Today was rather an interesting day at school- interesting because my friends had to make a cake in food technology and interesting because I got to eat the majority of it. I can’t do Food Technology anymore because the teacher practically forbid me due to an incident involving gas, flames and fringes. Also I can’t cook to save my life.

I don’t do Food Technology anymore for a number of reasons, but the main ones are A) the teacher hates me B) I think the teacher picks on me because I’m taller than her (it’s not hard- she’s only like 4ft10) Me and my best friend would sit at the front of the classroom because ‘she needed to keep an eye on us’- partly because we always set the smoke alarm off and partly because we had a conversational disposition. One time I couldn’t get the gas to work on the cooker so my teacher bent over it and had a go and it worked, consequently singing her fringe….from then on, I was permanently taken off her Christmas card list. I cant say I’m devastated.

When I got to the form room for lunch break, about 10 of my friends all had cakes they made in Food Technology which needed eating or else they would go off. So we shared the slices out and had a bit of a party (this is kind of hard when 29 girls share the smallest classroom in the school) It all got a bit out of hand when we dropped some cake on the floor- then we decided to see if we could throw the dirty slice in the bin from the opposite side of the room (only about 5m away but yeah) We made a clear path from the cake to the bin…about 29 or so spectators stood either side of the friend THREW the slice- it flew through the air like a bird (spreading crumbs everywhere) until I gracefully caught it in the bin! Mission successful!

Moral of the story: have friends who do Food Tech because you get free cake. Also, if you do find yourself with a dirty slice of cake, it might be easier if you take the slice to the bin rather than hurtling it across the room.


We were supposed to be doing about teenage pregnancy but the lady didnt turn up so I decided to do some maths. In maths we are doing about Surds (eg the square root of 4 etc) and frankly I think it is the most unsexy topic ever.

To start off with, the word ‘Surd’ is horrible. Whenever my teacher says the word, I can’t help but think of dog poo (surd rhymes with turd and turd means poo) so I don’t exactly get a good impression of them. Not only is the name horrible, I hate drawing the symbol for square root because the line goes all wonky and looks like a man falling off a cliff.

Seeing as we didn’t do about teenage pregnancy, we only had one session today which was about organ donation and it turns out that every organ in the body can be donated…including skin. We watched a video about the positives of organ donation and a person said ‘if you die and have an operation to remove an organ, the hospital will sew you up again so if you want an open-casket funeral you will look quite normal.’ What an interesting positive part. My great great auntie was a character- if you had a box of chocolates for Christmas, she would steal the box and eat them all herself. Why am I writing about my great great auntie? Because when she died she donated her body to science…only they rejected her because she was too old.

Maybe I should just accept that Surds are never going to get me excited because, after all, there are worse things- such as getting rejected in death…

Here is my beautiful -but rather chubby- dog Teddy, he’s 2 years old and a Lhasa Apso:D



No, I am not a teenage tearaway obsessed with alcohol and sex (my life is waaaaaay more boring than that) – today was simply the first half of Year 10 Health Education.

The first session lasted an hour and a half and was about binge drinking- the person that came in to talk to us was male. Being in an all girls school, someone with testosterone rather than oestrogen is rather a novelty so everyone was getting excited. However, when we arrived at the session, it turned out the talker was actually a 5ft version of Gandalf. Hopes=crushed. Anyway, Gandalf aside, the talk itself was actually quite interesting as we got to draw pictures of drunk people. The teacher of my first lesson (a male sixty year old weirdo) had to sit in on the session so when the talk gravitated to unprotected sex under the influence of alcohol, it all got a bit awkward….

The next session was STIs. This one was possibly my favourite session because the teacher of my second lesson looked really awkward in the corner as she tried to mark some work. The nurse showed us gruesome pictures of STIs which were horrid and made everyone turn away in disgust. Then the session lasted for another hour and we had to fill in a quiz (to be honest, she could have stopped after the pictures as that put everyone off unprotected sex for life)

The rest of the day wasn’t so interesting- I now find myself staring at some maths questions, an open textbook and a terribly long list of homework. I think I am in the mood of another morale-boosting biscuit…

You know you’re at a girls school when you get excited for a talk about binge drinking because the talker is male-I really need to get out more, preferably walking the dog as he just ate three chocolate digestives.

I decided to have a day off homework yesterday- every Saturday I tell myself  ‘you must do homework today or else you will regret it tomorrow’ but do I ever change? Well seeing as I’m left with an essay, a Chemistry sheet about moles and a maths exam to revise for- the answer is no, I haven’t changed.

The day started off reasonably well- dragged myself out of bed and then spent half an hour in my shower, much to the despair of my dad who moans ‘I can’t afford to heat enough water to boil a sack of potatoes’ yet whenever a new lawnmower comes out, he’s the first in line to buy it. After my shower, I went to church and was told that Sunday is a day of rest and I should relax- God didn’t take into account that school will never let you relax (well my school won’t anyway) as you are always thinking about your next exam, what homework you haven’t done and how much work you have to do. After the service, I did an hour of my Bronze Duke of Edinburgh Award by volunteering in the church cafe- it was less volunteering, more like telling children they can only have one biscuit and then taking two for myself; you know what they say…’charity begins at home’ and all…

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My friends call me crazy, my teachers call me hard-working and my dog just sees me as a massive vending machine- I just see myself as Sophie, a 14 year old girl from England.

A common misconception is that all Brits live in cities like London which are vibrant, full of decent shops and never get boring- I live a few hundred miles north of London and the nearest you get to culture in my crappy city is the Chinese on the street corner.

Contrary to popular belief, the lives of modern  teenagers aren’t full of partying, getting drunk and getting high- well, at least my life isn’t like that, this might be because I actually care about my education..also it might be because I never get invited to those kind of parties. To be honest, most of my life is spent checking the weather forecast to see if this stupid climate is going to stay above freezing long enough for me to get my pasty white legs out; oh yeah, and I’m doing my GCSEs and they’re pretty important too.