Shorty's like a melody in my head that I can't keep from, got me singing like 'na na na na' every day, like my ipod's stuck on replay...

I am a rubbish teenager. There are many reasons for this. For example, I think a cup of tea is the best thing in the world. I barely drink. I have read at least three Maeve Binchy novels. I don't think we need a fourth reason... My excuse now is that I have turned eighteen, and so I am technically an adult, therefore I can wear slippers all day, read the Guardian and complain about those younger than myself if I so wish (which I invariably do). I like to think, however that my ownership of GHDs, my addiction to the internet and my ability to sleep for fifteen hours running all show that in fact I am still young (though my hands are creepily wrinkly).

If I wasn't so hellbent on being a writer, I'd probably become a translator. Translating is the one form of homework I can stand. I enjoy putting my own spin on the text, and not sticking rigidly to the meaning, embellishing slightly. If you don't like languages, you probably don't understand, but I think it's ace!

Tomorrow is Mothering Sunday. I haven't as such bought anything for my Mum. I used to go to loads of effort for such occasions, but we're not exactly close anymore. I think we're going to Birmingham to see Helen, which will be nice. The three of us shopping does tend to end in tears, however. We are all so similar, and equally stubborn. It could go either way...