We went on the glass-bottomed boat. And I bloody LOVED it. It was amazing. We spent 7 hours on it, but I did not get bored once, and that was probably helped by the fact that I'd loaded my ipod with the entire Pirates Of The Caribbean soundtrack beforehand. I have never experienced a more epic combination. Especially when me and my brother sat up at the very front of the boat (I don't know what it's officially called - the helm? I don't know) and I had the wind in my hair, and the sea air, and a giant open ocean infront of me, with ancient looking rocky islands either side, and 'He's A Pirate' or 'Skulls And Medallions' cranked up in my ears. It was fucking magical. And what made the experience so much more beleivable was the waiter who was the SPITTING IMAGE of Orlando Bloom. He was gorgeous actually. He was quite quiet, but when we stopped for a swim he would dive right off the side like he'd been on the sea all his life. He'd swim around and then emerge from the gorgeous water looking earthreally perfect. Whereas I'd drag myself out with straggly hair and smudged mascara and my snorkel hanging lop-sidedly off my face, his hair would be curling from the salt and the droplets all over his bare torso would make his tan glisten in the sun. Then he'd walk straight back behind the counter and start serving drinks, sopping wet at looking totally at home about it. Seriously, some people have all the luck. And yes, he did spend the whole trip in only his swim shorts.

However, I did not spend the whole trip staring lustfully at the guy with the tea tray. We stopped for a swim four times and most people only dipped in once or twice, I was in their every time. I admit it was a slight hassle having to keep drying myself and take clothes on and off (I'm not one to just swan around in my bikini, like the annoyingly slim, tanned Turkish women), but every time we stopped I just couldn't resist the water. It was so seductively turquoise and clear. We always stopped in a shallower area rather than just the middle of the ocean, which meant we could get closer to the bottom. I love diving down but I can't usually go more than 3 or 4 metres, because my head feels like its going to implode from the pressure. I'm sure there's training for that, or maybe it's just practice. But I managed at one stop to swim about 6 metres down and pick up a shell (checking it thoroughly for any hermit crabs or the like), which will now be a keepsake forever more. The shell that I swum to the bottom of the Turkish ocean and picked up myself.

We go home in a few days, and I'm trying desperately not to think about it. I've really enjoyed myself.

H x

I have entered the latter half of my Turkish holiday. Still so much to do, like send postcards, spend the rest of my pocket money, buy presents, go on the glass-bottomed boat, snorkel as much as I can... I don't want it to end. 

And because it is so VERY relaxing here, I'm running rather low on things to talk about. My diary entries recently have been awfully short. I always force myself to write at least 5 lines, otherwise it feel slike I've cheated somehow, but in a way, babbling about nothing in particular for however long is cheating too. Last time I went on holiday I was full of it: How well I was tanning, how I fancied the waiters, my new flip flops, the lovely food... trivial stuff, but stuff none the less. But it's too hot to do anything much unless it invloves a heavily air-conditioned building and an even more heavily air-conditioned escort to get there. I sweat just by sitting outside, let along walking anywhere in it. Looking round the little shops is lovely, but we have to wait until the sun has gone down to be even comfortable, and even then it's the same temperature of a good summer day in england. I know I sound like I'm complaining. But this is already one of my favourite holidays I've ever been on and I accept that it's a different kind to Tenerife (and Cornwall).

I'm still being haunted by the prospect of having put weight on, too. It's so irritating when having a healthy, blanaced, fruit/veg rich meal takes washing, chopping, arranging - and there's an open bag of crisps right infront of you. I'm considering doing a bit of a detox when I get home. I'm not sure what kind, I definitely don't want anything to extreme, and I'm sceptical of whether those faddy ones even do anyhting. When I say detox I don't mean drinking maple syrup in hot water, I mean eating only fresh, healthy produce for at least a week, and drinking herbal tea, that kind of thing. The stuff that Gillian Mckeith makes people eat for the first 8 weeks on her show. I've always loved vegetables - my family called me the rabbit when I was little, munching on my lettuce and my carrot sticks (it was NOTHING  to do with my enormous buck teeth, clearly), and I've never had much of a sweet tooth, as eating ice cream and icing on cakes is my idea of a nightmare. And I'm most certainly not 'fat'. I'm just not as toned as I would like. I've got a little bit of a belly, and my thighs are a little buit wobble, and I'm not fond of my little bingo wings. It's all stuff I can easily disguise with clothes and I can often fool people into thinking I'm a skinny minnie if I wear the right top. And it came about, not because I ate junkfood all day and drank coke (water is all I've ever drunk since I was 3), but because when I did like something sweet I ate loads of it. It wasn't one chocolate digestive, it was 10. Coupled with my distinct un-sportiness, I'm in no doubt that it was the cause of my slight un-svelteness. I've been trying to lose weight by eating properly since I was 12, and had no luck, because I was in denial that I needed to exercise as well. But during these summer holidays, I've been going to a gym, and I bloody love it. I;ve finally started making progress and I couldn't belive it, which is why I'm so fucking worried that I've put it back on. I know it's not the end of the world and at least I now posess the knowledge that will enable me to get rid of it again. I'll just be so disappointed. 

But I won't let it taint my holiday.

H x

Love is unconditional; it's when you find yourself being totally selfless without noticing. You'd happily move mountains for that person without expecting anything back - at least in the beginning. And when they show the affection back, your heart swells so much you think you're going to explode.

Dusky blue floral vest top, white cotton gypsy skirt, faded blue denim waistcoat, tan leather ankle boots and floppy black hat - with a chunky gold bangle on my LEFT arm :)

Everyone felt rough yesterday, me included. And the day before. Mum said it was the heat. Which if you think about it would make sense, dropping us pale, conservative english people in the middle of a sweltering middle-eastern country. It was odd because I had all the symptoms of feeling ill without actually feeling sick; I had a headache, it hurt to swallow, my eyes felt heavy and I was totally lethargic. It was lovely.

But I slep it off, and had a very subdued day yesterday, and am now feeling much better. The one thing that's getting me down at the moment is the Turkish diet - it's so rich. Before I came on holiday, I lost 5 pounds and felt great. I was eating on average 6 or 7 portions of fruit and veg a day, wholegrains, lean meat and avoiding naughty things and my confidence levels went through the roof. But I feel like I've put 3 back on already. Here it's all bread, rice, cheese, red meat, crisps, chocolate (there is an entire wall devoted to chocolate spread at our already tiny local supermarket - the Turks have SUCH a sweet tooth) and endless all-you-can-eat buffets. Now I pride myself on having will power, but a bloody monk would have trouble controlling himself out here. And I just dread the thought of going back home, days before I start 6th form, having put all the weight I lost straight back on. So I'm going to make a real effort not to put any more back on. I don't expect to lose weight while I'm here, because I'm on holiday - I can't be depriving myself. I just have to eat naughty things in MODERATION, make the most of all the gorgeous sun-ripened fruit and veg on offer, and swim as many lengths as I can. After having a lunch earlier that consisted entirely of carbs, I ate a great wedge of ripe tomato and I instantly felt lighter, energised and more alive. That's all the motivation I need. And if all else fails, everyone knows you look slimmer with a tan.

We all went out to look around the shops last night (not including my Nan - she stayed in bed, still feeling under the weather) and it was certainly an experience. LIttle boutiques everywhere, selling jewellery, carpets, shawls, clothes, stained glass lamps - it felt almost like a bazarr. It was so warm and when it got dusky it all lit up, and there was incense wafting from every corner. It was so atmospheric. But what put the icing on the cake was the call to prayer - a man singing through a speaker at the mosque, and it could be heard all over the town. It was actually quite eerie - no one moved or stopped talking, and it felt suddenly like only I could hear it. It was all very different. I'm quite a sentimental person and I sometimes have trouble with a big change of scene. I try my best to push myself out of my comfort zone when I can but it was all so very un-english that I felt a little on edge, a bit homesick. It was brilliant and at the same time, unsettling. Especially the eastern smells, they made everything seem so much more intense. But I know this kind of thing is good for me. I love the idea of travelling but unless I start loosening up, I won't enjoy it as much as I could. Britain isn't suddenly going to sink while I'm away - everything's waiting for me to return. Safe in this knowledge, I can really let myself go and immerse myself in new cultures. And I can always have a cup of tea when I'm back in the Villa. 

H x

I got my results. I guess they were what I was expecting. I'm happy - I got 4 A*s, about 7 As and 3 Bs. The only thing is I got an A in history, where I really wanted a star. I phoned Bestie and she got a B in History, where she really wanted an A. We confided that we'd both cried a little bit because of it, but I feel much better about it now my folks have cracked open a bottle of bubbly in celebration, and Bestie was really grateful for the call, remembering that I'm in sunny Turkey and she's in Surrey. It rained there last night, apparently. No chance of that here. Apart from that I thinks she got similar grades to me, but in different subjects. Oh, and I got an A in art! Jesus! Mrs something-slag obviously took pity on me. Thank god the waiting's over, that's all I can say. 

Having a bit of a lazy day. It's not as hot as yesterday, thank fuck, but still very warm. I know I shouldn't complain. Went in the sea with my snorkelling gear yesterday and bloody loved it. If you could get flippers surgically attached, I'd just live in the water. They make me laugh actually, because you look like such a twat when you try and walk somewhere in them, but as soon as you get in the water, you're transformed into a graceful child of the sea. I like to think so anyway. 

For some reason when we come on holiday, we start buying The Sun. We NEVER buy The Sun at home. I can just imagine the tension it would cause if someone was reading it and Page 3 fell out, for example. My mum would find it funny, my dad would blow his top, none of us kids would be particularly bothered. But somehow, the second we come abroad, tabloid sleaziness is acceptable. I understand why we get the papers out here, because we need to have some knowledge of what's going on in old Blighty, but we'd never trust the Sun to print the truth at home, so why here? Anyway, I am going somewhere with this. In the lastest issue, there is a gossip column devoted entirely to Sienna Miller and her married-man stealing ways. I've always liked Sienna. I loved Boho, and I still do. I've liked her roles and in interviews she's always seemed very down to earth. But somehow, at the same time, I've felt resentful towards her. Now when girls a younger, virtually every other girl you meet that you don't know becomes a potential threat. Girls are just naturally competitive. In tween girlworld, it's guilty until proven innocent. It's still quite like that for some people my age. But I realise now that such judgemental behaviour stems from personal insecurity, and thankfully I've surpassed that stage. I no longer feel instantly hostile towards girls I don't know. But for some reason, with Sienna, I do. I know this is totally illogical, because I've never met the woman and I'm very unlikely to. But she just seems to have everything. She looks totally carefree and effortless and yet her skin and hair and figure always look amazing. It's the whole, 'maybe she's born with it' thing, when she could go out in a bin bag and look good. She pops up everywhere. She appears to have endless hollywood buddies, is never single, can seduce married men, get's great film roles (I want to be an actress), is unapologetically British (I'm a very patriotic lady) and, most enviable of all, she's befriended Jared Leto (mmmmmmmm......). The bitch. And at the same time, she makes it unforgiveable to hate her, because she seems so NICE. So there you go, Sienna MIller is my imaginary rival. I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels like this towards someone. Someone who looks like they have it all. Not necesarily a celebrity, just someone who secretly drives you crazy with their amazingness, and can seemingly pull off anything. The poeple who could put a flowerpot on their head and spark off a trend. Still, we mustn't dwell on such things. I know that comparing yourself to others is a no-return ticket to rock bottom self esteem. So why do I still do it? Gah.

H x

Aaaaah. Day 3 of Turkish Bliss. It's so very hot here that you can't really do much, but there's an amazing swimming platform at the bottom of the garden that leads you straight into a clear blue lagoon. We're situated on the side of a hill, and we have to go up/down 60 steps (I counted) to get to/away from the house. It's worth it, but god does it kill your quad muscles. Anyway, you have to go down about another 30 through the communal gardens to get to the platform. I went down there yesterday, just with my little goggles on (and a cozzie, obviously) and I can tell you, the second I got into the water, I was in bliss. I love the sea. It was lovely and warm, the same temp as our pool, and the perfect depth. There's all these dramatic looking rocks beneath you, dotted with anemones. The best bit is when you turn to the sun, and you go under and the light shines through the surface of the water as it ripples, making it glow blue, dancing off the rocks and making the little fish glint as they dart about. This clearly harks back to my early childhood dream of being a mermaid. I think every girl's had that desire at some point. Does anyone remember Daryl Hannah in that film, Splash? I was spellbound by it. Of course, in reality, all that salt water would murder your hair, you'd wrinkle up like a prune and you'd have to have amazingly perky boobs to carry off that little clamshell bikini. But I can dream. The best thing about it is that we went into town earlier (at midday. What fools we are. NOT recommended) and bought flippers and a snorkell. I just tried out the flippers in the pool, and bloody hell! They're like a propeller. My fave bit about it is they make it so easy to swim dolphin style, you know when you whole body moves in like, this big ripple. Just like mermaids do. The snorkel will need a bit of getting used to, but I can't wait to go down there and try it all out. 

I've realised that I keep saying 'we', and you don't know who 'we' are. It's my mum, dad, Bro, Sis, Nan, Grandad, and great uncle B. I love uncle B. We don't see him that often, and he's quite shy, but he NEVER forgets birthdays or Christmas. you can always count on him to give you a card, and it will ALWAYS have 30 quid in it. You might think it's a bit boring, but it's actually really nice to have that reliability. It means I can plan what I'm going to get with it weeks before my Bday or xmas. He doesn't have a partner or any kids himself, so I guess he wouldn't know what to get. But what we really love about him is that he's such a hard nut. He's older than my Grandad but he keeps his hair all cropped, always wears Men In Black sunglasses and has tattoos. And yet he's so quiet, the contrast is funny. My and my sister have an in joke about him because whenever he gives you your christmas or birthday card, he says 'Many happy returns.' Without fail. He doesn't talk much but he will always say that, in a little mumbly voice. And he misses the H, so it's more like 'Many 'appy returns'. It's just funny. We anticipate that moment for days. 

The only things that's interrupting the relaxation is that I get my GCSE results tomorrow. I haven't worried at all, but a few days ago I went to Bestie's house and she was worried. She's academically excellent, so it made me paranoid. I think I've done well. I'm predicted all A* (which I hate saying, because people instantly assume you have no life) but that's not going to happen. Anyone who's just done GCSE's know that target grades are bollocks. They get them from all sorts of irrelavent crap. I'll get a few A*,s and the rest will be As and one or two Bs, potentially. Especially in art, because my teacher is the biggest bitch that ever lived. Think of the worst person you know, and triple their awfulness. I'm exaggerating, right? I wish. But I get a little reconciliation from the fact that the end of her double-barrel surname rhymes with slag. and hag, and bag. So it lends itself nicely to allsort of wonderful combinations. I don't care about art. But what I really want to have got an A* is English, and History. I have a really strange but deep bond with my History teacher, and I'll feel like I've let him down if I don't make the grade. I know that sounds strange, that a pupil and a teacher are really close, but it's not really like that. It's more like I feel an attachment to him. It came about because of a dream I had, in which our class got trapped for like, weeks in our history classroom, and he became our sort of our surrogate father. I know, it sounds demented. But we all got really close in that dream, and I really felt it, and the next day at school I felt like he knew. Yes, it's crazy. What can I say, I'm hormonal. But eversince then I've had the inclination to make him proud. And in the back of my mind, I still sort of believe that he experienced the dream too. 

Oui, madness.

H x