It's you again.

Maybe she's old-fashioned,  but she'd say she was traditional. 

I never was one of those little girls who dreamt about being rescued and marrying their sweetheart. Never. Not once. I didn't have a string of on-off romances through my teens, a whirlwind love affair at any point, and yet something in me changed. I can't even recall when I first felt like this, but I can just say that now, at the age of 21, I'm very much a romantic. 

There was a time I'd scoff at my friends receiving cheesy, gushing Valentine's Day cards and teddies  holding heart-shaped cushions. When I'd see a couple kissing in the street and avert my eyes, sighing. I'd come to associate romance with a sickly feeling in the back of my throat, a fakeness to it, a childishness. And then, I met someone. 

I've never ever imagined a future with anyone until I met you. I'd never even entertained a marriage, never mind anything more than that. Overtime, I've become someone my old self wouldn't even recognise, and yet I welcome the changes. I'm a happier person because of you. The romantic side of me has flourished, and not before time. You're the person I now cannot picture my life without. You're part of me, and I'll walk over broken glass before I let you go. 

You've changed me, and I welcome those changes. I'm a happier, healthier person. You've made me proud to be who I really am. The romantic side of me is truly alight. Because, why not?! 

There's nothing better than flowers just because they're pretty and he thought she'd like them. A little surprise is cute and thoughtful, and that beats expense hands down. Sometimes, all she want is for him to wake her up and say "I'm taking you out for breakfast" just for the hell of it. She sees a future with him, as he holds the door open for her, grabs the bill, does the chivalrous thing extremely well when he can. She has a lot of admiration for a man who isn't afraid to compliment his girl and show her off. She's always waiting to be whisked off her feet at a moments notice, even if that's for a coffee and some cake. She'll hold your hand like her life depends upon it, smile at you like you're her entire world, and wake up every morning with you dancing in her thoughts. She already knows she will hold on to you before she ever says it aloud. She will make you work for it. She will test you. She will push you to your limits if she thinks you may be the one for her. She'll tell you what she wants, what she loves and what she hates. She'll tell you what she expects from you, even if she never has to say it out loud. She wants to be wooed, she wants to be spoiled, but most of all, she wants to feel loved. 

Memories stick.

Sat in my room when a song comes on and a tear pricks my eye. It's amazing what can make you react, and you don't even realise it. I always like to think I am in control of my emotions and actions, but really, that's a really bad attempt at a façade. A line of a song, a look, a smile, a Friends quote, an act of kindness, a bitchy comment, a noise, a face, a single word, a smell, a taste, a laugh, a voice. They can all change you. And they all have at one point in your life, regardless of your self-control. Don't sit and shake your head indignantly at me and tell me you aren't always changing, because you change every single day.

The line of a song would be from Sweet Caroline, because you never knew it was his favourite song until it was too late. You never had chance to sing with him and hold his hand and tell him it was yours too.

A look from someone who just sees things in you that you never thought possible will boost your confidence and make your doubts excel at the same time, because its all so new to you.

A face you haven't seen in a while crops up in a busy crowd, and maybe you don't talk now, maybe it's just been too many years to fix things between the pair of you.

The smile on the face of the person who loves you the most, or the person who has never been more proud of you in their entire life, it's priceless. It makes you get your arse into gear, step up, get a grip of your life and act like someone who deserves the acknowledgement.

A Friends quote you share with a certain person, reminding you of a time when you've really never laughed as hard. You'll cherish it, and do anything to maintain it.

The act of kindness you never saw coming and you chastise yourself for it, like it makes you cynical or something, when in fact it makes you human. You learn to see the best in people, rather than the worst.

The bitchy, nasty comment a friend makes to you crushes your insides and shatters the relationship you once had. It will never be the same after that day, and maybe that's the best. Cutting out damaging people is a step forward, not a step back.

A noise that will always make you smile; an applause, a congratulatory nod in your direction to let you know that the hard work, late nights and sacrifices do pay off.

A word that sends your brain into overdrive for so many different reasons, it makes your stomach churn and your head ache and your chest go tight and yet, it's all okay.

A smell that makes your eyes widen and your mouth water and your whole body ache to be somewhere else, with bright lights and good people and amazing wonderful things.

A taste you never forget, its bitter at first until you get used to it, and then you learn to love it. You drink it black now, and it makes even the worst days better.

A laugh that echoes further than you could even imagine. The most contagious thing you've ever come across and you can't actually remember a time when it wasn't in your life. She makes you laugh more than anyone, and she's basically your best friend, not just your sister. Nothing will ever be funnier than a joke shared with her.

A voice you adore. His voice. The way it dances in octaves when he's talking about something that excites him. The way he whispers something wonderful. The huskiness of breathing 'I love you.'

It's mad how things stick in your mind. For good or bad reason, memories stick. Some are hidden, granted, but most come out to play when that song comes on, or your hear someone's name uttered, and maybe that's just it, - your memories may fade but they don't disappear. And usually, I'm thankful they don't.

Once again.

This time last year, I was determined that 2014 would be the best year yet. In good old fashioned, clichéd style, my eyes were full of optimism and motivation. The blood pumping through my veins was buzzing with excitement. The new year countdown would be the best yet. Everyone would be smiling, merry and singing to auld lang syne with tequila slammers at hand. 

This was a world away from how I saw in 2014. In fact, I can't even remember half of it. I spent around two hours in the pub, after spending four getting ready, and countless more in prep and organisation. What started out as a casual, sociable night with friends soon turned into me doing a dissapearing act. I then ended up at a then friend's house, totally off my face on 60% proof white rum (wray & nephew shots will make you hate yourself the very second it passes your lips.) 

I had a numb face and barely any control of my legs, but luckily I had someone to make sure I was okay. Giggly, embarrassingly drunk and a total mess, I end up at my *friend's* house and end up meeting his family, in my drunk stupor. Luckily, everyone was numbed by alcohol which made the event a bit less awkward. More drinks, more laughter, and more celebrations. I woke up beside him with a banging headache, a raging hangover and the biggest smile on my face. 

The friend in question has now been my boyfriend for the last 11 months and I couldn't be happier or luckier. A new start doesn't always come hand in hand with a new year, but maybe instead of the completion of an old one. There's nothing to say you can't change something any day. New starts aren't just for January 1st, even if mine was.

Remember.

Remember standing in the rain at five in the morning, under the stars. Remember when we were just friends and you insisted on walking me home, even though it was miles out of your way. Remember me breaking my heels on the hill, and you gave me yours, even though they were too many sizes too big. Remember, after all, we had so many missed chances, but also, remember, it didn't matter. Remember the laughs we had, the hours we spent talking, in secret, when no one knew. And the shared loves, of course. The stolen looks across the pub. The way we fell apart and fell together even better. I remember laughing secretly at your shaved head, and you laughed at my drunken revelations. We're yet to sing on karaoke, or, believe it or not, have a proper coffee date. But, we're together now, and that's brilliant. Even if I'm intolerable when I'm drunk, and you're the best kind of bad influence.

Songs for every occasion.

That, is one of my grandmas favourite and frequented sayings. (The Moon to my Duffy, FYI.) 

After what has been a tough few days for some of my closest people, (Grey's reference, IKR) I got to thinking about songs, and how they remind you of a certain person or situation. These are important to me in some ways. 

Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline will always remind me of my grandad. My dad's name is mentioned, and I hear a library of music play, from Bob Marley, to Madness to Kaiser Cheifs (the really, really old stuff.) My best friend, Betty, will always be seen as The Killers' Somebody Told Me, after all, who else can I air-guitar down the front street with on a Saturday night. My sister is seen in various colours; she's Pretender by Foo Fighters, Phil Collins' In The Air Tonight and Gabrielle Aplin's version of The Power of Love. She's also the likes of SHM and Armen Van Buuren, LMFAO and 1D's Little White Lies, Michael Jackson's Smooth Criminal, Katy Perry's Dark Horse and more recently, What Do You Want From Me? By Monaco. My mam will always be met with the classic and soundtrack to her favourite film; Goo Goo Dolls' Iris, while the song that always makes me think of my grandma is Don McLean's American Pie (a really rather tipsy karaoke singalong one Christmas.) Robbie Williams' Come Undone is the song that makes me think of my boyfriend, Lukas, as we just so happened to tweet the entire song lyrics to one another pre-us getting together. It's a long story, and I'm keeping it close to my chest. Steph's song is, and always will be David Guetta and Sia's Titanium, or perhaps Spectrum (Say My Name) by the one and only Florence and The Machine. Night's out will always be greeted with Katy Perry's TGIF or something like that. Nights spent in Brit are fuelled by The Beatles, Arctic Monkeys and of course, Club Tropicana. My auntie will always be I Gotta Feelin' courtesy of BEP. Now for the others. Flo Rida's Right around reminds me of an old friend, Sexy Bitch ironically reminds me of a distant friend, and Orson's Bright Idea will be a distant memory of someone I've grown apart from. Gives You Hell by All American Rejects signals heartbreak and tears, along with Taylor Swift's Fifteen. A massive shout out to Abi, someone I was friends with, and grew up with, throughout some pretty tough teenage years; the soundtrack of our youth looked a bit like this; Love Bites- You Broke My Heart, Alice Cooper- Poison (except I'm sure ours was the weird techno remake from Groove Coverage or someone), the total spoof of The Jam's Going Underground- London Underground, Special D- Come With Me, and of course, Scooter's Jumping All Over The World. (WHAT CAN I SAY, we were Chester kids!) While Jenny (Reece, yes that's you) will always make me think of Taylor Swift's old stuff. There are probably many, many more I'll think of by the time I publish this, but a little shout out to you lot in particular. I love you all, oh, and thanks for sticking by me until my music taste developed into something a lot more acceptable!!!!

Making Ties.

making ties and breaking ties.

It's 10:04, it's Friday, it's 30th May (YES, WHAT? Where did May go?) and I'm screwed in every kinda sense. As I lie on my bed, seemingly the only neutral safe-house in my colossally-messy room. It's like a bomb hit twenty years ago, and the inhabitants just didn't clean up, ever. Holiday clothes are thrown around my four walls with reckless abandon, as if in a desperate attempt of artistic license, rather than the reality; that I'm being a slob.

So, where's my destination? The White Isle, of course. Cue the horrendous attempts to sing along to Vengaboys with alcoholic beverages in our clutches. Ibiza. Take two. It's funny. Last year was my first 'proper' girls holiday, and it's really weird to look back and realise the changes that have occurred. I've never really noticed, but, as I look back, a mere maybe 10 months, the changes appear crystal. My wide-eyed look comes to notice that said changes have crawled sneakily out of the woodwork of my life, and nestled themselves comfortably beside me.

This time last year, I probably could count my ties on one hand. As I was planning a holiday, everything went chaotic, and the strain was too much for some friendships to handle. While some ties were severed, others were made and celebrated. In that sense, I mean, the people I was really close to. The special people in my life. The ones I'd hold onto, not with entwined fingers, but clutched fists. The people I'd walk over broken glass for, run into a burning building to save, ultimately, the ones I was unprepared, and unwilling, to live without. Ten-(ish) months later, my ties are cemented in a truly different pattern. My friends are a different group of people. My close group of friends has expanded, and been truly tested through some bad times, as well as good. My ties seem to be barb-wired, rather than haphazardly flung together with frayed pieces of string.

I also have a really special tie. If it were a real, physical tie, in a suit-and-jacket-kinda-garment, it would be the brightest ever. The jazzy, jokey one. With some crazy pattern all over it, but not verging on garish. It would be the one you'd want to wear all the time, but it was expensive, so you sometimes think it should be kept in a fancy box in which it came. It's silk. It's gorgeous. It's the best fucking tie you've ever owned, and as you run the material through your fingers, the texture excites you in a way that nothing ever has before. It withstands all weathers, it doesn't fray or break. It's a constant. A feature you always want to show off. A tie everyone likes. And moreover, you love it. You love this tie more than anything. You trust this tie. With your life. Your family. Your hopes and dreams. Your tie knows more about you than you know about yourself. Your tie is wrapped in gold and you wear it around your neck with pride. With absolutely everything. Even if it doesn't go with that dress, obviously. It's sewn together with passion you can't even comprehend. But y'know the best thing about this tie? It's all yours.

Visionary.

       Peaceful, haunting, visionary.

We go home every day with memories filling up our pockets and photos hidden in our irises and no one ever seems to notice. The days pass and the nostalgia lies behind your eyelids and the important things lurch in the safety of your carefully entwined rib cage. The things we don't say are forcefully choked back; the things that were once on the tip of your tongue become uncomfortably lodged in your throat. The only truths we dare to whisper are in darkened rooms and through intoxicated pupils. You'd think it was more than that, visionary. 

First impressions don't count.

It's mad, looking back. Today my sister and I were talking, and those old times kinda talks just drifted in and out of our minds. Remember when we used to be friends with [insert name] and when we used to spend all of our time [there] and, well, you get the picture. 

It's all so chaotic. I have fragments of memories hidden in the shelves of my brain, and yet, certain things that didn't seem to matter at one point, really do now. Like, for example, as everyone says, first impressions count. Well, I can't remember the first time I met most of the important people in my life, because, I suppose, at the time it didn't really seem significant. A first conversation, an impression, a look, an action. Whether the first time you met me was drunk or sober, at 14 or 18, in a pub or a classroom or a bus stop, I probably couldn't tell you what I thought or what I said. If I do, you must be pretty damn special. (Either that, or maybe I was younger and just didn't have the opportunity to get drunk!) 

But there are one or two I do remember. Not vividly, but in fragments, some pieces are sharp and clear, others are blurred around the edges, softer, out of focus. Maybe I remember the first thing you ever said to me, or what I was wearing, or what you were drinking, or the class we were in at the time. A smile, a laugh, a clumsy introduction. A handshake? A kiss? I'm damned if I remember. The significant people in my life are just that because of what they are to me now, what they've become, not who they were when I met them. I guess that's what fascinates me. You never know, when you meet someone, what they're going to end up meaning to you. That's kind of scary, but also kind of brilliant. 

the big 100.

"I ACTUALLY DID IT!"

I say to myself with a grin the size of China sprawled so effortlessly across my face. This, believe it or not, is my 100th blog post. A sign of my hard work, a signal of my determination, proof that, in fact, I can do anything I set my mind to. I'm big on achieving. I don't mean in the literal, 'here's-your-certificate' kind of thing, but the feeling of achieving something. There's nothing else like it. A sense of pride. Accomplishment. Knowing that hard work does pay off, and luck hasn't really got much, if anything, to do with it. It took me many attempts before I actually started up a blog successfully, but when I did it, I finally found that it was everything I wanted it to be, as well as so much more. It's a gateway to other writers, a place to share my inner-most thoughts and feelings without being judged, chastised or shot a hasty glance. It's a place to let off steam, or express my creativity, or just have a little bit of a laugh. To write a memoir, a list or a play. Anything I can think of. Well, it took me just shy of six months, but here it is. The big 100. The centenary of my writing, as it were. The milestone worth celebrating, getting out of my seat and shouting about. The number I never thought I'd get to. Countless hours, many, many late nights, various different ways of writing down my initial thoughts, but the ones that made it here, are truly, the ones that count.

I've been through an awful lot over the last six months, while writing this blog. As you read it from 7th March onwards, you can almost sense it. You can tell if I'm feeling high, or feeling low, or just feeling everything under the sun. My good days, my bad days, and the days I just wanted to forget, bury deep into the corners of my mind and wish with all my might that they never happened, are all documented here. Love, loss and laughter. My darkest times are reflected in some of my most bitter creative pieces, and my happiest times required me to write gushingly over and over and over again until the smile on my face cause my jaw to ache. 

Looking through the last six months in text messages, photographs, tweets, posts and Facebook statuses, I realise how much has happened. I started blogging in March, which saw my cousin Sophie celebrate her 16th birthday and me get some of my first uni results. April saw a lot of loss and heartbreak in my life, and a lot of others I know. It was a hard month. May was busy. It saw me prep, cram and stress before completing my first ever (eek!) uni exams, then celebrate like crazy when my little sister turned the big, legal 1-8. We certainly partied hard, and that's when my crazy weekends truly began. Also, late May bank holiday we added a new addition to our family, a shih-tsu/bichon frise puppy cross, Heidi. June saw happy, sunny days arrive out in full force and more alcohol was flowing than ever. Bad decisions were blamed on vodka and upset, and put down to experience. Two of my cousins celebrated their proms and I began to feel old. July was anticipated for a while, as it signalled something me and my two best friends were eagerly awaiting, a week in Ibiza. A wonderful, hilarious, drunk week was had by all. Note: I discovered absinthe and began a tumultuous love affair with sambuca. Returning from Ibiza saw the flow of alcohol return with more vigour and liveliness than ever before. My friendship group widened, my drinking partners doubled and my drinks trebled. My shopping habits got out of hand. My decisions got worse instead of better, but  all with good intentions. My (love) life [I just laughed at this] well, I best not comment. It's definitely an eyebrow-raiser. So, August has been waved goodbye to, sadly, fondly, and rainy, disgusting September is making its way unwelcomingly into my life (and everyone else's.) One hundred posts, six months, 180-ish days, lots of bad singing, too much binge-drinking, like, 12 birthday celebrations, hundreds of nail varnish applications, too many "fuck"s screamed,  hundreds of shots, 500+ photos, 20-something ASOS orders. Lots of smiles, too many tears but all-in-all, a wonderful half a year. 

Of course, there are things I would change, looking back, but mostly, I'm happy with what the last six months has had to offer. Despite the rain pouring down like there's no tomorrow, I'm smiling. Now to make sure the next six months are as good, if not better, than the last. Only time, and blog post #200 will tell. 

Kisses 

X

Nostalgia is a dirty word.

I've done it again. Got all nostalgic. Caught myself looking through old snaps, and that strange mix of happiness and sadness crept up on me. And that stench drifting in, what was it? Regret. Denial. Horror. A mixture of all three. Those days. Years ago. The happier times. Or at least seemingly so. I seemed to worry less back then, I seemed to smile more, I seemed to be happier, more carefree. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm miserable now, or unhappy with where my life is at at the moment. It's just, every so often, that little bittersweet feeling of nostalgia kicks in, and gets me to reminiscing of simpler times. My "younger and more vulnerable years" as described by Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby, were, to me, strangely some of my most daring and carefree. I guess it has something to do with age. 

At merely 14, the weight on my shoulders was less, light, easy to carry. I had less baggage, less experience of the world, less responsibility. I was naive, and thankful to be. The pressure was practically nonexistent. School was just somewhere to go to socialise with friends, the real work was yet to come. The real life was just around the corner. Experience of the big, bad world would be sooner than we expected. In the blink of an eye, we grew up. We aged overnight. Everything got serious, straight-laced, important. Those mid-term tests became exams, those spats with friends turned to unsettled feuds, those little jobs turned into big responsibilities. So, why now is everything different? As my teenage years are drawing rapidly to a close, (excuse me while I try not to dwell on this) why is it that I'm edgier than ever? 

The older we get, the more baggage we carry, and ultimately, the less willing we are to take risks. Why? Well I think I've figured it out. The older we are, the more we have to lose. At 19, I'm all too aware of what the big, bad world has in store, and sometimes, I'm not willing to take that risk, because there's just too much to stake. Even though I'm only young, there are certain things I'll hold on to tighter than ever, and not let go. It's also harder to say how you feel. Rejection, judgement and a thousand and one other factors come into play when you're in your latter teenage years. Those soul-destroying, stomach-plummeting moments we've experienced before, well, understandably we're reluctant to put ourselves in similar situations just in case the outcome matches up.

So, nostalgia really is a dirty word. It makes you bitter and confused and yet, at the same time, makes me want to get back to those days, those feelings of freedom. Throwing caution to the wind and risking everything you've got for something you want/need. Maybe it's time I did just that. For once, not concentrate on what's at stake, but what I've got to gain. Maybe if I play my cards right, it'll work out better than ever.

For Gracie.

To the one person who told me to document my holiday antics until I returned to still-quite-sunny Newcastle, to update her, so here you go Gracie. I told you I'd do it. Some may be slightly beating around the bush, for dignity's purpose.

Tuesday 9th July 2013: San Antonio Bay, Ibiza.

As I sit surrounded by young people and one or two families, not satisfied with the way I look in the bikini I'm wearing, the sun blaring down on the stony ground by the pool, I realise how perfect this is. There's the usual lot. The girls who are ready to have the time of their lives, tanning straight away and spend their days giggling away and admiring the lads, and the lads who perhaps fancy themselves a bit too much, tattoos in show and have a bottle of whiskey with breakfast. I have Taylor Swift playing on my iPod and it's so hot, my hair has done that *woo hoo* thing that Phoebe says. A picturesque backdrop of woodland and sand, our hotel is situated literally a minute's walk away from the sandy coastline of San Antonio Bay. Bikinis, sunglasses and pints are out in full-force. All Inclusive alcohol has just kicked off at half ten and we're already drinking what is fondly known in Geordieland as Trebles. A mad week ahead I think. I miss by blog but my notebook and phone will suffice. Cue the cameras and fasten your seatbelts, you're about to have the best week of your lives.

If I stopped lying, I'd just disappoint you.

As I sit here listening to Robbie Williams' Come Undone, it finally hits me how much of a brilliant week I've just had. I got back from Ibiza yesterday morning, and I'm already terribly nostalgic and sad to have left the white isle. This is a song that's played one-too-many times around the pool over the last seven days, and while I was feeling close to depressed at it's constant playing, I think I've learned to love it for what it represents. I'm donning a very commercialized 'I heart Ibiza' top and trying to hold on to the hilarious, fabulous and drunken memories of the past week. With more funny quotes than you can shake a stick at, and hundreds of photos, I think it's safe to say we'll be reminiscing for a while yet.

We met so many lovely people, I guess I should say hello to you all, just in case one or two of you actually stumble across this. So, a big hello to Amy and Courteney, Alex, Danny, Lucky (of course!) Jack, Sam, Tom and Jamie, Gaz/"grandad", the man who actually claimed he was Paddy McGuinness' brother (yes, WHAT) as well as all the lads from Manchester, including Ollie and not forgetting Luke Longsocks. Also, George, the owner of the cafe on the corner, a woman who had never heard of "Charlotte", Isabella and everyone else who actually made our holiday one of the best experiences in my entire life.

Big thanks to you all. I haven't got much to say on that front, but here's a few little messages;
Alex, if you're reading this, fetch me some absinthe (oh, and well done on finding this, you said you would!). Jack, I'm still awaiting my diamond, so hurry the hell up. Sam, I'll try and write my novel by next week and send it to you, but don't worry if it's a bit late. Tom, I seriously miss our apple schnapps sessions, even if there's next to no alcohol in them, so I must find myself a bottle. Jamie, I seriously can't wait for these photos to appear on facebook. And for god sakes Luke, take your long socks off, it's thirty nine degrees out.

An amazing week in the sun, partying our arses off. There's so many more blog updates to come so hold on tight.

Next stop: Nostalgia Junction.

Imagine this. You wake up tomorrow, and it's all been a dream. A long, complex, crazy, out-of-this-world kinda dream. Your teenage self wakes up a meagre ten years old, with no experience or worry on your little shoulders. You lift your head up from your pillow. Sit up in your bed and rub your eyes violently with your hands. It's July 1st 2003. Do you remember that day? I don't. So, you wake up and it's ten years ago. A decade of your life just wiped out. A clean slate. There's a note addressed to you on your bedside table. At the top of the page, it reads; " Advice for the future, take note." And then there's a list of tips. A long, lengthy list of advice. Brought to you by an anonymous source. The advice fairy? It's a mystery. So. This is your chance. You've been given the opportunity to start your teenage years over again. What do you do? What do you wish you did differently? What does your piece of paper say?

Mine says the following;

• Don't worry about silly fall-outs in Primary School. Enjoy it while it lasts, the easy stuff. The relaxed days. The lack of real work, stress or aggravation. You'll come to love that place, and miss it when you leave it. As for the people, you'll realise that Primary School friendships very rarely last, and that's okay. You'll spend your last day denying that you're upset, but you'll cry when you walk down that staircase and take one last look at the first place you were ever educated. It will make you who you become. 
• Secondary School is tough, not just for you, for everyone. Speak up. Don't sit back and be referred to as "the quiet one" as it'll get you next to nowhere.
• When you like him, why don't you just make it obvious. You're young and you have absolutely nothing to lose. Taking a risk is better than spending the next year and a half upset when he's with someone else.
• When that girl is horrible to you, with her nasty, bitchy slurs, stand up for yourself. Straight away. She'll realise she can't talk to you like that, and grow out of her bitchy phase. Ish.
• Don't take anything too seriously.
• Year 7 will be full of petty arguments and fights. Ignore it.
• At 13, you'll be very naive. Don't trust those girls who say they're your friends. You'll be better off without them.
• Don't let anyone kick you when you're down.
• Don't let certain people see your tears, they'll play on your insecurities.
• Make it clear where your passions lie.
• Don't break your heart over your name being dragged through the mud at fifteen because of a choice you may or may not have made wisely. They're bitches. Facebook will cause a lot of unnecessary trouble, so be careful.
• If you like him and he likes you, there's not a problem. Unless there's someone else involved. If so, stear clear. It's not worth a bitch-fight. This one is vital. Learn from it.
• Don't tiptoe around that girl who pretends to be your friend. She's not vulnerable, she's manipulative. Watch out, she'll ruin your life given half the chance. Confront her, and you'll be satisfied with yourself.
• Enjoy your GCSE years, they're the easiest exams you'll ever sit. They aren't worth the stress, and these years will be some of the best of your life.
• Laugh every chance you get.
• And make sure you pick Media Studies.
• P.S. No matter how much of a good idea you think it is, don't choose a Geography GCSE. Sorry to be harsh, but you're just not very good at Geography. Listen to your teachers, and your parents, and pick History. You're good at History.
• Don't stress about GCSE results. They're good. In fact, they're brilliant. You'll ace them, so stop stressing and enjoy the carefree time you have with the people that matter.
• Those people you took chances on? Never mind. Shrug it off, move on. You can do better.
•  Don't cry over certain individuals who hurt you.
• You don't need anyone in your life that doesn't absolutely need you in theirs.
• Write early. 
• Pick your A-level options wisely. And no, Eleanor, that doesn't mean French.
• Avoid Psychology if you can, you'll break your neck to pass.
• Apply to Uni, even though UCAS looks like the scariest thing ever. It's not as hard as you think.
• Don't give up.
• Work hard, play harder.
• Be daring in your personal statement. Show off your passionate side. They WILL want you.
• Do get your hair cut short, even if you get stick for it. It's who you are, be an individual.
• Get used to the sight of the Wicket Gate. (It will be a pub. Just so you know.)  It will become your second home at 18/19.
• Learn to love Sambuca and Tequila. It'll be beneficial in the long run, and help you avoid so many nights spent on the bathroom floor.
• Openly admit you love your home comforts. Chester may be one of your favourite places on the planet. Never ever forget your roots, you'll be happy for them when you're almost 20.
• The best nights out are nights close to home fuelled by lots of vodka.
• Don't move away for Uni. Everyone knows you love your family too much to leave right now. It's important you're around. 
• Your family believe in you an awful lot, so it's about time you appreciated that.
• Hold on to your friends. The ones who hold on to you are keepers. Betty, she is. You call her Betty now, it's a long story. She's lovely. So is Steph. You'll get to know her better in Sixth Form.
• Take a chance with everyone and anyone. Be risky.
• Drink too much from time to time. It doesn't always end badly.
• Never, ever bottle things up; if you need to cry, then cry.
• You'll be reunited with some of your long, lost family. Be happy about it, it's not their fault things turned out the way they did. Get to know them.
• Write because you want to. Screw what anyone else thinks.
• Don't spend hours/days/weeks worrying about Uni. It'll be great. You'll meet some of your best friends there. Keep tight ahold of those three girls.
• Maintain that blog of yours.
• Read at every chance you get.
• When you meet HIM, walk away.
• Everyone is entitled to a second chance, not a hundredth chance.
• When That Thing happens, don't let him off with his excuse. But rise above the hurt, you're better than that, and you're better than him.
• Those people aren't worth your tears.
• You'll make mistakes, so learn to live with them and move on.
• Know when to keep your mouth shut and when to speak up.
• Don't stress too much about school stuff that it makes you miserable, but work your arse off, it'll pay off.
• Don't acquire a taste for wine or gin. It'll wreck your nights out.
• Do go Abseiling even though it scares the shit out of you.
• Make sure you take part in Freshers week, you'll love it.
• Say "yes."
• Discover ASOS sooner. It's fabulous.
• Black coffee, fish finger sandwiches and the Friends boxset is a winning combination.
• When Harry Met Sally, Sex and The City, Mean Girls and Friends will teach you everything you need to know about love, and life.

And most of all, be happy in your own skin. Learn to be confident. Love YOU. You can't be anyone else, and after all, why would you want to be? You've got it pretty fucking great. <3

Nostalgia is a dirty word.

I've done it again. Got all nostalgic. Caught myself looking through old snaps, and that strange mix of happiness and sadness crept up on me. And that stench drifting in, what was it? Regret. Denial. Horror. A mixture of all three. Those days. Years ago. The happier times. Or at least seemingly so. I seemed to worry less back then, I seemed to smile more, I seemed to be happier, more carefree. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm miserable now, or unhappy with where my life is at at the moment. It's just, every so often, that little bittersweet feeling of nostalgia kicks in, and gets me to reminiscing of simpler times. My "younger and more vulnerable years" as described by Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby, were, to me, strangely some of my most daring and carefree. I guess it has something to do with age. 

At merely 14, the weight on my shoulders was less, light, easy to carry. I had less baggage, less experience of the world, less responsibility. I was naive, and thankful to be. The pressure was practically nonexistent. School was just somewhere to go to socialise with friends, the real work was yet to come. The real life was just around the corner. Experience of the big, bad world would be sooner than we expected. In the blink of an eye, we grew up. We aged overnight. Everything got serious, straight-laced, important. Those mid-term tests became exams, those spats with friends turned to unsettled feuds, those little jobs turned into big responsibilities. So, why now is everything different? As my teenage years are drawing rapidly to a close, (excuse me while I try not to dwell on this) why is it that I'm edgier than ever? 

The older we get, the more baggage we carry, and ultimately, the less willing we are to take risks. Why? Well I think I've figured it out. The older we are, the more we have to lose. At 19, I'm all too aware of what the big, bad world has in store, and sometimes, I'm not willing to take that risk, because there's just too much to stake. Even though I'm only young, there are certain things I'll hold on to tighter than ever, and not let go. It's also harder to say how you feel. Rejection, judgement and a thousand and one other factors come into play when you're in your latter teenage years. Those soul-destroying, stomach-plummeting moments we've experienced before, well, understandably we're reluctant to put ourselves in similar situations just in case the outcome matches up.

So, nostalgia really is a dirty word. It makes you bitter and confused and yet, at the same time, makes me want to get back to those days, those feelings of freedom. Throwing caution to the wind and risking everything you've got for something you want/need. Maybe it's time I did just that. For once, not concentrate on what's at stake, but what I've got go gain. Maybe if I play my cards right, it'll work out better than ever. 

Unforgettable.

Sitting in the Stadium of Light in Sunderland, surrounded by 20,000 other people; including many other die-hard Bon Jovi fans, the sun blaring, various support acts singing and drumming away, I couldn't have been happier. With my auntie, my clone as said by some. Drinking indecently expensive pints of Strongbow out of plastic cups. Scruffy floors, the height from the stage, people swarming about like bees, trying their best not to bump into other people juggling too many alcoholic beverages and band merchandise: the kind of gifty irrelevant things like t-shirts and mugs and programmes that require you to take out a bank loan to afford them. And everyone is here for the same reason. A very-fabulous, Mr Jon Bon Jovi. A man I've loved for many years, even if it was from a distance. Therefore, I jumped at the chance of actually seeing (and hearing him play) personally. Everyone knows the songs. The anthems. The soundtrack to so many people's childhoods, (unfortunately, I was born in the wrong era.) Those "how can you not know the words!?" kind of songs. The hype begins when It's My Life comes over the microphone, and everyone's on their feet in unison. Then for the classic everyone's been waiting for, Livin' On A Prayer. Even if you aren't a Bon Jovi fan, you know the words. There was wonder circulating around the stadium; what would be the final song? It was obvious wasn't it? It had to be. The song you sway to. The song you sing when thinking about the only person you really love. The ultimate power ballad. Named one of the greatest, most famous love songs of all time. Yes, you've guessed it. Always. Hearing a crowd of strangers singing in unison to one of my favourite songs ever written, as the sun gradually was disappearing on the horizon, mood lighting in tow, was one of the most memorable experiences ever. It was wonderful and romantic and very picturesque. Yes, I know. Gush gush gush. I was left speechless. Totally, utterly, unforgettable.

Dedication #3: The Gang.

My family. The people who, in some cases, share my surname, or in other cases, possess a different name completely, yet are just as close to me. The group my grandma affectionately calls "the gang." I love you all, from my parents, to my sister, to my grandparents, auntie and uncle, the abundance of cousins; you're all great. You're there to help me when I need it (or sometimes, when I really don't.) You're my friends for life, no matter what the outcome. I'd walk through hell for you all, and I know you'd do the same for me. The people I worry about, care about, and love unconditionally, even though we fight ruthlessly at times. I wouldn't and couldn't change you all. The family get-togethers, the random days out, the things you really can't laugh about with anyone else. The priceless moments. You can't make the stuff up, we've had so many good times, so many unforgettable memories. It's the age-old saying, that you can't pick your family, but even if you could, you lot would be my first and only choice. I may be moody and harsh and difficult at times, but it's only because I love you, and I know we're thick as thieves. You take my bad moods and my spat-out words, and I take the sometimes-unwelcome criticism, as we have a mutual understanding, that we're okay like that. The support I couldn't do without, the Sunday catch-ups I never want to miss, the feeling that I can walk through the front door, and there's someone there waiting to ask me how my day's been, and put the kettle on, if and when it's really needed. So, gang. This is to say, I love you all. I need you all, and I never ever want to lose you.

Dedication #1: I'm the Cheryl to her Betty.

Elizabeth-y. Lizzybeth. Bitsy. Betty. 

The girl who knows me better than I know myself. My best friend, through everything. The girl I got to know over one too many creative Variation posters in Mr Cook's science lessons in Year 8. We have been through so much together, from mutual friends' fall-outs, to family problems and everything in between. The one I've taken countless photos with, the one with impeccable taste, the best sense of humour and the greatest air-guitarist of all-time. My Earth Hour partner, my confidante, my drunk text buddy, my other half on Bebo all those years ago. 

The one who I struggled to stifle laughter with through countless Media and English lessons with Rosey. In the time we've known each other, we've been all over together; A very wet, miserable yet hilarious 3 days in the Scottish Borders for 'team building', two very questionable, so-called 'educational' visits to Edinburgh, two very random, lengthy trips to Stratford, which our teachers swore were 'cultural visits', god knows how many cinema outings, meals and shopping trips in between. We spent two weeks together in Turkey a few years back, and lived to tell the tale, minus a few dodgy run-ins with the locals, some very funny experiences with someone we've come to know as Poodley (for unexplainable reasons) and the ultimate risk of being drowned in the pool, unless we participated, willingly, in The Dance. It was one of the best experiences of my life.

She's the one person who knows every one of my secrets, the person who means the world and more to me, the person I trust with my life. I was in a total panic, god knows why, when I was going to start Uni back in September, and for the first time, I wouldn't be surrounded by the same familiar faces, namely Betty. The fear that we'd drift apart and eventually become strangers, was horrifying to me.Obviously, I was blind to think i could ever get rid of her that easily. She's currently pursuing a degree in Primary Education, something she's destined to do, and I just know that if she's ha;f as good a teacher if she is a friend, her future students are lucky as hell.

We can go days or even weeks without seeing each other, yet when we do, nothing has ever changed. We can spark up a conversation as if we'd had no time apart. I've told her this, but to lose her would be like losing my right arm. I can honestly say I don't know what I'd do without her, and I never want to find out.

So, to the most mental, funny, positive person I know, this is a dedication I hope you'll appreciate when you read. Bad news, you're stuck with me for a while yet.