**SPOILER POST** Sherlock: And now we wait.

Two years we waited patiently for this series. Two years of only being able to receive our fixes from the previous 6 90 minute episodes. We endured, we struggled through, knowing that the pay off would be worth it because we believed in the Gatiss/Moffat/Cumberbatch/Freeman team so much.

And then it arrived. The long awaited series, after years of predictions and wonders over how it was that Sherlock Holmes cheated death. For my review of the first two episodes, please do check out what I said last week. This post will predominantly be about the third and final episode. An episode that had me worked up into such a state all week, for fear that Moffat would almost certainly be killing off someone and leaving me in a state of snot and tears. Thankfully this wasn't the case.

The anticipation and lead up for me, over the past week, entered into non-healthy levels as I started to feel the familiar pangs of obsession take over my mind. If I wasn't already convinced on my own that I was probably too fixated on the upcoming episode, the concerned facebook messages and glazed over looks on work colleagues eyes confirmed that my conversation topic needed to drastically change if I wanted to keep the friends I had... I knew all this, but still couldn't stop myself. I watched The Sign of Three at least once a day, to the point that, by Saturday, I was happily mouthing along with the lines, having learnt the entire script by heart.

When not watching the programme, I thought about it... I spent an unhealthy amount of time on Tumblr, until I accidentally fell on what I thought was a Spoiler of epic proportions (a very realistic seeming post about Lestrade being killed). This was the only thing that caused me to stop getting wrapped up in the fandom. I am so glad that this spoiler did not happen.

...There is also a chance that I may, just slightly have delved into a little dabbage of photoshop...

I challenge anyone to say that wasn't exactly what they were thinking when watching this scene...

Anywho. His Last Vow... What did I think? I think that I love Moffat more now than I have ever done. To properly discuss this episode though, we really need to begin with Charles Augustus Magnussen. Freaking hell, did I want to slap that man. It irked me that someone was on my favourite show who I hated with such a passion. It felt weird and alien, and it took me a while to realise why it was that it did...

Truth is, up until this point, each and every one of the people who have come up against Sherlock, I have kinda loved as well. They've been likeable in this really weird way that makes the viewer question their sanity,as well as their moral compass. Case and point being the unusual but undeniable attraction I have had and always will have for Moriarty... yes, just like Molly, I'm beginning to think that my type of guy is a sociopath.

But Magnussen? I hated him so much, I wanted to reach into my screen and strangle him throughout the episode. Having had a while to think about what it was that made me hate him, I realised that it was simply because he belittled Sherlock and Watson every moment he had. From peeing in their fireplace to flicking.John's.face. I got violent at that scene... I'd like to flick him until he bleeds. Sorry... taking a deep breath... and I'll continue.

I can't fault Lars Mikkelsen, he was so chillingly calm in his interpretation of this villain. When he licked the face of Lady Smallwood, I realised then that this man was going to turn my skin... I'm not going to lie, it had a lot to do with him then wiping his tongue on a cloth serviette, which the thought of alone makes me clench my teeth in discomfort... but I probably would have hated him equal amounts had he not licked something that really shouldn't be licked... *takes a moment to gag a little*

For all his chilling performance however, the arch enemy who still managed to steal the show, mainly on account of him being so very awesome, even when he's just in Sherlock's head, was of course Moriarty.

The moment Sherlock runs into the padded room and caught sight of the chained up crazy person in the corner, I crossed my fingers, said a little prayer, and hoped against all hope that it was Moriarty. And of course it was. Now, upon having this confirmed, I am already in a state of elation and pure joy. However, the moment he comes charging at the camera and starts spitting... I actually applauded. I'm not ashamed to say it. I gave him a nice large clap and congratulated Andrew Scott for once again being so awesome.

...

I did also then have to deal with the worrying residual feelings after the scene however, whereby I came to terms with the fact that even though the man was crazed, tied up, spouting out stuff that didn't make much sense, and was clearly out of his mind, I still found it hella sexy. I'm really not that sure what that says about me, and if I'm honest, I'm not in a rush to find out... pretty certain the answer isn't going to be a good one, so what's the point?

And then there was Mary... I was confused with this. Don't get me wrong, I did like the whole explanation, and it was completely different to what I had going on in my head. Not to mention, the line "The problems of your past are your business, the problems of your future are my privilege" actually had me scooping my heart off the bed, where it had melted right out of my body. And of course, for him to then follow this up with:

Mary: You don't even know my name.
Watson: Is Mary Watson good enough for you?
Mary: Yes, oh my God yes
Watson: It's good enough for me too.

At this point, I had my bowl of popcorn hovering below my mouth, my hands shoving down mouthful after mouthful as I exclaimed to the empty room "this is damn good telly."

...

Reading back over those last two points, I'm beginning to wonder if my housemates ever get worried about the noises that leave my room when I'm watching Sherlock. I think I applauded yesterday's episode about five times... I definitely whooted a couple of times and wasn't exactly quiet in my opinions during any Magnussen scene on that day. I might ask them one day... I might not. I haven't decided.

My concern with the Mary twist isn't even something I can put my finger on. There are holes in the reasons for why she had to shoot Sherlock. I get that she did it in a way that he would survive, although barely, but why shoot him at all? Why not just knock Magnussen out and bolt it? I couldn't understand the reasoning behind it.

The reveal of Mary to John however, was chilling and, once again, I had to give Martin Freeman top marks for being able to convey a world of hurt in just one look. How does he do that???? Not to mention the "You're the client" speech was amazeballs. Well done Moffat, excellent piece of writing. I can't wait until we're best friends.

That aside though, I just can't work Mary out now. I know she's meant to be this once assassin who is now reformed and in love and trying to leave her old world behind. But I wonder if they tried too hard to make the world love her in the first two episodes, and now it's compromised who she's meant to be. She could be that good at giving off these two personalities but to what extent? I'm now perplexed by her. I don't know if it's necessarily a bad thing, as I'm sure the next series will be full of answers in this regard, but still... I want to know now.

Which brings me onto my last point. 2 years we waited for this series. It was over in 1 and a half weeks. Now who knows when we get the next lot? I suppose we should be used to the feeling of waiting around for more episodes... goodness knows, we spend more time doing that than actually watching them, but still... the thought of another 2 year wait?

I'm going to need to find a new obsession... otherwise there'll be no living with me.

Peace out my lovelies.

Welcome to Fancy Things Friday! The Popcorn Machine.

Hey my lovelies!!

So I'm developing this idea that I might devote certain days to certain things throughout the week. Partly to give this blog some structure, but mainly so that I'm motivated to actually write things on it.

So far, I have two days paved out...

Wind Back Wednesdays:
This is where I delve into my memory bank and find a story from my past to regale you with... I have a lot of material to go on, trust me.

Fancy Things Friday:
This is where I bring to light something that has caught my attention during the week. It could be in the form of a website I liked, a new blogger/youtube account/twitter/other internet thing I've discovered, a thing I've bought or been given/a place I've been... basically, anything that I've seen and gone "Ooooh, that's fancy and fun, I like that." Then I decide to advertise the hell out of it, on this blog.

Once again, I would like to throw in a disclaimer that this is all an idea at the moment. I'm not promising that I will deliver every week, but at the moment, I'm going through this whole kick of being pro-active and shizzle, and so feel highly motivated to see this through. We'll see how well I go though... It is the beginning of the year and all that, mostly running off the adrenalin of wanting to actually give my life some form of meaning... I don't know how long that will last.

So, as it's Friday. I thought I'd start up this series with a Christmas present that I received from Marmie and Father this year. Younger-Brother-Daniel gave Marmie a massive lecture about how he wanted her to give us all presents that involved thinking out of the box this year. Something which we have all since laid into him for, as it required the demand for us to do the same as well. Younger-Brother-Daniel, himself, has also regretted this speech as present giving was a lot more effort when we realised that we wouldn't be able to get away with the standard TV boxset of something or other, like we normally divert to.

Anywho, as a result of this, Marmie and Father went to great lengths to find me a present that was thoughtful and unique. They found a theme based on my current lifestyle, which was a way to aid my quiet nights in, watching movies. Somehow they got it into their heads that of anything they had to give, this would be the most useful... they weren't wrong.

So, Christmas day rocked up, and I received from them an awesome series of presents. One snuggly and very comfortable Minnie Mouse Onesie, four packets of Popcorn Kernels, a misjudged DVD of a collection of films... (Marmie had bought me a collection of films starring Selina Gomez, not really knowing who Selina Gomez was, and not realising that her films don't usually get enjoyed by anyone over the age of 11 years old), and then the biggest present under the tree, which pleased me to no end, in the form of my very own Popcorn Machine.

Now, it might be something that a lot of you already have... I don't know the type of lifestyles you live, you may very well be a popcorn crazed family/individual who makes popcorn on a nightly basis and never watches a movie without it. But for me, this is a new and novel thing. Especially as I like my popcorn plain/salty, which rules out my buying any of the packeted stuff you get in shops. Also, my parents have stocked me up with enough corn kernels to last me until I'm 80, so the cost saved in this present is immense.

If you guys don't have this particular machine, or one like it, I'm sure there are many good brands available, then I do recommend you get one. Since receiving this wonderful gift, my endless nights in by myself have seemed that little less mundane and soul destroying. I have an excuse to bring a little bit of fun into my nights in alone... at least until the novelty of it wears off, that is.

You see, now when I pick a movie to watch, it's not just that sad act of putting it into my computer and nestling in with my standard Hanjie puzzle book (I'll save the explanation of that one for another week on Fancy Thing Friday), but it's the fun of preparing a bowl of pretty low fat goodness, and hugging the bowl of popcorn to me, while I close my eyes and imagine I'm actually in a cinema somewhere, socialising with people. Guys, it's almost like the real thing.

Also, due to it being so low in the calorie take, I can treat myself to more than one go of making popcorn on the machine. In fact, just this Sunday gone, I made myself a bowl to rewatch Sherlock: The Empty Hearse, and then made another one just in time for Sherlock: The Sign of Three! Look at me go! I am living the life!!

But my plug of this machine isn't all perfect and sunshine. There are a few warnings that I feel I should get out there, should you decide to purchase one for yourself.

1. Only put in the amount of kernels that the instruction leaflet suggests... it may not seem like much, but trust me, it will be enough. Any more, and... well... just trust me on this one.

2. The smell when you initially turn the machine on, coupled with the sound that it makes, may send you into a little panic attack over the fear that you might be close to blowing up the house. Do not worry, it's meant to smell and sound like that... the burning/overheated smell just means that it's working... Of course, if there are sparks and smoke, I'd suggest just turning it off for a few minutes, to let it cool down. Not that this has happened to me yet, but it just seems like common sense, really.

3. Beware of stray kernels whilst the Popcorn machine is in cooking mode. They will escape from the machine in a desperate attempt at saving their lives and burn a hole into your skin if they come into contact with you. Do not attempt to pick these kernels up. It's like placing your hands round actual burning coals. Also, if you have a daughter who is really excited about her present, don't pick one up, realise it's hot and then throw it at her. She will most certainly get burnt as well as you, and will not take any joy in being able to say that she had joined you in your pain. *cough* Father *cough*.

Other than that, you are golden. Keep the three rules in your head and you are good to go. I know that this advert for the popcorn machine has now made you desperate to go out and purchase it... you are welcome. It is worth the minor burns and fear that a stray hot kernel will land on something flammable and burn the house down... I think.

Happy Popping!

Until next time.

Peace out my lovelies.

The tales of Younger-Brother-Daniel and I: Our trip to Ireland

I'm usually a fairly chipper and optimistic lady nowadays, not to the point where you want to throw things at me, but more that I don't fall into a pit of despair anytime any bad things come my way. I like to think that this is the impression I give off to most people, and for the most part, I would say that others agree with this opinion.

There is one exception to this however, and that is in the form of Younger-Brother-Daniel.

Case and point: Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve, myself and Younger-Brother-Daniel had to get a plane to Belfast, as Father and Marmie had moved there from Scotland, where they had previously lived.

I don't know why Younger-Brother-Daniel brings out the pessimistic in me. I don't think he's overly chipper himself, more like just in a constant state of "I can't be bothered to be bothered about stuff." He doesn't get angry often, in fact I'm struggling to remember the last time, outside of our teens, that I've actually seen him angry. He just tends to go with the flow... as such, any worry I might have about things, tends to be turned into a complaint from his end that I am far too pessimistic for his liking.

Of course, this leaves me confused as I'm not usually interpreted this way. But then, instead of arguing this, I find myself thinking it would be far more fun to play to this and irritate him... we've grown up and moved on with our lives, but the sibling desire to mildly annoy each other is still so deeply engraved in us that we sometimes just can't help ourselves.

Anywho, Christmas Eve was when this familiar correspondence seemed to appear again. You see, we had to get on a plane to Ireland. I was already in a state of panic regarding this, as my passport had expired and, although I didn't need a passport to get to Ireland, I needed some form of ID to get there. I didn't drive so I had no driver's license to speak of and nothing else to use. As such, I had applied for a Citizencard, which would apparently work as a form of ID. However, due to being slightly fond of the procrastination and thinking I had more time than I actually had, I had been late with applying for this card. This, coupled with the fact that my lovely friend, who had agreed to be my verifier (proof that I was who I said I was and not someone pretending to be me...) was on maternity leave so couldn't prove she was who she said she was, I was approaching the Thursday before Christmas Eve with no ID to speak of and a series of emails coming my way from the Citizencard people, telling me that I would have to restart the process again with a new verifier, in order to get the card I needed.

I kept my calm in this. In fact, I was pretty impressed with how I dealt with the whole thing on this day. As the Citizencard people refused to have a way of being contactable via phone (they said it was to "improve customer service by not wasting money on a call service"(??????!!!!!)), I had to resort to conversing with them by email. To say they were sparse with details in these emails would be a slight understatement. The overall gist of our correspondence was:

Me: I have a few questions for you; Is there any other way you can contact my verifier outside of her workplace? Can you contact her HR and verify it with them instead? Once verified, how long will it take for the card to get to me? Will I be able to get it by Christmas Eve? Is there any extra charge I can pay to ensure it gets to me in time? What other way can we go about ensuring you get the information you need?

Them: No.

Me: ???? What are you answering to?

Them: We need confirmation from your verifier.

Me: And how can we do that, if she's on maternity leave?

Them: We need confirmation from your verifier from her workplace.

...

And so on and so forth.

It was a very frustrating afternoon sorting this out. But amazingly, I got through it without freaking out! And, as luck would have it, my Lovely-Friend/Verifier was going into work the following day and so said she would confirm what needed to be done then.

Anywho, after a long and particularly bitchy email from me, clearly pointing out every single fault in their email responses and demanding that they actually answer the questions being set out to them, instead of the ones they were making up in their heads, I managed to get a coherent response out of them in terms of ensuring that they would fast track the card (after I'd paid extra of course) and get it to me by Christmas Eve. In order to do this, I was expecting a phone call from them the following day, to announce that everything was in place and to take my card details for the additional charge.

Friday came, My-Lovely-Friend/Verifier confirmed that I was a real person and informed me of this fact. I waited for a phone call... and waited... and waited. I thought of calling them to chase this, then remembered that they didn't believe in having phone numbers, you know, to improve customer service. So I sent an email to remind them instead. I waited... and waited... and nothing.

It was at this point that Younger-Brother-Daniel thought it would be awesome to give me a call and ask if I had the tickets for the plane journey ready. He asked the question and it was like a damn broke in my eyes. I burst into stupid amount of tears and made the wild and dramatic statement of "I'm not coming home for Christmas, I don't have any way of getting there. I'm stuck in England. You're going on your own."

There was silence for a moment as Younger-Brother-Daniel realised the mess he had just created in asking this question. Now, Younger-Brother-Daniel and I are pretty close, especially since he moved to London a few months ago. We meet up regularly and are no strangers to the post-Doctor Who/Sherlock episode phone conversation, where we disect what we have seen for hours afterwards. However, there have only been two occasions on which he has ever had to deal with me in this state, this being the second one. I will say this now, both times, he has held his own and dealt with this amazingly. His way of doing it this time was as follows:

Younger-Brother-Daniel has been shortened to YBD

YBD: Oookay. Well, I see you're dealing with things right now. What's happened?
Me: Citizencard people are being horrible people who won't help me and now I'm stuck in England with no way out.
YBD: Well, that's ridiculous and not going to happen. Don't be silly, of course you're coming to Ireland with me.
Me: But how?

There was a pause, before Younger-Brother-Daniel said the most awesome thing that felt like we had both just jumped back in time about 15 years.

YBD: ... I'll ask Mum.
Me: I didn't want to worry her until I knew for certain that I couldn't come.
YBD: Don't be silly, I'll call her now, let her know and she'll know what to do.
Me: ... Okay.

Yup, that's right ladies and gents; two adults at 25 and 28 years old and we still run to Mummy when we don't know what to do... I hold my head high with pride on that fact, she is pretty awesome, after all.

I got off the phone and waiting impatiently for the next call, trying to stop the stupid amount of tears that continued to pour down my face in what was turning into a mini stress out panic attack.

Twenty minutes later, Marmie called me and informed me that she'd been on the phone to the airlines and they were prepared to accept my expired passport, as it only expired a couple of months previously. I thanked Marmie, got off the phone and took a long hard look at myself in the mirror, amazed that I still required both sibling and parent to fight my battles...

Anywho, as it turned out, I finally got a phone call from Citizencard on Monday (from a with-held number, of course) reassuring me that they would get the card to me the following morning. And, let me tell you, when that postman turned up at my door on Christmas Eve, there is a chance that I may have threatened to kiss him... he didn't look too impressed with this... *sighs* ...another non-starter.

So, you can imagine, by the time we arrived at the airport on Christmas Eve, with all that having happened, coupled with the fact that the News hadn't stopped warning us that all trains and planes were going to be delayed on Christmas Eve due to the strong winds, I was not exactly in the best frame of mind in believing that this plane was going to leave the airport.

So my slight comment that we will be spending Christmas in Gatwick Airport, in context, makes perfect sense. And that was how it had started, I made one little comment about how we weren't going to make it to Ireland for Christmas and Younger-Brother-Daniel goes off on this tirade about how pessimistic I was and made some form of comparison between me and Scrooge/the Grinch, that I felt was highly uncalled for. But, as we had nothing left to do but converse with each other on this topic, in the light of getting there really early/the monstrous delays being predicted, I thought I might as well play the part.

This led to my making plans within the airport for where we would sleep, the material we would use to form makeshift beds, and the games that we could play to keep us occupied. The games topic may have got a little out of hand, especially when we talked about the game Munchkin, which is a card role playing game based loosely on the Dungeons and Dragons type of game:...

Me: You've got the game Munchkin with you, haven't you?
YBD: That's a really long game, when are we going to have time to play that?
Me: We're here for the next 3 days, so we might as well.
YBD: We are not here for-
Me: If we set it up in the main waiting area, we can see if we can get others involved in playing.
YBD: We're just going to ask random people to play with us?
Me: We won't need to, people will be asking us to play once they see how much fun we're having.
YBD: I'm not too sure of the logistics of that, I don't even know what the maximum amount of people are, in this game.
Me: The more the merrier, I say. It could be like one of those flash mob things, we could film it as more people join in around the room.

Slight pause and Younger-Brother-Daniel lets that idea sink in.

YBD: That has to be the most boring version of a flash mob I have ever heard of. Who would watch that?
Me: No one, because they'd all be too busy playing the game and having the time of their lives.

There is a reason why I have hyped the lead up to our flight so much... mainly because we had a half hour delay and then took off without any problem, which pretty much makes this the most anti-climactic ending to a story in the world, but didn't you enjoy the journey it took to get us there??

No?

Okay, sorry. I'll try to be more entertaining next time.

Peace out my lovelies.

A Random memory from the archives: The day I realised my father was too clever for me...

Seeing as it has just been Christmas and we therefore tend to reflect back on past memories and stories, I've come across some interesting ones from my childhood, and I thought, why not tell you all about one of them? It's always fun to delve into the mind I once had. I have quite a few, and so thought I might make a bit of a series about them, possibly telling you a new one every Wednesday, although I'm not going to commit to that, it's too much pressure. All I will say is that I will try.

So today's memory takes us to a place that well and truly proves I grew up in Britain, as it involves a family trip to a castle ruin and involves a very British word. It was also the day that I gained a new respect for my father's ingenius powers of deduction, and realised that he was, in fact, a force to be reckoned with.

I was about 8 or 9 years old, and about at the age where I had become aware of the idea of swear words, and had even heard a few myself. I had been exposed to certain words late in life, given that I have yet to hear my parents say anything remotely close to a swear word outside of the phrase "You ninny!" which my father shouted out during a football match one year, to much the enjoyment of the rest of the family. As such, my childhood was sheltered to any "bad words" until children started to mutter them in the playground. My lack of knowledge of these words did become a bit of a running joke within the school playground as, when my obliviousness had been noted, I was quite often tricked into saying words I hadn't realised where bad, and then the people tricking me would subsequently run to the teachers and tell them that I had said them... this would usually consist of children asking me to say the word Bucket while pulling at both sides of my mouth, so as to create a different sound altogether... I know, children can be cruel.

*Stops and wonders how many people have now just tried that, to see what I meant...*

Anywho, one word that I had previous knowledge of, mainly due to hearing it on a TV show I had snuck in to watch after my bedtime, and then got told off for saying in the playground the next day, (which was generally how I found out that words were bad) was a word that featured strongly in our family trip to the castle.

You see, we had gone to a castle that had a large amount to do with a certain royal family member under the name of Mary. Due to her legacy, she had adopted a nickname after she died, which was "Bloody Mary."

Now our trip to this castle consisted of a tour and a talk of the history of the place, before we were then allowed free reign to check out the ruins for ourselves. During this talk, our tour guide began on her speech about this woman and mentioned, for the first time, her nickname, saying the term "Bloody Mary" without a flinch nor an eyelid batted from any of those listening to her, including my parents.

My 8 year old brain almost exploded, trying to understand it. I remember throwing a glance at Older-Brother-Glyn, who in turn raised his eyebrows at me. It seemed amazing that we were both not only allowed to hear such a word without being ushered out of the room, but that no one seemed to be offended at all. I couldn't comprehend it. I was certain there had to be a flaw somewhere in it.

And then a thought came to me, what if this wasn't just a flaw, but rather a beautiful gift, a loophole that would allow me to be naughty and get away with it. My little mind went into overdrive trying to work out how I can turn this to my advantage. I walked through the rest of the tour, my body almost bubbling over with excitement over this new revelation. Eventually the tour finished and we were invited to check out the place for ourselves. We did.

At this point, my memory tells me that the rest of my family disappeared, except for Father and myself. I'm unsure as to where they went, but I'm going to assume that they simply went to explore another area of the castle, rather than anything else more sinister like they fell off a ledge or something...

Anywho, Father and I had climbed to the one of the turrets of the castle. Father was examining an old unused canon, and I had found myself in front of an information board, telling me what this part of the castle was used for. As if by fate, Bloody Mary's name shone out of the text and I had to bite my lip to contain my excitement.

"Daddy!" I called out. "Bloody Mary has been here too!"

I turned to face Father, waiting with baited breath on his reaction. Knowing that this would be the moment of truth, if he accepted my use of this nickname, it was him giving me the green light to use it whenever I wanted. I had never felt so naughty in my life.

Father slowly turned to face me, a look of weariness on his face that suggested he could go either way. However, he simply nodded and said:

"That's nice."

It was like fireworks had gone off inside my brain. My father, the man who told us off if we so much as said the word "fart" had heard me say a naughty word, and had accepted it. I literally didn't know what to do with myself. After a moment of thinking, I decided that this was all too much of a good thing to let go to waste, so I decided to milk it for all it's worth.

"I can't believe Bloody Mary was actually here where I'm standing. The Bloody Mary. Why is she called Bloody Mary? She doesn't look that Bloody."

Father's weariness appeared to grow at each repeat of the word, but I didn't even notice, so hyped up was I at the free reign of a normally taboo word.

"You heard the tour guide as well as I did. She explained why."

"But I don't understand it. Bloody Mary actually stood here? Why would Bloody Mary do that? Do you think she minded being called Bloody Mary? I wouldn't want to be called Bloody Mary, it's not a nice name to be called... Bloody Mary."

"Enough!" Father called out.

I stopped in my tracks and peered up at Father, aprehension clear on my features. He seemed angry, although he had already made it clear that Bloody was a word I could use when put before Mary, as he hadn't minded the first time I had done it. Therefore, I hadn't done anything wrong, I couldn't be told off. I had been 100% clever in my words, there was no way that he could have a problem with a single thing I had said. I had worked out how to swear and get away with it, it was a fool proof plan.

"I know what you're doing." Father continued.

I gave him my most innocent look. "I'm just interested in Bloody Mary." I said.

Father sighed. "You are using that name as an excuse to swear."

Colour drained my face, my heart sank to my feet, I could not believe that he had worked it out. I had been so sneaky and clever about the whole thing. How could he have thought for one minute that it had been a trick? I shook my head, automatically going into defense mode, as an 8 year old tends to do.

"No I'm not!" I said. "I'm just interested in..."

"You are, and I know it."

I gaped at him. Was he reading my mind?? How did he know this stuff?? I was immediately terrified that Father had some magical powers I hadn't been aware of until now.

"I'm not doing anything wrong! It's her name!" I said.

"Well, I tell you what, how about we don't mention her anymore today?"

I pouted, he had just taken all fun out of what had been one of the best conversations I had ever had. I had to find a way around this.

"But what if I want to find out more about her? Can't I ask any questions?"

"Of course you can." Father said, with a smile. "But you can refer to her as Mary, I'll know who you're talking about."

My mouth dropped open, he had thwarted all my chances of being naughty and I was now backed into a corner.

"Fine." I said sulkily.

And I did sulk, turning back to the information board. My father had proven to me that he was able to read my mind and know exactly what it was that I was planning, my world had been turned upside down. I would have to be careful on all my plans from now on, this changed everything.

And I kid you not, I genuinely believed he could read my mind for at least a year after that. You can see why, there was clearly no other way for him to have known what I was doing.

Peace out my lovelies.

What a difference a year makes

I caught myself smiling just now... walking down the corridor at work and just smiling. I had no particular reason to. I had just bought a salad at the canteen and was given a free 2014 calendar which of course is nice, I like getting free things. However, I don't think that had anything to do with my smile, my smile was there purely because I am happy.

If I delve too much into the reasons why I am, I get the sneaky suspicion the happiness won't last, as there is no rhyme or reason to it at the moment. Looking at my place in life now, compared to me this time last year, I'm about at the same place; if anything, I'm slightly worse off.

I have less money and more outgoings, my writing isn't as frequent as it was then, my friendships are... well probably the same, with the exception that I speak to them a little more than I did then. However, there is one fundamental and all encompassing thing that is different in me. That thing is my mood.

You see, last year I climbed out of a fog that I had got lost in for over 10 years; marking 2013 as my most favourite and important year of my life. I won't go into the details, mainly because I have a post saved in my drafts that I have been writing for about 6 months which goes into this in detail. As it might be my most soul exposing post yet, I don't want to upload it in any hurry, until I have it just right, hence the silly long time it is taking me to edit it. However, I will say that the change in me and the comfortableness I am able to feel within my own skin, is so mind boggingly different to anything I have experienced, that I find myself unable to comprehend it at times.

I found myself at a dinner party on Friday night with some people I used to work with (I know! Don't I sound posh and something right out of Downton Abbey?) Anywho, we were debating about a whole series of things, and a question was posed to me, asking me if I minded that my lifestyle might be seen as inappropriate in the eyes of the more conservative religious groups in our world today. I found myself shrugging at this and shaking my head, simply stating "I couldn't care less if someone is offended by how I live, I'm not doing it to offend them, and it has nothing to do with them, so why should it matter to me what they think?"

As I said those words, I found myself shocked and surprised at how comfortable I felt in saying them. I realised in that moment, that I had never been so completely certain about anything in my life. Growing up in a strong Christian built world, I had pushed myself into a lifestyle that lived for approval from those around me, to the point where I was unable to find any form of approval within myself. This was where I was, this time last year. It was where my mind and my heart was at. And it was at conflict because the constant struggle to meet the expectations I believed I had to meet, was slowly draining me of everything I had.

Then last year happened, it wasn't in the form of a life altering event that forced me to reconsider all my thoughts and processes, but rather in the form of a gentle whisper in my ear, encouraging me to take ownership of my life and suggesting new ways I could approach it. That voice changed me more than I can say. It allowed me to not associate crappy situations with a crappy mood, but rather look at ways in which to survive through it. And I did. I dealt with things and began to become more vocal with what it was that I needed and wanted. I built a life from scratch on my needs and what I felt was right to do. And with that, came a freedom that opened my heart and lifted my head, allowing me to see the world as it was for the first time.

I feel truly blessed and honoured to be able to see the world this way. Remembering how hard it had been to get to this point, I will never take for granted the ability to simply say "So what?" when something bad happens.

I'm not going to lie, I have bad days, but only in the way that others do... the mood doesn't linger for long and soon I am able to get on with life again. I also realise that there does need to be a certain degree of work that needs to be done on my life, as I have inadvertantly wasted a large chunk of my 20s in the fog, and I'm damned if I continue that way into my 30s. I also have to work that little harder at the moment, to ensure that I don't slip into my old ways. Right now, it seems to be manifesting itself into laziness and procrastination; ensuring that I never get round to making a change, in favour of watching TV and scrolling forever through the internet. I have things that I need to do, and my reminder of that is realising how far I have come already, in just under a year. The list of things to do in 2014 are thus (these aren't New Year's Resolutions, just a to-do list):

1. Be on this blog more. Nothing brings me more joy that being around my Internetual Peeps.

2. Finish my damn second book. I have seriously slipped here, and am struggling with the final chapters. I will finish it people, I promise.

3. Finish another freelancing job I currently am working on.

4. Get more freelancing work, anyone fancy me editing their work?

5. Get through Episode 3 of Sherlock on Sunday without having a complete and utter breakdown. (I'm not holding out hope for this one)

6. Get more of an active life than the one I currently hold... as happy as I am, I am also fully aware of the lack of things happening with me right now.

And that's it. My obligatory New Year's Post. I do one every year, each time I list things that I will do and then never get round to doing... but then, as I said, this year is different. And it will continue to be, I'm sure of it.

Peace out my lovelies.

SPOILER POST: I shall be reviewing and talking about my love for Sherlock, because I simply can't contain my heart anymore

Guys,

I would like to formally apologise for the previous post I uploaded. I had inadvertently added a clip from The Empty Hearse, Episode 1 in Season 3 of Sherlock, a mere day after it had been aired on TV. Granted, it was a clip that occurred in the first minute and a half of the episode, but I didn't warn any people who hadn't had a chance to see the episode yet, which is a disgrace, and I am fully ashamed of my actions.

In my defense, I had assumed that the airing of Sherlock was the same of that of Doctor Who, whereby it was available on TV worldwide. Although this doesn't guarantee that all fans had watched it, I thought I was safe in the knowledge that the majority of the fans would have. However, I have been reliably informed that this is not the case. That, for some reason, by being born in the UK, we are therefore entitled to advance showing. Usually, I feel honoured when I learn things like this, but for some reason, this makes me feel outraged for all other fans. As promised to my American Internetual Friend Lucysfootball, I plan on rectifying this by writing a strongly worded letter to Stephen Moffat et al, to sort this out.

Anywho, I have things to say about the most recent two episodes of Sherlock, and so would like to make it very clear, before I go on, that I will be talking about these episodes, and therefore Spoilers will occur. As such, if you don't want to hear anything about them until you have seen them, get out now... just run, run as fast as you can and don't look back or scroll down... If you're reading this post via a portable device, such as a phone or tablet; discard it. Throw it into the nearest river/sea/ocean/bath and get the HELL out of there.

...


Or, you know, just close down the page. Whatever works for you.

With that warning out of the way, I will begin with my thoughts. Welcome to all people who have either seen the episodes, or haven't but really don't mind about finding out everything there is to know about them, before they do see it. I love you all, and hope you have had a fantastic Christmas and New Year. Without further ado:

My thoughts on Sherlock

First off, I should mention that I have now watched The Empty Hearse 10 times since it aired on Wednesday. If you do the math, yes that does include watching it on more than one occasion on the same day. I can neither confirm or deny that this included watching it 3 times on the night it was aired... same as I can neither confirm or deny that I did the exact same thing last night with The Sign of Three... All I can say, is that I have now watched The Sign of Three four times... in less than 24 hours since it was originally aired.

To say that I have become enamoured and altogether swept up in the world of Sherlock over this past week, is an understatement of gross preportions. When I haven't been watching the programme, I have been scrolling through the endless gifs and posts on Tumblr and sometimes laughing to the point where I have lost all breath. This has made one thing very clear in my mind; as much as I love the programme with all of my heart, I also love the fans who go with it. Seriously, if you haven't seen what's on offer, go to Tumblr, type in Sherlock and lose yourself for about four hours as you go through it all. Amazeballs wrapped up in happiness and love.

For those who wanted a brief summary of the reasons why this series of Sherlock has been so unbelievably amazing, here it is:

This adaptation of Sherlock is amazing, to say the least. They are based on the Works of Arthur Conan Doyle's books and short stories around the life of Sherlock Holmes. The original series set in Victorian England, the current series adapted to modern day and brought to our screens by Mark Gatiss and Stephen Moffat. The reason for why it works so well is due to the fact that Gatiss and Moffat might actually be the biggest fans of Arthur Conan Doyle existing in the world today. As such, their adaptations are, although in many ways, very different to the original stories, amazing at capturing the overall feel and spirit of the characters, bringing them very much to life in the episodes we are given. What's more, the love that Moffat and Gatiss give these characters pours out from the screen and envelops its watchers with such a yumminess that you can't help but be drawn in. And so, notwithstanding the amazing performances from the actors themselves, the true genius and general workability of this series is first and foremost down to these two creators and the passion that they bring to it.

Series one and two of Sherlock were amazing, to say the least. It was Gatiss and Moffat at their very best, in terms of the geeky attention to all things Sherlock, both from the original text and the previous adaptations that have been. Although the series blew up almost instantaneously, the long wait between Season 2 and 3, coupled with the growing success of both Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch, meant that the "Fandom" of the series continued to blossom and grow steadily, as more and more people joined the flock of love.

I'm not going to pretend to know for certain what it was that had led to the direction Moffat and Gatiss took with Season 3, as I unfortunately have not had a chance to become best friends with them yet, but until that happens, I can only hazard a guess as to their thought process, and this is my take.

When you love a particular thing so much, there is no better feeling than when you manage to recruit another person into loving it as well. Although Sherlock Holmes was already a massively popular and famous character, both in literature and on screen, Moffat and Gatiss managed to make them applicable to a whole host of new generations in their adaptation, thus causing the love for Sherlock Holmes to grow substantially. As such, I can't imagine that there is anything more satisfying and joyful in their achievements on this show.

Season 3 appears to have become a celebration of this fact. The first two episodes have been almost exclusively a tip of the hat to Sherlock's most loyal fans. This was shown, in plain sight, on the alternative theories on how Sherlock had survived the fall, all seemingly based on a collection of Fanfiction ideas that had been expressed through the two year hiatus between Series 2 and 3. On the next level, they then seemed to cater for all the hidden wishes and dreams for romantic interests between the characters. There are fans for every eventuality, and almost all of them seem to have been acknowledged:

Sherlock and Molly: The most amazing kiss of all television ever in the world... check out my previous post for that one.

Sherlock and Moriarty: Oh yes, we all thought it. They were perfect for each other. It made complete sense. And, I can't help but say, the thought that neither had actually died and had, instead, run off into the sunset together, is so amazing and awesome, I can't even begin to show my love for it.

Sherlock and Watson: Not so much shown in the first episode, only with the occasional beautiful speech made in trains and such. But if the Sherlock/Watson fans were disappointed with that, they made up for it in buckets with episode 2, focusing the entire 90 minutes on the relationship that Sherlock and Watson hold.

All of this was done without ruining the credibility of the original characters and storyline. Somehow, Moffat and Gatiss were able to incorporate the silly with the realistic in perfect balance that didn't compromise any aspect, but satisfied all who watched.

The first episode focuses solely on the reuniting of Sherlock and the rest of the world, after his fake death. I will take a moment here to just gasp and gulp back tears, as I make reference to the most amazing performance I have ever seen from Martin Freeman, when Watson first lays eyes on Sherlock. Oh my days, my heart was in my throat the whole time, my eyes lost in his as I felt the multiple emotions running through him. How does a person display all that in one look?? HOW????

Lestrade's reaction to Sherlock returning, with his two worded response to hearing his voice in the phrase "You Bastard" could not have been more perfect for him. Beforehand, I had no clue how Lestrade would react, after that, I couldn't imagine any other response fitting the bill.

The Molly/Sherlock companionship shift was also something I enjoyed. I am truly baffled as to where Moffat and Gatiss will take this, as Molly is the only member of the regular cast who isn't in the original stories. There are hints, especially throughout the first episode, that there is an attachment growing there, but I would be very surprised if this was ever acted on. Mainly due to the fact that the idea Sherlock is anything but asexual (with the exception of The Woman and the Fanfiction fantasies) is something that I can't quite get my head around. Molly would have to really impress him, intelligence wise, in order to spark his interest, and I just can't see them developing that relationship in that way... but I could be wrong... I'm also not saying that I would hate it if that did happen, but it doesn't exactly look likely. However, I do like that they have given her a backbone this series. Her "I'm having lots of sex" line in The Sign of Three, slayed me to the point that I raised my hand for a high-five and had to sadly lower it as I realised I was alone in my room.

And then there is Mary... ah Mary. My love for her character is making me really hate Moffat and Gatiss right now. They are gearing me up for an emotional breakdown unlike anything the world has ever seen. They keep on giving her the most understanding and awesome lines, knowing full well that the world is falling in love with her, just so that they can...

*words falter and lets out a small sob*...

I know this isn't going to end well... I just know it. And, although I have only known her for two episodes (yes, I consider that I know her, despite her being a fictional character, judge away), the love I have for her has already been set in and deeply routed... And now I'm terrified. Especially as I already have made plans to buy a T Shirt that says "I don't shave for Sherlock Holmes", which will only remind me of her every time I wear it.

Which brings us nicely into The Sign of Three. As much as I have always been an avid lover of previous Sherlock episodes, I don't ever quite remember laughing as much as I did with this one. If Martin Freeman got a chance to flex his gut-wrenching, "I-will-make-everyone-watching-cry-dammit" acting skills in The Empty Hearse, then Benedict Cumberbatch well and truly matched his performance in this episode. The look on Sherlock's face as he stares into Watson's eyes,after being told he was his best friend was amazing. Although nothing quite matches the simple obliviousness that Sherlock held after he had made the entire room cry with his simple observation of his admiration for his best friend. The fact that he had no clue how human he had sounded and his urgence to continue on with the speech, I couldn't breathe for the entire time, my heart in my throat, my mind acknowledging that this was the best moment Sherlock had ever offered.

...

Until fifteen minutes later of course, when suddenly our screens were filled with a drunk Sherlock... something that I had always wondered what would be like... and was not disappointed at all. My highlights of this?

1. Drunken Sherlock calls Mrs Hudson "Hudders."
2. Watson claiming Sherlock is "Clueing for Looks."
3. Sherlock's drunk observations around the room.
4. Sherlock punching the air as he is dragged away by Watson.
5. Sherlock: The game is... something
Watson: On?

I don't need to say anymore. You all know how awesome that was.

I will end now, I appreciate this is my longest post of all time... apologies. My geekdom rang through and wouldn't let me stop typing. But I have made observations and predictions on the latest episode that I'm pretty certain are completely true and so I may very well be revealing something about the next episode... if you don't want to read on with this; Peace out, we'll speak soon...



...



Everyone else? CAM. Charles Augustus Magnussen. He's the new arch enemy for the next episode. There was a telegram at the wedding to Mary from CAM, wishing her family could be at the wedding. The text on Watson's abduction in The Empty Hearse was sent to Mary's phone and not Sherlock's, despite texts being addressed to Sherlock.

Charles has her family. She's not an orphan after all.

I don't believe that this means she is working undercover and doesn't love Watson. I don't believe that there is anything sinister or evil about her. What I think is going on, is that her reasons for not telling Watson what is going on is tied into her family being abducted but not her reasons for being with him.

We all know how this is going to go. Apart from anything, Stephen Bloody Moffat has written this next episode. As much as I adore him, he knows just what to put in his storylines to make me fall into a heap of snot and tears. Doctor Who has well and truly proven that. He is lining it up for an all out blood fest. No good can come out of this next episode. No good at all. Only tears and sadness and Sherlock trying his hardest to save the people he's vowed to save, and failing miserably in some form or another...

There is a small part of me; the part of me who watches Romeo + Juliet and turns the film off after they consumate the marriage, stating that that was a lovely romantic story; who is tempted to just not watch the next episode. Just sit in my ignorant bliss at all the sweet and happy moments from the first two episodes and shut my ears to anyone telling me otherwise.

Although I know this part of me is nowhere near strong enough to stop me watching the episode. Which leads me to inviting all who feel they will need it, to start up a support group for this time next week. It will be necessary, otherwise we'll never be able to move on, whatever it is that they have planned.

Peace out my lovelies.

A letter to the unsuspecting men who I may date in 2014

Dear possible men that I might bring myself to date in 2014,

First off, this letter may never apply to you, because, in the past, I have told myself that I will date people, and then ended up deviating to the choice of finding something new to watch on Netflix. I'm not promising that this won't happen again. I'm not going to lie; my previous attempts of reaching out to you have been half-arsed at best. I do currently subscribe to a dating website, but I tend to forget I have most of the time. This will then result in a week where I may suddenly be present and email people, but please don't be deterred if I suddenly go quiet. It doesn't mean anything too serious, I've just simply forgotten I'm on there again, and discovered the entire series of Red Dwarf on Netflix, causing my attention to wander.

Having said that, I am going to try this year. Younger-Brother-Daniel shamed me over Christmas. According to him, staying in most nights to watch the Doctor Who 50 Year Special on repeat, really isn't an ideal way of living your life. I'm not totally sure I believe him, but I thought I'd open my mind to new things anyway. He also said that I should challenge myself on this blog. Make it interesting so that people would want to read stuff I say. Therefore I should try new things and make a massive deal out of them for the purpose of exploiting myself to anyone who wants to read, all over the world. So... you know... if that sounds like something you'd be into, I look forward to meeting you.

I should also mention that I have also been known to gear towards the Sci Fi geek orientation. In that I am one, rather than am attracted to one... although I wouldn't not be attracted to one... I'd find it a very sexy thing indeed to find a man who can quote The Doctor's speech to the Weeping Angels at the end of Series 5, Episode 4: The Time of the Angels... In fact you might say that you would be able to trap me with your words. Oh lol, lol, lol, lol. Just a little bit of clever word play for anyone equally awesome enough to know exactly what I am referring to. If you don't, don't worry, all you need to know is that it was clever and incredibly funny. You're welcome.

Anywho, I do like me some Sci Fi. Something that was always underlying within me, but has been suddenly exploded over the past few years, when Steven Moffat was introduced into my life.

I guess the point of this letter is to let you all know that I'm going to attempt to join the realms of the dating scene this year. I'm probably going to be really bad at it, being a 28 year old woman who has never experienced dating before... long story, and not one that is permanently damaging to me or paints me in a bad light at all, so we don't need to worry about that... hmmmm??

I should probably also mention that a gullible person would be fabtabulous. I like it when people assume what I am saying is correct, it makes me feel warm and gooey inside.

I'm also not one to dream in any realistic terms. This is a trait that I, personally, think is endearing and whimsical, but have also been informed is weird and little scary for those around me. Apparently, having very specific plans for my future in terms of the writing partnership I'm looking to form with Joss Whedon and Steven Moffat, coupled with the plans that I have for exactly what guidelines will have to be in place should the BBC want to make a series on the Utopia books, means that I have given far too much thought in what clearly isn't real, and not paid enough attention to my real life. Apparently, if I spent as much time and effort on my current life, I might actually make something of myself... I know what you're thinking, and the answer is yes boys, I do sound like a complete catch, and not in any way like some form of geeky hermit.

Okay, well... I think I've covered everything. I considered writing something about what it was that I am looking for, but at this stage, I think my family and I will be just immensely relieved if I managed to get anyone, so I'm not really that fussed. Just, don't take yourself too seriously, then we're golden. That's it...


...


Oh, and I suppose there is one, teeny, tiny other little requirement. It's insignificant really, minor... If we do actually manage to hook up and do the kissing and snuggling thing; every time we kiss, I expect it to be exactly like below. No deviations, no alterations. I don't care how many glass windows we break, I'm prepared to pay the cost.



That's all, and I look forward to meeting you soon!

Love Lisa

Peace out my lovelies

Doctor Who: My reaction to Matt Smith leaving, versus my family's reaction.

It's Christmas Day.

The closing credits to Matt Smith's final episode as the Doctor comes onto the screen. I can't take my eyes off the TV, for fear that my doing so will confirm the terrible future that is now laid out for me in my Whovian world. The room is silent but for the music that signals the end of the episode, as it escapes from the TV. I try my hardest to compose myself into some form of calm that will allow me to speak actual words without breaking out into uncontrollable sobs. Once I am as close to being able to do this as I can be, I take a deep breath and open my mouth.

"The transition from Matt Smith to Peter Capaldi was too quick. It came as a shock." I say.

"Really?" Marmie says. "I thought the whole thing was too long."

My gaze shoots from the screen and starts throwing deep, sharp and deadly daggers at my mother. I could forgive her for a great many things, but this? This is too much. Clearly not enough time has passed for her to be as insensitive as she is being.

"If you're going to insist on not understanding the magnitude of what has happened, then I suggest you don't say anything at all." I shoot back.

"Anyone up for a game of Munchkin?" Younger-Brother-Daniel offers to the room.

There are murmurs of agreement to this suggestion and both Marmie and The-Father begin to move from their seats, tidying away the remnants of the wrapping paper and snacks that still lay discarded around us.

"Let's everyone begin to tidy the room, before we start a game. It looks a mess at the moment." Marmie says, as she exits for the kitchen.

Younger-Brother-Daniel groans but his body creaks forward in an exasperated obligatory manner. He clearly doesn't like the idea of doing this, but accepts that it needs to be done anyway.

I glance back at the TV screen, still not able to find movement within my body. The opening credits to Eastenders begins and I hasten to turn the sound off, not interested in the depressing scene this classic soap is about to bring to Christmas day. However, this is the only thing that I am able to force myself to do. I'm still in shock. I'm still trying to get my head around the fact that there will never be another episode with Matt Smith playing the Doctor and, although there is a part of me who is incredibly excited at the notion of Peter Capaldi taking his place, I am not able to register that part because my love for Matt Smith's portrayal of my favourite fictional character of all time, is still so strong.

I have all these thoughts running through my head, all of which is only doubled by the emotional rollercoaster I have just experienced in seeing Amy Pond address her Raggedy Man once more. I am a wreck. The tears shed from Matt Smith's departure are still fresh on my cheeks; clinging on for dear life. They too, like the rest of me, aren't ready to let go of this moment.

I glance around at the now empty room, and manage to muster up the emotional stamina to open Facebook. I am outraged at the seemingly blase reaction my family have had to this devastating time in my life. I let out my outrage in the form of a facebook status, announcing to the world that my time for grieving is being forcibly cut short. I am spent. I am sad. I desperately search for anything; a vine, a funny picture, anything that might allow me to feel happiness again. I find one that fills me with a shot of happiness:

I find I am able to smile once more. I realise that there are always opportunities to go back and see Matt Smith. That the image of him taking his bow tie off one final time, doesn't have to be the last thing I see of him. No... I can go back and watch him put that bow tie on for the first time ever... just as he gives the first of his many, many kick-ass speeches; as he tells the Atraxi to "basically, run."

I nod my head in acceptance, as I come to terms with this new revelation and find it help me in the grieving process. I close my eyes, curl up into a ball and take a moment to mentally tell myself that everything will be okay.

The sound of Marmie's footsteps coming into the room interrupts my moment of self-healing.

"Seriously, Lisa." She says. "I did ask for your help in tidying this room. How else are we meant to enjoy Christmas, with a messy room?"

"Does no one care that Matt Smith just died?" I shout back.

Marmie throws me a perplexed look.

"Who?" She asks.

"Exactly!!" I shout as I throw my hands up in the air and storm out of the room.

Honestly... some people are just so insensitive.

To everyone else, I am so sorry for your loss.

Peace out my lovelies.

*Sighs* I'm just a social networking whore

I recently did something on Sunday. I was then given the challenge of doing this thing and then not mentioning that I did it on any social networking site. I've lasted two days so far and I'm struggling. I have all these little phrases and comments that I want to say about it, but I can't... because I was challenged... and I have a competitive streak in me that rivals all other competitive streaks. If I fail this challenge, I will hate myself and then Christmas will be ruined... for everyone. Personally, I don't want to be the person who ruins Christmas for everyone, so I'm soldiering on and not mentioning it, to save Christmas. You're welcome.

...

Before you say it, talking about it on this post doesn't count. I'm not mentioning what I did, just that I did it. Therefore, I'm not commenting on it and not advertising it and being totally comfortable within my own skin that I don't need to advertise my entire life on the internet...

...


Argh, who am I kidding? I do need the social networking. It's my drug. If I don't document my life then I am nothing. I am void of things. I am blank.

Guys, I don't want to be blank. It sounds boring... although it also sounds relaxing... maybe, I want to be part blank... maybe.

Anywho, my competitive side has the edge over my addiction and I'm not going to mention what I did. For those who are imagining that it was some form of life changing thing; it wasn't. My life is exactly the same. The people who were involved in The-Thing also have the exact same lives... as far as I know... Unless something happened after The-Thing and now their lives are dramatically altered. This could have happened. Although, I'm like 98.57% sure that this had nothing to do with The-Thing. This is because The-Thing was mundane and boring. But yet, I'm not allowed to talk about it...

I wonder if I would want to talk about it, if I hadn't been told that I couldn't talk about it. I am definitely one of those people who would press the shiny red button if I was told not to. It's just too tempting. But if it was a shiny red button that said "press me", would I still press it?

...

Yeah, I would. Because it's shiny and red and I like shiny things.

*Sigh*

Life is hard sometimes.

Peace out my lovelies.

Can I get a whoop whoop?... And other such hilarious noises.

Guys! Christmas is like really soon and shizzle!

Best Christmas present so far, I no longer have to move! Huzzah! This is the first Christmas in three years where I've been able to stay in a house and not have to pack and move my life once more! Awesomeness in a bag, that is... awesomeness in a bag.

Other stuff?? Well, I have a new job!

Yup, for the first time in 10 years, I am no longer employed by the NHS. I have become ex-employed by them, I've broken free!! ... Granted, I've just moved to another hospital in the private field, but still! It's progress.

Also! I have a uniform in this new place. People might not be so excited about this, but ladies and gents, I am. I am mega excited. No longer do I have to wake up and realise that I have absolutely nothing to wear... no longer do I have to work out what outfit is most comfortable and yet still looks presentable for work life. Nope. Instead, I throw on the same trousers, shirt, scarf and blazer every morning and whistle a happy tune as I skip out of my house... okay, I might not actually skip. And, truthfully, I have no clue how to whistle, but in my head I'm doing all those things as I shuffle down the street.

The other thing about the uniform is that there's a chance I may look like I still go to school. This would be laughable, given that I'm 28, if it wasn't for the fact that I still get ID'ed for 15 movies at the moment, so the school uniform look really does just encourage the teenage look in me...

Not that I'm complaining. It's actually becoming a little bit of a game with me nowadays... how old can I get, before people stop asking me for ID when I want to buy a bottle of wine? At the moment, I've managed to get it down to only being asked about 60% of the time, but that's largely due to the fact that the people at my local supermarket have finally come to terms with the fact that my birthyear isn't a lie, like they initially thought, and they've stopped asking. Occasionally, they look at me as if to say "you've hoodwinked me somehow" but when I show them a passport, debit card, drivers license and my birth certificate, it's kind of hard to dispute the age.

Anywho... I fear I've digressed (as per usual).

So, I've covered no longer having to move and my new job... anything else?

Oh! New book!!!! Eeek! Book 2 of the Utopia Series is so near completion I can almost taste the sweat and tears I'm forcing my characters to endure! I can promise you that all the faves from the first book are back, as well as some of the not so faves. There are also new faces and a whole load of people talking and stuff happening and all of this without the sheer number of people I killed in the first book. If you're worried that's a spoiler, I wouldn't really fret about it; given that in the first book, the entire population, except for 1,000 people, were killed. Following that logic, I could kill off the whole of the remaining characters and it still wouldn't even come close to the genaside I performed in the first book... Not that I'm going to kill them all off or anything... or am I??

The book's called A World Reborn, and I'm really trying to get it out for Christmas, although I might be cutting it a bit fine with that one, so might have to resort to the new year. I will keep you posted. Also, Oldest-Friend-Cafrin and One-And-Only-Daniela have both read it and have given it their approval, and we all know, if they like it the whole world will, because they're awesome.

If you haven't read the first one yet... check out the link in the right hand side (had to check my left from my right before typing that) and follow the link! It's available on Amazon. Go nuts!

Anything else?????


Ummmm... Well, nope. I'm pretty certain that's it. I am developing my second cold, a day after my first one went away, which is always fun and completely normal for me at this festive period of the year. But other than that, due to the sheer amount of typing and editing and Netflixing and having no moneying, I have done absolutely sod all with my social life recently. But I've still found ways of living dangerously... you see, instead of going to bed at 7:30pm, like I have done in the past, I've been staying up to 10pm and sometimes even 11pm!! Don't get me started... it's been mental. As if to prove it, it has just gone 11pm now and I'm typing this!

...

Actually, that is quite late. I should be getting some sleep. The last thing I want to do is become out of control.

Peace out my lovelies