What can I say about my first day back at the Star?

I am so glad I came back; and grateful that they let me return - even wanted me back working there. The experience I gain will be so valuable; worth more than any wage, in my opinion. This way, I can move over to Portadown in the autumn and say I have nearly five months' experience working and writing at a newspaper. And I'll have the portfolio of my obsessive little newspaper clippings to prove it.

They started me off with some fairly easy work; so not dropping me in at the deep end! I was given a load of fillers to occupy the time before my big assignment of the day.

( Somewhere between the red carpet and an ordinary day at the cinema... )

2011 Census, Q17:

"This question is intentionally left blank. Go to Q18."

Dad's answer: "I don't understand the question."

A few weeks ago, I made mention in a post that I'd once been suspended from a school I never went to. It is quite an odd story; one which also highlights the aura of fail about the school I used to go to. So, since a few of you were interested in my tale, I thought I'd stop being mean and share it.

We wind the clocks back to February 2008, when I was still in Year Eleven and anticipating the end of high school. For a week during this term, the school was enrolling people from its own Y11 group into Sixth Form there. Back then, I didn't even know I was moving to Newton-le-Willows; it was in April 2008 that I went downstairs one morning and Dad said to me 'how do you fancy getting out of this place?'.

Anyway, back in February I was stuck in St. Helens for the foreseeable future, so I enrolled at Sutton High Sports College Sixth Form. I'd be stuck at that school for another two years, but I was exhiliarated that I'd at least got in; two more years there was worth it for a-levels that would at as leverage into university.

Fast-forward to April 2008. There was an incident in school in which my youngest brother Ashley, who'd only just turned thirteen, was rushed to A&E. For my Dad, this was the last straw. Somewhere between this entry and my next one, I came downstairs one morning to get ready and Dad asked me how I'd feel about moving school and house. Being at the end of my tether regarding my school and neighbourhood, I immediately said 'heck yes!'.

So, I completed my GCSEs at Sutton High, getting ten A*-C grades which meant I was spoilt for choice when it came to choosing a Sixth Form. I picked up my qualifications and then didn't think much of it; I waffled around all summer, writing and doodling and listening to Mike Oldfield. We viewed a couple of houses, including one very close to where I'd eventually end up living.

Up until this point, I was still going to Sixth Form in Sutton High. Only there was an issue: Art and English Language, both subjects I desperately wanted to do, clashed on the timetable that had been arranged. I didn't know what to do; I was too shy to storm into Miss Mansfield's office and demand the timetable be rearranged, and I didn't think I would be capable of transferring to a different Sixth Form and leaving everyone behind.

Eventually, though, I opted to make the change when Dad suggested St. Aelred's. Sutton High had been horrible to me and I wasn't going to stand for it any more. St. Aelred's had a good reputation and great teaching standard so I decided I'd go there instead. Dad phoned Mrs. Vernazza, assistant director of Sixth Form, who told me that Digital Photography was also available as a subject. I had an interview with her, which went very well, and they enrolled me on the spot. The rest, as the old cliché goes, is history.

The thing is, we contacted Sutton High about my change of plans, but it later transpired that they did bugger all about it. I technically remained a student there. I stayed on all their registers and everything. After a month or so at St. Aelred's, I started receiving letters. Written warnings for nonattendance. Second written warnings. Then an appointment with the head of Sixth Form at Sutton High. Then a final written warning.

And then, I was finally expelled from a school I never even went to. I have to say, it was bloody amusing. I could even see it as my last big 'sod you' to that horrible place!

It's quite weird, writing about events at the end of High School. One, because it happened so long ago and two, because I'm now approaching the time where I have to make yet another big change and go to university. But yeah, there you have it: how Kelza got expelled from a school she never attended.

This is what Holly does to me. IT'S CRIMINAL.

Under the cut lies two silly, unedited... things... spawned from a simple e-mail to Holly. In which Kelza tries to get Holly's main character done for squatting and Bella Swan comes to her senses. WARNING: May contain words.

( HERE BE NONSENSE! )

Before I go off to bed to become boring, I thought I'd update you all with a rather interesting occurrence that chose to interrupt the usual ebb and flow of my daily life.

Earlier on, I was on the computer, perusing Twitter and LiveJournal into the wee small hours - as you do - when there came a knock at the door. The time was about half nothing in the morning. The knocking? Sharp, quick, urgent.

Needless to say I reacted to this much like one might react upon being told that they were actually of the other gender. We don't get many knockings of the door in the daytime, let alone the middle of the night. Naturally I was suspicious. My immediate thought was of teenage louts, playing knock and run, perhaps, or waiting to pound the unlucky answerer of said door with snowballs immediately upon opening. Perhaps even a gang of burglars, planning to barge in and harvest our television should we answer their knock. So I waited, and contemplated the possibilities.

It came again, said knocking, with a desperation that I simply couldn't ignore. Around here, even the boldest chav is in bed by seven (such is small town life), and I'd immediately got this strange feeling; I knew instantly that this was a genuine call, and quite an urgent one. I went to the door.

Walking through the hall, I saw a faint blue glow beyond the frosted window of our front door; a bulky shadow silhouetted in it. At the shadow's chest, a pallid white square; a screen. And as I approached the door, I heard the crackly tones of a radio.

I took the chain off and opened the door, but I already knew who it was. And I was right. A lone policeman, car parked up behind him, peered into the house.

"Sorry to disturb you, miss, but we received a call saying that there's been a stabbing here?"

( Yes sir, I'm afraid I had a disagreement with a bottle of tomato sauce... )