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.


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


Apparently I do a little dance as well.


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.

Yo, Subscribers, Click the Link and READ THE WEBSITE.

  If I start this blog any more times I’m going to get carpal tunnel.

  A few years ago, I met this girl through a mutual friend. I’d heard her name on the grapevine, mostly bitchy comments, and when I met her I kind of thought “Is this it?” With a French plait and glasses, looking at me like I was some sort of shiny new object out of the box, she was more gangly than glaring. I think I thought she was weird.

  Next September, we had the same classes in a couple of subjects, and I learnt a few things very quickly: this girl talked. A lot. The teacher could have been discussing how not to set yourself on fire and she would have been turned around, whispering to whoever would listen about the time she really did set herself on fire. Next, she liked to be in charge. I found out later that she has two older sisters. The most important thing: regardless of your reputation or lack of verbal communication skills or pot habit, she would come up to you at twenty-five past eight in the morning and ask if you got your eyebrows waxed.

Then point out a hair the beautician (or the tweezers) missed.                  

  Fast forward two years. Well, eighteen months. Perhaps a year, but to be honest timekeeping went out the window half was through year seven. Anyway, this girl turned out to be really nice, under the thick skin and OCD. We chatted on the phone, I started paying attention to fashion after her fourteenth one-woman conversation about quiffs being two seasons ago (regardless of their newfound fashion in high schools).

  Then, c’est la vie, I screwed up. Big time. I learnt about feeling really awful for the first time… Also discovered that feeling shitty is worse when you brought it on yourself (Hear that kids? Treat others as you wish to be treated. KARMA EXISTS).


  Three months on, everything’s still a bit rocky. Okay, more like, ‘that’s a really huge mound of boulders, do we dodge or do we crash?’ Mostly we seem to crash. Well, I do. I call them learning curves.


  What have I learnt? Oh yeah. Honesty is key when one person in a two-way discussion offends the other one. Pretending not to care about hurt feelings and bringing it up two weeks later is not a smart move. Neither is having a hugely massive conversation via text. Thumb ache, dude. Also there’s no way to read expressions or interpret tones. So for anything more than a semi-important talk, leave MSN alone and talk the old-fashioned way. Face to face.

  In fact, employ honesty 99.999% of the time. More if possible. That way, nothing can bite you on the arse later on, there are no grudges. Plus, even if there is a screaming fight in New Look because one of you pointed out that the other needs a bigger dress size, you’ll laugh about it later. Three months of constant sniping is not so easy to giggle about.

  The moral to this story seems to be: don’t judge people on first appearances, judge them on how you react to the first appearance. And the second, and third, and ninety-millionth.

SHSG: What the Teachers Don’t (Want To) See

  I started this post trying to be a resourceful journalist, but it’s too much hassle and a bit stalker-like. Instead I will tell you that the reason MCR’s album is taking so long to be created is because Gerard is busy playing with sparklers. For more information, see Chantal Claret’s Twitter and her 4th of July video. Then listen out for New Jersey accents.

  So, dear readers, I know that two of you at least go to my school and at least one does not. For the one that does not, here is what goes on at lunchtime. Also morning break. Assembly. Lessons.

Tatchiana: “And then my OC was soooo gay…”

Hollie: “I’m telling you, he’s gay.”


Hayley: “He died, and he never said goodbye…”

Elisa: *frowns**mutters about serial killers**Swindles someone out of ten quid**Gives ten quid to a year seven*


Tobi: “And then his banana fell out.”

Elizabeth: “TOBI!”

Robyn: “For the fifth time, Tayler, no.”

Chloe: *kisses whoever’s closest**gives Frank pigtails**spanks Elizabeth*

Natalie: “EEEE!!!” [to envision this, think of a cat getting castrated. Raise the pitch]

Frank: *various grunting noises*

Rhiannon: “Then Gerry Butler took his clothes off and I was like WOW!”

Ruby: “Hum, num, num, dodo, gay men, dodo, men, gay dodo…”

  Please bear in mind this is simultaneous. No wonder everyone avoids us…

  Thank you to Elizabeth for creating this. I hope I did the extras justice.


Please Tell Me It’s the Firebell

  Monday marks the start of the second half of my legal time at high school. Sadly, I know I am doing sixth form so the glitz has worn off slightly, but I feel that the time has come to review my school life *gulp*

  So, what have I done so far in years Seven, Eight and half of Nine?

  1) Uhh… Homework. Yeah, I do my homework. That gets me points, I think.

  2) I have friends. Seriously, I am not making this up. One of them bummed round my house today. They call me Frank. It is very nice.

  3) I can’t think of another one.

  What would I like to do in the next two-and-a-half-years?

  Let’s see, make some cash. Cash is good, cash buys me ink and paper, CDs and orange nail varnish.

  MUSIC. Tune my violin, play my violin, learn to change my guitar strings without shredding my fingers. It’s a skill for life, you know.

  Pass my GCSEs. On a whim.

  See MCR in concert. But you already knew that.

  Now, kids, go and give some money to Haiti and some more money to Sport Relief (a guy dressed up as Cheryl Cole and I am not afraid to say he was pretty hot). Then give any money you have left to www.etsy.com and give money to whoever sells your favourite skirt. Even if you are a guy, you will want to purchase a tartan skirt.

  That is a fact.

  I think I will also laugh some more at Jimmy Urine’s hair and JLS’ baggy jeans. They are the shaved head to Pete Wentz’s emo fringe. Of course, Pete shaved his head onstage – to be honest I can’t see Marvin and Ortisé getting on a pair of skinnies during One Shot.