The council lady says "sorry"

Let's give her a cookie and a pat on the head. After all, she says it wont happen again.

All those lovely people responsible for protecting the two victims of "Britain's Fritzl" have spoken. They are, as expected, full of remorse but states, as Social Services always do in these situations, that they have learned a lesson. Social Services always have whenever the shit hits the fan. Haringey Social Services say that they have benefited from the experience of the Baby P case and that they are working to make sure that it will never happen again. I'm sure that makes such a difference for little Baby P - oh no, wait, he's dead due to your neglect!

No wonder councils have to go to the states to search for social workers...

R.I.P. my internet nicks

This is an obituary. I am sitting in Convergent class pondering over our new Online Journalism task and remembering and remeniscing the good old days before everyone used their real names for social networking. The likes of LunarStorm and PlayAhead ruled Swedish teens and Msn Messenger was where it all happened, long before Facebook Chat.

Freestylergirl was my first internet name, on LunarStorm (a Scandi online community). Then along came saariiseen (my bessie mate Hanna had haanniiseen - it obviously made sense...), TooSpecial(I'm sorry, what? Was I trying to be different? As if being chubby and nerdy wasn't enough?) and the more logical SaraM.
I've always been a big hotmail fan. splatt6589 is the first one I can remember, then lillen3000 which translated means thelittleone3000. Imaginative, huh? But then that was too nerdy (oh, yeah like changing your hotmail would make you cooler) and I became aikflickan_sara@hotmail.com, meaning that I was an AIK girl (AIK being a swedish sports club). I have always hated sports and was simply pretending in order to impress the guy I fancied. Then again trying to be different with pineapple__fairy@hotmail.com. I wrote a song with that title. I was "artistic". Sure.
Luckily I grew up in the end. Phew. I mean, my full name and @hotmail.com makes a lot more sense. And is a lot less embarrassing.

And I am a big disappointment

... again!

Maybe I am only having this feeling because I voluntarily lock myself in with 25 (all depending on how many of them get out of bed) wannabe journalists, or maybe I am right.

It feels like everyone but me is insanely ambitious and is achieving marvellousness right, left and centre, whilst I am stuck in the back snoring my way through another politics seminar.

But when, I ask you, WHEN am I suppose to have the time? Between working 30 hours a week (oh yes all swedish readers, what you people call full time is a piece of piss), a full time university degree, sometimes having a social life, never sleeping enough, naked Sundays, cooking, cleaning, comsuming news, drinking a bit more than moderately in pure despair and watching Mock the Week?

Nighttime thoughts

Yeah. I did it. About ten minutes ago I woke up and I can't seem to fall asleep again. Shame as I need to get up in about three hours. Anyways. Being awake at the early hours of the morning always make me ponder, and I guess that's not particularly unique.

Tonight (or last night depending on ones view on time) I was introduced to the Director General of the BBC. I knew it was going to happen and I didn't realise the massive-ness of this event until last Saturday when I was serving cocktails to an old BBC journalist at LAB. His awe slapped me straight into reality. The opportunities I get and how I appreciate them. When I told him who teaches me the art or great journalism he was astonished and I thought back to the day when my mother called me from Sweden and told me I had been accepted to the Centre for Journalism. I cried.

I have all the right tools to become a really good journalist and I need to use them more than I do.

Shorthand what?!

Really gone to LaLa Land

Am I the only one who almost always in some way or form believes that what happens to a movie character will happen to me as well?

I mean, I don't worry about an "Atonement-situation" happening to me and the boyfriend anytime soon (the guy writes a love letter including words like the one with a C and gives it to the girl's little sister to pass it on and the lil sis reads it. First of all he would never write me a love letter and have my sister pass it on to me, it would be a terrible waste of time as my sister lives in Sweden and I share sleeping quarters with the man in question and secondly if he did do that, he would never use the C-word. What a complete lack of imagination. ) but I have discovered that I am prone to numerous versions of movie induced panics.

Tonight, after watching "Did you hear about the Morgans?" I started to panic thinking that I am infertile (I know, completely normal for a 19-year old). I still have a fear of clear iceblue waters after watching Titanic about ten years ago and can therefore not dive in tropical oceans and swimming pools as I firmly believe I will drown. Strangely dark waters work fine. Always the same thing, Izzy gets cancer on Grey's Anatomy - I am going to get cancer. People are held hostage at the bank - I am sure I will be held hostage at some point in my life.

I am very grateful that this little disorder has not stretched as far as Harry Potter. Then I'd really be in trouble...

They should put warnings up for people like me...
"Warning, may cause delusions of the infertility related kind and beliefs that a trip to the country side will save your relationship. It wont. Unless your hubbie really ís Hugh Grant, then we don't understand what the problem is."

If this place asked me to marry it - I would

God I love Balham.
Not only do I have Sainsburys AND Waitrose less than 30 seconds from my doorstep - there is a Maccy D's, four very good pubs, Starbucks and B@1 . I have to walk about 3 minuter to Burger King. I find it almost insulting. I could get very fat very easily If I continue to stay here...

Managed to spend all my tips from last night on a cabbie which I am very much regretting now as I really feel like spending £20 on Dorritos and fizzy sweets.

IFHM

After a weekend cuddling and cooing with the boyf's new nephew (seriously cute - I got all broody and "can I have one please?" until he pooped and started crying) up in Manc Land reality decided to hit. Televised news is just not my cuppa and I have an assessment for Friday. And Politics thingy for Thursday. And more Politics reading. And Reporting exam on Tuesday. And Shorthand Mock Exam next week. And... no, that was it. But still.

When am I going to have time to whinge?!