There are hundred of people living here...

"Matt. It's an inflatable guitar. A ridiculous, pink inflatable bit of plastic."

"Yeah, isn't it great? Well. It was between this and a giant inflatable alien. And I figured that would be a bit freaky at night."

- Because it wouldn't be Christmas without the token crap inflatable, would it? My personal favourite, though, is the hammer.

. . . . . .

Some days I think I'm going to die. That, though, is only a fleeting sensation. The very instant I wake up, it flashes across my mind. Obviously, it's school-related. Or, to be more accurate, work-related. I've come to the conclusion that GCSEs are hard. Hard and time-consuming. Whatever the government says, we're not just a nation of ASBO youths. As the oracle that is Julian Casablancas once sang:- 'I'm working so I don't have to try so hard'.

But then I enjoy the challenge, in a twisted kind of way.

Friday was the most glorious day of the week. The show was over, the dance exam was over... and we all did so well. I, literally, was delighted for everyone, and we were all group-hugging left, right and centre ("You were fantastic!"). I think I did better than I did in the mock, though the utter blind terror I experienced meant that, actually, I didn't really feel or think anything until I staggered out of the hall and saw Kat and Yas flying round the corner: "You kicked arse, Robyn!". I crouched by the double doors and watched my friends perform through the glass - they were all amazing. I'm inclined to believe that all of them are the best dancers in the entire world. Thirties all around.

I'm enjoying a rare homework-free evening. This is in part due to the fabulous Sophie, who copied up and translated all my French notes from the lesson I missed for me. She is a goddess, not only for that but for the lucozade she bought me as a Good-Luck-Dancing! present. We all need friends like her...

... Her costume for the panto is mad. Alas, I won't see it.

Though, really, it'll be worth missing Si prance around the stage dressed like a pimp to look at all the lovely boys at the RHS 'function' (sounds ominous) on Wednesday. In fact, even if there isn't too much in the way of gorgeous cricket and/or rugby players, Reece will be there, as, probably, will James, and so there's plenty of fun to be had. And I have a gorgeous new top to wear, courtesy, of course, of Topshop. A sort of Hepburn-esque beatnik, which I think is a good look for me, if it goes with lashings of eyeliner. I know, I'm so vain...

It was quiet today without Si. Quiet, but strangely harmonious.

Happily, we're getting gritty in History; the Russian Purges under Stalin:-

"Ooh, good," said Kat, brightening up, "What's better than a bit of gore on Monday morning."

Whatever keeps you awake, I suppose.

And a cricket update: Liam Plunkett has the best hair in the game: lovely and scruffy. Kat would love him.

. . . . .

'You say want to stay by my side...

Darlin', your head's not right.'