My Grandpa

I currently find myself wide awake and incapable of falling asleep. I’d love for this to be due to that fact that I’d been out and had had one too many strawberry daiquiris, but sadly it’s not. It’s actually due to that fact that my Grandpa is in hospital, and has been for over a week. I didn’t sleep a wink the night after I found out. I’ve slept a little since then, but not the usual amount and I’m subsequently constantly tired, yet still unable to sleep properly. It’s starting to become tedious and annoying but my head is full with too many thoughts and questions. How is he? Is he asleep? Is he comfortable? I hope he’s not in pain. How will he be when I see him next? How is my Grandma? When am I going to finally fall asleep? And how tired am I going to look tomorrow?

Wednesday 5^th October was my day off. I’d been looking forward to it as I’d worked six days straight. I had it all planned out in my head. I wasn’t going to do a lot. I’d put a wash on and hang it out as it was due to be a sunny day. I’d wash my hair and apply for jobs. Then I’d catch up on television. I’d watch new 90210, Gossip Girl, Glee and Desperate Housewives. I’d also reply to my Grandpa’s emails, as he’d emailed me twice since Sunday but I hadn’t yet had time to reply. When Wednesday arrived I awoke without an alarm, which was absolutely blissful seeing as I’d had three 7am starts in a row. I put a wash on, had a shower and washed my hair. I then hung my washing out on the line outside, because unusually just as predicted, it was sunny! I was working my way through to my to-do list and at quite a good pace. Next up was to email my Grandpa back. I wasn’t in any rush as he wouldn’t look at his inbox until after 6pm (he still used dial-up internet and refused to pay the premium rates in the daytime!) but I wanted to reply before I forgot. I did so, and apologised at the very beginning for my slow response saying “who knew full time work would be so time consuming?” I thought that would make him smile. I then settled down to watch Glee, as a reward for all my “hard work” that I’d achieved that morning. After Glee it was time to apply for jobs. I was halfway through an application when my phone started ringing. I contemplated ignoring it, but it was my Dad, so being the brilliant daughter that I am, I answered. He informed me that my Grandpa had had a stroke around lunch time whilst he was out in his car and he was now in hospital. WHAT? He must have been mistaken, my Grandpa was fine, I’d spoken to him on the phone last week and he sounded normal, and he emailed me just the other day. Yes, he had dodgy knees due to arthritis but that just meant he couldn’t walk very far. He wouldn’t have had a stroke; he was much too strong for one of those. He was a Doctor for goodness sake, and bad things can’t happen to Doctors… Or so I naively thought. In my head I genuinely believed that my Grandpa was going to out-live us all. He’d be around forever. He’d be on the other side of the phone whenever I needed help on any homework. He’d be there with encouraging words when things got tough. He’d be there to send me articles from the Guardian he thought I’d find interesting and he’d be there to update me on all things concerning politics. My Dad must have been mistaken, that wouldn’t have happened to Grandpa. I was sure of it. “I don’t know much else, your Mum and Grandma are at the hospital with him now, but we’ll let you know when we know” said my Dad, that’s when I started to cry.

Like I said earlier, I didn’t sleep a wink that night. Luckily I was on an early so was due to be waking up at 5.30 anyway. I put the light on and looked in the mirror. I looked terrible, but didn’t have it in me to try and make myself look acceptable. So I made my way to work looking (in what can only be described as) a mess. Luckily for me, I own several pairs of over-sized sunglasses that cover half my face, so I wore a pair, even though it was still near-enough pitch black! I got to work, and it hasn’t exactly been my favourite place ever since starting but never had I wished to be at home more than I did that morning. I asked to work in the office so I wouldn’t have to face customers and put on that warm, smiling face you have to wear when on the shop floor. I wasn’t in the mood to pretend to be happy. Instead I cried to myself in the office. That was way more fun. Luckily someone took pity on me and said to go home. These words literally made my day, and without another word I was power walking to the tube to pack my suitcase to go home. I was back in Bournemouth by 2pm and was greeted by my Dad and Jazpups at the station. I didn’t realise how reassuring pets could be before we got Jaz. She really is a vital part of my happiness. Her acknowledging look and wagging tail was enough to make my day, thankfully she hadn’t forgotten me - phew!  That evening I went to visit my Grandpa with my Grandma and my Mum. They told me what to expect, but no words could have prepared me to see my Grandpa lying in that bed. Even though he didn’t look poorly, the only sign (apart from the drip and the fact he was in a hospital) that there was anything wrong with him was that (just like other stroke sufferers) his face drooped a little at the side. This didn’t scare me; it just meant he didn’t look exactly like the old Grandpa I knew. It wasn't that that I wasn't prepared for, it was the fact he wasn't sat up in his usual armchair questioning me on the latest news, instead he lay there silently, unable to talk and with very restricted movement. My Grandma told him I was there and I walked up to his side and held his hand. He squeezed it so tightly. As a child I used to go to my Grandma and Grandpa’s for dinner once a week. Whenever my Grandpa picked me up we’d walk back to the car holding hands. He’d ask me if I’d want it “loosely, medium or tight”. He was definitely giving me tight there at the hospital. He looked straight into my eyes, even though he was unable to talk I knew what he was saying. I squeezed his hand back and stood there in silence for a while. I tried to apologise for not replying to his email quicker because he didn’t get to receive it but it got too much for me and I cried. He squeezed my hand even tighter. Even though I'd asked my Mum to print the email out and read it to him the same day I sent it (the day he had the stroke) it wasn’t the same. I still secretly hope I’ll receive a reply from him, even though I know deep down I won’t.

I’ve been to see him several other times since my first visit, and each time has been upsetting. However he does little things that I find reassuring and show he’s still there. Earlier this week, the nurse came to take his pulse and afterwards he took her arm and tried to take hers! Now, I’ve never liked Doctors. Growing up I’d usually see my Grandpa before going to the actual Doctors surgery. He’d sit me down, take my temperature, listen to my heart on his stethoscope and then tell me he’d have to take my tonsils out. No matter what was wrong with me, whether it was a sore throat or a grazed knee, the outcome would always be the removal of my tonsils! Ironically I never liked going to the actual Doctors, even though they never threatened to tie me down and take my tonsils out! It was just because they weren’t my Grandpa. This has stuck with me, even now I dread going, I’d much rather ring up Grandpa. He’d either respond with the old threat of the tonsil-taking-out-procedure or say that I needed to go and see a doctor! He always was, and always will be the only Doctor I'll ever trust or like!

Although obviously losing a loved one is never going to be a pleasant experience, I’ve found great comfort knowing that my Grandpa has lived a very fulfilled life. He found love at a young age with his childhood sweetheart, my Grandma, and they have been happily married over 50 years. They had three lovely children, who gave them five even lovelier grandchildren! He’d achieved his career goal of being a family doctor. Not only that but he’d opened several surgeries, trained numerous other Doctor’s (who we’d always bump into here, there and everywhere when we went out!) and was able to retire knowing all of this. He’d spent the majority of his spare time doing what he loved, walking with my Grandma and (when he was still alive) their dog Barney. My first memories of my Grandpa include Barney and the golf course. We spent many hours walking around there! He’s also been lucky enough to see the world and many marvellous sights that he always used to tell me about, and has taken me to a couple. That’s what makes it easier to let him go, knowing that he’s had such a brilliant life, that he so clearly enjoyed. I hope that I will be able to say the same.

I’ll miss numerous things about my Grandpa; obviously his emails. They meant more to me than I think he knew. I'll miss the way he’d moan that whenever I was round I would receive special treatment from my Grandma, even though he received the same treatment every single day! Also the fact that he was excited and almost proud when I started to recently take an interest in politics. He'd be extatic when I'd ring him up to discuss it, instead of only being interested in Heat magazine and Britney Spears! But I think what I’ll miss most about him, on a selfish level, is the way he always referred to me as No1 GC. This was an abbreviation he made up which meant his first born grandchild. He would write it in birthday cards, it was the subject of the last email he sent me, and he’d even sometimes call me it instead of Emma when I was with him. It made me smile every time, without fail. I’m a proud No1 GC.

X Factor 2011 - Judge's houses

Last night saw one of my personal favourite parts of The X Factors: Judge’s houses. As always the four new judges jetted off to different locations around the World with their eight acts from their specific categories, to whittle them down from 32 to the final 16 for the live shows. As usual the judges were also joined by some of their famous friends to help them with the decision making. The only thing a little different this year was the fact that Louis went to Barcelona instead of travelling to Ireland!

Gary made his way to LA with the boys and was joined by Robbie Williams (who comically came out dressed in palm-tree leaves, imitating Sinetta!) After hearing all eight boys sing, and after much deliberation as well as a night’s sleep to ensure he was making the right decision, the moment had come for Gary to let the boy’s know who would be going through to the live shows and whose X Factor journey would be ending there and then. The four lucky boys to make it through were the girls-favourite Frankie Cocozza, Liverpudlian Marcus Collins, ex biscuit-factory worker Craig Colton and curly haired James Michael. Failing to make the live shows was 16 year old Luke Lucas who was shown on Saturday night’s show as messing up his performance in front of Gary and Robbie.

Tulisa and the groups headed off to Greece where they were joined by Jessie J, who at the time of filming still had her leg on a cast. This category wasn’t as straight forward as putting four acts through to the live shows, Tulisa liked to shake things up a bit. At Boot camp there were several groups put together through rejects from the boys and girls. The only original group to make it through to the live shows is ‘Two Shoes’ the two excitable and lovable girls from Essex. They will be joined by ‘The Rhythmix’ and ‘Nu Vibe’, as well as ‘The Risk’. But here is where it got complicated. In a last minute twist, Tulisa ditched Marlon and Mitchell from the original line-up of The Risk and replaced them with Charlie from ‘The Keys’. This resulted in The Risk now being made up of Andrew, Charlie, Derry and Ashley. Have you got all of that?!

Next up were the Over’s who were lucky enough to jet off to Barcelona with Louis, who was joined by Simon’s favourite: Sinetta! The luckily four to get through were controversial Kitty, down-to-earth Jonjo, the unique Johnny Robinson and crazy Goldie. However she has since pulled out of appearing in the live shows and has been replaced by the talented Sami, who in my opinion should have made it through in the first place.

Lastly we had the girls with Kelly in Miami. Her guest judge was the amazingly talented Jennifer Hudson. After all of their performances the final four were revealed to be crazy-haired Janet, soulful Sophie, rock chick Amelia and my personal favourite Misha. Possibly the biggest surprise of last night was the fact that Jade didn’t make it through, especially seeing as she made Kelly cry at her audition.

Thankfully for all of those who didn’t make it through to the live shows Dermot was on hand for big bear hugs! Oh how I long for one of those… Anyway all that’s left to say is, bring on next week and the big twist! (I’m desperately hoping for four of the rejected acts to be bought back and mentored by another judge – preferably Cheryl Cole. Fingers crossed!)

The tale of the inappropriately timed killer-moth

Hello there strangers! How are you all? I haven't blogged in a while as I've been rather busy. A lot has changed, I live in London now. I've gone all cockney. Apple n pears. Me old china etc etc. I also have a full time job *shudders* but we'll have more of all of that in another blog. Right now I have a more pressing issue to blog about. I have just got out of a very traumatic situation. One that would have been solved a lot quicker and easier if I were still living at home...

The time right now it is 23.50 and I would have ideally liked to have been asleep near enough an hour ago. I watched Celebrity Big Brother (mainly to perv on Bobby/Lucien) and was going to call it a night... UNTIL a massive-monster-human-killing-eagle-sized-beast-moth appeared out of nowhere. Seriously it just popped up and started fluttering around. I'm not even exaggerating when I say it was the size of a bird. An actual bird.* It was terrifying.

My first thought was to run to the next room and shout "DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDDDD." I then realised he was at home in Bournemouth and although I can shout loudly I doubt he'd hear me from London. My next thought was to scream. However my housemates are all asleep and I'm pretty certain they wouldn't have been overly impressed with being woken up by my high-pitched wailing. My third thought was to cry. However having thought about it more logically I realised the tears would blur my vision, which would mean I wouldn't be able to clearly see where the repulsive beast was. My fourth thought was to sleep on the sofa. My fifth thought was "why should I leave my room for an insect? It's MY room, so if anyone needs to get out, it is him." So it was decided, I, Emma scaredy-cat Jamieson would take on the massive-monster-human-killing-eagle-sized-beast-moth myself.

I gathered five tissues and prepared myself for what was to be an epic battle. He started to fly at me, aiming straight for my face, I quickly dodged and shuddered. I spun around to find him fluttering up against the wall. I stretched my arm out, then got scared and took a couple of steps backwards... This was going to take a while! He then decided to rest on the ceiling, where I couldn't reach him. Ahhh, clever moth. I see your plan. I stood on my bed, but alas, he was too far over for me to reach. He then started showing off, doing somersaults in the air and whatnot. However the dizziness must have got to him because after that he flew into the wall, bounced off and then flew back into it quite a few times. What an idiot. I, however, then made the schoolboy error of taking my eye off him for a mere couple of seconds. And voila, what do you know, I'd lost him. I scanned the room but couldn't see him anywhere. Where was he hiding? It better not be in my bed the little toe-rag. I was now more scared than before, I much prefered knowing where he was. It was a good minute before he showed his ugly face again. And that's when he did the unthinkable. He went and sat on my Mulberry. WHO DID HE THINK HE WAS? Seriously? That was the last straw. I wasn't taking this nonsense anymore. His days/minutes were numbered. I was after him, big time now. I swooshed to get him off my precious bag and he flew upwards, up to my lamp, in which he flew into, and made that horrible noise when his wings fluttered against the side of it. Gross. After that he flew out of the lamp and went to rest upon my blind. That was a mistake, a mistake that cost him his life. Subsequently that is where my epic tale ends, on my blind (luckily no mess was made as moth's tend to just disintergrate - apparently massive-monster-human-killing-eagle-sized-beast-moths do the same... niiiiiice!)

I'm genuinely sorry that it had to end that way. To begin with I was thinking of letting him out into the hall but then he'd probably flutter in my face first thing tomorrow morning and I cannot be dealing with that, so he had to go. This whole situation has subsequently made my miss my Dad. He would of probably got annoyed at me to being so pathetic, but then he would have rescued me and killed the massive-monster-human-killing-eagle-sized-beast-moth a lot quicker than I did, whilst I stood outside the room like a Damsel in distress. However sadly, as we've already established, I no longer live at home so I now have to fight these creepy crawlies alone. This tale has actually shown how brave I am. Fighting that killer moth all on my own armed with just a couple of tissues. And I didn't even scream (out loud) once. I'm practically a hero. My Dad would be proud.

All that's left to say is thank God it wasn't a spider... Goodnight!


* I may have exaggerated a tiny, weeny, little bit. But he was at least twice, if not three times the size of your average everyday moth. So in comparison, he was practically a bird...

Rioting

I've just returned from a lovely evening in Aruba catching up with my newly-married friends over Strawberry Daiquiri's and Mojito's. After returning home I switched on my tv and Sky News came on as it was the last channel I'd been watching (this is becoming a more frequent occurrence - I'm becoming somewhat of a news junkie!) and I saw the headline at the bottom BIRMINGHAM RIOTS. Huh? Hold on a second, before I left just 4 hours ago, the riots were in London, surely that's a typo? Sadly it wasn't. The riots are now not only all over London, but they are starting in Birmingham and have been threatened to start in Leeds. I've been watching in absolute horror for the last half an hour, and I haven't stopped shaking my head. It would appear that Britain has genuinely gone mad.

The riots started in Tottenham on Saturday night after a shooting involving the police, then the looters started joining in and since it has only got worse and spread. Our Grandparents generation fought a war and died for us to have freedom. They lived a life of poverty, they never rioted or stole. This is no longer about politics or the shooting in Tottenham, because if it was they'd be targetting Downing Street. It is now about greed and disrespect, and people being down-right selfish with their actions, subsequently ruining lives, communities and businesses. I really hope the stolen pair of trainers, television or laptop was worth it, scum. Rioting isn't a trend, and shouldn't be followed.



I'm going to end this blog here, it's not very long, possibly the shortest I've ever written, but I'm struggling to find the words to describe what I want to say or express my anger, sadness and embarrassment of the whole situation, and anyway by the time I type things up there will be more breaking news! All of that along with the fact that I genuinely cannot take my eyes off the news. So, I'll leave you all with a quote that pretty much sums it up. A man who owns a store in Croydon said earlier: "You might have some nice pictures, but my life has been destroyed. Goodnight Sky News."

Lastly, London police, fire and ambulance staff are all heroes tonight, and for those of you reading this who are near the riots - stay safe x

London

The realisation that this time in three weeks I'll officially be a London resident is slowly starting to sink in. The word has been spread, I've received congratulatory emails, texts and had a couple of over-excited phone calls from my Grandma and my Great Aunty (who are both over 80!) the leaving parties have been arranged and I've even received my first leaving card, admittedly a little premature, but lovely nonetheless. Its official, after 22 years, I'll finally be leaving Bournemouth.

For my 8th birthday I desperately wanted a weekend away in London, I'd been abroad and seen quite a lot of the world but I'd never seen London properly. Now, being the first-born Grandchild (I'm known as Number 1 GC to my Grandparents) it was pretty much a given that I would get it. I remember staying at The Dorchester Hotel, a 5 star, only the best for Number 1, and having my very own room. Now, of course, as my Grandpa was a doctor and my Grandma a teacher I was obviously obliged to some educational elements over my three days in the Capital. I visited the Tate gallery, a Cathedral (I paid a lot of attention), Buckingham Palace and Downing Street along with others. However I was also treated for the first time to a street that would become one of my best friends. Oxford Street. I loved it. My favourite shop was Selfridges. I left with several bright yellow bags. A trait that has stuck with me ever since - I never leave that shop empty handed. I loved the busyness of the city; business men and women rushing around with their coffee's talking on their mobiles. I remember the day I left I promised myself that one day I'd be one of them, chatting/tapping away on my phone, jumping in to taxis and drinking hot chocolate out of a cardboard Starbucks cup (I didn't like tea or coffee. I still don't.)

Having lived at home for all of my 22 years (even through University) it started to become a running joke between my parents that I'd never leave and that I'd eventually kick them out of their own home. So it came as quite a shock, after having initially declining the job offer, to then back-track and accept it and telling them that I was moving out and was off to London in six weeks time. Later that evening when I was out, my Mum text me saying "OMG I can't believe you're leaving me. I'm going to miss you, so will Daz." (She meant Jaz - my dog, she's not that advanced when it comes to technology) three weeks have passed and I now only have three weeks left, which I will be milking!

Last night, before going out for dinner (told you I'd milk it) I sat down with my Mum trying to figure out Oyster cards. Now I'm not sure if it's just our simple minds but having looked on the website for over half an hour we were no closer to understanding them. They seem terribly confusing! Next came the conversation of "Em, how do you use a washing machine?" "You put your washing in the laundry basket and it's returned to you later that day all clean." "Not anymore..." Bugger! It would be fair to say that I am not domesticated in the slightest. I have previously blown an egg up in the microwave. Set potato wedges alight in the oven. I've become distracted and left an iron on which burnt through my all-time-favourite cardigan, and flooded the entire kitchen after attempting to use the washing machine (admittedly this wasn't actually my fault, it was a mere coincidence that the pipe decided to burst the same day I attempted to use the washing machine for the first time.) So yeah, the kitchen isn't exactly my forte. But this is going to have to change. I have less than three weeks to bring out the domestic Goddess that is so obviously hiding inside of me... ahem! It's ok though, because I can cook. Cereals, toast and pasta - plain pasta, no sauce, just pasta.... how I achieved an A* in my food technology GCSE I will never know.

Not only will I miss the way my Mum and Dad do everything for me and pay the bills but I'll secretly also miss the way they nag me. Nagging me about how they do everything for me, yet they still continue to do it - stupid! Nagging me about how I play Britney too loud and too often. Nagging me about not knowing what to wear resulting in half my wardrobe being thrown across my bedroom floor. Nagging me about how I buy too many shoes "You only have one pair of feet Em." Yes - I am fully aware of that, but what a stupid argument. They only have one pair of legs but neither of them only have one pair of trousers... And nagging me about how I treat the house more like a hotel, zzzzzzzzzz!!!

I'll also miss my friends, some more than others! I'll also surprisingly miss work, it's by no means my favourite place but I've met some of my most favourite people there, and the jokes we have had and have are endless. I'll miss Aruba's Strawberry Daiquiris and going there in the daytime with Kayleigh with our sunglasses on even if it's cloudy, and just loving life. I'll miss Kukui's Pina Colada's in a pineapple and finishing there every time I go out. I'll miss knowing the dj's in Bar So and being allowed to pretend to dj without being told off. I'll miss knowing the bouncers and skipping the queues. I'll miss taking the mick out of all the pretentious idiots out and about. I'll also miss the stupid, pathetic Bournemouth drama that so many thrive on. I think I'll even miss the pigeons that so often wake me up having two big huge fur trees outside my window.

But more than anything or anyone, I am going to miss my Jazpups. I'm going to miss her trotting to the front door and greeting me every time I come home. I'll miss the look she gives me when I shove my phone in her face taking yet another picture. I'll miss the way she gives me her left paw, then her right, then her left, then her right. I'll miss the way she sighs when I'm watching tv and she's still waiting to be taken out for a walk. I'll miss the way she runs around in circles when I finally get up off the sofa and put her collar on and get her lead and tell her I'm ready to go on a walk. I'll miss the way she's scared of anything and everything. (It's actually just started to thunder and she's shaking like a leaf bless her!) I'll miss the way her paws twitch when she dreams. I'll miss the way she scrounges when you have food. I'll miss the draught she makes when wagging her tail. I'll miss making her pose for pictures when I'm drunk. And I'll miss cuddling her on the sofa when Mum isn't at home to shout at us both. "She's not allowed on the furniture" blah blah blah.

Aside from being sad about missing people and things, I am terribly excited about my move. I've already set up a couple of exciting 'dates'. Im looking forward to living with Mel, who just like me, loves Britney. Perfect! I'm looking forward to working somewhere different with new people. I've already found my new GBF. Hi Michael! I'm super excited about bumping in to Dermot O'Leary (mainly because I'll be waiting outside his house.) I'm looking forward to being two tube stops away from the biggest shopping mall in Europe, as well as working in it. And lastly I'm actually really looking forward to seeing if I'll cope.. and if not, I'll be back before Christmas!

RIP Amy

I first heard about the death of Amy Winehouse a little after 5pm from Twitter on Saturday evening. (Once again Twitter beat the news, it took at least 10 minutes after hearing about the sad event before it was on Sky News.) It’s sad to say that when I heard the news, I wasn’t shocked. If I’m honest, the only thing that did shock me, was the fact that it hadn’t happened before then. And the reality sunk in when I saw her body being carried out on a stretcher in a red body bag.

Now, I was by no means her biggest fan, I bought her Back to Black album, and thoroughly enjoyed it, her massive beehive and exaggerated eyeliner amused and intrigued me, (I'd never seen hair as big as it, and was quite envious!) but that’s pretty much as far as it went. I never saw her live, nor did I really want to. I was happy with the album and music videos. However I, unlike many others, held nothing against her, it was very clear to see that she had issues, which she chose to deal with her own way. But whether she was a drug addict or not, you cannot deny the fact she had a raw talent, her unmistakeable voice which, rightly, won her numerous awards.

In September of 1983 Amy was born at Chase Farm Hospital in London. From an early age she set her sights on stardom. She attended both the Brit School and Sylvia Young’s Theatre School in London, for which she won a scholarship to attend. Here, she was in the same year as Billie Piper. However after three years of attending and Amy was asked to leave after as she continued to mess around, and didn't pay enough attention as the school required.

It was 2003 when Amy released her debut album ‘Frank’. This sold one million copies and was nominated for a Mercury Prize. However it wasn’t until 2006 when she released her second album ‘Back to Black’ that she really started hitting the headlines and became a household name. Her second album, which she wrote about the split with her boyfriend Blake, went on to sell over 10 million copies worldwide. Amy once said about her second album that "I was clinically depressed and I managed to get something I'm so proud of, out of something that was so horrible." Sadly, it's only today that her lyrics of her smash hit Rehab "they tried to make me go to rehab, but I said no, no no" take on more poignancy. After that album her popularity had rocketed, and it would appear that so did her problems.

The British Press have always been loved a scandal and subsequently in 2007 and 2008 Amy was rarely out of their headlines. Her weight plummeted, she was drinking more and more alcohol and taking numerous drugs. Blake also returned to her life, and her obsession with performing was replaced with an obsession for him, along with other substances. Her own mother Janis said in 2007 said "she's on a path of self-mutilation and lucky to be alive. It's like a sickness but she cannot see it." In May of the same year Amy married Blake in Florida, after they had got back together. They became front page news instantly, not because of her career, not because of their love, but because of the fact they were so clearly dangerous together. They would be seen binging in pubs, arguing in public places and leaving their house obviously intoxicated. Later in August Amy was rushed to hospital after a suspected drug overdose of heroin, ecstasy and cocaine and checked into rehab again for a brief while. Amy said about this "I gave rehab a try because my Dad wanted me to. Just for 15 minutes. I went in, said 'hello' and explained that I drink because I am in love and have fucked up the relationship. Then I walked out." Many blamed Blake for Amy's wild, destructive ways, but those closest to them said the pair were as bad as each other. Both sets of parents came out and spoke of their worries for the pair, but neither appeared to listen.

In 2008 Amy took to the British stage for the last time at the Brit Awards, and later went on to win five Grammy awards in America for her Back to Black album, but she had to perform for the ceremony via satellite as the USA refused her visa because of the drug controversy that surrounded her. It seemed her talent was matched only by her relentless desire for self destruction. Later the same year she checked into rehab again as the police started to probe after video footage was uploaded of her allegedly smoking crack cocaine. After that stint in rehab Blake was sentenced to 27 months in jail for assault and it was hoped that time apart would be good for both of them, Amy in particular. The pair subsequently spent half of their married life apart. After a rocky few months, it seemed to be working. She moved to St. Lucia briefly, started dating someone else and appeared to be getting her life back onto track. When Blake was released he filed for divorce citing her adultery as the reason.

She hasn't been in the spotlight like she used to be for a while now, and she also hadn't released any new music. However last month she announced a come-back European tour. Her record label "prepared her" by checking her into the Priory for a brief visit. Brief clearly wasn't enough. Her opening night in Belgrade was an absolute disaster. She mumbled, forgot the words and stumbled across the stage. Within hours the shambolic footage was on youtube. I watched it, and once again felt sorry for her, the girl needed help. I hadn't heard much about her for quite some time, I was aware she had a new boyfriend, and for all I knew she was in a good place, but there she was back again, appearing to be in the same mess she was before. The rest of the tour went on to be cancelled. Subsequently when Amy should have been playing a gig in Italy on Saturday, she instead spent her last hours in her North London home.

Amy was last seen on Wednesday as a surprise appearance at London Roundhouse itunes festival (which I watched on itv2) where she came on stage with her protégée Dionne, who is also her God daughter. Aside from dancing, Amy also told everyone to buy Dionne’s new record. In my eyes, there were no signs of the fatale drama that was to happen a mere three days later.

During Amy’s short 27 years she went through many dizzying highs and numerous hellish lows. There are numerous horrific pictures of her, she showed off razor-slashed arms from self harming, then there was the famous blood-stained pumps incident from where she'd been injecting heroin between her toes, and the controversial mice video. Put all of that aside though and you remember that she was not only a renowned singer, worshipped by many, but she was a fashion icon and mixed with her blunt attitude helped spawn a new generated of British stars. Step forward Duffy and Adele.

There has been an outpouring of love from friends, family and fans whom have been leaving flowers and cards outside her Camden flat ever since Saturday, along with bottles of alcohol and cigarettes. Although I believe these weren't left with malicious intent, I personally feel that doing this just glamourizes the way that she so tragically died. Many celebrities have spoken out about her untimely death, David Beckham, Kelly Osborne and Russell Brand to name just a few, along with Lady Gaga who said that "Amy changed pop music forever." Yesterday Amy's parents, Janis and Mitch, visited the shrine that has built up and tried to speak, whilst fighting back the tears to some of her fans. It almost seems inevitable nowadays that when someone dies, jokes start to pour in. In my eyes death isn't something to joke about no matter the circumstance. Whether she'd influenced it herself or not, Amy was a daughter, sister, niece and friend. How would you like it if people joked if a friend of relative of yours died? To me, it doesn't make for an amusing topic.

Sadly Amy had a lot of demons, which she dealt with in the wrong way. Her talent was over-shadowed by her personal problems. No amount of success or awards, neither pleas from family or friends stopped her, the addiction was too strong. Ironically she was still an out-patient from the Priory at the time of her death, which in itself says a lot. I, personally, hope she is now able to find the peace; she was so clearly searching for, yet had such trouble finding here on Earth.

As painfully obvious as it seems, the moral of this story is that drugs are not cool, and they can kill. Stick to sherbet kids!

Phone Jacker Hearing

Politics has never (and never will be) my strongest point. In fact, a year ago I would have never dreamt I’d want to write anything slightly related to the blasted topic, having had to sit through many a dreary lecture on it at University I was in no hurry to revisit it. That was until recently. Nowadays I’m sky plussing Question time when I’m out, following a couple of politicians on Twitter and watching the Daily Politics Show. What the heck has got in to me? Now, just because I’ve recently started to take a slight interest, it doesn’t necessarily mean I know the ins and outs, because believe me I definitely do not! There were numerous times today when it went straight over my head, I know the basics but I’d say that’s about as far as it goes. But hey, one step at a time! This post will be about the hearing that was held today at Westminster. For those of you who didn’t watch it, hopefully it will give you a brief overview, and for those who did this is my take on the events. Like I said, I’m by no means a politics expert but nevertheless I’ll give it a shot. So, here we go…

Let’s set the scene, there I was this morning, in an absolute flap because I was going to be late for my Jury Service and I was petrified this would make me contempt of court and I’d be sent down myself (ironically I actually ended up being nearly an hour early, as I had got my times muddled up) anyway, I’m not the best with technology and was trying to set up a sky recording for 2pm on bbc2 for a special Daily Politics Show, which was set to go on for 2 and a half hours. Luckily I wasn’t needed today so was sent home by midday which meant I was able to watch the live coverage of the select committee hearing as it was happening. Result! So at ten to two I got the essentials ready, a glass of Ribena, a bag of Haribo and got myself a front row seat in my lounge on the sofa for what I was hoping to be an almighty showdown. (Think Voldemort vs Harry Potter in The Deathly Hallows Part 2... I didn’t quite get that but it was entertaining nonetheless.) I started off watching the live coverage on Sky News, then realised the irony of doing so and swapped to bbc2..!

Rupert Murdoch and his son James took centre stage to begin with, both dressed in matching navy suits, white shirts and blue ties, which I appreciated and thought was a nice touch! They faced a panel of roughly ten MP’s, who were called a Select Committee. A Select Committee shadows every department of the government, for example health. The one in today’s hearing was the Culture, Media and Sports Committee and was made up from MP’s from all parties, they are not lawyers and not professional interrogators, which was made very obvious at certain points in the hearing today. They didn't always stick to the point. Select Committees have the power to call whatever witness they want to, and they must attend (so long as they are British citizens.)

The Chairman of the Committee, John Whittingdale, started proceedings, by welcoming the pair and thanking them for taking the time to come and answer their questions seeing as they were not obliged too as they are not British Citizens. James Murdoch started by asking for permission to read aloud a statement which they had prepared. He was denied the chance to do so. However his answer to the first question he was asked sounded a lot like one! It went along the lines of “We are sorry to everyone. We’re determined to put things right, make sure it doesn’t happen again and to be the company that we should be” blah blah you get my drift. At which point Rupert butted in to say “I’d just like to say one sentence. This is the most humble day of my life.” I won’t lie, that line made me chuckle. After all that had been said, neither James nor Rupert had answered the question they were first asked, by John, so he proceeded to ask it again! We were off to a rocky start.

Rupert started off shakily. He looked extremely uncomfortable when he was being interrogated by Tom Watson (a Labour Member of Parliament who has wanted to investigate the possibility of phone hacking for years, but was never backed by enough people.)  He seemed unsure, often whacking the table, bowing his head and sitting in silence for a few seconds before raising his head back up to face the Committee, whacking the table some more and then proceeding to ramble on, often avoiding the question he had been asked, or wanting to let his son James answer it instead. However Tom wasn’t allowing this and insisted that Rupert answered them himself. At times, I'd go as far as saying that the man at the top, Rupert, seemed very out of the loop.  In contrast, his son James was full of facts and figures and had clearly been briefed very thoroughly and subsequently he came across very clued up and confident. James often tried to help his father answer difficult questions, and did the majority of the talking throughout the whole hearing. I also felt that when Rupert did speak, James was probably hovering his foot right next to his father's ready to kick him if he said something wrong!

The hearing took an unexpected turn about two hours in. Rupert Murdoch was attacked by a protestor with a plastic plate full of shaving foam. At just before 5pm, the final questioner had just begun her interrogation when the protestor struck. It all happened very suddenly. My first reaction was “Wow, Murdoch’s wife has some seriously fast reflexes!” Wendi Deng, who was wearing a bright pink jacket, literally leapt out of seat to protect her husband. And protect him she did, with a nice right armed smack over the head. *wallop* It was several seconds later before a policeman came trotting in to stop the chaos, so it was actually pretty lucky for Rupert that his wife was sat directly behind him! Sadly the protestor has given The Sun and Fox the opportunity to make Rupert the victim today, when really he isn’t. And instead of the headlines tomorrow being about the outcomes of today, they’ll more than likely be about the shaving foam pie. The protestor tweeted this just moments before "It is a far better thing that I do now than I have ever done before #splat" What I'd like to know is how the hell he got into the room? The security can't have been as good as they thought, clearly. And also how did he get a plate full of shaving foam through a room full of cameras without raising suspicion. Hmmm! Quote of the day subsequently goes to the chairman of the parliamentary committee who said "Mr Murdoch, your wife has a very good left hook." She used her right hand, but it was amusing nonetheless!

After that brief moment of hilarity, and having had the protestor escorted out by Police, the Committee resumed. An apology was offered from Chairman John and they carried on. There were two major differences that I noticed had changed since the break. 1, Journalists and members of the public had obviously been asked to leave as there was now only a row of people behind the Murdoch’s, and secondly Rupert was jacketless. It had obviously fell victim to the shaving foam. No longer were the father and son duo rocking the same look. A great shame. The last questioner continued where she left off, asking several questions before her final killer one. “Have you considered resigning?” she asked bluntly. “No” Rupert replied. “Why not?” she quickly came back. “Because people I trusted have let me down. They behaved disgracefully and betrayed the company and me, and it’s for them to pay.” Juicy!

After nearly three hours of (which I’m proud to say I watched all of) low-key questioning with no real big blows the outcome of today’s hearing was the full extent of Rupert’s ignorance over the phone hacking incidents (which he claimed had humbled him) and which led to the closure of his UK Sunday paper, News of the World. About which he said “listening to voice mails is wrong, paying police for information is wrong, and have no place in any part of the company I run. I felt ashamed at what had happened and felt that it should come to a close as we had broken our trust with our readers.” His son James admitted knowing about police officers being paid for information, something Rupert said he wasn’t aware of. He ended by saying “I was shocked, appalled and ashamed when I heard about the Millie Dowler case just two weeks ago. Apologising cannot take back what has happened, but I want those who were affected to know the depth of my regret over the invasion of their lives.” So basically, he apologised profusely but refused to take the blame for what has happened. The only point throughout the whole hearing where Rupert attempted to make an excuse for the phone hacking was when he ironically said "This is not an excuse, but News of the World is less than 1% of my company. I employ over 53,000 people around the world and so don't know everything that occurs." Now to me, personally, after he used the word 'but' it sounds an awful lot like an excuse!

At the beginning I honestly felt slightly sorry for Rupert; he looked so out of his comfort zone I wanted to give him a hug. But his time-wasting and question dodging ways were lessened as the hearing went on. He grew in confidence, probably because he knew his son was by his side and would have answers to any tricky questions asked. Along with the pie incident there were a couple of other moments I found quite amusing. When an MP started speaking in a very strong Scottish accent, which even I was struggling to follow, I genuinely thought a translator may have been needed, although one never arrived! Secondly the man who was wearing the olive tie, sat behind James, cleaned his glassed with his tie several times throughout the hearing, as well as picking his nails. He looked like he was having the time of his life….! And lastly the amount of times James said “I have no knowledge of that” was hilarious. What does he know? Does anyone know? I don’t know. And nor does he apparently! Also, ironically through the time it took to conduct the hearing the value of stocks in the Murdoch Empire went up, which probably wasn’t what the MP’s would have suspected to happen!

Sadly by this time it was now nearing 6pm and I had made plans for the evening. Considering the hearing should have finished at around 4.30 I thought I had given myself plenty of time, sadly not, so I left to go out without being able to watch the whole of Rebekah’s part. However, from what I did see, her hair had got even bigger (resembling somewhat of a lion's mane) and she seemed very poised and professional and if she was nervous it didn’t show. This may be due to the fact that it wasn’t her first time before a Committee.  Stemmed back from 2003, when she was the Editor of News of the World she attended another one on the alleged paying police for information. When she was asked if they’d paid police before she replied “We have paid police for information in the past.” But today when she was asked she said “I’ve never paid a policeman myself.” Hmm! She too, like Rupert, tended to waffle on quite a bit.

So, there we have it, it may not be the most accurate or politically correct tale of the events that occurred today, but what were you expecting from a girl who normally writes about her love for all things celebrity, in particular heat magazine and Dermot O’Leary, her need for Kurt Geigers and lipgloss and her hatred for fish and peas… I mean c’mon, I’m no Hermione Granger! Talking of whom, I’m off to finish The Philosopher’s Stone. But before I leave you: Who run the world? …WENDI!!!

Euromillions

Like many, I often dream about winning the lottery, and what I'd do with all of that money. The Euromillions, however, take it to a whole other level. It's been rolling over several times recently and last night it was confirmed that a single British ticket holder has scooped the biggest ever lottery jackpot in Europe, winning a staggering £161 million in the latest draw. One hundred and sixty one million. Woaaaah! The winning numbers were 17, 19, 38, 42 and 45, and the Lucky Stars were 9 and 10, which authorities say had odds of 116 million to one. Ridiculous!

The ticket holder, who has not yet been identified, and may not have even checked their ticket, has just become the 430th richest person in the country. In fairness I would have expected them to be a lot lower in the list, top 50 at least! They will also almost be better off than David and Victoria Beckham (who recently welcomed their new baby daughter Harper Sever into the world) with their fortune of £165m. The winner will also earn over a ridiculous £9,000 a day in interest, and if the money was piled up in notes it would be as tall as Big Ben. So jel! So anyway this got me to thinking about what I'd spend all that money on. So here comes a long list...

· First of all I'd buy a one way ticket to New York, where I'd hit 5th Avenue HARD.

· I'd also buy an apartment out there.

·   I'd purchase the pair of Christian Louboutins that Kylie wore on the X Factor.

·   I'd get a cute little fluffy puppy.

·   I'd buy several chrome Range Rovers for myself and my friends. Pimpin'

·  I'd get my Mum, Dad and brother a nicer house, whatever cars they wanted and give them all 15 million each.

·  I'd buy Jazpups a gold plated collar, lead, bed and bowl.

·  I'd take my whole family on holiday, I'm not sure where.

·  I'd also go on a massive holiday with all my friends, again I'm not sure where.

·  I'd buy a meet and greet day with Britney for myself, Emma, T and Ryan.

·  I'd give each of my Twitter followers £1,000.

·  I'd pay for Rihanna to fly over, sing and dance and then stay the night with Jaz, Kelly and I.

·  I'd buy myself my own column in Heat magazine.

·  I'd buy a life-time supply of Kit Kat Pop Chocs and Aero Bubbles.

·  I'd buy a massive trampoline that took up the whole of the garden and just bounce around.

·  I'd employ a cocktail maker who would have to accompany me everywhere so I could have Strawberry Daiquiri's whenever I wanted them.

·  I'd go to the casino with Shelley and put £1,000 on green and laugh if I lost.

·  I'd also obviously give to charity. Ones in particular being 'Sponser a puppy', Great Ormond Street and Cancer Research.

Having written all of that out, I've just realised that I haven't actually checked my ticket for last nights draw. So instead of being a wish list, it could in actual fact be a shopping list... *checks ticket* or not! Bugger.

Confessions of an Ex Bookworm, who will always be Potty for Potter.

Although it may be hard to believe seeing as I tend to only read trashy celebrity-based magazines nowadays, when I was younger (aged from around 3-11) I was an utter book-worm. I loved reading. If I wasn't playing in the park, you'd find me either in my local Library choosing a book or at home with my head stuck behind the cover of one. I loved absolutely nothing more than being transported into different situations, different worlds and being introduced to new people all via the magic of words and of course using a helping-hand of a good imagination.

Reading was strongly encouraged by my Grandma who used to be a teacher before she retired. She'd read to me all the time and I loved it. However bed time stories were my favourite; my Mum would read to me, tuck me up in bed, turn the light out and leave me to drift off to sleep whilst she went downstairs and watched Eastenders. (I was the ideal child who loved her sleep and her 7pm bedtime!) However as soon as Mum left my room, I'd un-tuck myself, put the light back on and start reading to my teddies until my eyelids would be too heavy to keep open and I inevitably fell asleep. Before going to sleep herself, my Mum would come back in to my room, remove the book from across my face and turn the light back off. This was a nightly routine. The reading to the teddies part stopped around the age of 5, when I had a new little baby brother to read to instead. I'd wake him up by jumping into his cot with him, and just like I did to my teddies, I'd read to him until I fell asleep. My Mum would then have to remove the book from both of our faces...! This routine didn't last long mainly because the novelty of having a baby brother wore off and also sleeping in a cot wasn't exactly comfortable at the grand age of 5, so I returned to my own bed and read to my teddies again instead!

I was a member of my local Library (Ensbury Park) at the tender age of 2. I was choosing my own books at that age also. I remember having 3 'tickets' that you would swap for books. I was such a regular that the 'Library Ladies' would let me take more than 3, sometimes up to 10 because they knew it wouldn't be long before I was back returning and swapping for another book! I would go at least once a week, sometimes as much as every other day. Like I said, I was a serious bookworm! The ladies would buy me a new bookmark on every birthday and Christmas. They were truly lovely! Sadly a mixture of things happened as I grew up which meant I didn't read as much. I moved meaning that the Library I had spent my childhood growing up in was now a 15 minute car journey (which isn't much, but compared to the 2 minute walk, it seemed like a lifetime away!) And I found a new hobby - boys. And was also introduced to make-up and magazines.

However, before all of these distractions I remember at Primary school having to work my way through the tedious but compulsory series of Letterland, Spot the dog and Biff, Chip and Kipper and their Magic Key adventures, until assisted reading was no longer needed. It was in year 3 and I was finally allowed to be let out into the deep depths of the school library, all by myself. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I was over the moon. I was repeatedly told to read slower, as I tried to storm my way through my last Biff and Chip, because I knew the minute after reading aloud that last sentence the Library would be all mine. For the first time, at school, I wouldn't be told what to read, but instead I could make that really grown up decision of what book to pick, all by myself. Even though I had been doing this for years at my local Library, it was still a massive achievement. When the time finally arrived I think I spent about half an hour before choosing the first book to take out. I settled for one of Enid Blyton's Secret Seven. I remember going home super excited because I had a book which had a black sticker on it, which pretty much meant you were a Top-dog! I rang my Grandma and told her the good news, not only was I allowed to pick out my own books, but I was the first in my year to do so. Geek! She congratulated me, and the next day popped round with a little present. She had bought me a new book which she had seen reviewed in the Guardian. It was written by an unknown author called J.K. Rowling. The book was titled Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. And that is where my love for all things Wizardry, Hogwarts and Harry-related begun.

In some circles of people I know, admitting that you're an avid Harry Potter fan is like confessing that you suck your thumb and snuggle a blanket. FYI I proudly do both of those too! Many of my family and friends fail to see the appeal of what I consider to be the greatest series of books written. Bold statement, but I truly believe it. It really aggravates me when people talk of their dislike for Harry. When I ask if they've tried reading any of the popular books and they bluntly respond "no" I genuinely want to throw a snitch at their head in the attempt of knocking some sense into them!

The Harry Potter books are the fastest selling books of all time. There are millions of super fans worldwide. But why do I, shallow, celebrity-obsessed, bag-and-shoe-fanatic, Emma Jamieson love Harry Potter so much? It's a mixture of things. A part of me has always been interested in magic. Simple card tricks amaze me. So imagine my absolute delight when I was welcomed into a world where invisibility cloaks were the norm. I for one would love to be able to wave a wand, conduct a spell and turn someone into a frog. I mean who wouldn't?! Also the characters are so easy to bond with. I genuinely believe that if I ever met Harry, Ron or Hermione we'd get along perfectly! Maybe that's because I've grown up with them. At the time of reading the books we were similar ages. Harry and the gang and I go way back! As I've already stated, I started reading the books way before the huge Harry hype kicked in. I waited eagerly for each next instalment. The waiting game killed me. As soon as I finished one book I needed my next Harry fix. I genuinely believe that Harry to me is what cocaine is to others! Another reason is because it gave me a whole different world to escape too. People often say how they believe that I live in my own world. This may be true, but whilst reading the Harry Potter books, I lived in their magical world, not my own! On a trip to London, when I was about 10, I made my Dad take me to Kings Cross Station in the hope that if I believed enough, I'd find platform 9 3/4 and be able to enter the world I so longed to be in. I didn't find it, sadly. For some this may seem delusional but when you read the books, the world in which the story is set captivates you. For the time you’re reading, you’re taken away from dismal realities to a place where, even when it’s at war, is a better alternative.

As for J.K. Rowling, she is an absolute Goddess. She's a genius, an incredible and stunning author and I'm yet to find another with talents that match hers. Subsequently she is in my list of top five people of who I'd pretty much do anything to meet. (The other four being Victoria Beckham, Britney, Julie Andrews and Dermot - I'm back to being the shallow celebrity lover that you all know!) If I were to meet her I'd thank her. Thank her for giving me Harry. Thank her for giving me another home; Hogwarts. But most importantly I'd thank her for helping me reignite my love for reading and reminding me that books are important.

She has a way with words like no other. Her style captivates you and she captures the moment perfectly every time and immerses you in the lines on the page you’re reading. Rowling’s language is fluid and easy-to-read, with the sentences rolling off the invisible tongue in your mind making it the perfect book for all, even an innocent child with modest English skills. Her descriptions are so vivid that the films weren't needed, if you read the books you would be instantly transported to Hogwarts through the pages, you didn't need Warner Brothers - they were just a bonus! Harry Potter has and probably always will be my favourite set of books, and that is all down to Rowling's enticing, addictive, believable and inviting writing techniques. So much so that I remember being so scared of my first encounter with Voldemort that I had to sleep with the light on for about a week after reading it, crying uncontrollably when Dumbledore died, and laughing out loud at Ron's misfortunes. I also remember queuing for several hours in Asda to purchase the final book at midnight, not being able to wait to start reading it, so starting in the car on the journey home. Then refusing to sleep until I had read the whole book. This took a total of eight hours. And for all of those whole eight hours I turned my phone off, and didn't look at the internet once. (For those who don't know me, this is pretty much unheard of for me. I can barely go eight minutes without checking my phone or the internet, let alone hours!) I remember going downstairs after finishing it and my mum being horrified because my eyes were so bloodshot where I hadn't slept and had been reading for so long. Harry was well worth it! Although there may not be any more books to come (a terrible shame) that doesn't mean it's the end. J.K Rowling once said that "Harry Potter will never end. It will only end when there are none who remain loyal to him." And I for one, having grown up in the Harry Potter generation, will remain loyal forever.

I always think about how much I miss reading and how I should make time to read more books, but I never get round to flipping doing it. Instead I've become a technology freak and waste my time on my phone, Twitter, facebook, writing blogs and watching rubbish on television. Although Harry Potter is the only book I'd ever put before technology, I think it's time to back away from the phone and start reading more books. I miss the excitement of not knowing where you are going to be taken when you first open a book. I miss the smell of old and over used but dearly loved books that my Grandma used to lend me. I also miss the feeling of opening a brand new book for the first time, and holding pages that never been touched by anyone else. Basically I miss reading. Nowadays the only reading I do is texts, tweets, facebook status', heat magazine and other celebrity based articles - not very impressive.

If anyone has any books that they would recommend, please do let me know by leaving a comment. But before I read any others, I'm going to reignite my love affair with Hogwarts by reading my seven favourite books again. It's been a while since I've felt their pages and seeing as I'm currently counting down the hours, minutes and seconds until Friday midnight which is when I will be watching the final film (which I have no doubt will be amazing, yet incredibly emotional) I think it's the perfect time to go back to the very beginning and once again live and breathe the magic and brilliance that is; Harry Potter.

Disappointed.

In the last week I have been disappointed more times than I care to remember. Disappointed with myself. Disappointed with certain situations. Disappointed with the British weather. Disappointed with the lack of Strawberry Daiquiri's I've consumed recently. And sadly, disappointed with friends. Therefore a blog was obviously going to have to be written about the little adjective that is 'disappointed.'

I remember when I was 5, I'd just come back from school and my mum wouldn't let me go to the park because I had a dentist appointment. I was furious, how dare she make me go to the dentist when there were swings, slides and monkey bars calling my name. So, being the brat that I was, I wanted to make her furious too. I wanted to make her feel the pain that I was feeling, having not been allowed to go to the park.

My dad was working away at the time and had sent my Mum a huge, expensive bouquet of flowers which were displayed proudly on the fireplace, next to pictures of me, naturally. Bingo. I'd found my target. I walked up to the fireplace, took one last look at the vase, and pushed it, pushed it until it fell off. *cue evil laugh* My Mum obviously heard the bang and came rushing in, she saw the vase smashed to pieces and the flowers sprawled all across the floor and calmly asked how it had happened. To which I didn't reply, I just simply pointed at my four week old baby brother. Yep, that's right. It was all Liam's fault! (To date, I think I've blamed anything and everything that has ever gone wrong on Liam. He's brilliant in that respect!) Looking back now, it wasn't the best of lies. He was only four weeks old so he couldn't crawl or walk and being strapped into a baby bouncer on the other side of the room was a massive flaw in my lie, it was also pretty obvious he hadn't done it because he could barely stay awake for longer than ten minutes let alone pick up and then drop a heavy vase, but regardless, it was worth a try!

I remember my mum briefly telling me off, saying that my Dad would have to be told (which naturally sent shivers down my spine) and then just putting me into the car and driving me to the dentist in complete silence, with not even the radio on. This was massively upsetting, I used to (and still do) love singing and dancing along to the radio when in the car. My Dad returned home the following day and sat me down in the lounge along with my Mum. I was firstly told that not only was it naughty to push the vase off the fireplace but it was also dangerous and I could have hurt myself on the broken glass. But what was even naughtier was the fact that I had lied and had blamed Liam, which was when the old corker-of-a-line "We're not angry, we're just disappointed" came out. Now, being only five years of age this kind of washed over me (if I'm honest I probably turned off after I heard the words "not angry" and thought reeeesult!) but little did I know that although that may have been the first time I'd heard that specific phrase, it certainly wouldn't be the last...

People always say that there's nothing worse than having people (or monkeys) being disappointed in you, hence the old "I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed" line that countless parents use on a daily basis. A phrase that is possibly the most powerful and disheartening thing anyone, let alone a child, can endure. I mean, anger, I can deal with. Anger can be solved with sucking up - a cup of tea and promising to walk the dog for Mum and a bar of galaxy for Dad. Job done. Disappointment though? That's a completely different ball-game.

Disappointment is a killer. It's the type of thing you think about over and over in your head, until you come to the conclusion that actually you are the worst person to have ever lived, that there is no longer any reason or need for your existence and that the world would actually be a better place without you... Just because whilst attempting to be Nigella Lawson you may have accidently set fire to the oven, which subsequently set the fire alarm off at 5am, whilst everyone else in the house was sound asleep, after you'd returned from a night out and were probably extremely drunk - but you can't quite remember, does not make you a bad person, or a disappointment. (Yet another prime example of when I've had to hear the most-feared phrase from my parents!) Whenever my parents have used it on me I've always felt a massive sense of guilt, but at the same time, I've felt relieved, in a "phew, they're not angry, I may still get that Chanel bag after all" kind of way... ahem, stiiiiill waiting for Dad.

Now... what's worse than people being disappointed in you? Is being disappointed in others. Especially when it comes from those who you don't expect it from. Those who you think would and should know better. And what's even worse than that? Being disappointed in yourself. That's the absolute worse. You can get over your disappointment in others because it was their doing, therefore their mistake, but when its yourself that you're disappointed in it's your fault and you subsequently have no one else to blame apart from yourself. No matter how hard you try to shift the blame onto your little brother... I for one am fed up of feeling disappointed, but I point blank refuse to lower my hopes and expectations of people in general, my friends or myself, just so it makes disappointment easier to accept. I'd rather expect more and be disappointed, than settle, accept and be happy with less.

Conclusion: there isn't much worse than feeling disappointed. Well apart from being hungry, and not being Rihanna... that, in my books is considered a lot worse. Isn't that right Kelly..!x

The end of 'The World'

Well, well, well...! Where do I start?! James Murdoch (Rupert's son) has just announced that this Sunday (10th July) will see the last ever issue of the News Of The World being published, all of the profits from which will be donated to good causes. Woah!

For those of you who have been hiding under a rock, or have an allergy to the news, let me give you a quick overview of what has happened to cause such drastic actions. I don't suppose you remember the whole 'celebrity phone hacking' saga last year? Sienna Miller along with other celebrities and politicians had their phones hacked, and voicemails listened to. This obviously caused an uproar, with many celebrities taking the NOTW to court. Earlier this week it was publically announced that the missing school girl Milly Dowler's (who went missing back in 2002) phone had also been intercepted by the Sunday newspaper. Subsequently her voicemails were being listened to by journalists and then deleted to make room for any new ones which led the police and her family to believe that she may still be alive, interfering with the search for her. It has now also been revealed that victims of the 7/7 bomb attack on London may have also had their phones hacked into.

Having studied Journalism at Uni for 3 years, and desperately wanting to be a journalist (ideally more celebrity based) I fully understand the need for stories, without good stories you are not going to sell your magazine or newspaper. However, to go about getting them in such an inhuman, outrageously appalling and sick way is utterly beyond me. People were planning on boycotting NOTW by not buying it or in some cases even stocking the popular newspaper this weekend and earlier today Sainsburys announced that they would no longer be advertising in the newspaper either.

Anyway, so there I was snuggled in bed watching the Harry Potter Premiere live on the internet because I sadly couldn't make it (and I'm absolutely gutted because it looks incredible) when a certain tweet caught my attention. "NOTW to seize publication after this Sunday." HOLD ON A SECOND. Pardon? What? Firstly I presumed they meant 'cease' and not 'seize' and secondly what the hell? No more News Of The World? I'm not going to lie, I panicked, before this whole phone hacking situation became public it was my favourite Sunday newspaper, by miles. It's the first thing I look at on a Sunday morning when I arrive at work, I'll read all of the front pages but the only newspaper I'll normally read properly is NOTW. Bugger, looks like I'm going to have to find a new favourite. Step forward 'The People' (I'm joking, obviously!)

NOTW is England's most popular newspaper selling over 2.7 million copies every week. It's a British institution that has been running for 168 years since 1843, and it seems such a shame to be losing the whole paper, including many innocent hardworking journalists (an apparent 200 jobs have been lost) instead of blaming and punishing those who did wrong. Although nothing has yet been proved it would appear that Murdock will be keeping his profits and has sacrificed the whole of the newspaper and it's staff to save Rebekah Brooks (the lady with the huge crazy ginger hair, who was the Editor at the time of Milly Dowler's disappearance), which to me seems absolutely ridiculous. Brooks has claimed that she knew nothing about the phone hacking, although plenty of other sources have come forward saying otherwise..

It is now rumoured that because of the sudden closure The Sun will now become a 7-day-a-week publication which will start from late July/early August. Apparently thesunonsunday.co.uk/.com domains were registered just two days ago (5th July). Watch this space..

I highly doubt this will be the end of it and I predict that sadly there will be plenty more shocking revelations to follow. Subsequently I cannot freaking wait for Question Time (I bet you never thought to hear that from me, nor did I expect to say it. Jesus!) and I also await Brooks' resignation.. although we'll see if that ever materialises because at the moment it is looking unlikely.

All that's left to say is RIP NOTW, but more importantly, RIP Fabulous magazine, you've helped me get through many a tedious/hungover Sunday at work, and for that I will be enernally grateful. Thank you!

Read the News Corporation deputy chief operating officer and News International chairman James Murdoch full statement below:

"I have important things to say about the News of the World and the steps we are taking to address the very serious problems that have occurred.

It is only right that you as colleagues at News International are first to hear what I have to say and that you hear it directly from me. So thank you very much for coming here and listening.

You do not need to be told that The News of the World is 168 years old. That it is read by more people than any other English language newspaper. That it has enjoyed support from Britain’s largest advertisers. And that it has a proud history of fighting crime, exposing wrong-doing and regularly setting the news agenda for the nation.

When I tell people why I am proud to be part of News Corporation, I say that our commitment to journalism and a free press is one of the things that sets us apart. Your work is a credit to this.

The good things the News of the World does, however, have been sullied by behaviour that was wrong. Indeed, if recent allegations are true, it was inhuman and has no place in our Company.

The News of the World is in the business of holding others to account. But it failed when it came to itself.

In 2006, the police focused their investigations on two men. Both went to jail. But the

News of the World and News International failed to get to the bottom of repeated wrongdoing that occurred without conscience or legitimate purpose.

Wrongdoers turned a good newsroom bad and this was not fully understood or adequately pursued.

As a result, the News of the World and News International wrongly maintained that these issues were confined to one reporter. We now have voluntarily given evidence to the police that I believe will prove that this was untrue and those who acted wrongly will have to face the consequences.

This was not the only fault.

The paper made statements to Parliament without being in the full possession of the facts. This was wrong.

The Company paid out-of-court settlements approved by me. I now know that I did not have a complete picture when I did so. This was wrong and is a matter of serious regret.

Currently, there are two major and ongoing police investigations. We are cooperating fully and actively with both. You know that it was News International who voluntarily brought evidence that led to opening Operation Weeting and Operation Elveden. This full cooperation will continue until the Police’s work is done.

We have also admitted liability in civil cases. Already, we have settled a number of prominent cases and set up a Compensation Scheme, with cases to be adjudicated by former High Court judge Sir Charles Gray. Apologising and making amends is the right thing to do.

Inside the Company, we set up a Management and Standards Committee that is working on these issues and that has hired Olswang to examine past failings and recommend systems and practices that over time should become standards for the industry. We have committed to publishing Olswang’s terms of reference and eventual recommendations in a way that is open and transparent.

We have welcomed broad public inquiries into press standards and police practices and will cooperate with them fully.

So, just as I acknowledge we have made mistakes, I hope you and everyone inside and outside the Company will acknowledge that we are doing our utmost to fix them, atone for them, and make sure they never happen again.

Having consulted senior colleagues, I have decided that we must take further decisive action with respect to the paper.

This Sunday will be the last issue of the News of the World.

Colin Myler will edit the final edition of the paper.

In addition, I have decided that all of the News of the World’s revenue this weekend will go to good causes.

While we may never be able to make up for distress that has been caused, the right thing to do is for every penny of the circulation revenue we receive this weekend to go to organisations – many of whom are long-term friends and partners – that improve life in Britain and are devoted to treating others with dignity.

We will run no commercial advertisements this weekend. Any advertising space in this last edition will be donated to causes and charities that wish to expose their good works to our millions of readers.

These are strong measures. They are made humbly and out of respect. I am convinced they are the right thing to do.

Many of you, if not the vast majority of you, are either new to the Company or have had no connection to the News of the World during the years when egregious behaviour occurred.

I can understand how unfair these decisions may feel. Particularly, for colleagues who will leave the Company. Of course, we will communicate next steps in detail and begin appropriate consultations.

You may see these changes as a price loyal staff at the News of the World are paying for the transgressions of others. So please hear me when I say that your good work is a credit to journalism. I do not want the legitimacy of what you do to be compromised by acts of others. I want all journalism at News International to be beyond reproach. I insist that this organisation lives up to the standard of behaviour we expect of others. And, finally, I want you all to know that it is critical that the integrity of every journalist who has played fairly is restored.

Thank you for listening.”