Latest Watford Blogs from the Watford Observer

My name is Claire Maxwell and I am an aspiring Journalist. Currently doing my A Levels via distance learning and finding myself yearning for a shot at my true passion; writing! I am opinionated and outspoken and anyone following me in the 'Land of Twitter' will certainly concur. Ultimately I would like to go into TV Journalism and perhaps have a go at writing a novel. I have much to say about many things and I'm sure you'll catch onto my waves very shortly. The very-easily-offended will perhaps not enjoy my writing, but open your mind and, just maybe, you'll manage a slight chuckle...

If there's anything I know about, it's the X Factor

We’re half way through the live shows and I thought it was about time you heard my opinion.

Claire Maxwell recommends

1. Foxes Extremely Chocolately cookies. Give me a moment while I wipe the saliva puddle from my keyboard. Only moments ago did I fill my cheeks (for approximately 30 seconds before it descended into the depths of my stomach etc.) with one of those circular slices of heaven. And this was after declaring that I could not possibly eat one more bite of my spaghetti Bolognese and consuming a large piece of lemon cheesecake. There is a lesson to be learnt here, no matter what you may or may not have eaten previously, there will always be an extremely chocolately cookie shaped hole somewhere deep within you. And I mean that just as philosophically as it sounds.

My first football experience

I know nothing about football, bar the fact that it involves a ball roughly the size of my head and a team of men (also known as ‘the scum of the earth’). I don’t understand the emotional involvement football fans claim to have, and can only imagine winning a ‘big’ game feels something like when Shayne Ward won the X Factor in 2005.

The quest for perfection

Sometimes when I look in the mirror I wonder how anyone can bare to look at me for any amount of time without vomiting into their hand bag. I’m sure most girls have gone through this thought process at some point. It’s almost like an epiphany, a realisation that has come to a head at a most inopportune moment, leaving you wondering if eBay do shot guns. Because the will to live has just evaporated. I warn you now, the following piece of writing will more than likely make you wish I would ‘STFU’. But I am merely speaking the thoughts that are at the centre of all women’s minds and that fuel society’s quest for perfection.

Speak to a famous person

So it’s week 1 of my blogging extravaganza and challenge number 1 is completed. And when I deliver, boy do I deliver. This week’s challenge was to speak to a famous person. And because I don’t make a habit of ‘partying hard’ with the likes of Li-Lo and Peaches (you know, all the best ones) I figured this challenge could be harder than I had previously anticipated.

I do not know what I am getting myself into

I am turning 18 tomorrow. The big one eight. I can practically feel myself becoming more womanly with every second that passes. I have the undeniable urge to tell those around me to ‘have a bit more broccoli’, develop a strong infatuation for Michael Buble, and join weight-watchers.

The best night of my life

Last night was the best night of my pathetic excuse for a life. No, it didn’t involve R-Pattz taking me as his wife. Rather it involved one very special lady indeed. The lovely, Diana Vickers.

I'm still here!

Recently I have been neglecting the blogging community and for this I am ashamed and sorry. I have no inspiration. I sit in front of my laptop screen, sipping an apple juice and nibbling on my fourteen custard cream, and think to myself: “That is a good table, one of the best I’ve seen”. You see, I have a short attention span, and when I am not inspired I would literally rather being doing anything else, even shaving my own head. (That’s possibly not true, I have a funny shaped head). So after weeks of repeating this play of events I have decided that if I am not feeling inspired, then that’s what I’ll bloody well blog about. If anyone has a complaint or criticism about my incessant moaning and use of words that, probably, don’t mean what I think they mean, creating a confusing and illegible mass of words, please comment below and I will graciously ignore you.

This blog contains much skiing and urinating

We set off at around 6 am. I had arisen from my state of unconsciousness 15 minutes previously and sleepily brushed my teeth, scraped my hair back, and draped myself in my blanket before climbing into the car fully donned in pyjamas. Here I fell asleep. We were heading to Switzerland for two weeks of skiing. We own a chalet in the Alps and almost every trip there has been journeyed in the car. That’s a good 13-15 hours with Busted on repeat in my headphones and a numb backside. What could be better?

Why I hate summer

First of all it’s never as good as you think it’s going to be. March arrives and Facebook is overrun with status updates of ‘I can’t wait to get a tan!’, ‘CORFU 10. SUMMER