Bleak Hill

2004-04-20T10:12:00.000-07:00

2004-04-20T09:58:00.000-07:00

2004-04-20T09:52:00.000-07:00

By the way, is anybody reading this? I put my blog into this directory, if you are interested in other blogs as well:
Blogarama

2004-04-20T08:57:00.000-07:00

I went to the party on Saturday and it was even greater than I expected. Mum took some convincing before she agreed to drive me to the old Butler's farmhouse, and I had to meet her again a little further down the road at 11 o'clock 'sharp' (I didn't want her to drive right up to the farm, it would have been SO embarassing). But at least she let me go. Alex's parents are not so nice, she had to lie and say she was staying over at my place for the night (which she did) because otherwise they wouldn't have let her go. Her parents are really strict, they can be right arseholes sometimes. So in the end Mum drove both of us to the party. I was wearing my new flared jeans and a rather tight-fitting rust-coloured shirt, and mocassins, because I think the hippies in the sixties wore mocassins with jeans. If they did not, at least it is different from what everybody else wears. Alex nicked some red high-heels from her Mum and she wore tight flared jeans and a tight black bodice with that. She has got huge boobs, so the tight outfit made her look much older than she was. My Mum cast disapproving glances at Alex when she came in those clothes, so we knew they were right.
When we got to the farm around 8 o'clock, there weren't too many people there yet. I was glad that Alex was with me, because they were all older kids and I didn't know any of them very well. There was a fridge full of beer and somebody had dragged a stereo in. I looked around and saw Julian, who was sitting on a ledge at the opposite side of the room, chatting with another boy. I didn't know how to approach him right then, so I suggested to Alex that we should sit down at a table on the side and wait a bit. At first we had the table to ourselves, but as the party got livelier, more people sat down next to us. One of them was a very good-looking boy whom I had never seen before. He had shoulder-length, dark blond hair and wore old jeans and a skater's tee. He started chatting with me, and turned out to be really nice as well as good looking. Here's what I know about him: his name is Bernard but his friends call him Bernd, he is 17 years old and lives in Ramson, a small town about 15 miles away from here. That's why I had never seen him before. He knows some of the older boys at our school, which is how he got to the party. He told me he likes skating and has been snowboarding in Scotland once, how cool is that? He likes mainly American indie bands, but also some older stuff like Nirvana, which is cool.
The music was great, the time flew, but at quarter to 11 Bernd gallantly offered to escort me to the bend where I was to meet Mum. Alex was there, too, of course, but she was nice enough to walk a little bit behind us to give Bernd and me some more time alone. She had been chatting with various people at the party, but I don't think she fancied anybody in particular. When we came to the bend, my Mum's Vauxhall wasn't there yet, so Bernd bent down and kissed me. It was only the second french kiss I got in my life, but it was certainly the best! His kiss was soft and sensitive, and he smelled of doublemint chewing gum, not at all like that gross Phillip guy who had slobbered all over my mouth a few weeks ago.
Unfortunately my bliss only lasted for a few moments, then I could see the headlights of a car approaching further down the road. Bernd hastily seperated himself from me, and said that it was really nice to have met me, he hoped I'd have a good night. Then he left. I was so dazed in my happiness that I didn't realise immediately that we had forgotten to exchange phone numbers. Everything went so quick, I just didn't think, and he probably didn't either. I so hope I will see him again! I know I was on and on about Julian last time, but now I fancy Bernd more I think, because he is everything I ever hoped for in a boy and a good kisser, too.
Right, now that I got that off my chest I can finish and indulge totally in the NMA album I am listening to. Next time.

2004-04-14T10:20:00.000-07:00

This weekend there is going to be a party and I sooo hope mum and dad will let me go. Alex told me about it – she is my best (and only real) friend at school. Alex is cool, though she sometimes wears ugly colourful clothes. But she doesn’t give a shit about anything, she is cheeky and funny, and very tough. Unlike me, she is also very sporty and everybody likes her, but it doesn’t make her conceited. I think she is just a very funny and positive person overall, but not shallow.
Her neighbour is a guy called Julian, and because he lives in an old ‘renovated’ farmhouse that still looks really rundown, we call him the ‘hobo’. But in truth I quite like Julian, I might even fancy him a bit. He is not conventionally handsome: his hair is too long and badly in need of a cut, he is incredibly skinny, and too pale. He looks a bit unhealthy really, but in a perverse way I like that, because healthy-looking people always seem too happy and smug for their own good. To me, Julian looks sensitive. He has got a finely-chiselled face (I read that expression in a novel, I like it), dark eyes with long lashes, and high cheekbones. Every time I see him I get shaky knees, but like I said, Alex doesn’t give a damn, so she just waves and says ‘hi’ whenever we see him. It probably helps, too, that she is his neighbour. In the beginning he was always a bit cold to us, perhaps because he is already 17 (two years older than us) and thinks that we are too immature for him and the clique he hangs out with. But lately he has been a lot friendlier, to the point of chatting with Alex at the bus stop and acknowledging my presence with a nod. He has also invited us (via Alex) to this party. It is going to be in an abandoned farmhouse in the next village, and I am sure it will be wild. There are no neighbours nearby, so nobody will be bothered by the music. It is also top secret, though I would have to somehow convince my parents to drive me there. I just hope that Julian doesn’t fancy Alex, because he talks to her so much more than to me. Wouldn’t that suck big time!

2004-04-14T00:02:00.000-07:00

It is 11 pm now but I can’t go to sleep because I am afraid of having this nightmare of the old woman again. So I sit up and listen the New Model Army album I bought last week. I especially like the song “Green and Grey,” because it is about a guy who lives in a place that is just as depressing as the place I live in, only that around here the hills are not really green and grey, more like brown and grey. One line goes: “Is it true that the world has always got to be something that seems to happen somewhere else?” And this is exactly what I feel, life seems to be always happening elsewhere, because here the biggest event of the year is the lambing of the sheep, and the biggest weekly amusement is quiz night at the pub. But elsewhere, there are beaches, and deserts, and tanned surfer guys with tattoos, and streets lined with all kinds of crazy shops, and whole parts of a city where only gay people live. And I am sure there are also other kids like me, who feel that they don’t belong, who would like something more than this, who don’t identify with that middle class hypocrisy my parents are on about. I am different from most of the other girls in school: I don’t like the girly high street fashion, I hate pink and yellow and turquoise stuff, and I don’t listen to Blue or Westlife, or any of those other boy-bands. I like to wear dark clothing – black is my favourite colour—because I think it looks cool. I also would like to dye my hair red or black, but my parents won’t let me. And definitely a piercing or a tattoo would be cool, if only I weren’t such a coward. I hate to admit it, but I am really scared of pain.
On nights like this, when I sit alone in my room listening to music, I like to dream. I dream of getting out of this place, to be able to live in an exotic place or at least a larger city, where there is life, where there are things to do. If only…

2004-04-13T05:05:00.000-07:00

When I look out of my bedroom window all I can see is the hill rising up opposite our house, from the other side of the valley. It is called Bleak Hill, and it really is the bleakest hill I have ever seen in my life. For most of the time, it is covered in mist and it looks desolate and lonely and threatening. But even on one of those rare fine days, there is something dark and forbidding about it. Perhaps it is because nothing much grows up there except heather and some coarse grass, or because the peak is all rocky and steep and dangerous-looking. Bleak hill has no trees or flowers or bushes, and the only animals I have ever seen up there are grouse and rabbits. Not even sheep can live up there, and everybody knows that sheep will eat pretty much anything. There are no trails on Bleak Hill either -- all the tourists come tramping up by our house on the way to Fin Hill, which is on the this side of the valley, and much sunnier and cheerier looking.
The other night I dreamed that I was chased by an old woman who was dressed all in black and who wore a black headscarf that totally hid her face. She had a knife and I knew that she wanted to stab me, though I wasn't too sure why. I ran away from her, first down into the valley and then I started running up the moors, towards the top of Bleak Hill. The old woman came after me, and no matter how fast I ran, she was faster and she came closer and closer. You know how it is in dreams, no matter how old and wrinkly, they always catch up with you in the end. And in those moors, there is nowhere to go, because it all looks exactly the same and it just goes on and on and on. And if you get in trouble, there is noone to help, and nobody will hear you scream. People have disappeared in the moors.
Anyway, in the end she caught me and she stabbed me into the chest and before I could scream or feel any pain, I woke up. But now I am scared of going to sleep, because this dream was so aweful and I don't want to dream the same again. It also makes me hate Bleak Hill even more.
It stands for everything that I hate about this place: the loneliness, the harsh weather, the expanse. There are plenty of tourists around in summer, and if you talk to them they will say how beautiful it all is and how lucky I am to live here, but it's easy for them to talk, they stay for a few days or a couple of weeks, and then go back home to their cities where they have restaurants and shops and bars -- they have a LIFE, for god's sake. I can never leave, and for most of the year, this place is DEAD. There is absolutely nothing to do: I am not old enough to go to the pub yet, and there are no parties, or cafes, or shopping malls, or even parks to hang out in. Most of the people that live here, like most of the people that come to visit, are old. I am actually glad that I go to school sometimes, because otherwise I would never see any young people around. Life SUCKS.
Mum is calling that the tea is ready but I'll write more later. Cheerio.