"Wow! Can you believe it? Just two more hours until 2012! And what a glorious year we have ahead of us too. Starting with her majesty the Queen celebrating her diamond jubilee. What a perfect way to commemorate this glorious event, by introducing our next performance of the night, please welcome, Gary Bar..." The screen went black.
How very rude. Not only has Jules Holland selfishly incorperated the most nauseating talentless oik that is Gary Barlow into this years Hootananny, but as usual our electricity provider has failed to complete the simplest of tasks that is, ironically, providing electricity.
My instant reaction was to panic. Why wouldn't I panic? Eleven years old and abandoned in this large house with no lights, phone, TV or laptop. I think I would be experiencing far less pain having my right arm hacked off with a bread knife. Considering the bread knives in our house were so blunt they were almost spoons, I think this illustrates quite how frustrated I was becoming after a measly four minutes of silent tourture. Not having access to my laptop or the widescreen, even when I'm not in a power cut, made my skin crawl. I couldn't see where I was stepping, never mind being diprived of a Take That reject and knowing why Abby Halesworth hates boys so much over her rather depressing and sexist Facebook status.
Abby Halesworth was the most paranoid, selfish and arrogant bundle of skin cells ever to be placed on this planet. Blonde choppy hair dipdyed with red, hideous enough to make any schizophrenic hairdresser sick, and a screwed up, semi-constipated facial expression to match. She was fairly tall. About 5ft10 in height, or 5ft5 if you minus the unbareably yellow stilletos. Dressed head to toe in an outrageous outfit, revealing enough flesh to only be described as naked. The boys loved her. Clearly for all the wrong reasons. This never bothered her really. The thought of being lust upon by a bunch of unattractive and desperate low-lives who only liked her for what she looked like, actually made her feel quite special.
I am not the bitchy type. I would never in my wildest dreams talk about any of my friends in such a harsh manner. Abby, however, was the exeption. For two whole abominable years I allowed her to mock, belittle and taunt me, without even realising how disgracefully vile she was being to me. I tollerated her for the sake of my 10 year stong friendship group. However, deep down I knew every time I was her face, I wanted to wipe that 'Im so perfect' grin off her artificial, orange complextion.
To be completely truthful, I wasn't that troubled as to why she was whining about how many boys wanted her to rot in a hole, because I knew the answer straight away. The words 'evil crettin' spring to mind. I was far more worried about my house being so dark and me feeling so vulnerable. The thought of not having access to a nice cup of tea was also beginning to make me feel queasy. Power failure was the bane of my life on New Years Eve!
I never really got the gist of the New Year. To me, it just seemed like a perfect excuse for a bunch of lightweight alchoholics to gather together, swarming the streets of every town and city in noisy packs, acting even more irritating and abnoxious than normal. Instead, I always chose to sit at home, by myself, with a glass of wine. A pizza in the oven, specially prepared by my good friend Asda. Deliberately missing out my arch enemy, cheese. They know me so well! As far as I was concerned, a new year meant a new nothing. Nothing would change appart from the ending digits.
I tried several times to force my brick-like comatozed laptop to turn on without being plugged in, but to no avail. Instead I spent the next two threadbare hours pacing around the hardwood coffee table waiting for a miracal to come along, or at this stage, perhaps a visit from God to tell me how much he hates me.
After my two hour pointless trot I was almost certain I had dropped 15lb. My worn out reaction was "That's certainly enough excercise for one year" as I proceeded to throw myself head first onto the large, brown leather sofa. After the biggest 'Yelp' ever heard by the human ear, I promtly exalted myself to find I had launched my whole body onto poor Rolo, my endlessly needy puppy.
Rolo was black and white, a mongrel dog, with 27 layers of dribble seeping from his panting jaws. He had scruffy, coarse fur, and I was always pretty sure that one ear was longer than the other. Not the most presentable or tidy looking hound, but needless to say, he was as lovable as a beaver in broomstick factory.
After being crushed by my 7 stone body, Rolo stared at me, shocked, with an expression only Jim Carey could produce. I giggled to myself, feeling slightly guilty. What is the point in apologising to a dog anyway?
The clock struck twelve and the church bells chimed. Rolo persisted in barking at the sky as it began to fill with gorgeous fireworks, all the colours of the rainbow. The noise coming from Rolo's mouth was horrendous, but hey, at least there was light! I was enjoying the sights, the sounds, unfortunately still not the TV, and sat back on the sofa with Rolo's heavy body on my lap.
In the silence, I could hear footsteps approaching my front door. There was a heavy, angry knock....
