So it was my birthday on friday…

And I had a house party and people threw up in my toilet.

So that was fun. To be fair one of them had done 5 shots of Jack Daniels and the other was drinking jungle juice straight from the punch bowl… No wonder they threw up.

Luckily I didn’t have to clear it up but it did mean that the bathroom stank of booze fuelled vomit.

It was a decent night but I was so fucking stressed all the time! It’s true about what people say about never enjoying your own party. There were good points. Such as when the chicken nuggets were cooked… And when the pizza was handed out…

But everyone seemed to have a good time and that’s all I really wanted so I was happy.

Okay I have a more interesting post coming next time I write so that should be good.




As Promised…

Yep so here I am again. Not to apologise for not writing this time. This time I’m here to tell you what has been going on in the life of Tabby (the bumbling, mostly useless, teenage girl).

So let’s start with September…
– I started year eleven
– I started mentoring in drama on Saturdays which means I spend 8 hours in a drama studio on a Saturday which I love.
– I found I get to be DSM (deputy stage manager) for a production full of small children which means I call cues and curtains and lights and songs and run the show from the wings
– I started rehearsals for pantomime and also the Shakespeare Schools Festival
– I took a lot of selfies

– I went to a campout (details to follow in separate blog post containing a hypothetical cockerel called Trevor)
– I got very very drunk
– I got very very very drunk
– My default greeting is now “BONJOUR!” in a thick yorkshire accent
– I now say merci instead of thanks

– I slowly started turning french
– I went to bonfire night with a massive group of friends which was awesome
– I went on a trip to Whitby for coursework and had fish and chips in a restaurant and pretended to be civilised
– I went to a party and fell over a lot
– I woke up with a lot of bruises and had no idea why I had them
– I ate a lot of pizza
– I performed in the Shakespeare Schools Festival (our school won) I got to eat haribos on stage and be mean to the audience and look really sassy which was fun
– I made up a badass handshake with my pantomime friend

– Pantomime starts
– I destain myself from punching several small children
– I took a lot of selfies in a cat costume
– I took a lot of selfies in a 50’s costume
– I had a social gathering for avid lovers of pizza and nachos
– I took my dog for a walk at midnight and saw a drunk man lying on the ground
– I saw another drunk man trying to walk straight
– I laughed
– Trip to Ikea whilst wearing a mushroom hat
– Took more selfies
– NEW YEAR!!!!

– Started wearing hats
– Took a picture of an adorable small child wearing my hat
– Went to a party and had jelly shots which i think are simply the best idea in the world
– Planned for my birthday party

It’s my birthday on Friday and I’m having a house party and I’m really excited but kind of scared at the same time… But mainly excited!

I also didn’t mention but I had my mock exams through November and December whilst only being in school 3 days a week due to performing… Which was interesting…
I’m happy with my results though. I did much better than I expected.

I hope you all have a lovely rest of the week and until I next see you,





Long time no see…
I’m not really sure what to say…

I haven’t been here in a while. It feels weird to be sat at my desk again typing and hoping that maybe someone finds me interesting enough to read whatever drivel spills out of my messy brain.

Let’s start with why I stopped blogging:
Basically I didn’t have the time. I stopped watching youtube and all the things i used to do purely because I didn’t have the time. I started pantomime rehearsals, I swapped friend groups and started going to parties and stuff and exam stress set in and I found it hard to make time for this any more.
With blogging however, it was always a little more. It was important for me. It was helpful. This site is like a support network and writing was a release. There were people here who were in the same position as me and it was nice to talk to them. And I have missed that. I have also missed writing. I stopped because I didn’t feel I was any good at it. In school I didn’t like English so I thought I was a useless writer. I also didn’t need the release so much anymore. I started to get better. I pulled myself up. I got more confident and for a while I had to be selfish and focus on me. It was a delicate time. I knew how easy it would be for me to fall back and lose my confidence and I had to change what I surrounded myself with. No YouTube no WordPress. I had to force myself to go outside.

Now let’s do why I’m back:
Quite simply because I enjoy being here (virtually). Recently I’ve been getting a lot of comments on how much people have enjoyed my last few posts (specifically the running one – yes I get it, we like to laugh at my expense, I’m hilarious, I’m north yorkshire’s answer to Miranda) and that’s kind of encouraged me to pursue my writing – thank you kind people for your encouraging words on how funny it is when I make a fool of myself in public. Also, in my mock exams I did really well in English. Really well, and I was really fucking proud, because I thought it was like my second weakest subject. I’ve kind of got to the point where I don’t really give a shit about what people have to say about me. I used to care so much when the “popular” girls took the piss out of me for having a blog and I used to let it get to me. Now, with only 4 months left at school with those bitches I don’t care what they say because I know whatever I set my mind to, I will succeed. And to quote Taylor Swift “I’m just gonna shake it off”

Mint. Covered the necessary. Be back soon to update y’all on the recent occurrences in my life because right now I’m sat in the pitch black of my room, only illuminated by my laptop screen when I should really be asleep…

I’m praying this snow will lay and get thicker so I don’t have to go into school tomorrow and explain to my English teacher who hates my guts why I haven’t done her homework that was due in today and tell my maths teacher that I didn’t do her homework because she set it yesterday, I didn’t have the desire nor the time to do it, and that the main reason I haven’t done it is because she’s an incompetent fool who I don’t have the time of day for.



I went to school

Double Geography can suck my dick.

Literally my thoughts for two hours of today.

Stupid teacher thought it would be a good idea to give us an exam on the first day back on a topic that we covered at the start of last year, purely because she hadn’t bothered with a lesson plan.

My timetable is death on paper.
On Monday I have double physics and double maths… If someone could kindly shoot me in the face, that would be nice… You don’t even have to do it kindly, just shoot me in the face.

So it’s only the first day and people have already started bitching. Seriously, I can’t be bothered with yo shit! STFU! If you come back from summer holiday and all you can talk about is me, then you clearly had a really boring summer.

Why is it that people feel the need to comment on my life or relationships? Has it got anything to do with you? No. How would you know what was going on in my relationship? Oh you didn’t? That’s funny because you seem to be talking an awful lot about it when you don’t know shit.

On a positive note, I was amused by the tiny year sevens getting lost, staring at their timetable and maps and wandering around in naïvety with hope and optimism glistening in their eyes (give it a term and that will be gone).

That has been my day.



I went for a “run”

Never again! Ever! I want to cry just thinking about the pain I was in.

This is the tale of yet another time I made a fool of myself.


I set off with my mother running like a pro with her telling me to slow down. Thing is, if I slow anymore my shins start to hurt because I have to shorten my stride. I was going good. I looked okay and wasn’t doing my usual conducting an orchestra thing with my hands.

Then it hit me.

The burning in my throat that causes the permanent taste of blood and just as I was resigning myself to the fact that I was becoming part vampire, I saw them.

Them, was people I knew. A girl in my year and her boyfriend. It was okay, at this point I am still going strong and not letting the blood taste hinder my “running”. I run past to whoops and shouts of “Go Tabby!”, to which I reply “Shut up I can’t run!”

To clarify, I look like a dying walrus combined with a goat that has been smeared in tomato juice.

Still I am doing okay (I’ve been running for 5 minutes, this is good for me) and then I see some more people I know. My friend Tom and then across the road, two boys that I go to drama with.


At this point, I can barely breathe, convincing myself I am actually asthmatic (either that or I was actually born to live in the sea and have missed my calling as a clown fish) and flailing around like a porpoise (do porpoises flail?).

Anyway I continue on at a respectable rate until none of the people can see me.

Fuck it. Imma walk the rest.

Yeah so my mother being all showy with her “map my run” and her music and her running shoes carries on running whilst I, convinced I am dying by internal suffocation (is that a thing? that’s what it felt like), walk the shortest easiest way home. Over a wall, through a field and collapse on the kitchen floor.

I should have realised that after not running at all for two years and skipping PE for the last 3 months, I would not be in peak physical condition.

I cannot run. It is your duty as fellow humans (or animals or aliens) to warn me about my incapability next time I have even the faintest notion of “running”.

All in all, it was a painful, embarrassing experience that I do not wish to repeat. Ever.

If you take anything from this, anything at all, be it that physical exercise is bad for you. Do not under any circumstances partake in anything similar to this malarkey called “running”.




My favourite book

My favourite book is the Argos catalogue.

There I said it.

It’s not some old fancy interesting cultural book or a classic or anything remotely intellectual.

It has been my favourite book since the age of about 2 and I should think it will remain my favourite book for the rest of my life… Unless they bring out an IKEA catalogue…

I have my own copy of the Argos catalogue. No it’s not my parents copy which I borrow. It is mine. It lives in my room and has approximately 50 pages with corners turned over bookmarking everything I should ever need in the future when I get my own place. Everything from an electric toothbrush to a double oven to spice jars.

I don’t know what it is but I love planning everything. Actually, I do know what it is, I AM A HUGE CONTROL FREAK!

I have to plan everything. I make lists on everything. I have a notebook that no one is allowed to touch even though all it contains is lists of things like “To take to rehearsals”, “Packing list for France”, “Nail Polishes”. Most of it is utterly dull but it is like my brain so no one is allowed to read it because then they might know me too completely and that is never allowed to happen. < See, control freak!

So, in summary, the Argos catalogue is my favourite book because I use it to plan my future life and I need to have it planned because I am a control freak.

If you read this and decided that I need professional help, you are not alone in that observation, please feel free to leave your therapist’s number in the comments or send some nice men with a straight jacket to my house.




But when I got there, He was also there…

Day 1

I walked straight past him into acoustic tent, refusing to acknowledge him. I stood with my friends and felt the safety of the group. We took turns glaring across the sea of people at the blonde haired boy who had attempted to break my already broken heart. We wandered around always keeping tabs on where He was, keeping our distance yet one of the girls was always watching him. Checking to see if he reacted to the hugs and playful punches between me and my guy friends. See this may seem extreme but isn’t it what we all do? Subconsciously at least. Then I noticed it. I was the first to notice. I turned to Kaitlyn but she had already seen. There He was. Sat with a girl with long blonde hair, red cheeks and a severe lack of make up or style.

Was she prettier than me?

It’s okay, they don’t know each other and they’re barely talking.

Imagine, there were 6 of us all stood watching thinking we were being covert. Doing that thing in movies of hiding and spying. What the friggity fuck am I doing? I don’t care about that pathetic twat anymore! “Oh,” a little voice in my head said, “But you must! For else you wouldn’t be observing him in such a way that would make MI6 proud.”

We took a stroll around to the main stage and admired a hot guy playing guitar for a bit and then 5 minutes later we were back in the acoustic tent, outraged at the fact that He seemed to be making fast friends with the blonde girl.

Was she prettier than me?

No! No, my friends assured me! Besides, Lucy is over there counting the number of times He looks at you.

16. So far

Kaitlyn is analysing the way He is speaking. A few lines at the girl, glance towards me. A few lines at the girl, a glance towards me.

All the while I am smiling.

Day 2

I look hot. Short, tight black dress with checkered shirt and obviously the must have festival wellies.

We get there about 4ish and form a huge group (the kind I would have been intimidated to walk past). We’re just hanging around until a band that we know comes on stage and then I see Him again.

Oh shit.

He’s with his dad. Fuck! How do I look? Lucy, is he looking? “Don’t look now Tabby but he’s staring.”


It gets darker and darker and I get more and more aware of where He is at any given point. I’m not even trying. It just sort of happens…

It’s hot and everyone is pressed together. His group and my group have mutual friends so there’s kind of a chain of people and in that chain, I am about 4 people away from him.

He always told me that he could get any girl he wanted and he could pull really easily. Why is it then, that even the boy that would rather be in a room with a rat than me, also thinks I am a better catch than that blonde girl? Why, if you can pull oh-so-easily, are you stuck with a girl who isn’t half as pretty as your ex? Why, if you could get any girl, have you had to drop your standards?

Because, you are a cocky, arrogant little shit who is an expert in spouting bullshit, plagiarising poetry and having your head really far up your arse without doing any obvious damage.

So I’m dancing, I’m having a good time, I’m getting chatted up by a mildly drunk/high guy when I notice Him and the girl dancing very close together. But He isn’t dancing with her, she is dancing with Him… There is a difference, apparently.

So, he thinks he can pull? Well I can pull faster.

This guy just won’t leave me alone and keeps trying to kiss me. He already has his arms round my waist and I made quite certain that He could see that.

I look behind me and the girl has her arm round His waist.

What the fuck does she think she is doing? He is not yours and never will be! 

So I turn around, mildly drunk/high guy in tow and with a quick check to make sure He is watching, I let the guy kiss me, hands all over me and He can do nothing but watch as I prove to him that I don’t need him.

Really? You think you could one up me by talking to a girl? Oh honey we both know I was always too good for you. Now you get what you deserve, a girl who knows nothing about you. Doesn’t know the fact that you have to check the door is locked 6 times, doesn’t know that the toilet roll has to hang on the outside, doesn’t know that you love old books, are obsessed with the smiths and your favourite movie is monster in paris. You get what you deserve, a girl who doesn’t care enough to know, just like you didn’t care enough to make time for me.

So this is the story of how I got over a useless boy. It is the usual tale of revenge, mild stalking and resentment.

The funny part is that he thought he was better than me and the hilarious part is that he thought I would want him back.

Don’t ever cry over your Him because he is not worth it. He was lucky enough to have you at all and he fucked that up. HE is the mess, not you. Honey, don’t ruin your mascara because of his stupidity.

This has been life lessons with Tabby

Goodbye x