You may have noticed my reoccurring character, Tim.

After drawing inspiration from my good friends, only fragments, I have decided to do this as well.

(see link above)


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I am sick of my younger brother.

He has not respect for me, my belongings or my personal space. My parents seem to assume that i have to treat him like a friend just because he’s family. Well, it ends now.

I do like my brother though…

I wish relationships were easy.

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Bonfire Night

I don’t know if bonfire night exists apart from in the UK, I hope not.

It is the most miserable excuse for a holiday, parents suddenly try and pretend to be outdoorsy and whilst you want to do something fun, they insist on a fireworks party.

The sad story of Guy Fawkes is the tale of a Catholic guy (see what I did there) who tried to blow up the houses of Parliament and got caught. To be fair to him, he was part of a repressed religion and I guess the anger just builds up (yes, that is a threat Dad).

So anyway. Me being my general popular self, I got invited to a self proclaimed ‘night of booze, fireworks and bonfires.’ I was calmly reassured however that since we were to young to drink and too young to buy fireworks, the first two would be missed off, that was of course accompanied with a secretive nudge and wink.

After this invitation had been given, I replied quickly so you can imagine my dismay as dad shepherded me to some muddy nightmare of a bonfire party revolving around a tiny altar fire.

I, as you can imagine, was not best pleased, so I decided to sneak off. After running out of the muddy mess, I made it to the night of booze and fireworks. I texted my dad to say what I’d gone to but I didn’t say where I was and, after a rather blurry night that is difficult to remember clearly, I got home.

I have to say, Dad’s shouting didn’t make my head ache better.


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Saturday 4th November-Edward Denmark

Dear dairy diary,

I wanted too to tell you about Elly Elle today. She is a tall, pretty, intelligent, pretty, intelligent girl in my form. She is so ameezing amazeing cool!!!

Did I menshon mention that she is tall and pretty???

I think I might be in love, my life feels like a disney movie because…wait for it…I am dating Elle. I might only me ten but I think this is true love. I have been looking for engagment engaygmente engaygement engagement rings on the internet. They’re a bit expunsive expinsive pricey though so maybe a Harribo will have to do…

I can’t stop thinking about Elle…Elle.

I just got a text from Elle, she’s jibed me off. I always new she wasn’t a keeper, honestly women, they’re like life sucking vampires. Except that is of course for Katie, now she’s the one girl in my year that I actually like…

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Getting the most out of the time you waste on Twitter: this month’s funny tweets


I had to post this, it’s hilarious. Full Stop.


Getting the most out of the time you waste on Twitter: this month’s funny tweets.

via Getting the most out of the time you waste on Twitter: this month’s funny tweets.

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My first Spanish exchange

As you’ll have no doubt guessed, I have a bad history as far as exchanges are concerned. My first exchange was a disaster because she was a girl and I was a boy, obvious huh?

My second exchange was better but, unknown to me, I accidentally stole his girlfriend whilst with him. This is the story of my first Spanish exchange. This was a traumatic experience that I am not sure I will ever get over.

When I first heard about Emilia, my exchange student, I asked for a new one. She was, put simply, a she and I was not in the mood, bearing in mind I’d just had a bad breakup, to have a female exchange student. I changed my mind of course when I saw a picture. To be fair, I was a hormone crazed 14 year old, what can you expect. Emilia had the classic ‘sun-kissed’ skin and an amazing body. It isn’t hard to see what went wrong.

When I first emailed her my picture, I was going through a spotty phase so I asked my Mum to find a picture of me without any spots. Unfortunately, she took this a bit too literally and sent a picture of me when I was 11. I had a neat, unstylish hair cut and muscles the size of mussels. I knew very well however, that if I sent a new picture she wouldn’t believe it was me. 

The weeks passed and I went to Spain. She saw, for the first time, obviously, and almost fell over in surprise. By this point, I must say, I had become very good at languages after I realised the use of foreign chat up lines. I have to say, now in hindsight, that it was a bit disturbing how far she was prepared to go with a total stranger. I can safely report that I kept my dignity however. Emilia’s father did walk in on us though and, with Emilia showing some of her more private areas as we pulled, he was less than pleased. After a rapid fire exchange in Spanish, Emilia and her father turned to me.

In the end, he kicked me out. I slept on the streets for a few days (it wasn’t too cold) and then I was allowed back in. When they let me back though, Emilia wasn’t able to talk to me, it was part of her grounding. On top of that, I found out about her Spanish boyfriend. In what was close to despair, I took to going to town, without Emilia of course, and meeting local girls for a ‘talk.’ There was one who spoke to more often than not. She worked in a souvenir shop and I would often come down because I I really enjoyed her company. One day however, as she was laughing at one of my jokes, the girl’s dad walked in with a furious face on his…face. He glared at her and he glared at me and, I am ashamed to say, I had to do a British tourist.

‘Please sir,’ I said in English, ‘I speak no Spanish.’

Thankfully, the father only spoke pidgin English so I got away because he didn’t know enough words to properly reprimand me. Then my stay was over and I could only wait for Emilia to come to my house.

I received nothing from Emilia until about two days before she was to come to our house. All I got was a text:

‘Thought I shud tell u, I just broke up with my boyfriend’

I can tell you my heart started to pound really hard. Panic, joy and contentment filled my chest. 

The only thing I’m going to put now, is that I got detention for pulling my exchange student. I also got a slap from my ex- who quickly made up with me after Emilia left.


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My opinion on the US Election

I have to say,

If I were of voting age and American, I know where I would be voting. I sent en email to the two main presidential candidates asking for advice for a teenager. To their credit, both campaign teams replied. The reason I am casting my metaphorical vote where I am is plain to see.

From: harrisondenmark@iamateenager.com

To: mittromney@republicancampaign.com; obamaisawesome@whitehouse.net

Dear presidential candidates, I know that you were both teenage boys once and so, through all you presidential wisdom, I am hoping for some advice.


Harrison Denmark

P.S. A special thanks to Obama, General Motors is an awesome car company.


Reply from the democrats:

Forwarded to: trish@electionmaintenance.democrats.com

Dear Harrison,

After showing the president your email, he was very touched. I will quote his words for you.

‘I think that this boy’s reference to presidential wisdom shows true political talent and my advice to him would be to floss up (in both senses of the word), get an American citizenship and vote democrat.’

Thanks for supporting our party in our hour of need,

Trisha Price- general campaign management team for Joe Biden


Ashley Hope-head of campaign management for democratic candidates-state: abroad


Katie Johnson-Presidential Secretary for Barrack Obama


Barrack Obama

Signature (yeah right)


Reply from Republicans:

Forwarded to: norepliesatall@republicansforthewin.com

Dear potential voter/opposition/loyal republican,

Thank you for your input/criticism/complaint/other.

Your opinion/insight has been taken into account.

Thank you,

Everyone at the campaign team,

Please note that this is a computerised message that must not be replied to.


I hope Mr Obama or Mr Romney is out there reading this,

Some day’s I think I’d like to be a politician but then…on some days I think I want to die, we all have dark thoughts. 

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When I asked my Dad what being a teenager meant, (I was 13) he told me that he couldn’t know since he’d never been a teenager. He said that in those days (the 20th Century!!) they didn’t have ‘teenagers,’ just young gentlemen. To rebuff this I showed the photo that is below.

I also found my dad’s diary from when he was my age:

Dear Diary (lame)

I’m sorry that my handwriting is a mess today, I was out boozing till late last night.

I met this girl, I think he name was Sara and after a while we got talking. I can safely confide with you, diary, that it wasn’t just talking we were doing. I’m afraid I can’t report the ultimate news yet, but we’re going to a nightclub tomorrow (she knows the bouncer) so you never know I might get lucky.

I have to report that my Dad ‘never got lucky) at least, according to his diary entries, not for a few years but when I showed it to Mum and Dad, Dad got a bit nervous. Actually, Sara is my Mum’s sister’s name and Dad did say that they were childhood sweet hearts, I just need to check the diary dates and compare them to my birthday after all, I’d better check when dad did ‘get lucky.’Image

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For the record,

I hate the word correspondence.

One of the other things I’ll be posting, along with my life stories and my brother’s diary entries, is the correspondence between my Year 9 French exchange student. After my harmful experience with my first exchange student (don’t ask) I was skeptical about my second one but he turned out to be a really cool guy. I think that’s key, he’s a guy.

Dear David,

It’s nice to hear from you again although, if you don’t mind, could you stick to more regular, easy to read French. I hope Romaine is okay (she was my first exchange student and is now dating David, awkward) and I hope your cat has got over its illness. 

Yours as ever,

Hazza D

Reply translated into English (TGF Google translate):

Dear Harry,

You total idiot. Can you not read French I didn’t say my cat was ill, I said she is dead. I don’t see how she is going to recover from that unless you know something I don’t. Romaine and I broke up three months ago and it’s your turn to write in French.

Your French Friend,


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To prove my insanity, I have included the first love poem I wrote, age 12. It was first to Ruby but I gave it to a few other girls subsequently.

Dear Ruby (or other name as required),

Loving you is like this sweet Summer (Or other month)

Without you life is a real bummer

I will love you like no other 

As much as I’m best friends with your brother (or other rhyming family member)



The poem about that last poem is as follows:

I tried to make this poem epic,

But the only epic thing about it was the fail,

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