Last night, to the delight of my parents, I received a phone call from a friend asking if I'd like to go out to Thame, scouting out jobs. I twitched and said yes, like the good little girl I am, whilst simultaneously thinking, Huzzah! Money! and God no, WORK.

Not that our search proved very fruitful. We wandered up and down the streets of Thame, which actually has a surprising amount of shops- I usually mentally block out the ones I'm not interested in, ie most of them. But no, we discovered many jewellers, fancy ladies' clothing shops and some nice art galleries. Unfortunately, none of those were very interested in two experience-free 16 year olds. Having decided to both apply for the same jobs, so at least one of us would end up with money, we ended up applying for housekeeping in a hotel (me? cleaning? whaaaaaat?) and, joy of joys, a meswear shop. But as the lady at the desk raised her eyebrow in a derogatory fashion as we said we were both interested, and remarked that they'd already seen a number of applicants, I don't think that will be happening. Still, she did take down our names and numbers, so that's something. Except she wrote 'Fiano' as opposed to Fiona, which we decided was actually a pretty cool name.

I came back with an application for Martins, the Newsagents, which thinking about it I probably won't bother with as it's just a Saturday job, and like my mum pointed out, I may as well go for Waitrose if i want to work Saturdays as they're better employers. I'm sure her saying that had nothing to do with the discount she'd scab from me for the John Lewis Partnership.

So, it's looking like I'll have a quick glance round the shops in Aylesbury before giving up my dignity and applying for a job as shelf filling monkey in Waitrose.

Rubbish.

Yesterday was a fun day. I don't think I'm going to get too many more of those in the near future, so i should savour it as much as possible.

It was the 16th birthday of my dear pal Lor, so rather than hanging around the shithole that is Aylesbury we (we being Jen, Dear, Fairbs, Griff, Nisha and I,) took her on a surprise visit to London. I don't think the other rail passengers were too happy with our balloons, hooty things, banner and confetti, but they all looked like grumpy buggers anyway.

So we got off the train and after everyone bar me insists that they're children to the suspicious guy at the gate at Marelybone- including Lor with a huge '16 today!' badge attatched to the back of her bag- we headed for Oxford Street.

We managed to visit about 5 shops in total I think, with most time spent in the giant Topshop and everyone buying something pretty except for me. Tragic. Then again, shopping with Griff does make any normal person feel considerably fatter than usual- 'I can't find a size 6 anywhere!'- so I wasn't really in the mood too much anyway.

But I did pick up Elliott Smith- Either/ Or for £4.99 while still in the shithole, so that made me happy.

Coming back, we got even more filthy looks from fellow rail passengers for reading Heat aloud between us. You'd think they'd be grateful for the free entertainment.

Then we went back to Lor's, had tasty Chinese, tasty wine and tasty champagne, and watched Starsky & Hutch with tasty Owen Wilson. Mmmmmmmm.

The only bad thing was when we watched 'Tarrant on TV' after, as we thought it would just be a lighthearted mocking of other countries adverts. Instead it appeared to be filled with masochistic American freaks, including the guy who attatched mouse traps to his penis and the guy who pumped saltwater into the front of his head to form a giant lump. And then invited random people on the street to touch it.

WHY? Jesus Christ.

And today I really didn't do a lot, so I'm not going to bother writing about it. Plus I'm going to watch TV in a minute.

If you are someone who attatches mousetraps to your penis for kicks, please, never talk to me. Ever.

So, my bright idea was to start a blog this Summer so I wouldn't
a) become a puddle of molten boredom
b) forget how to write
which i figure is quite sensible thinking, really.

Of course, somewhere along this brilliant train of thought i forgot that i'm actually meant to have something interesting to write. And as I'm bored enough to be doing this, that makes it pretty clear that I have nothing to do, thus nothing to write about. Bummer.

Cos as much as a day doing nothing more than reading, watching TV and playing on the Xbox is fun to live through, it doesn't exactly make for prize winning blog material.

So what can I do? I could make stuff up, but I don't think that's the point. I could invest myself in some dazzling new hobby, except I'm not really too great at the whole hobby thing. So what I figure will actually happen is I write rambling crap about nothing at all until I collapse over the keyboard, my nose squashed down on the n key, having exhausted the small amount of brain power I have left after the exams.

Exams. Now there's an exciting topic! Actually, I managed to keep surprisingly calm over them which is really surprising for me, as I get very worked up over tiny things usually, and my voice reaches an alarming pitch that makes those surrounding me turn and give me an odd look. (Weezer gig, June 13th- as it was Rivers' birthday, some fabulous fan brought balloons which were keeping the crowd happily entertained during the long wait. Except some callous fiend in front of me grabbed a balloon and burst it, WITH HIS BARE HANDS. Those balloons were the sole thing keeping me from dying on my feet from impatience and the lack of oxygen. So squeaking indignantly, 'why would you DO that??' seemed a perfectly justified thing to do, tho judging by the half a dozen or so people who turned and stared at me, it probably didn't seem so to them. And as everyone surrounding us appeared to be over 6 foot and liberally swigging beer, pissing them off really wasn't something I had planned on doing. Oh well.)

Anyway. So, having not really mustered up much concern for possibly the most important exams I'll do in my life, they drifted by quite easily. Now I'm just fearing results day, and the possible humiliation of doing worse than I did in my mocks after the teachers say that grades usually go up by at least half from the mocks to the real thing.

Rubbish.

But I am glad that they're over now, so now I don't have the thought of revision niggling away at the back of my brain when I'm trying to do something more productive like play video games. Bit disappointed by the lack of party that I went to, but take-away and cheesy film at Emma's was probably a far more enjoyable thing to do if I think rationally. Every time I go to a party, which admittedly isn't very often, I think, 'this time I will have fun.' And, of course, I don't, because I am a stupid moron incapable of making normal conversation with people I don't know very well, which at parties, tends to be most people. The logic behind it, if I pretend for a moment that it's planned and not due to social retardism, is that when I'm nervous I talk a lot of crap- so saying nothing is safer all round. Better to keep your mouth shut and let people think you're an idiot, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. I read that in an Animorph book. God, I miss those. How did it end? I never found out. I'm going to have to order a whole bunch from the library now.

So, like I said, now I have the whole Summer in which to do nowt. Well, I should get a job really, and I do want one looking at my bank balance which is shrinking at an alarming rate, but I really hate the whole process of application and rejection and such. Plus I'm lazy. I must FIGHT this laziness! A job might possibly lead to a whole load of amusing anecdotes to tell in this thing. But for this weekend at least, I am quite content to just sit around doing my nothing things. Plus, there's the Glastonbury coverage to watch, except watching that makes me very jealous. And also not, because I'm a little anal over personal hygiene and lordy, there is so much mud. But still. Rufus Wainwright later today, who I am currently enjoying the pleasure of listening to. And Abi will be there in that tent watching him in the flesh, while I can only gaze longingly at him thru the TV screen. Still, I saw rather a lot of flesh when I saw him at the Oxford New Theatre. How can I still find him unbelievably hot when he's wearing stockings, stilettos, fairy wings and a tiara? I need help.

I should go now, as I've already written an alarming amount of nothing at all, and your brains are probably trying to make an emergency getaway via your ears.

Going to London tomorrow for Laura's surprise 16th birthday present. That'll be something to write about. Actually, as alcopops will probably be involved at some point, I may not want to...

Oh, and if you do have any wildly excting ideas of something interesting I can do this summer, do let me know.