I’m actually typing this on my iPhone, because I had to send in my beloved MacBook Pro to have its fan replaced.   I first discovered something was up when my usual torrenting of whichever Gilmore Girls season I didn’t yet have was accompanied by the sound of a tractor driving into the blades of a jet engine.  I know enough about Rory Gilmore to know that’s not normal.  Never fear, AppleCare was there to pick up the repair tab.

The Ambassador’s Theatre Group coupled with lastminute.com meant I went to see New Boy with Nicholas Hoult (Trafalgar Studios), I went to see La Cage Aux Folles starring Graham Norton (Playhouse Theatre, Northumberland Avenue) and I finally went to see On The Waterfront starring Stephen Berkoff (Theatre Royal, Haymarket).  I also hung around the Stage Door at each theatre like a groupie, collecting autographs like a seasoned fan. After studying Berkoff’s work during my A2 Drama & Theatre Studies syllabus, it was quite an experience to meet somewhat of a textbook idol.

Mr. Hoult, also known as thatguyfromskinsyouknowtheonewhat’shisnameohmygodTonythat’sit, was annoyingly charming. I’m just jealous.  I was a little disappointed with the production, though, which was in a tiny, tiny studio, showcasing none of the classical theatre-acting traits I wanted to see the actors cope with.

Mr. Norton was a bit smaller than I anticipated (although not as short as when I met Dawn French), yet my mum still managed to compliment the lead actor on his ‘lovely legs’, of which we saw a lot during the performance, seeing as there was a lot of drag-queen activity involved.

Mr. Berkoff casually dresses in oddly ghetto-subculture attire.  Think slack trousers and a large gold gangster hoodie. He also drives a Volkswagen Beetle.  I found this all so surprising that I missed out on an obvious Metamorphosis-jibe about his choice of vehicle.

No, actually, my night-time London pursuits didn’t stop there. I also went clubbing at 54London‘s Commercial Street venue, on one of their monthly Light nights.  That just sounds like another set  of buzzwords, doesn’t it?  To be honest, you’re probably right.  Along with two friends (Sahar & Morgan), I was there from 11pm until about 7:15am.  We’d had dinner and been to the pub beforehand, so by the time it came to leaving the venue, we were pretty worse for wear.  Not to mention Morgan and I were a little sick of the last-gasp attempts for the sexuality-questionable 95% male population of the venue to locate a breakfast mate.

The shock to the system upon seeing the bright light of day and hearing the sudden absence of a DJ in London’s East End meant it was probably time to go home.  Walking with Sahar to Aldgate East tube station, Morgan and I decided we were hungry.  Not realising that it was now 7.30 in the morning, we walked down the entire length of Mile End Road.  To find nothing open but ‘Billy’s 24hr…’ roadside shack.  Morgan chanced a ‘survivor bap’ from this one-man-stand while I decided I wasn’t that peckish after all.  The good news is that Morgan hasn’t got E.Coli. Yet.

Oh, and in a fit of SURHUL-inspired despair, we sort of broke into Queen Mary, University of London’s campus and tried to get into their spankingly-pretty Students’ Union building.  It was locked.  Now time to go our separate ways, I found that there were even fewer services operating on Sunday morning from Mile End than there were from Aldgate East almost an hour previously.  With my hatred in Transport for London renewed, sitting on the red-eyed Tube with various other shameful ‘shouldn’t-be-up-this-early-in-the-morning-normally-don’t-ask-me-where-I’ve-been’ citizens, that was the end of another chapter.

With some thrilling sights posted to Flickr entitled In which I discover the early-morning East End, (all ofwhich seemed far more fascinating at the time) and the everlasting quest to reach a photo-a-day in How I Spent April 2009,  I can safely say I don’t really want to post something this long from the iPhone WordPress client ever again.  Proofreading was…problematic.  Twitter‘s certainly on to something with a 140 character limit.

Before I begin, what’s happened recently? I received my NUJ press pass in the post (yay!) but ended up not being allocated tickets for the Guardian Student Media Conference (boo!).

Last night, I went to see Wintersleep support Dan Le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip in London, with a friend.  He shall hereby only be known as “BB”.  An simple evening out, one might think.  A train from Egham, up to our desired location via Waterloo and London Underground.  Back in time to catch last order’s at InsanityRadio‘s House Party at the SU.

On the tube. 1930 (doors open at 2000)

NS:  So, where are we going?
BB:  Club Koko?
NS:  Ah, cool.
BB:  Do you know how to get there?  I’ve got no idea.
NS:  (slightly perturbed) er…yeah, it’s in Camden, but it’s closer if we get off at Mornington Crescent.
BB:  Cool.

A true 2008 student-to-student dialogue.  It was also revealed that BB was off too see Wintersleep the following night at Koko, too.  With a different main act.  Slightly odd, seeing as there was only that gig mentioned on the website…

We arrive at Koko in Camden.  There’s a large man dressed as Uncle Sam and people dressed as cowboys filing in to the venue.  Well, our acts for tonight have certainly taken a change in musical direction…

Camden.  2000

BB:  (walking up to the door, pulling out tickets from inside jacket pocket)
Bouncer:  Er…nope.
NS:  ….what’s going on?
Bouncer:  Not ‘ere, mate.
(pause)
BB:  Ah, mate – it says Club FANDANGO on here!  (chuckles)
NS: (exasperated) Well, where the bloody hell is that?

iPhone 3G to the rescue!  A quick Google reveals Club Fandango is located at 24 Highbury Grove, N1.  To the tube, to take us deeper into North London!  And we’re running late – doors are already open!

Tube takes us from Mornington Crescent to Highbury & Islington.

iPhone with Google Maps navigates us to Higbury Grove.  We start walking down the street, briskly.

2030, after walking for approximately 10 minutes.

BB:  (counting) 56…58…60
NS:  Oh, wait!
BB:  What?
NS:  Bugger.  Turn around, it’s at the other end.
(more time passes)
NS:  28…26…24.
BB:  Is this it?

We’ve arrived at a house.  Just a house in Islington. iPhone 3G now reveals that we’ve travelled to the record label’s registered address, not one of their many gig venues.  Cue tears of blood and frostbite setting in to my numbing hands.  Capacitive touchscreen sapping my soul.

2050

BB:  Aw, mate!  It’s on the ticket!
NS: (apoplectic exasperation)
BB:  229 Great Portland Street!  How do we get there?

Nervous twitching aside,  I navigate back to the tube, and get us to change onto the Hammersmith and City line at King’s Cross for Great Portland Street.  As we’re waiting for our train, we relax.  BB sneezes.  At the precise moment a shorter Oriental lady walks in front of him, resulting in BB sneezing right onto her face.  The most hilarious event of the journey thus far.

BB, shellshocked, and I board our tube train, arrive at Great Portland Street, ask for directions to the gig venue, get heckled by the bouncer and enjoy a gig. Wonderful.  The last train to Egham leaves at 11.30, so we’ve got to elave in enough time, which we do.  We board a train at Great Portland Street Station.  Scroobius Pip is on the platform opposite, a good time was had by all.  We’ll change at Baker Street and hop to Waterloo.

Until BB and I got chatting about university.  Our course, literature, etc.

2315

Announcer:  The next station is Finchley Road.
BB/NS:          Bugger.

We’ve missed our stop.  Fantastic.  A lengthy wait at Finchley Road to catch a train to Waterloo ensures we completely miss the last train to Egham.  Just our luck, really.  Our revised plan: a train to Staines and a cab.  We’re not talking by this point.

We arrive at Staines, befriending an Inebriated BusinessMan (IBM) at the taxi rank.  We agree to share a taxi.  When it pulls up, we are treated to:

0045

IBM:  Where’re’you headed?
Us:   Egham (for the second time)
IBM:  (to the Taxi Driver) Awright, c’n you go to Bracknell via Egham?
TD:   Sure, sir.

Now just repeat this dialogue for the next fifteen minutes:

IBM:  So, where do you guys live?
Us:   Egham.
IBM:  So, where do you guys….

Yep.  Until we revealed we were off to a student radio station party.

IBM:  Aw, mate, what is it?
Us:   Er…it’s a student radio station.
IBM: Yeah, yeah, but what is it?
Us:   Er…it’s a student radio station.
IBM: YEAH I KNOW THAT BUT WHAT IS IT?
Us:   Oh, er 1287AM…

IBM then wrestles with Taxi Driver to tune radio, with car swerving in road.  Not the safest of journeys, but we finally make it to Royal Holloway, unscathed.  InsanityRadio gains two more listeners.

0115

We arrive at the SU just in time to see the party wrapping up.

I’d like to say that I’d seen the last of the unexpected events of the evening…

Okay.

I’ve had my last A-level exam, I’ve returned (most) of my books, we’ve had the leavers’ ceremony, we’ve been to the pub with our teachers afterwards. I’m a little numb from it all, really.  Apart from the yearbook and the OG tie..we’ve only got our own memories and anecdotes.  Seven years. It’s a long time.  For our leavers’ statement (which wasn’t even included in my pack), I mashed up my personal yearbook entry and my UCAS statement, cobbling together an irony-tinged last-minute bit of prose, written at some ungodly hour the night before two and a half weeks after the deadline:

A seven-year relationship is difficult to summarise, let-alone forget, and as with all experiences there have been ups and downs.  At times my patience has most definitely been strained due to my insistence on seeking out extra-curricular activities to occupy my time:  with Amnesty, hosting the Charity Gigs, Young Enterprise, Schools Without Walls, the House Reading competition (unbeaten 5 years in a row…), countless school plays and the Junior Drama Society among others, I’ve certainly been kept busy – and away from the sports field!  Although I may lack a legacy, I certainly know my liason with the RGS will stay with me forever.  I may have occasionally let the pressure overwhelm my emotions, but if you don’t crack the shell, you can’t eat the nut.

I hope the RGS will miss me as much as I will miss it – take from that what you want!  Nevertheless, I’ve made some friends I hope I shall never lose contact with, certainly my time on Facebook to the detriment of my work has seen to that!  Whether or not the school has made me who I am is left open to debate, and I’m sure I will have to fend off the stigma of being a ‘posh Surrey private school ****’ all my life, but I certainly wouldn’t have been content to go anywhere else.

With my A2 grades, my leaver’s hoody and my yearbook, my year is finally at an end, and I shall walk out of the RGS gates for the final time, free from the daily grind that, dare I say it, brought an enjoyable, community-feel to the centre of Guildford. What do I do now? Well, I hope to study English at RHUL, with aspirations of becoming a broadcast journalist   As Tom Stoppard said in a 1988 Guardian interview – “I still believe that if your aim is to change the world, journalism is a more immediate short-term weapon”.

To try and stem the tide of sentimental emotions and the inevitable “what am I doing with my life?”/”I’ve-made-all-the-wrong-university-decisions-and-achieved-nothing” breakdowns, I’ve been to A Midsummer Night’s Dream post-exams party, a Superheroes-themed party…

I got invited to Centre Court at Wimbledon (debenture seats – thanks Tim & Mr. Scott!) to test out my new camera, eat strawberries and cream, watch Djokovic get knocked out and Federer beat Soderling… and now I’m packing to go inter-railing with these people for three weeks.   Oh, and I fixed my iPod by uploading 13368 songs individually to target the problem. Yay!  In case you didn’t catch the embedded link, you go here for updates now.

It’s a hard life, eh?

Actually, I’m knackered.  And so is my bank balance.