The bags under my eyes are turning purple and I’m considering having a nap under my desk. Despite what the picture to the left might indicate, I am neither losing sleep over an unhealthy dose of Bieber fever nor am I being tortured by Justin’s hit single ‘Baby’ on repeat.
I’m a bad sleeper, always have been, and I need absolutely ideal conditions to achieve the holy grail that is R.E.M. After a trip to Ikea and a touch of feng shue, my room was transformed into a palace a sleep therapist would be proud of. Completely dark, covered in cushions and deathly quiet.
I deliberately opted for a bedroom separated from my sex pest housemate and her 'built like a brick shithouse' boyfriend by multiple walls and considered myself to have lucked out. I had not however accounted for the neighbours from hell.
Their deviance was exposed on the eve of my first film premiere. My sister had won a competition to attend Justin Bieber’s debut movie, walk the purple carpet and see Biebenstein live in the flesh. The only catch was that she needed a chaperone and I was
all over it like a cheap suit the only person available.
The O2 arena was much more terrifying than any student riot. I was greeted by a sea of short skirts and bare legs, accompanied by knackered parents, more terrifying and more desperate for an autograph than the kids.
I was promptly reminded that I was there for one reason only and my sister and her friends deposited thier luggage. I hadn’t envisaged myself making my first red carpet appearance carrying four Downe House gym bags, but then again nor had I imagined that it would be for the premiere of 'Justin Bieber, Never Say Never.’
The film went without a hitch, Bieber came into the screening to introduce the film. One girl chanced her arm, flinging herself at a 6 ft 5 bouncer to try and get to the Biebs but was duly thwarted. After half an hour of waiting by the cinema to see if we could catch the biebs, he tweeted that he was in France-having left before the film to attend the premiere in Paris.
NOTHING is more awkward than listening to your neighbours have sex when your 14 year old sister is in your bed. The only thing that is worse than this horror is when said neighbour shouts:
'F*** me up the arse!’ at the top of her lungs. I have since learned that she is a P.E teacher, capable of projecting her voice across the length of an entire football pitch.
The awkward silence that followed between my tiny sister and I was undoubtedly the longest of all time. We haven’t discussed the incident since, I’m guessing that I can rest assured that she wont be thinking about trying it herself any time soon.