‘The Morocco Diary’: Days 1 and 2

For those of you that don’t know, Isobel, Indifferent Ignorance’s resident sub-blogger (when the fancy takes her) went to Morocco this April with her school as part of her World Challenge. While there, she kept a diary, which she has since typed up and submitted to me for publishing here. The following has been edited slightly, both to fit with my grammar fetish and to make coherent sense. Hopefully. Most of it, however, is pure Bel. I’ve included footnotes for the discussions few people understand (Isobel probably not being one of them).

-F

Day 1  

5th April 2012, 2:05pm

So, I’m currently on a coach, on the way to Heathrow Airport, sat next to some fattie freak – only kidding, it’s Laura, it’s just she was reading over my shoulder. My writing looks terrible, I sense it will get worse from here, but I’m on a coach right now.

I have no idea where I am, and quite frankly, don’t give a shit. As long as 1. We don’t end up in Croydon, or 2. do a shit, I’m all good. So far, I have eaten other people’s food (chocolate, crisps etc), some of my food (cake, sweets – so healthy), sung Your Song with Laura, or at least the parts we know, and done some dancing. You might think that it is impossible to dance in a coach – indeed, it is ALMOST impossible, but you can move your arms, and kind of jiggle.

I do believe that right now, my form tutor, Mr Dell, also my group leader, has fallen asleep to the sound of Gotye. Either way, it’s weird.

In a way, this could be called the Morocco Diaries, but it’ll be strange, just me writing, and too different. It’d have to be called the Morocco Diary though, because, y’know, it’s just me.1

It’s 8 miles to Heathrow apparently, and people are arguing over the Pringles. I can see a fun-filled trip ahead already – Anyway, everyone I mention I will probably end up hating or at least bitching about, because I’m that nice.

I’m off now, and the fight for the Pringles, continues.

Day 2

6th April 2012, 1:06am

And so, I’m sat up with a head torch in Hotel Ali, more commonly known by Lauren2, as “Brothel Ali” – but the future is bright, as tomorrow we have a 7-hour coach journey, ending with us sleeping in a hostel. At least it won’t be a hotel in denial like this place. So what have we done so far? Well, after the Pringle fight, we finally ended up in Heathrow somewhere, being cool by playing spot the plane and where it’s going. Hours of joy, I kid you not. More waiting. Oh, we did meet our World Challenge leader, Dave. He’s okay-ish, but I instantly dislike him because he has long grey hair. Like Mr Taylor. Eurgh. Enough said there.3

Then comes the plan journey. We were given our seats, and I got 34K, and thought I would be next to some randomer. But alas, I got Sophie Rogers, which is better then the guy Rhianna got. She got an Arabic man, who stared at her for about an hour, asked to read her magazine, and then made conversation in very bad English. Bless him. He was straight in front of me, with Rhianna diagonally in front. But finally, we got to Casablanca at 9:50pm , and changed planes (we were a bit late, and held up the flight a bit, so had to run from terminal to terminal. The first plane, to Casablanca was huge, split into 1st class, and then two economy class sections, each the size of the average plane. The seats were arranged so there was four in the middle, and then two on each side next to the windows. The second flight was your normal plane, with a small 1st class bit, and then one section with three seats either side. This time, because we were late, we ended up ignoring seating, and just sat anywhere. I sat between Ridhi and Laura. Short minibus journey from Marrakech Airport to here, where we also met our Moroccan guy, Syed, who seems alright. Got to our room, which is on the roof (?), and falling apart. The walls are dented, there’s a vent – one side in the “shower” and the other in the corridor bit, so you can look straight through to the bathroom. The beds, which we stripped due to dead bugs on/in, had stained mattresses. The loo doesn’t flush and stinks out the room, one out of four lights work, and the doors and windows don’t actually shut, except for the main one (thank God). On the plus side, we have a balcony thing with a view of the souk, and it has, as well as the room, just enough room for Jemma and I to dance to I’m Sexy and I Know It in our shorts, money belts and socks. (And tops, of course). Oh, and I’m sharing a room with Laura, Jemma and Natalie Dempsey – although none of the people reading this actually care. And now, I’m off to sleep. I need some before the prayer call thing starts. Ali is right next to the Mosque and prayer call tower, so it will be loud I think. I do quite like the sound of Arabic though. I should learn it. No, no more languages Isobel. I’m tired. Ignore me.

See/Write tomorrow, No doubt I’ll be very grumpy. Bel x 🙂 (1.25am)

6th April 2.12pm

We are sitting in a minibus, driving along. Everyone except Rhianna, Lara4 and I is asleep – and I presume, no, hope the driver is awake too, although judging by his driving, I’m not too sure. It’s worse then the Greeks’.

Anyway, having just taken pictures of everyone with their mouths hanging open, Ridhi drooling etc, I am officially bored. Laura looks pretty much like a zombie with her pale skin and gaping mouth. Most people stopped taking pictures ages ago, and fell asleep instead. The scenery has turned sandy, rocky and weedy, flat and the same in every direction. But, it’s the most interesting thing around now, so I continue to watch it go by. What is really weird, is that we are driving through empty, sandy, boiling hot terrain, and there are snow-capped mountains around.

Oh, I think Caffa’s woken up. Caffa being short for Catherine. Yep, she has. Time to show her all of the pictures of them sleeping before they go on Facebook.

6th April, some time in the evening.

We are in a hostel now, which is surprisingly better than Ali. There’s a huge room, which we’re all gonna sleep in, and two smaller ones for teachers and Dave. I don’t like Dave much, nor do any of us like the wonderful flaky bits of dandruff that cover his head/hair. It’s one of the most disgusting things I’ve seen for a while. Anyway, we have a terrace too. The Moroccan guy that might run this place, I have no idea, brought us mint tea. It’s alright I suppose, but maybe a bit too syrupy. The wafer biscuits he brought along too are really good though.

Talking of food, I love the bread. Everyone loves the bread. We had it for breakfast in Hotel Ali, as well as fresh orange juice. The oranges here are truly amazing – I want to smuggle them home.

(Change of plan – Natalie Cooper, Jemma, Natalie Dempsey and I are sleeping outside, under the stars on the terrace. There wasn’t a load of space in the room, and besides, this is cooler.) Nighty night.

Footnotes

1: ‘The Morocco Diary’ as opposed to ‘Morocco Diaries’ because on holiday we keep ‘The Zante Diaries’ each year; and there is usually more than one person writing in it/them.

2: Lauren is Bel’s sister, who did the same trip three or four years ago.

3: I have no idea who Mr. Taylor is, but if he’d like me to edit that out, I can.

4: ‘Lara’ could mean ‘Laura’. I am about as familiar with all of Isobel’s friends as I am with the inner-workings of the Large Hadron Collider.

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Doing My Sisterly Duty…

For those of you that don’t know, today is my not-quite-sister Isobel’s birthday. So, in true almost-sisterly fashion, I’ve decided to embarrass the hell out of her with some photos and anecdotes I’ve accumulated over the past year.

  •   The time she made me coffee for breakfast, forgot about the frother thingy on the machine and nearly killed us both with hot milk… I told her she was mad, she replied “I’m not, I’m making the best coffee you’ve ever had… Shit.” I believe the toaster had malfunctioned. That same day she announced she’s going to be a ‘barrister’ when she grows up. ‘Barista’, darling, but God help us either way.

  • Isobel and her BFF, her sleeping bag:

  • And, finally, what she thinks of me:

Happy birthday! Now I don’t need to buy you anything xx

In other news, Urban Dictionary thinks I’m awesome, Saudi Arabian women have gotten the right to vote and Dan’s been bitching about the new Facebook layout to Dan.

I’m pretty sure I have more videos in my YouTube history to irritate you with, but all in good time…

If Art is the Weapon, Mascara is the Nuclear Bomb.

Do you remember the day you rounded up your friends, took them down to the nearest hill and made them pose for your Media coursework? You don’t? You’re missing out.

Since that’s not the photograph I’m planning on using, it can hang out on the Net. Exam boards get upset if your coursework turns out to be on the Internet (and they have a program to check). Sadly, this means I can’t publish some of my best work, like a To Kill a Mockingbird piece on 9/11, which is one of the best non-MCR related things I’ve ever written.

Anyway, since you all get sadistic pleasure out of making me look like a fashion-conscious, sparkly, pretty, normal person, here are the photographs from my now infamous makeover.

          

Now for the ‘holy shit’ moment:

     

The ‘sophisticated’ look, according to Ellen and Isobel:

   

The wreckage:

  And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how a short, scowling, makeup-avoiding teenager gets turned into a short, smiling-shyly version of Boots’ makeup section. I think it took four hours… Please give Ellen and Bel lots of valuable things for their patience… And for getting me to agree to the idea on tape so I couldn’t back out.

Well, This Has Been an Interesting Day Off.

“Don’t let her marry a Greek, will you?”

These are the wise words offered to my dad by my nan, about me, just as Will and Kate got married. At least, I think it was. I did rather have trouble paying attention after a while. Although the Archbishop – NOT THE POPE, ISOBEL, NOT THE POPE – and his crew were quite funny to watch, especially when the Archbishop stuck his hat back on. Harry is also hilarious, don’t you think? I was waiting for him to start pulling the moves ‘he’ did on the T-Mobile advert.

Also, Eugenie looked a bit like a moose in her hat. Sorry, love. Wear a better one at Harry and Pippa’s wedding, yeah?

Anyway, enough with all this wishy-washy wedding lark, on to some serious shit. In fact, it is so serious, I have to capitalise it: Serious Shit. This blog is called Indifferent Ignorance, but unless I’m discussing school, I don’t often get to talk about people with true indifferent ignorance. However, today I have found one. His name is Glenn Beck and I have to say, I agree with Frank. Of course SING is full of propaganda aimed at today’s youth, Mr. Beck. Next time you bash My Chemical Romance, get their fucking lyrics right. The same song hasn’t raised a load of money for the people of Japan, or anything. The band isn’t credited with saving lives or having one of the strongest and most loyal fanbases in the music industry. My Chem, obviously, are trying to form a cult and zap our brains.

Dude, you are four years too late, the Daily Mail got there first (hell yes, today is all about Britain).

Talking of Frank, here is a transcript of a conversation from today:

Me [to Isobel]: How’re Frank and Pansy?

Isobel: They’re good thanks. I need to clean them out.

Elizabeth [to no one in particular]: What?

Frank and Pansy, for those of you who don’t know, are Isobel’s pet fish. Frank, obviously, is named after me. Sadly, whenever I brought this up today, I got threatened with goat testicles.

Yes, you did read that right. My dad and brother went to Greece for ten days this easter, and as well as bringing back to usual olive oil, feta cheese and weird sweets (which I would have been perfectly happy with, efharisto) they also brought home a pair of goat testicles. They are so gross I can’t even bring myself to touch them, so Isobel’s new favourite threat is, “Be nice, Frank, or we’ll get the testicles out.”

The girls played catch with them. Arghhhh.

Mum handing me the testicles and then telling me what they are wasn’t the biggest surprise of the day, however. It turns out that I laugh like Janice in Friends.

Janice.

Oh my God (damn, I’m doing it again). I can never laugh again. Ever.

EVER.

Apparently I do a little dance as well.

EVER.

By the way, I really hope Will and Kate dress any new little royals in this. I mean, I’m tempted to have kids just to dress them in MCR merch, so…

**UPDATE** 01/05/11

It turns out Gerard agrees with Frank and I too.

I Am Productive and Shall Prove It: Part 1

It’s nearly time to return to our separate institutions of hell, in order to gain qualifications that will become irrelevant as soon as a new exam board is introduced, denouncing us all uneducated. However, the Easter holiday (or spring break, as I know some politically correct people like to call it) isn’t over yet. There is still time for me to bore you with a list of ‘top’ things I have encountered over the past fortnight.

Best Headline, courtesy of the Daily Mail

  I can’t actually remember the rest of the headline, and I didn’t read the story since it would contain 0.001% fact, but I’m pretty sure that if Dr. D had killed himself, Steve would have posted it on Twitter.

Most Pain Felt in the Space of Five Minutes

  Me, getting a second ear-piercing. This was the third time I’ve had a needle stuck through my ear lobes, and my palms still sweated. My excuse is my abysmally low pain threshold, but I suspect the slang term is ‘pansy’.

  I swear to you, two weeks ago my ear was this colour.

Most Unfair Easter Present

  Maxim won ten pounds on a lottery ticket my aunt gave him. Easter is supposed to be about Jesus getting killed and then coming back all God-like, not gambling! No surprise my mum started the trend last year, then…

Stupidest Saturday Night Game

  If a My Chem song got in the top three of Kerrang! Rock 100, I got £10. If they didn’t, Maxim did. Black Parade got four and Not Okay two, so we called it quits – but we watched Doctor Who in between songs four and two, when I tried to bet £15 that Not Okay or Na Na would be number one. I must have some good karma hanging around, because Maxim refused.

Best Question Reply: Mikey Way

“I would call us rock and roll. Some people would dispute that, and those people are wrong.”

 Part 2 will be posted just as soon as I’ve worked out how to turn a Twitter conversation the right way up.

Contaminated: London (for the second time)

There are some events which never get old, no matter how many times you experience them. For example, you’re sitting with your cousins in Wembley Arena, laughing at different outfits people have turned up in and doing a Mexican Wave with 10,000 other people.

The crowd starts to get restless after the fifth wave, and is only briefly distracted by the YMCA and Macerena, all of which were instigated by three very crazy but brave girls sitting at the back of the pit. Everyone has had enough of looking at Killjoys’ outfits and cheering every time a band member’s photo crops up on the PowerPoint screen… They want the band they paid to see.

The lights go out. For a split second, everything is silent. Then the screaming starts. Quietly at first – a gentle hum. As Look Alive, Sunshine fills the stadium, people get out of their seats and turn to face the stage.  As Na Na Na starts, the hum has turned into – oh, just watch:

That isn’t my recording, but we were on that side of the arena – just a bit further up and closer to the stage.

Last night was my second time seeing My Chemical Romance live (read about the first here) and the second the lights go out will always be my favourite part of the show. My favourite part of any show, in fact. That heart-stopping moment when you and thousands of other people can’t quite believe if This Is It.

I’m not going to talk about the actual performance… Too many other people will do it for me. Kerrang! will discuss Gerard’s messy haircut, Mikey’s brief bass change when he broke a string and his version of an ‘I ❤ UK’ t-shirt. Fans will go on forums and point out Mohawk Girl, who made a brief appearance at the Hammersmith Apollo show last year. People will ask, “What did Gerard put on before Teenagers?” and someone’ll reply, “This girl’s jacket which she had just bought.” “Did she get it back?”

Would you want a jacket Gerard Way had sweated all over?

There will be discussion over songs – personally I wanted to see Bulletproof Heart and another rendition of Prison – but there will be acclaim for the encore track, Vampires Will Never Hurt You… I’d place money on jokes about the whole of Wembley Arena simultaneously orgasming during DESTROYA.

For the benefit of my fellow Killjoys, Toxic Waste (Isobel) and Radioactive Raccoon (Ellen) – and my long-suffering dad, who filmed almost every song, here are the videos from my camera. The bad singing is almost entirely mine. Unless it was 9,999 other people or Gerard.

Check out pictures on my new shiny Photobucket page.

“I think we should go and show Sarah; but I’m not actually wearing any trousers.”

  Good evening. Or is it the afternoon still? The clock says a quarter to five, but my curtains are shut. Discuss below.

  Anyway, here is the evidence of my weekend:

  There’s more, but I can’t get my mini SD card out of my phone to stick them on here. Also I can’t give away the reason Ellen, Isobel and I went out in the first place.

   I will say this, however: when leaving Costa Coffee, check all your Primark bags are with you. And if you want to buy a certificate 15 DVD in CEX but don’t carry identification, don’t bother. The lady at the counter will say, “Sorry we can’t serve you,” without looking up, then turn around and talk to a spotty teenager who works there on Saturdays.

  She will have karmic retribution though. Balance of the universe is something I wholeheartedly believe in. So will my Chemistry teacher when she sees that I have an A* in my module. That’s A*. Not D.

  Heheh.

2010 Things I Did in 2010 (okay maybe not)

  According to my calendar, there’s four days of 2010 left. Since it’s highly doubtful anything life-changing will take place before midnight on the 31st, I thought I’d jump on the ‘my year’ bandwagon before everyone jumps off.

  Or it’s 2011. Whichever comes first. Here it is:

  • January After three months of procrastinating, I start work on my Duke of Edinburgh award. School hands us an Ethnicity Form, which doesn’t say ‘white British’ but does say ‘white Cornish’. Ruby still has not handed her in  out of protest. I start listening to Morningwood and it snows.

 

  • February Gerard Way contracts throat cancer, I reboot my laptop by myself and realise that there’s GCSE modules coming up. I duly crap myself.  Okay, Gerard didn’t actually get throat cancer. He got a cough. 
  •  March Bob leaves My Chem, I get upset and punch a tree. Everyone hands in their options forms. I accidentally eat some of Tobi’s regurgitated leek pasta and almost puke in the school pond. A bunch of us at karate pass grading and Ellen, Isobel Jemma and I get shiny new red belts. It’s still snowing.
  •  April I start reading Watchmen, go to Belgium with my friends and somehow end up with M&Ms down my top. By the way, they stain skin.

    

  • May Duke of Edinburgh expedition. I finish Ella’s Blog: Summer Vacation with the Flock after more than a year. Coalition government promises to make Britain the country everyone voted for. Even though no one voted. Isobel and I walk the Race for Life in our socks while everyone else runs in, er, actual outdoor footwear.

  • June I finish reading Watchmen,  camp in the garden with my cousins (until Maxim’s incessant 11:00pm talking pisses me off and I go inside to bed) and hit the beach with the girls. I also manage to single-handedly lose a beach ball five minutes after we bought it, on roughly the same stretch of beach, but with some entirely different girls.

 

  • July The first ever Indifferent Ignorance production hits YouTube, I head to Greece on International MCR Day and resolve to never use a Greek computer again as long as I live. This resolution is broken in October.
  • August I attend my first ever funeral (RIP Pa) and start knitting a scarf. I move my bed to vacuum under it. The bed breaks.
  • September Geography field trip to Scarborough, Art is the Weapon gets released and this blog reaches 2000 hits. This means I have to redecorate. I finish Duke of Edinburgh award.

                       

                                           

  • October MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE SHOW!!! Probably my favourite day of the year. Shortly after it finishes I go to the airport for Greece wearing a t-shirt that reads ‘Mindless Self Indulgence’ on the front and ‘I ♥ Steve, Righ?’ on the back.

  Oh, the irony.

  • November MCR release Danger Days (are they rushing it?) and there’s another grading in karate. I learn to never doubt Sensei’s judgment again when I get an A – after asking if I had to grade because I wasn’t good enough. It snows.
  • December Blog gets 3000 hits (I AM NOT CHANGING THE THEME AGAIN) and I wrap my family’s Christmas presents in The Daily Telegraph.  I see Pendulum live, get a medal in karate for – quote – “Plodding on,” and finish my scarf. The final of The Apprentice airs and Maxim becomes a vegetarian, possibly for a bet.

  Happy new year.