', in place of 'It's all gone wrong'.

7. Favourite sweet?
Haribos, or Fruit Pastilles.

8. What would your pub be called?
Something traditional, like The Queen's Head or something like that.

9. Number 1 British person?
Eek, that's not fair. I'd have to say Prince Harry, what's more number 1 than royalty?

10. Favourite shop/restuarant?
Favourite grocery shop would be Sainbury's, favourite specialist shop would be Boots probably. Favourite restaurant, the pub across the road, the March Hare.

11. What British song pops into your head?
Awake My Soul - Mumford & Sons

12. Marmite?
Never tried it, don't know if I will!

Wednesday, 29 April 2015

Writing Wednesday #11 ~ Name

Sorry for not posting for a couple of weeks. I haven't got much of an excuse other than I've been trying to get to bed earlier on a night, after a particularly bad day on Tuesday, which I will probably blog about at some point. Also, there's a show my mum and me have been watching on Wednesday nights called Messiah. It's a crime drama, which I think can be found on youtube; it is however gruesome and graphic when showing murder victims, so if you're averse to that sort of thing, I advise you don't watch it.
What's in a Name?
His name was Bucky, but he didn't know that. Her name was Lucy, but he didn't know that either, or the man from the bridge. He had called him Bucky, then recited a name he must have known from heart. James Buchanan Barnes, a name that fell so familiarly from swollen lips. And the girl, young as she was, the gaze that held his was withered, the words she spoke weary.
"I love him too, Bucky, you know that, or at least, you did."The soldier barely had a moment to contemplate her words before her hand slipped from his grasp, allowing herself to fall after the already plummeting patriot.
He couldn't think when she fell, nor did he think when he too let go of the helicarrier. He was thinking as the air flew past; his superiors would be angry, he hadn't completed his mission. Looking back at the helicarrier, still under fire from its peers, the winter soldier realised that maybe, just maybe, this was his way out. Maybe this was his chance to learn, more than just a name, learn who this Bucky was. Eyes following the girl into the water, searching the depths for his mission, he thought maybe, just maybe, he could learn who they were too.
* * * * *
There we go. This one's for all my Marvel fans. I only joined the fandom a month ago, but I'm in pretty deep. I saw Age of Ultron on Saturday, and it was brilliant, such a good film, I now cannot wait for Civil War, which isn't for another year (D:) but at least there'll be Fantastic Four to fill that gap! This is yet another fanfiction-based WW, which I'm researching at the minute. I might make a wattopsd or something, I don't know, I might just leave them as fantasies like normal, I don't know.
I should have a few posts up in the next few days, tomorrow there's going to be a tag, then an award on Friday, Saturday I might talk about my bad day last Tuesday, and I'm due to do a favourites post, so that'll be Sunday methinks. Should be fun getting all this out! Ser you all then, Eve x

Tuesday, 28 April 2015

Youth's Immortality

Today, unfortunately, I am talking about the immortality of youth. The perception we have as children that things, people, anything in our lives, will last forever, because they were in our lives.

As already blogged about by Maya and Lara, a boy in our school year group was run into by a car on Saturday afternoon. Maya had done a few things around school with Matthew, Lara was in the same pastoral class as Matthew, whereas I went to primary with him. That's 7 years of knowing him as a child.

Back in the earlier years, year 1 & 2, I always played with Matthew and a group of our other friends. All I can think of is us as Power Rangers (SPD for the win). I'd usually end up switching which Ranger I was, but Matthew was always red, and that's pretty much how I'm remembering him. As I wrote in the memorial book school has created, he'll always be the Red Ranger to me.

The thing that strikes me is that, as children, we think people will last forever, when unfortunately we don't.

This is going to be my opportunity to say, appreciate the people in your life. Cherish the moments, because they'll only last in our memories. Remind people that you love them, especially when you're saying goodbye, because you don't know when you're going to see them again. Also, stay safe yourself, because if it's true for other people, it'll probably be true for you too.

And I love you all, remember that for me,

Eve x

Thursday, 23 April 2015

Note to All Teen Bloggers

I have just registered to a blogging community with the specific demographic of teen bloggers. Run by a 17 year old, she hopes to give people new blogs to read within our own age group. 
This community is called Teenage Blogger Central.
In order to have your blog part of the community, you need to register, and add one of the buttons to your page.
I'll be using this one
So if you wanna discover new blogs and simultaneously advertise your own, I think I just found you a place!

Tuesday, 21 April 2015

A Pen and Key Exclusive

First off, I'm sorry I haven't blogged about anything in the last week or so; school started again, I got an A in Spanish, I was in a real 'why must I do this' over English. The real reason, though, is because I couldn't think of anything else to blog about other than this, which I've been planning to write for literally months now, and I am now able to do so.
This is something that most people in my actual life know about me, but as I remember, I have never mentioned it online, to anybody. A real Pen and Key Exclusive then.
For the last 14 years, I have lived in a Post Office.
Now, before we get somebody being sarky and asking if I sleep on the shop floor (there have literally been people who asked that), no I don't. For a little bit of information, my house is technically two houses, with a quarter of the ground floor of these two houses as the Post Office. My bedroom is directly above it.
The reason I am just now talking about this, is that, as of yesterday, my house is no longer part Post Office. After fourteen years, my mum has handed the shop over to the newsagents down the road, due to a change in contracts that she didn't want to take part in.
Technically speaking, three generations of my family knows how to work a Post Office. When my mum was younger, she had the same experience as me of living in a Post Office when her parents owned one; mum's worked in and lived around Post Offices for over 30 years. My sisters and I all know how to work in a Post Office; the other two can run a counter, whereas I've so far only done parcels and safe-counting. Maybe someday I can work in a Post Office and learn everything else, I don't know.
Over the last couple of years since I started learning how to do parcels and things, it's become pretty commonplace to walk in from school, ditch my bag, get a biscuit (I'm a disaster when trying to walk past a biscuit tin), then just start doing parcels, or count up the safe. I got called in four or five times over the Easter holidays, and that's nothing compared to Christmas. I'm honestly quite happy to help out my mum, especially knowing it gets her out of the shop earlier. A large part of my childhood I feel was shaped because I didn't see my mum until after half 5 at least, for instance my starting to cook for myself at age 11.
 Me and mum had a giggle at this. We had two banners that we decided to write on and stick up. The full message is Thank you and goodbye, Love (my mum's name), but this is all that we could fit on the first banner. Me and mum kept laughing, and saying that we should stick it outside now that the shop is shut. The boy in the pictures is my little nephew, he's four now.

However, I'm not going to spend ages talking about this and that, it's a long topic (14 years long, technically), so I'm going to create a series of blog posts entitled Post Office Living, where I will talk about the different aspects of my life that living in a Post Office has affected.

So now, if I ever play two truths, one lie with you, you know that this is the truth

Now have some photos I took to commemorate the closing of my beautiful shop

Funny story with these serviettes. Apparently somebody came in, took a few, went to the shop next door and tried to use them.

I promise I'll have a Writing Wednesday up this week, sorry for missing two weeks!
Love you, Eve

Wednesday, 8 April 2015

The British Education System Confuses Me

This post is going to consist of two points where the British Education System has completely lost me in terms of effectiveness, which is probably going to turn into a rant. So if you'd rather not hear about why I wish we students could have a say, feel free to close this tab, because this may take a while.
The first thing that confuses me is exams. All it does is test your memory, not how you apply what you've learned or anything.
I have a Spanish speaking exam next Monday, which I will be cramming for for the next week, but all it is is remembering a few paragraphs worth of a foreign language and reciting it (says the girl with a sieve-like memory when under pressure). 
To me, that doesn't at all test our knowledge of Spanish, it tests our memories, and how much our head can hold of some foreign words. That is not going to help us if we ever, I don't know, want to use Spanish as a language. 
We can't go up to someone in a street and go 'Si, claro, puedo ayudarle?' because I have no clue what that translates to (yeah, right, I can help, according to google). Exams just don't test anything of worth to me. 
It's been 4 years since my Year 6 SATS, and all I can remember from that is 'divide by the number on the bottom of the fraction', as well as a year since my statistics GCSE, and I can barely remember how to calculate a line, and we were learning that 3 weeks ago.
Also, why the hell are exams so close? I'm dreading the idea of having two major exams within the same week, which do I revise for? I barely revise to start off with, why is this my responsibility, I can't even sign forms for myself yet, why must I do this?
The second thing that annoys me is something kind of close to my heart. If you didn't see, yesterday, I uploaded a post entitled, Dear Jane, which was about a close family friend who recently died after a long fight with cancer.
Here's the thing that confuses me: why are we taught the causes of cancer, but not how to spot cancer? I can name the entirety of the electromagnetic spectrum, I can talk your ear off about the workings of a heart attack, and yet I couldn't tell you the difference between a regular mole and a malignant one.
If we were taught stuff like this, it could easily save our lives. As an internet hobo, I have of course seen the reminders to check my breasts, with instructions on how to do so (usually they aren't that in-depth). It just makes me wonder why this sort of thing is left up to the internet to teach me, when I spend two hours a week in biology learning about Darwin and evolution.
This could not only benefit girls, but boys as well, it's not just girls who suffer from breast cancer. Even just learning how to tell the difference could potentially save a life, especially if you realise in the early stages.
Much like taxes and how to buy a house, this is something I believe we should be taught in school, so that we learn from an early age something that could be used for the rest of our lives.
This kind of turned into another rant post, but at least I have something to replace this week's Writing Wednesday, as I ave done absolutely nothing towards that. NaNoWriMo-wise, I'm at 1088 words, and I haven't touched it since day 4, so I may get something done on that if I don't fancy tackling the homework I've been conveniently ignoring.
Bye everyone, Eve <3

Tuesday, 7 April 2015

Dear Jane

Dear Jane,

I don't know how to start this. How does one start such a letter? I'm sorry? I hope you're okay? I hope you're happy, Jane.

I have no idea how long I've known you; the only answer I can think of is long enough. Long enough to know your kind ways, long enough to know your amazing determination, long enough to know your fight.

You've shown me, Jane, that beating the odds is possible. You've shown me not to sell out when I'm given a deadline. You've shown me that, when I'm given numbered days, I can create my own numbers. I can create my own time, whether I have it left or not.

They gave you six months, that was 18 months ago. In that, you've taught me to not only live in the moment, but to live for the next milestone. You've strengthened my resolve in not planning too far ahead. You've shown me that we can live for little things, as well as the big.

I may not have known you as well as mum did, but I know you well enough. I know you well enough to see how much of an impact you've had on us all. Mum, she's started making more decisions for herself. Her philosophy, 'life's too short', is because of you, and it's honestly made her happier, to me.

In so little time, you've taught me so much. In that same time, I must've learnt over 25 songs for choir, how glaciers form and how to solve a quadratic equation, but honestly, what you have taught me will benefit me far more than any of that will.

I hope you're safe, Jane, and happy, and not in pain anymore. I hope, wherever you are, you can still teach me, just as you have done for all this time.

Thank you, Jane, for everything.

Wednesday, 1 April 2015

Writing Wednesday #10 ~ Rich

I've done 10 of these! It's only taken me 6 months! This may seem rushed, as I literally have half an hour to write this in to still qualify as a Writing Wednesday. I will endeavour to make this as good as I can, time allowing!
Also, I started NaNoWriMo today, I changed my word goal to a semi-realistic 20,000 in a month, rather than 50,000, now that would be optimistic. I currently have 484 words written, out of a daily expectation of 667, so I'll go work on that now.
The Rich side of the wall felt infinitely different to my home in the Poor. No, I berated myself, I had been Exchanged, my home was the Rich now. There was a harsh contrast between my old home and my new; the Rich was colourful, not a single shade of grey in sight; it was welcoming, all of its buildings tempting you to enter. However, it was quiet, there was no bustle of the Poor, no companionship in the air, no sense that you are in the same boat as everybody around you.
I looked towards the Mediator's podium for guidance, but he was gone for another year. Where were the people who must have seen my predecessor off? Were the Rich really as isolated as this?
An urgent hiss came from my right. The boy hidden in an alley motions for me to go towards him. Seeing no other option, I stepped towards him, as he took a step back, further into the alleyway.
"This isn't the best of welcomes, you know," I pointed out to the boy, who, in the darkness, appeared to be the same age as me.
"You just replaced one of our own, my sister, I don't think you get much say in how good a welcome you get." He continued into the alley, one hand reaching backwards and catching hold of my wrist. "I need to get you away from their eyes," he whispered urgently, plunging us deeper.
"Whose eyes?"
"The Mediator's. He may be gone from his little pedestal, but he's certainly not done with you yet. It just keeps getting worse." The last was muttered with a shake of the head, a glance back at me before picking up his pace.
"I thought this was the Rich, that everything is fine here."
"You keep believing that. Why do you think it's colourful out there? To keep you Poors from guessing. To keep you interested. To pacify you."
"Is it not colourful everywhere? What are they stopping us from guessing?"
Finally emerging from the tunnel he was dragging me down, we arrive in a world of grey; grey buildings and equally grey faces greet us.
"That we have it as bad as you do."