Could roll a four
Could roll a nine
Find yourself washed up in paradise

Just like before
She never used to mind
I lost my phone in paradise

And what a nice day for a murder
You call yourself a killer but the only thing that you're killing is your time
There's nothing absurder
A bird is just a burden
To your heart your soul your body spirit and mind

Oh don't look at me like that
She won't take you back
You said too much, you been too unkind
Get up off your back
Stop smoking that
You could change your life
Do you think you'll change their mind

BABYSHAMBLES - LOST ART OF MURDER

'It is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for the next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wondered during the day. If you could keep awake (but of course you can't) you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her. It is quite like tidying up drawers. You would see her on her knees, I expect, lingering humorously over some of your contents, wondering where on earth you had picked this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek as if it were as nice as a kitten, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight. When you wake in the morning, the naughtiness and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind; and on the top, beautifully aired, are spread out your prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on.'

J.M. BARRIE - PETER PAN

"No numbing or narrowing of the mind can strip my soul of its orchestra that pipes up a crecendo when you say you love me. And in my heart, I am inclined to trust you."

- Peter Doherty.

GCSE's! Had to wait a long time for these. I was on holiday when they came out, so they were posted, and i got them a week and a half later.

English Lang - A

English Lit - A

History - A

Sociology - A

Art and Design - A

Maths - B

Science - AA

German - B

Citizenship - A*

So it's all good! Still lokking forward to college very much!

Had my college induction day wednesday, and i am all the more pleased with my course choices!

I have a nice tutor, and two mad teachers... So all is good!

Prom night was a long time coming, but not a long time happening! Pics:

After four weeks of having no life, i have finaly come through the other side!

17 exams later, and i am exhausted, due to lack of sleep and constant brain work. But now i have only one exam to go, and i am ready to start living my life again.

Feels weird not having to go through physics equations in my head when watching t.v, or taking history notes with me to the bath. My head is so full of stuff!

A Journal of Impssible Things - my journal of possible things copied from John Smith.

The Feeling Concert. We got photos with the base guitarist and Sophie Ellis Bextor!

I have just finished reading We Need to Talk About Kevin, by Lionel Shriver. A great book that I plan to read again one day, when I have time. It is a poignant story which leaves you feeling disconcerted up until the very last pages, about the upbringing of Kevin Khatchadourian, who kills seven of his fellow high-school students, a cafeteria worker, and his English teacher three days before his sixteenth birthday. A most intriguing boy, is portrayed as 'evil' from the moment he is born, and every story his mother has to tell of him only confirms this description. From beheading his toys as a toddler, to pouring cleaning chemicals in his sister's eye on his first baby-sitting job, he does his best to smugly earn the hatred of anyone who sets there sight on him.

Written from the persective of Eva, Kevin's mother, she manages to confuse my original oppinion of how nurture has more of a influence on behaviour than nature does. This book poses the questions, if Kevin had been brought up in a different home, would he still had done what he had done? Kevin makes it incredibly hard for his mother to love him, and consequently, she stops trying. But would Kevin accept love from anyone else? Or would he merely reject it, as he did to his mother?

One of the things I have enjoyed most about this book, is it took me longer to read than the average, and this is probably due to the way it is written. The language and structure is almost possessing and elegant, and I found myself reading parts over and over again, just thinking about the word choices and deep descriptions.

Everyone should read this book. It is an intelligent interpretation of what we need to talk about, but can't. I have probably given away too much allready... but go ahead, and read it!

How cool is this - a jelly bean Elvis...

Leaving school is like being on a sinking ship - in the last few minutes, everyone clings to each other for dear life, and declares forever love. It's exhausting.

Last day pictures:

Today has been a weird day. Firstly, a member of my family had a major opperation today, but the Lords planning and love as shined through so greatly that i begin to doubt the very purpose of this whole ordeal. So many more things have happened as a result of it, and this is amazing.

Not only has my mind been constantly reminded of this, but also of the fact that i only have two days left of school - this is terrifying in that it means that it's exam time, but also it is desperately sad; everyone is beggining to get unbearably soppy, thinking that as we have little time left, we all have to tell each other how much we love these people, and how we are going to try or best to keep in touch. If i leave without crying on thursday, it will be a miracle.

I think the thing i will struggle with the most when i leave is being so bored and lonely! I'm so used to having people around me all the time, even if you don't talk to them, that i think i will just feel absent; my schooling at Warden Park has been constant, no matter how much i didn't want it to be.

Anyway, on a lighter note, this is more fun with white grapes because you can use a black pen to draw faces on, but you get the picture... ;)



I call them Grape People. It's fun, you should try it at home... ;)

2 exams down, and about 10 to go! After doing my art exam last week, i have come to the decision that art has deffently been a huge chunk of my life the last six weeks, but i have enjoyed all of it. My art exam was even enjoyable, and despite the 10 hours silence bit, i found that i could do an incredilble amount of work in that time - in the first day i suprised myself. Having experienced two days in which i have worked my butt off solidly, i am still hoping that one day i will be able to do the same in a career in the future. It's only been two days, but i am allready starting to feel nostagic about the whole thing - no more art lessons for the rest of my schooling. I have also handed in my sketchpad, which is what i have had my head co-joined to for the past 6 weeks, so now i feel a little like i lost something. I am going to have to buy a new one very soon...

Newton Faulkner is also releasing his new single, 'I need something' tomorrow, and i am looking forward very much to getting it. I saw him supporting James Morrison in Brighton in march, and this guy is gonna make it really big. He has my every support!
He is also very funny, and very good at guitar. I like watching him play a lot, although most of the time he has about 4 guitars on the stage at once, all tuned differently. So it's quite hard to pick up on stuff he is actually doing. Anyway, you should listen -

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpanipkxbwA

RULES:
1. Put your music player on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!!!

IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?
Mahler:symphony No. 5, 4th movement, Adagietto.

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Team mate.

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Oasis

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Out of the sinking.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
Ripples.

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Love changes everything.

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Iv'e got to see you again.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
Ms. Jackson

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
The message

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BESTIE?
Who killed love.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Rags.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Alibi.

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da.

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
I told the truth.

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Goin up to Memphis.

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Make you feel My Love.

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Heartbreak Hotel (Live).

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Track 76- rock guitar for dummies.

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?
Ray Charles

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Lolipop

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Run.

Girls in Times Square, page 282.

"I know she's not looking as well as she used to. But I'm telling you, something happens to beautiful people. They think that something extra is owned to them by life, by God, by all people around them. They think their life has to be better, more dramatic, happier - in colour, not in black and white."
"Everyone wishes their life were happier."
Lily shook her head. "No. Not like beautiful people. They walk on the earth, their chin up to the rest of us, and think that great happiness, great love, great joy is their right and their prerogative. Passion as the entitlement of the rich." Lily paused. "Especially when it comes to love. Beauty and love become somehow synonymous. How can plain people have great love? They can't, that's how. They can have average love, mediocre love, but their hearts can't soar. Only beautiful hearts can soar."

I now have 19 school days left until study leave - the pressure is building everyday. My first exam is on the 1st of May, which is my german aural. I then have my art exam on the 3rd and 4th, and it's scary how much work i need to do between now and then. I break up on the 17th May, so the day my study leave starts is the day I have my citizenship exam. Study leave has been pretty much reduced to one week, not including half term. I guess this benifits students who work better at school, but I haven't worked out how it will benefit me yet. I am pretty sure I work best at my own desk, with my lap top, slippers, and a cup of tea, so I will continue to look forward to that time... However, I am wondering whether my uniform gets me in the frame of mind for work... but i'm not a kinesthetic learner - maybe that wouldn't work. Nah, I will stick to my slippers.

I have two weeks in which i have 11 exams, so thats gonna be tough. I am allready starting to give up other things to fit in more revision, which i don't like doing really but i think it is neccessary. It's weird to think that my whole schooling, 13 years, or somewhere close, is ending like this. With exams. This is what the last 13 years has been leading up to. I hope that my last day before study leave will be fun, and not too weighed down by the subconscious exam pressure that seems to be creeping into my fibers.

Here are some photos of some paintings that i took in Weymouth, last week. I wasn't really supposed to take photos in the gallery, so shhh! But i really like them - they are by a guy called Trevor Lawrence. The use of colour gives the paintings life - when you see them up close you can see how thick the paint is, some of them are almost bas relief. Some of the photos i took are a bit blury, and really don't do the paintings any justice, but here they are:





There are a couple more, but they are the wrong way round, so you will have to bare with me until i work this out... (I'm re-learning on a mac):

A recent discovery at tonights Fishfood: the founder of the Mormons, was called Joseph Smith, and Joseph Smith said that God gave one of his sons a planet. This planet was named Glob - turn it around, and you get BLOG!

Don't worry, we do have some sensible conversations at Fishfood. Usually about pregnancies, moths, cigars...

Yesterday, I experienced being both in a working class enviroment, and a very prestigious upper one. I spent the last few days holiday-ing with family in the Newforest; we stayed on a caravan sight, in a caravan that had been given the 'Rose caravan award' of 2007 - it had the sticker proudly placed in the front window. I have no idea what a caravan has to have to get the 'Rose caravan award' of 2007, but my guess is, not alot. However, despite the small spaces and the bad curtains, the caravan became our humble home for four days, and we lovingly set upon it it's own nick name - 'the Chav-a-van'. The teenagers counted wearing hot pants, gold chains, and, well, not much really, were numerous, and after the first day, i began to feel that i wasn't going to fit in. On the other hand, geting away from exam time tables, and maybe just this place in general, was a nice thing, and the weather was beautiful all week. It was fun, and i think the holiday was deffently more about who you are with, rather than where.

It took us approx. two hours to get home, and on the way, we stopped off at Goodwood to get something to eat. We had spent the previous monday there, participating in a track day, and we knew we could get food there whatever was happening. Our original plan was to maybe eat at the NAAFI van, (the Goodwood, general food van) but as it was not open Dad decided that we were going to go to Goodwood House to eat, as we had every right to, and there was no dress code. About a mile down the road, we parked in the car park - there were endless rows of VERY expensive cars, and we had an audi with a bike rack, and a top box. I was dressed in grey jogging leggings, and dungarees - when i entered the reception bit (which was actually a hall!) i could see hats, expensive walking sticks, fur coats and the like, all in order. It was fun, but it felt like i had to sit straight and talk proper. The place where we ate was called The Kennels and you could bring your dog in. Goodwood likes dogs, and so did our waiter. What was weird was that he brought Jaspa a tea towel, and a wooden bowl full of water - the kind of bowl you probably wouldn't give a kid for fear of ruining it - but the waiter gave it to Jaspa. Was a tad bizaar.

I dont mean to criticise both places, but i am glad of a normal, humble home, in which we dont have to say 'hip hop!' or wear gold hot pants. I guess whatever amount of money you have, if you have the Lord, he keeps you humble, which is a good thing.

Here are some photos from the first day of the easter holidays, that i should of uploaded a long time ago! This trip to Brighton was one of the best, probably because of the people. Thankyou to Alex, Elly, Ed, and Jenna, for a lovely day.

"There is no bogeyman. Just a bunch of flawed humans, some more flawed than others, but more or less cut from the same human mold."

- Love in the present tence, Catherine Ryan Hyde.

In all my short life I have never realised how completely politically uncorect Enid Blyton's books are. I read them as a child, probably all of them twice over, yet my little innocent self was not aware that Dame Spankalot was any other than a women the charcters of the story had befriended during another magically adventure at the top of The Faraway Tree. Why would I question PC Goons motives when i am satisfied with an outdoor land where the sun never goes down and there is an eternal pinic blanket layed with cheese, ham, boiled eggs, cake, sandwiches and lappings of ginger beer? Books entitled, The Three Golliwogs, and Happy Hours Story Book mean totally different things to me now, than when I was a gullible 7 year old willing to believe in Wishing-Chairs.

Out of many books i read as a child, the one i can remember reading over and over again and never getting bored of, was A Book Of Brownies by Enid Blyton - a story based on three naughty brownies (brownies are sort of a cross between pixies and elves) named Hop, Skip, and Jump who play naughty tricks on their fellow neigbours, which leads them to the sanction of being forgoten purposely when the King has a party and invites the whole village. Hop, Skip, and Jumps whole lives are then transformed as they disguise themselves as magicians so they can go to the party, and consequently, they end up disappearing the Kings daughter permently, and are forced to leave the village and never come back until they have returned her. It's a good book, i liked it, anyway. However, now looking back through it, the characters and chapter names are a little odd. For example, chapter five: Their adventure in the Land of Clever people. Chapter 9 is about The Saucepan Man - a half deaf man wearing lots of saucepans, who is accused more than once of being saucy. The book ends on page 185 with a poem:

GOODBYE!

And now the three brownies are happy once more,
And the princess is smiling and gay;
She often comes knocking at their cottage door
(Usually about quarter-past four),
And asks them to come out and play.

But first they have tea, and they eat jammy bread,
While they talk just as fast as they can
of the Vanishing Door and the Hob-Goblin red,
Of the Very Wise man with his very big head,
And, of course, of the old saucepan man.

And Hop laughs to think of the worm they once met,
Who was in such a terrible hurry;
And Skip says he really will never forget
The time when the Green Railway Train was upset
And put everyone in a flurry!

So they chatter and laugh while they finish their tea,
Then they think they will go out to play;
And off they all clatter, as merry can be,
To take the old Dragon-Bird out for a spree
away in the air, hip hurray!

They have a fine time in the sunny blue sky,
And then come to earth with a bump.
And after that Peronel calls out "Goodbye!
Goodbye, dear old Dragon-Bird; thanks for the fly,
And goodbye to you, Hop, Skip and Jump!"

Enough said!

This is the next installment of the story that is written by many people.

Verity: The day after his dream, Patrick set about applying for an astology course. He'd never been fussed about it before, apart from reading the predictions for his starsign, Gemini Cosgrove, in Robots Healthly Monthly. At the counter, he handed his application form to a bored looking female robot. She looked newly made, with smoothly soldered joins and solidified bubbles on her face, like zits on a human child. She had an organic hand, which was the norm for robots whose systems had partially failed. Even so, Patrick stared at it in facination. He handed over his metal chip to be scanned and debited for his course.
"Where'd you get your hand?" He asked, partly awestruck, partly disgusted.
"Down the med-centre", drawled the girl, picking at a metal zit, "You want one? Only fifteen hudred credits, plus money back and a free replacment if the first one is faulty",
"Thanks for the info. but i think i will pass." Patrick took his chip back and made his way over to a male robot with flared legs and a piston balanced on the top of his head. Patrick collected some brochers from the robot on planetary movement and star formations, and sally forthed to find some accomodation.

Today is my 16th birthday. It started by watching last nights 'Live at Abbey Road', which was good, becasue it had James Morrison, the man i am going to marry in future days to come. No idea who the other American Matthews guy was though. I opened presents from family and friends, and very nice they were too, and then headed off out to Essentials to have all my hair cut off and blonded. I am v. pleased with it - a number of people have commented on how much i look like my mums twin sister though! Not sure if thats good or bad! We then headed of to Victoria Station and went to see Billy Eliot, the musical, which i have to say, was pretty amazing, it almost beats The Lion King. Actually, it would beat the Lion King if it wasn't for the uncomfortable language used when your 9 year old brother is sitting next to you. The language in general, was not pleasant, it was worse than the film. But anyway, the acting was good, and it seemed to make a strong inpact on the stranger sitting next to me - he did cry in two parts. But, i cant really talk because my eyes filled up, and my brother looked like some one had just died, he was sobbing so hard. But surely that is the sign of a really good show?

We had chips at the station, and i managed to keep up with thw record of how fast i can spend my birthday money after i get it. Although, it could of been worse - i bought two books, that i will look forward to reading but will not read yet, cause i am in the middle of another one. We then had Chinese later this evening - crispy duck pancakes are my favourate!

Anyway, i must go, becasue i am the only one not asleep in the house, and my leg has gone dead from sitting on it!

This is a story, in which each paragraph is written by different people. It's quite dodgy in areas, but i will not apologise for it, because i only wrote a paragraph.

Beth (me): Once upon a time, there lived a man named Englebert, whos unfortunate name cost him his first girlfriend, and in the future, his first wife. The metallic bonding of his head was soon to be melted by the robot squad - they had a tendency to be slightly evil. Being a robot had unfortunate disadvantages. Englebert was never considered a real man, and therefore, never got to perform his duties in the Food Discussion group. Eating was his life long ambition, however, he often suffered from bad bouts of constipation combined with insomnia - both of these together took there toll on Englebert, and he resorted to living in the carribean. He wanted to meet more girls in more bikinis.

Mark: After eight children and endless amounts of lovers, and still lonely, Englebert decided to strive for a more fulfilling lifestyle. He moved from the Carribean, dropped his raster tendencies and sold his home grown (finest) dope. He thought that to suceed he must become a citizen that respected law and order. He changed his name to Patrick and set up a business in Bracknell. All was not as it first appeared however, certain underground 'set-ups' soon led poor Patrick astray in endulgences such as prostitution, and illegal kite-flying left him bankrupt with his business in tatters. His house (which he built illegally in a park) soon got knocked down and having to resort to eating from bins, Patrick decided again to change some things about his miserable life which he was now, quite unfortunately, leading.

Elly: After a year of all this hoopla, one of his many children (called Engleburt 2nd) turned up on his non-existant door step and asked if he had a cup of sugar. The newly named Patrick refused to give his son any sugar on acount of the fact that he didn't have any. He offered to rummage through one of Bracknell's finest litter bins in the most prestigeous park in the whole of the estate but his son said that it really was ok, and started on a journey of 150 miles back to his home country of Wallop Gallop.

Steph: The journey took seven days a nights as he trekked with a limp in both hand a foot. The dusty, bleak road made him hunger for a bushel of apples and thirst for anything but camomile tea, for that was a flavour he promised his body he would never swallow again. Sometimes, in the dead of night, he would hear the fleeting coo of his long lost love, Dorris, begging him to return to her. He could still see her loving face, her smile lit up by the deep orange of her cigarrete: still smell her perfect aroma of smoke and Eau D'avion. Alas, he knew it was mere exhaustion and dehydration. He simply wished his sleep would grant him sweet surrender from reality. And so he slept.

Lucy: Meanwhile, in a bed now far far away, Patrick was a-sleeping next to a dead-to-the-world (sleepy) prostitute. And so it came to him a dream - far stranger than before - a dream to change his ways. And this was no drug-induced hallucination! The creature of Ohm came to him in the form of a tortoise, thirsty for the belief of the masses. And he said unto Patrick:
"Alo thar. Ah can see that you've not gawt much ta dew - so i thawt ah'd teach you aboot stars. Stay away from the black holes or you'll be spaghettifeyed. And studeh the stars - they'll tell ya awl ya need for yer life ahood."
And then in an instant, her was gone.

To be continued...

Okay, lets look at some rather grainy videos, from the vastness of Youtube:




Russians by Sting has allways been a favourate song of mine, but i was recently looking into it a bit more, after having just finnished the study of the Cold War (which, by the way, i have enjoyed A LOT) . I have also just started my GCSE art exam, and the theme of it it 'Time' - i researched the doomsday clock a little, and found it at the beggining and the end of this video. Its amazing how close to nuclear war we actually were - the Doomsday clock was set to something stupid like 3 minutes to midnight. It's quite scary when you think about it really, people thought that this would destroy the earth!

Anyway, it's an alright video. I have to say that the floating heads are slightly sereal.

HERE ARE THE RULES:

1. Grab the book closest to you.

2. Open to page 123; go down to the fourth sentence.

3. Post the text of the following three sentences.

4. Name the author and book title.

'"Don't know?"
"No, I don't know. I never see any difference in boys. I only know two sorts of boys. Mealy boys, and beef-faced boys."
"And which is Oliver?"
"Mealy. I know a friend who has a beef-faced boy; a fine boy, they call him; with a round head, and red cheeks, and glaring eyes; a horrid boy; with a body and limbs that appear to be swelling out of the seams of his blue clothes; with the voice of a pilot, and the appetite of a wolf. I know him! The wretch!"'

Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist.

THE POLICE ARE BACK!

WOW! I am so excited. Not only do we have tickets to see Genesis in Manchester in the summer, but now the Police are touring this year aswel! Hehe! WOW, I would LOVE to see them, that would be amazing. Two of my fave bands I thought would never be seen on tour again, are back! I bet the tickets will go extremely quick, so if anyone wants to buy me a rather generous birthday present, Police tickets wouldn't go a miss.

It's amazing how many people believe that Elvis Presley is still allive. There is an actually a religion and everything. SO strange. I read an article about how this guy thought he had seen him in a unrinal in Florida or somewhere. 'Elvis' denied that he was in fact Elvis Presley, but the witness thought he was joking and assumed that he was being sarcastic when he said his name was Ted. That must be a joke, right? The guy was really serious, and sent in his picture and everything!

'Moon S. Duepre, a former railroad track walker, was looking for root berries in a field outside the town of Midlothian when he spied a man he was certain was Elvis stepping into an abandoned old schoolhouse. "I know it was him, because he had a cape on and white satin pants with bell bottoms and lots of them spangle things that catch the sun and glitter sewed onto them pants," said Duepre. When he approached the building Duepre said he heard "a voice humming the strains of that Hunka Hunka Love song. There was no mistaking that voice. It was Elvis's sound. I went in the door real fast and surprised Elvis. He said he had just gone in there to find some momentary relief and asked me to respect his privacy. I told him I surely would because I truly had respect for him and his kind. He said he appreciated that and to thank me I could pick up a new Cadillac automobile at the Midlothian dealership, which I did the next day and put 214,000 miles on it before it quit on me.'

MAD, i tell you, MAD!

Well, on this day, in 1984, NASA astranaut Bruce McCandless performed the first untethered spacewalk using a Manned Manuevering Unit (what ever that is!) Mmmm, how interesting.

Did you also know that on the 17th of March, 1845, the rubber band was invented. Thats my birthday.

President Eisenhower signed a National Security Council directive on the anti-Cuban covert action program which lead to the Bay of Pig invasion, also on my birthday. The Cold War is allways interesting. (In 1960, by the way).

Serial killer Richard Ramirez, the "Night Stalker", commits his first two murders in Los Angeles, California murder spree. Also on my birthday.

I share my birthday with Nat King Cole ans Justin Hawkins. How cool. YOUR REALLY GROWING ON MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

According to http://www.secondhandsongs.com. here are the most covered songs in history. I was actually quite suprised by these stats, cause i have only ever heard Elinor Rigby done by the beatles - maybe i am missing out. Plus, i am very suprised that Dylan's 'The Times they are A-Changing' isnt in there aswell. Casue i have that by four people on my ipod alone - including Nina Simone - that is a good-ish cover.

Anyway, each artist is followed by the amount of times the song has been officially covered. But im not sure, these stats dont look right to me!

oH YEAH! And! I thought that 'Ring of Fire' was written by June Carter. ? She wrote it for JC. I thought that anyway. I need to research this. Maybe Her sister covered it first!

1
Eleanor Rigby
The Beatles
119

2
Cry Me a River
Julie London
113

3
Yesterday
The Beatles
97

4
And I Love Her
The Beatles
89

5
(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction
The Rolling Stones
86

6
Blackbird
The Beatles
80

7
Imagine
John Lennon
79

8
Crazy
Patsy Cline
73

9
Summertime
Abbie Mitchell
62

10
What's Going On
Marvin Gaye
61

11
Not Fade Away
The Crickets
61

12
Silent Night
59

13
Come Together
The Beatles
59

14
Michelle
The Beatles
55

15
Oh Lonesome Me
Don Gibson
50

16
A Hard Day's Night
The Beatles
50

17
The Christmas Song
Nat King Cole Trio
49

18
Hey Jude
The Beatles
48

19
Let It Be
The Beatles
47

20
Light My Fire
The Doors
47

21
White Christmas
Bing Crosby & Martha Mears
47

22
Break My Mind
George Hamilton IV
46

23
Here, There and Everywhere
The Beatles
46

24
Over the Rainbow
Judy Garland
46

25
Can't Buy Me Love
The Beatles
46

26
The Look of Love
Dusty Springfield
46

27
You Really Got Me
The Kinks
45

28
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
Judy Garland
44

29
Cold Cold Heart
Hank Williams Sr.
44

30
The Fool on the Hill
The Beatles
44

31
Ring of Fire
Anita Carter
43

32
All My Loving
The Beatles
42

33
Day Tripper
The Beatles
41

34
Trouble in Mind
Bertha "Chippie" Hill
41

35
I Wanna Be Your Dog
The Stooges
40

36
I Can't Stop Loving You
Don Gibson
40

37
Norwegian Wood
The Beatles
40

38
Unchained Melody
Todd Duncan
40

39
This Guy's in Love With You
Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass
39

40
She Loves You
The Beatles
39

41
Something
The Beatles
39

42
You've Got to Hide Your Love Away
The Beatles
39

43
Your cheatin' Heart
Hank Williams Sr.
39

44
My Funny Valentine
Mitzi Green
38

45
Fair Margaret and Sweet William
37

46
I Want to Hold Your Hand
The Beatles
37

47
I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry
Hank Williams Sr.
37

48
Ain't No Sunshine
Bill Withers
37

49
Winter Wonderland
Richard Himber & His Orchestra
36

50
O, Holy Night
36

51
I Can't Help It (If I'm Still in Love With You)
Hank Williams Sr.
36

52
What'd I Say - Part I
Ray Charles
36

53
Wichita Lineman
Glen Campbell
35

54
While My Guitar Gently Weeps
The Beatles
35

55
Drift Away
John Henry Kurtz
35

56
Tennessee Waltz
Pee Wee King & his Golden Cowboys
35

57
With a Little Help From My Friends
The Beatles
34

58
Hey Joe, Where Are You Going
The Leaves
34

59
Jambalaya
Hank Williams Sr.
34

60
Fever
Little Willie John
34

61
Paint It, Black
The Rolling Stones
34

62
For All We Know
Morton Downey
34

63
In Other Words
Felicia Sanders
34

64
Hoochie Coochie Man
Muddy Waters
33

65
The Long and Winding Road
The Beatles
33

66
I'll Be Home for Christmas
Bing Crosby
32

67
Son of a Preacher Man
Dusty Springfield
32

68
Bridge Over Troubled Water
Simon and Garfunkel
32

69
Little Drummer Boy
Harry Simeone Corale
32

70
Mercy, Mercy, Mercy
The Cannonball Adderley Quintet
31

71
Moon River
Henry Mancini His Orchestra and Chorus
30

72
The Rising Sun Blues
30

73
Amazing Grace
30

74
By the Time I Get to Phoenix
Johnny Rivers
30

75
Masters of War
Bob Dylan
30

76
Sunny
Mieki Hirhuto
29

77
Blowin' in the Wind
Bob Dylan
29

78
In My Life
The Beatles
29

79
You Win Again
Hank Williams Sr.
29

80
Wabash Cannonball
The Carter Family
28

81
Killing Me Softly With His Song
Lori Lieberman
28

82
Land of 1000 Dances
Chris Kenner
28

83
Inner City Blues (Makes Me Wanna Holler)
Marvin Gaye
28

84
Baby Please Don't Go
Big Joe Williams
27

85
Georgia on My Mind
Hoagy Carmichael
27

86
Santa Claus Is Coming to Town
Eddie Cantor
27

87
Get Out Of My Life Woman
Lee Dorsey
27

88
Don't Think Twice, It's All Right
Bob Dylan
26

89
Tobacco Road
John D. Loudermilk
26

90
Let It Be Me
Jill Corey
26

91
The Shadow of Your Smile
Johnny Mandel
26

92
96 Tears
? and the Mysterians
26

93
Here Comes the Sun
The Beatles
26

94
Love Will Tear Us Apart
Joy Division
26

95
I Saw Her Standing There
The Beatles
25

96
Blitzkrieg Bop
The Ramones
25

97
Hey, Good Lookin'
Hank Williams Sr.
25

98
Four Walls
Jim Reeves
25

99
Silver Bells
Bob Hope & Marilyn Maxwell
25

100
You Don't Know Me
Eddy Arnold
25

My creative writing

Children of the Revolution

Once there lived a French revolutionary by the name of Luca. He was a short man. However, what he lacked in height he did not lack in character. He was a dressmaker by trade and he never failed to display that in his own incongruous attire. He was a man of great passion, he showed enthusiasm in everything he did and was not ashamed of his French accent – it was his trademark. His shop was surrounded by a series of cafés and coffeehouses that attracted many dancers who needed costumes made to order. Luca’s costumes were a treat for the eye; buyers described them as a form of art. Therefore, he never found himself without work - he was a busy man but preferred to live that way. Luca was not a rich man, in fact he believed that money could only bring doubt to one’s mind. Nonetheless, he did not deny that he could make more money if he wanted to. The people watched him work through the night and said it was aging him, but he was the sort of man who did not regret even a second of his life – he would describe his life as beautiful, and would tell passing customers that it was his pleasure to serve them. But to Luca’s annoyance, some of his more frequent customers decided that it was in fact the opium, and The Green Fairy, that were aging him.

As a young man, Luca was very quickly absorbed into the bohemian culture he had somehow longed for before it was even established – it fitted him fine. He believed in everything bohemianism stood for: truths, beauty, freedom, but, above all else, love. Although every acquaintance of the man could tell you this, only a few of his close friends had recognised the gaping gorge in his own principles. How could a young man, and now an aging man, call himself a bohemian when he missed the vital ingredient at the very soul of bohemianism itself? He had never experienced the greatest thing of all - to love and be loved in return. Luca had not denied the fact that he had never experienced such pure bohemianism; paradoxically, it was the only thing he had ever wished for.

On one particular Friday afternoon, Luca was busying himself by stitching extra buttons on a Can Can skirt. He had not been asked to, but the skirt was for a particular customer he had always been rather fond of – the buttons were a perfect match - he could not resist. It was at that exact time when a very young, beautiful dancer entered his shop; the beautiful dancer must have been no older than eighteen years. He had never seen her face before, but Luca welcomed her with his usual greeting, nothing more, nothing less. It struck Luca that she was dressed immaculately; her face was pale and her lips were a deep red. She spoke with a strong French accent, and she was polite. Luca thought she must be a new dancer in the area, because she was not weighed down by distracting thoughts; she smiled with a novelty dancers only possessed for a month into their work. They had got talking and not before long she had ordered a whole outfit. While Luca was writing down her order, she explained to him that she was in love. Luca admired the beautiful dancer for telling him this – he told her she was a true bohemian, he told her that she should always be grateful for what life had brought her. He told her that her outfit would be ready in two weeks’ time – she could come and pick it up then. She walked to the door and said goodbye elegantly. She paused before she left, and voiced the calm, well pronounced words, “It is beautiful: is it not, love?” Luca smiled and replied, “Yes, Mademoiselle, it is beautiful.”

Two weeks went by very quickly for Luca, and he worked extra hard to produce an outfit that would be perfect enough to be worn by the beautiful dancer. He wanted to make sure that there was not even the slightest stitch out of place. Still, Friday came and there was no beautiful dancer. Luca reassured himself that maybe she had an extra rehearsal; maybe she was too busy to pick up her outfit. He put it to one side, and labelled it with a very small piece of tissue paper. He wrote: the woman who talked of love.

Another three weeks went by and the beautiful dancer neither made an appearance nor sent any message as to why she had not been to collect her outfit – Luca was surprised by this, but decided that an outfit was just an outfit – outfits brought in money. He took the label off the outfit, screwed it up, and threw it in the bin without bitterness. He sold the outfit to a stern, wealthy woman who was not in love but paid a good amount for the perfect dress.

************

Two years passed, and Luca’s dressmaking was flourishing more than ever. The young beautiful dancer never returned to his shop. However, Luca thought of her often, and hoped that she was safe and still very much in love. He did not worry himself though; Luca told his customers he was too busy to worry himself over such non-existent things. He had made many more outfits that were as perfect as the one he had made for the beautiful dancer, and he was proud of his work. As Luca found himself with less and less time to think, he knew that any time he did get spare should not be taken for granted. Therefore, he dedicated this time to listening to his own thoughts on truths, beauty, freedom, but above all else, love. He was still happy with his life, but, for a reason he did not know, looked forward to the day when he would look upon the face of that beautiful dancer again.

It was again a Friday afternoon when her familiar face stumbled through the door at the very peak of winter. Luca only recognised her when she began to speak, but even this was not clear - she was slurring. He looked at the dancer and did not say anything; he thought that her hair was windswept, and her face was red and tired. He saw that she was not walking as elegantly as she had done the last time they met. She came up to the front desk in the shop and declared rather loudly that she had come to pick up her outfit. Luca explained, with hesitation, that he had sold it when he thought that she was not coming back to collect it. The dancer came closer to Luca and he could smell The Green Fairy on her breath, he could see the tear marks down her face. He felt sorry for her but he was angry with her also; Luca was not used to feeling that angry, it was a feeling bohemianism opposed. She had lost everything that he had admired in her and found himself impatient, “Are you not still in love? What is wrong with you? You said it was beautiful, and I agreed with you!” She laughed sarcastically at his question. “Of course I am still in love. Love makes us act like we are fools! It doesn’t change the attachments in our lives, the bad things that happen. It only makes the pain worse.” Luca looked at her with a questioning gaze and asked, “Then why are you so distressed? Why do you drink so much you can’t walk properly?” She remarked with no hesitance,
“Because that is what I do. You can not go on declaring life as beautiful when you know very well it is not. This is what bohemianism is! Do you not see? The Children of the Revolution! That’s what we are! That is what we are.” Almost out of breath, she dropped her bag on the floor and collapsed to retrieve it. Luca frowned involuntarily at the dancer. He was confused as to why she was so angry. He didn’t like the way she spoke – it made him uncomfortable. With her face down and her hair shrouding it, Luca could only just see the tears running rapidly down her face – she was distraught; she was lost and defenceless, and Luca couldn’t quite comprehend this. She had not lived up to his expectations. He paused to think for a few seconds, not quite knowing how to respond to the dancer on the cold floor of his dressmaker’s shop. Then he helped her up, taking her cold, dry hands into his own and supporting her. She looked at him and said, “So, you do not have my dress? Then I will be on my way.” She pulled away from Luca with her head down and made her way to the door silently and aware of her own vulnerability. Luca did not want her to go in such an unpronounced way: “Mademoiselle, you do not have to dance tonight, you are not fit to.” The dancer looked at him like a child who had not yet lost his innocence, “Do not be a fool, Luca. Of course I have to dance tonight.” She left the shop and Luca did not move from his position for a minute or so.

************

Eight years passed and Luca had aged enormously. He had been told that he would have to walk with a stick soon, and he might even have to give up his shop. To this, as everyone expected, Luca refused flatly. He simply went on with his life as he had done when he was young, although he found himself sitting down more often and getting out of breath frequently. But it did not worry him - he had never believed in worrying. He was now the only dressmaker in the whole village – all the others had gone out of business. Luca had beaten them all and he had done it with no spitefulness at all. He was now even happier with his outfits, and while many said his body was failing him, he had never lost his eyesight – he always knew what he was doing. Luca never thought about the dancer that came to see him; it had been a long time and he had forgotten her, so when she walked through the door one last time he did not identify her. She wore nothing but black, and had a netted veil over her face as if she were mourning. She had aged significantly. However, she still spoke with the same well pronounced words as she always had. To Luca she was just another dancer that needed another outfit quickly, and when she did order the outfit Luca was sure he recognised the dress she was describing – but maybe it was just a coincidence. Luca had made a lot of outfits in his time, and it was impossible for him not to have made any dress more than once. Luca could see that she was sad and assumed that she was in mourning. Just before she left the shop for the very last time, Luca, feeling he had to say something to comfort the woman said, “Mademoiselle, you do not look happy. You do not have to dance tonight.” The dancer was quiet when she spoke the words, “Do not be a fool, Luca. Of course I have to dance tonight. I always have to dance,” she left his shop and Luca paused for a moment. He felt a definite familiarity. But Luca was too busy to worry himself any longer - there was work to be done.