The question I ask myself is why? Why have I kept a diary from the age of 6? I've had 5 diaries in total, which makes an average diary last about 2.5 years (go on, do the Maths and work out how old I am :P) and my entries into them have ranged from almost everyday to having a year's gap between. Cluttered thoughts, haphazardly strung-together words and endless banter fill up these pages with the occasional picture of a cool motorbike, a nail varnish sample (black with glitter, if you were wondering) and a newspaper cutting of a cute monkey and an American President whom I shall not name. Black ink fill the pages with writing, sometimes scribbled, rushed for time, and other times, painstakingly neat like a Victorian schoolbook. Almost twenty years of living (there's the answer) and these pages are all that exists of my thoughts outside my mind. If I were to perish (sounds so much cooler than die), it's the one legacy (if you could call it that) I leave to the world. In hindsight, I could have done so much better especially since submerging this book in water would take all my thoughts with it. You see, it really is like a Victorian schoolbook, except for the pink pages, Disney Princess cover and the silhouette of shoes in the bottom corner... OK who am I kidding? It's nothing like a Victorian schoolbook except for the fountain pen ink, but grant me some poetic licence here! Nevertheless, instead of introducing myself and giving you a history of what I've done, let me give you a quick rundown of my life according to my diary:
What I do/did in my spare time: 'Today was the international Evening/Specialist Award Party where...I sang 'senex MacDonaldus habuit fundum'. It was fun. I thought it would be scary but it wasn't.' [I honestly have nothing to say in my defence...I don't think anything I say will protect me from the judging looks received for singing Old MacDonald had a farm in Latin.]
My favourite-ish character: 'Prince Caspian was the best, i.e. hotness or whatever...until I found out that he was a 27 year old British guy with a fake Spanish accent AND fake tan. I was so disappointed in him!' [I suspect I was more appalled by the fact that he was 27, which I thought - wrongly - to be old.]
Myself on birthdays: I'd rather people were not forced to to buy me stupid/useless presents just because I was born a couple of time measurements ago. I mean, a year is something that is used to see where in the Earth's orbit around the Sun we are. Why does this mean that people ought to give me junk wrapped in shiny paper? [Probably watched Doctor Who or some other space-related tv programme before this entry. If only I shared my own sentiments now.]
My objective view on Politics: DC is Prime Minister, NC is Deputy and TM is Home Secretary. Mrs E said that GB resigned from his position with dignity, but I don't think everyone agrees with her. [Back in the day when politics was a topic which was well beyond my understanding and at a time when i never thought that I would understand, hence the nonchalant reporting of national matters.]
My feelings on my best friend's boyfriend: I honestly am thinking that he actually is a vampire - I've got to check L for punctured vein marks. [This is probably what every child/teenager is thinking in this day and age, and it makes me miserable. I wonder if any child will ever look at a forest and think about the Faraway Tree again, instead of looking for werewolves and vampires.]
My thoughts on owls: They don't sleep, just pretend but in reality they go on virtual voyages of the mind to discover things to educate themselves.
And so my first real blog entry has been published to the world to show anyone who is interested, a snippet of the goings-on of my mind.
