Here goes nothing...

Mum suggested I blog. She's been doing it for a year or two, blogging that is, not suggesting I blog. Mum's blog, by the way, can be found at sheapy.blogspot.com. I don't know the last time she actually wrote to it, there may be another entry coming soon though.

The weather recently is something I can't make my mind up about. It seems to be very undecided, windy but warm, sunny but cold, dark and cloudy but dry, light but wet... The possibilities are endless! It seems to me as though it can be lovely for days, lulling you into a false sense of security, waiting until you plan something, and then turning on you and doing completely the opposite. The slightest bit of sunlight and everyone runs to the shops, almost fighting over the last bag of charcoal for their BBQ. Then, as soon as everywhere's sold out, all the BBQ-planer's friends have said they'll come and it's all arranged, the weather turns. The heavens open and buckets upon buckets of water pour from the skys, wetting everything and everyone that happens to be in its way. This always happens in the holidays. I'm not saying I'm an outdoors person; I'm not. However it is nice to look out of the window at the sun and smell the BBQ's cooking. Rain's nice... It is, but that's while I'm at school, in that horrible greenhouse which they call a building. Rain's nice to watch, very intresting, more interesting than some of my lessons at least. But now, with all the revision I've got to do, I'd be pleased with a bit of rain, rather than ever changing weather.

Revsion. That's a taboo. Forbidden. Try explaining to my teachers that it's one of those things that are impossible. You sit for an hour, looking at a book, and none of it goes in. All I can remember from yesterday is that Prohibition happened in the USA and it started in 1918 and ended in... 1933?

Well that's all of my ranting for today... If I don't stop now I'll never stop. From now on maybe I'll attepmt HS:MS:HS, take a picture (after stealing my sister's camera) and then discuss that.

x