Tom Letts Blog gives a teenager’s perspective on life in Haringey.

I'm 16 and I go to University College School. My greatest interest is film, and I try to watch as many as I can, whenever I can — the same goes for books I suppose, but 16-year-old boys aren't really supposed to brandish that about.
I also enjoy football, and can often be seen looking very hot and sweaty in Priory Park. I play the piano and try to play the guitar, but I'm good at neither. I see this blog not only as a means of dispelling anything I am in danger of over-thinking, but as a platform for me give readers some sense of what the younger generation, or I, being one of them, think of things. If not, then I hope the entries will, at the very least, amuse someone out there.

The festive season

Last weekend was Reading weekend. A certain percentage of London’s jubilant/distraught teenage population, exam results in hand, made the pilgrimage to the music festival.

Neighbours anyone?

I like a party me, and so under no foreseeable circumstance would I ever miss the annual Park Avenue South street party. It has all the ingredients to make it an interesting and enjoyable evening - food, drink, a bouncy castle and middle aged people dancing. Much planning had evidently gone into this year’s event - the food was varied and abundant, the raffle prizes were all well appreciated and all seemed to run as was planned.

A dark lining to a silver cloud.

It’s been a long time coming, but exams are over, for the summer at least. Those of us who have recently completed our GCSE’s aren’t obligated to return to school until September, which seems an age away. The prospective summer lies ahead of us almost indefinitely, and once the novelty of not having school wears off, one is susceptible to serious boredom.

Big Brother - A scourge on society.

Readers, this is serious. Lock up your televisions. Do it now, or the inevitable will happen. If you allow yourself the opportunity to be comfortable on the sofa in front of the television at 9pm, then you will fall victim to the allure of Big Brother. Even the strongest willed have no hope.

All hail Boris Johnson.

All hail Boris Johnson, my new favourite scapegoat. Let us, as Londoners, congratulate ourselves on our ineptitude. I understand that writing this may thrust me into the claws of derision, but I don’t care - last week I waited over forty minutes for a 144 to arrive at Turnpike Lane - it must have been Bojo’s fault.

I'm so tired I can't think.

At the time of writing it’s three in the morning. I’m so tired that my eyelids are beginning to succumb to the enticing lure of gravity. On the right side of me are a couple of half finished Pro Plus packets and several empty coffee mugs. To my left is an open maths textbook, a pencil case and some illegible notes I have written to aid my revision. No, what I am doing isn’t revision, because that would suggest I have already learned all these intimidating equations. No, this is learning. From scratch. This is last minute, etch-it-into-your-cerebral-cortex kind of work, and it’s not fun.