The Terrors of a Debit Card

I recently (stupidly) signed myself up for a bank account. It seemed like a great idea; it was a step towards my personal independence, I could save for university, I had proof that my work was paying off... and all that jazz.
But unfortunately, it came with a debit card. That debit card has ruined my life.

With over £200 in my account from working at festivals in the summer, I went back to school anticipating a relaxed last year in secondary education. I had more free periods than lessons, and the lessons I did have were easy and fun. But my free periods were my downfall.

I found online shopping.

Within two weeks, I had bought myself new clothes, books, DVDs and a computer game. I had purchased songs on iTunes that I’m almost certain now that I’ll never listen to again, I even bought a violin. A fracking VIOLIN. (Note to reader; I don’t play any musical instruments, it’s almost as catastrophic as my cooking skills) And I kept spending.

Now I’m not knocking the debit card; quite frankly, it’s an ingenious contraption, one that will most likely come in handy many times in the future, if I manage to ever have money on the blasted thing. I mean, did I really need that giant Avengers poster? Of course I did, but the complete Boston Legal box set was probably something I could have requested for Christmas. I didn’t need to buy it at school, when I should have been writing an essay on European Integration.

I’ve decided that, although the DC is great, it is my willpower that was the curse. With too much free time, because it was too much, I turned to my ability to impulsively buy the ‘Do I look like a [insert expletive here] People Person?’ mug, or what has become my fifth copy of the Hobbit.

I’m rehabilitating myself now, keeping my money in a secure box at home until it goes into the bank, and then keeping the card in the box. I need to save the money, you see, and it’s sort of working. Well, it works as well as it can, with my self-control being non-existent.

Sorry for this being short, next will be a bit of an insight into me; the top 50 sexiest men of 2012. Until then, live long and prosper! 

Glamour Magazine Issue No 140 November 2012

The cover is a choice of three; a sleek Sofia Vergara, smooth Jessica Brown Findlay or sexy Christina Hendricks, each boasting a gorgeous outfit and seductive cover titles. It’s the TV special this month, and the lead up to Winter, and Glamour has gone all out.

 As a rule, I buy Glamour and Company Magazines as they come out in the stores, and thanks to the aunt and uncle who moved abroad, I have a subscription to Cosmopolitan (check the links), each month submerging myself in style, scandal and – women’s magazines’ favourite topic – sex. Don’t get me wrong; I am in no way remotely fashionable (as I write this I’m in an oversized Wolverine hoodie and bright blue skinnies, hardly ideal catwalk material for Fashion Week.) but I, like many people, like to know what’s going on. Going to an all girl’s school means I need to know the ins and outs of the style world or risk complete ostracism. Plus I once entertained ideas of owning my own magazine and old habits die very hard – the back copies line the shelves of my wardrobe in neat sequence as to not get damaged or (god forbid) stolen by my two younger sisters. Before you ask, all the bookshelves in my room are full. I am, indeed, that girl.

 Whilst loudly and unashamedly declaring the “#1 Golden rule of GREAT SEX” complete with images inside that make me blush furiously on the train, the mag also provides down-to-earth advice, 566 gorgeous outfits that – had I the money – I would have bought in an instant, but alas, I haven’t the money for a twenty pound textbook, let alone that pair of West Village Fabrice Ugg boots that cost *gulp* £200. There is no way that I, as a student, would be able to get away with that amount of money on one pair of shoes, no matter if they are comfortable, beautiful and sporting the best heel I’ve seen in a while. Sigh. I discovered in a series of quizzes that I am a maverick worker, a fox in the workplace (if you don’t know what that is, buy the magazine and clue in!) and that I was completely able to start my own business, something I found questionable as a skint seventeen year old. The top 50 best looking men in the 100 Sexiest Men, voted on by 50,000 women, caused a heated discussion amongst my friends and, without telling you them all, I can safely say that they were not happy with the placement of; Matt Smith, Colin Firth, David Tennant, Darren Criss, Chris Hemsworth and Tom Hiddleston amongst others; they really needed to be higher. I was happy that the love of my life, Mr Benedict Cumberbatch of BBC’s Sherlock, was high enough up for recognition (though not where I’d put him, that’s for sure!), and none of us agreed with No. 1. Well, we are complete geeks, and who are we to challenge the decisions of 50,000 normal women?

 As for the section on male grooming, I have one message for men; if you want to, go for it. I, however, do not want to know whether you’ll be having the Hampstead Heath or the Forest Hill, thank you very much. Just get it done.

 All in all, this was one of the best issues I’ve seen; I love every section, even if I do have an intense craving for the £250 House of Holland jumper that my mother would sooner burn than let me wear. I look forward to the Company and Cosmo magazines that will be gracing my train journeys soon, distracting me from the Sudoku in the Metro news, or the homework that I should really have done the night before.

 If you’ve read the magazine or just want to talk about something mentioned here, there or anywhere, just leave a comment, I'll be more than happy to reply.

 Live long and prosper,

 Amy

Next blog post: The terrors of a debit card!

Welcome to my world!

Welcome to my world!

Greetings, fellow creatures, and welcome to the launch of my new blog; One Pen, Six Essays. Before I go into everything it will entail, let me introduce myself.

I’m Amy Hopkins, and I’m also known on the ‘net as Amelie Elizabet Grey, fanfiction and fictionpress writer (click on the links to check out my profiles!), protector of the weak, loud of the mouth, opinionated of the mind and appreciative of the fine forms. I’m seventeen, young and not-so-spry (though that’s a blog post for another time!), blonde and definitely odd-looking, but you can judge me by your own standards as soon as I upload a picture. I’m quirky, smart, socially awkward and very, very, very much infatuated with the past. But enough about that.

The fact that you still deem this readable is, in itself, a miracle.

I decided to name this blog One Pen Six Essays because I myself am taking six A Level subjects as well as one extra GCSE, at the current moment in time and I, like I’m sure many people my age are, am rushed off my feet and feeling like there’s no time to write these essays, no ability to do all this work with just one pen. But my greatest weapon is my pen, and so I shall persevere.

I hope I haven’t scared you all off.

I won’t just be posting about how difficult my life is, because bemoaning my actually rather fortunate universe is a waste of time and, I am reliably informed, makes me sound like a complete snob (although I go to a Grammar School and am decidedly middle class, so it kind of goes with the job); instead I’ll be giving tips on how I keep up with my hectic schedule, I’ll be posting advice and analysis into things that I wished I had been able to access when I was struggling (like analysis of literature, a summary of Stalin’s Russia etc) and commenting on things I like. I think my next post will be about the new issue of Glamour magazine, which I bought this morning on the train. Oh yes, I am a commuter. Fear me, all ye who travel.

Live long and prosper,

Amy.