2:15

In response to Ben Brodie's question in a previous post's comments about the differences between American and British English, here's a very brief and very stoned summary of what I remember from last year's lectures:



its basically that the language took two very different paths after the pilgrims arrived in America- lots of socio, economic, political factors too but also simple reasons. Britain, in its proximity to European countries, adopts many words from other languages- we say autumn from I believe French, you say fall. Ditto words that you find in American English rather than in British (eg Racoon, etc), or same words with different meanings eg fag. If I find the essay I wrote on it, I'll post it up here or something.

Anyway, enough with the linguistic lessons for this evening, I have a seminar in the morning.

WHY ME?!

How come it seems that every week there's some kind of assessed project/presentation/essay etc that I have to do? Noone else seems to have this but with me I seem to fall from one thing straight into another. What happened to my traditional week 7 rush, huh? I rely on that rush to keep me from spending money between weeks 7 and 9, where the library hits capacity morning, noon and night as everyone meets their end of term deadlines and noone has a social life, instead developing a very close relationship with their computers. I feel cheated.

Week 4 has dawned and the so has the reality that I have a reading presentation due tomorrow. fuckfuckfuck. I had presumed that since last week's seminars were cancelled, everything would get bumped a week, and since week 4 and 5 have been lumped into week 4 as our professor is going to be away, noone's really been entirely sure of what the hell is going on.

Well, I've just returned from the lecture for said course and whilst they're very sorry about not bothering to email us, tough shit, tomorrow stands as originally planned. ARGH. So, its back to the books for me once more. And whilst you may be thinking, 'but you have next week off instead, right?', this is only partially due as next week is gonna be a time of hardcore english dissertation work.

Hence I feel it is my duty to further extend my procrastination whilst I contemplate this lump of work heading my way and watch Murder, She Wrote.

2:10

How did it get to 2:10? What am I still doing online?!

Go to bed, Anti. Go. To. Bed.

hearing under water

Argh, I hate being ill. The horrible cold I woke up with yesterday is apparently unshifting and as a result, I'm virtually deaf at the moment. When I was younger, I had a lot of ear, nose and throat issues and now whenever I get even the slightest sniffle, its like my ears just go under water. Gotta say, I was mildly grateful tonight when we went ten pin bowling and for once, the noise of the bowling alley was pleasantly drowned out, although it made understanding what anyone said pretty difficult.

For once, I didn't come last, rather a respectable third. Although I think a lot of this was down to the pin reset thing fucking up every other go, so it made it a pretty disjointed game.

Anyhoo, its nearly midnight and its Sunday so I'm gonna crawl into bed for the remainder of this evening and cruise the freeview until I fall asleep. Tomorrow heralds the dawning of another week and another assignment and I'm aiming for a reasonably early start.

Hope you all had a good weekend.

Maintenance

So I'm back already, it's only 5pm. Still in my pyjamas, though I'm planning on taking a shower sometime soon, to get rid of that hangover/pub smell. In the meantime, I've been updating -I've added a few new places in the links, places like youtube.com, where I can happily spend hours watching random shit, especially when all that's on tv is football, horse racing and more football. At least so it seems.

As you know, every site that I link is a place where I procrastinate. Much of that procrastination online, beyond su-doku, the papers and googling people is spent on gossip sites, reading random shit. So there's a few of those too.

I don't know why I'm bothering, noone, besides Dave, reads this shit anyway. But then, why would they? Back in the day, when I was still an angsty teen with a domain in a community of angsty teens, at least I got some traffic, but there was reason, it wasn't just me ranting. But I don't have the time, or the money or the inclination at the moment so for now, it'll have to stay a dormant idea. I'll just carry on, here in my own little dark corner of the internet, ranting about all and sundry to myself, and occasionally Dave.

Hi Dave.

Lessons in wine drinking.

I've treated myself to a pyjama day. The culprit behind my refusal to dress is my evil hangover. Last night, not only did I mix my drinks beyond reason, in the process I also consumed the better part of a bottle of wine.

Now, whilst you could hook up an IV of Jack Daniels to me and I'd stay pretty damn coherent, give me wine and well, the next morning I wake up looking like a zombie. Sometime during the night I also contracted a cold- probably from walking in the semi-snow- and so now I look like an alcoholic zombie. Whilst I was tempted to document the results of my excess with photographic equipment, I quickly came to the conclusion that it wasn't a good idea, as those few who bother to read this would probably be so repulsed that they would never return again.

There is also the factor of the bastards who decided to free up the paving stones under my bedroom window at 8:30 this morning. Do these people not have beds? It's Saturday morning, I've already got one jackhammer going INSIDE my head, I don't need another outside, reminding me thankyouverymuch.

In light of this hangover, I also feel that its fair to give my brain a break from the constant work and enjoy a day of laziness. After getting out of my bed at 1, I've moved myself into a nesting position at the base of it armed with cushions, blankets, a bottle of lemonade, a spliff and all of the remotes in order to just veg. And it feels good. SO good. All of my previous notions of maybe getting dressed and going for a walk have been dismissed, in favour of dossing around online and watching the Athletics on BBC1.

Why walk when I can watch others run on tv?

Polit-ICK-al Issues

Another day, another scandal for the Lib Dems, or so it seems. Today, it was Simon Hughes' turn, as he came out of the closet. Although, frankly, I don't see what the huge hoo-ha's all about. I don't quite see how being gay, or bisexual, or whatever could possibly affect his job as spokesman or leader of the Liberal Democrats. Whilst every time a lesbian joins the ranks of MPs, there are cries of liberation and equality for all, when one of those MPs comes out- wherever willingly or not- you would think that the moral apocalypse is on our doorsteps.

Okay, so he lied. Twice.

But I'm sure that there are very few people out there who have never ever lied, even a little bit. And I'm sure that there are a lot of people who have lied to themselves about their sexuality. I've had many friends who over the course of the last few years have come out, and most haven't had the easiest of rides in doing so.

So I say, cut this guy some slack. Unlike Mark Oaten- who's relationship with a male prostitute had the nation and Mrs Oaten choking over their cornflakes last Sunday- he's a single guy and surely the Liberal Democrats should be a bit more, well, liberal about it. Fair play, kick Oaten's seedy ass to the curb and let's face it, noone's going to agree to Charles Kennedy running the country as long as there's a hip flask in his suit pocket but I say, let Hughes stay. Surely you'll get at least a slightly bigger slice of the pink vote that way and let the grannies get their gay-rage on. Or don't. Doesn't affect me. read it on reuters.co.uk

I don't vote LibDem anyway.

Away from politics, I was cruising good ole perezhilton today and couldn't help but check out Lance Bass's myspace. You remember Lance Bass right? He's the podgier blonde from NSync. Just check out all the sucking up in the comments section.

I'd love to stay and bitch but I have a dissertation outline that ain't gonna write itself, although I wish it would.

Child of the 90s

I'm not scheduled to wake up for another hour but as I'm awake waaaay before I should be, I figured I'd entertain you all with this email forward I got today, Child of the 90s:

CHILD OF THE 90s

1)10p Mr Frosty Ice Pops on long summer days
2)Gordon the Gopher
3)You could do or tried to do the Prodigy step. 'You're no good 4 me....'
4)You owned or longed for an Adidas three stripe tracksuit
5)You owned a compilation tape with TOP TUNES such as Mr Vain, What is love, Rhythm is a dancer and How Bizarre, How Bizarre.
6)Girls thought Blue Mascara was cool
7)Girls actually fancied Gary Barlow more than Robbie Williams
8)The Racoons! (sing me with now: 'RUN WITH US!')
9)You owned a pair of Nike Air Max, and wore them to death
10)Mr Motivator (What ever happened to him?)
11)Running on the spot dancing
12)You wore leggings/cycling shorts with long t-shirts
13)You owned a Bennetton, NafNaf, sweater shop jumper or waistcoat
14)Girls owned scrunchies in an array of colours and tacky headbands with their names written on in thick glitter
16)You bought Smash Hits for the song lyrics and the immense amount of stickers that you would stick everywhere
17)You had a pen pal
18)You could only watch the Simpson's on sky
19)On a Saturday afternoon you watched Catchphrase, Gladiators, Generation Game, Noels House Party and then Casualty
20)You taped the Pepsi Chartshow on radio one and tired in vain to pause the tape before the annoying guy talked and ruined the whole thing.
21)Cans of Coke were 25p
22)10p Space Raiders Crisps
23)A grey Fruit of the Loom jumper was a must have
24)Sharkie & George were the crimebusters of the sea
25)Puffa jackets
26)You used the line "it's a free country" every day
27)The Sky Sports Blimp
28)Impulse body spray for girls
29)Hooch Alcoholic Lemonade (where HAS it gone?!)
30)'Don't forget your toothbrush', 'TFI' and Big Breakfast with Chris Evans
31)You had at least one troll
32)You know the dance to Macarena and Saturday Night. You also tried to scat like Scatman John! Bi bat ba ba da bo...
33)You watched Baywatch and longed for the day that Eddie & Sharni got together
34)You watched Byker Grove 'ha ha ha whatcha laughin at!' (the theme song ending), and saw PJ get shot in the eye with a paintball
35)PJ and Duncan not Ant and Dec
36)Shellsuits & bumbags
37)You longed to live in Beverley Hills 90210
38)Home and Away was a prime time ITV programe watched by millions
39)You owned a Spice Girls album
40)Fruit salads and black jacks!
41)Strike it lucky on a sunday night with Michael Barrymore when he was straight & married
42)Chain letters
43)You had fake ID
44)You remember Todd Landers in Neighbours
45)You religiously watched Saved by the Bell on a Saturday morning
46)You more than likely lost/nearly lost a wobbly tooth on a wham bar
47)CK one (probably the fake one from the market)
48)Going Live, then Live and Kicking was the place to be on a Saturday Morning - you know you remember the number 0181 811 8181
49)You knew every word to the theme tune from Fresh Prince of Bel Air
50)You collected Premier League Stickers and did swaps at playtime
51)Girls wore crappy lipstick such as coffee shimmer, heather shimmer and birthday suit.

More later, when my brain is coherent enough to type a sentence, rather than copy and paste.

Out of The Frying Pan

...And into the bloody fire. It really is. I finally polished off my really rather awful essay this morning and handed it in. I had an hour of respite, where I went to Sainsbury's as I had no food, bar a tin of beans. I came home and for the first time in almost a week read the newspaper and then heat magazine because I felt it only fair.

However, I now face the brutal reality of two eight thousand word dissertation. That's a LOT of work. For my english dissertation meeting on Friday morning, I'm meant to have a sentence outline ready and waiting, whilst I still have to squeeze in watching the film and doing the reading for my Hollywood seminar on Friday. If I live til Friday, it all starts again on Saturday with the catchup from the seminar I missed this week and a presentation for Tuesday for my Discourse in Public Life course.

Whoever said students have it easy apparently never completed their degree.

Blargh, okay, enough complaining. Since I can do little else in my own capacity, here's a few things that put a smile on my face today:

1. Michael Jackson goes shopping dressed as a woman, complete with pictures. He just gets weirder and weirder.

2. Popworld is one of my favourite programmes on TV because Simon Amstell is such a great interviewer. Heat published some of his best interviews in a collective in issue 357. My favourite has got to be with the sweaty poster child for why not to smoke crack, Pete Doherty:

Simon Amstell: What happens in the video? And please speak loudly and in an alert manner.
Pete Doherty: We might ask you, you're making it.
S.A.: No...No, this is an interview.
P.D.:Oh.
S.A.:The video. Did you know you were making a video?
P.D.: [silence. Pete sticks gaffer tape to his hair.]
S.A.: Do you ever feel like you're right in the middle of a car crash?

Drugs are bad, children.

Essay, Essay, Essay.

Sorry, I disappeared for a few days, didn't I? I meant to give a warning before I vanished but as I'd banned myself from the internet until I got my essay done, I couldn't.

Ah, essay. Albatross around my neck. I have literally just finished it, after two days of hard slog, tied to my laptop and nearly falling into hypoglaecimic [sp?] shock, it's done, all 4395 words of it, not including the bibliography. I hope they don't count it, as otherwise I'll be over 200 words over the absolute maximum limit.

I have to confess though, that not all of my time since my last blog has been spent doing my essay. Oh no. A great deal of time has also been contributed in stressing over the damn thing. I had to go back to London this weekend for my best friend's 21st celebration, giving up 2 days of valuable essay time. Naturally, my weekend was relatively unspectacular, as I spent most of my time with my head stuck on feminist film theory, much to the unamusement of said friend.

You'll have to excuse me now, after 12 hours of typing today, I'm in great danger of two things - developing carpel tunnel syndrome, or snapping and chucking my laptop out of the window. So I will bid you goodnight, I'm off to smoke a BIG spliff and crawl to bed in the hopes that a good night's sleep will straighten out the funny angles in my spine, the results of two days bad posture.

Hasta la mañana, kiddies.

Chairs, Jodie Marsh and Pie.

My spine hurts. Immensely. I had this the other night, when we were clubbing. It feels like one of the alien thingies in the water in Invasion has attached itself with those horrible long spikey teeth-like things. I don't know, I tried to get into Invasion but it's all a bit too War of The Worlds for me, and that movie sucked something atrocious. That's a lot of italisizing for two sentences.

Anyway, yes, my spine hurts and I think the reason is my computer stool. Although its a lovely piece of design from Habitat, it's not the ideal item to sit on for hours on end. I'm debating whether or not to bring down my chair from home but it would take up too much space and I know I'd just heap all of my shit on it. At least with a stool, it discourages me from using it as a conceptual clothes horse as most of the stuff just ends up on the floor, unlike a chairback, which provides ample hanging opportunity.

Okay, enough rambling about chairs. Today's holymoly! handout brought to my attention the morbidly addictive blog of none other than Jodie Marsh. If you have an hour or so to spare, I'd suggest a trawl through the rants of the Goddess of the Deluded. [pauses] I was just typing the sentence 'I don't understand how this girl continues to have a career' when it suddenly occurred to me that the reason behind her success is her very nature. She is what I call a trainwreck, something that you know you shouldn't look at, but you can't help but steal a glance and cringe, momentarily thankful that it's not you. But really, I encourage you to sign up to her site and make her feel popular just to read it.

Check out Jodie's birthday cake, below- what better image to look at as you blow out your candles than one of yourself in a page 3 pose and corresponding barely-there bikini. Classy.


from www.jodiemarsh.tv.

Anyway, I have cake of my own to eat, although admittedly not a cool porno cake like Jodie's. A slice of lowly apple pie will have to sustain me.

Mmm. Pie.

Oh God, there's MORE?!

Right. OK. Phew. More focused, back on form, once again my life is back in order. Well, at least to some degree. I'm still relatively in the dark, but with the aid of a really small torch. With weak batteries, generic ones. But it gives me some hope. Whilst I'm aware of the need to tread gently, I can at least more or less see where I'm going. Okay, I swear I'm done with the metaphors and similes.

I don't know why I decided to come back on for the third time in one night, I guess I'm just bored and don't want to sit in front of Big Brother Live, intriguing as it is. I figure it's better to bash my keyboard around and keep my brain functioning, rather than the mush it otherwise turns into. I like to write.

When I was backpacking, I filled up three medium sized notebooks with all the shit that ran through my head, vague notions of Jack Kerouac running through my head. Holly and I would also spend many hours writing entries for the oz blog, sometimes when we were drunk, Holly lying on the floor, drunkenly dictating to me while I desperately tried not to fall off my chair.

There's something very comforting in writing. Sometimes, I have trouble articulating exactly what I'm thinking. I guess it happens to most people at some time or other. It caused a very big problem in one of my previous relationships where I was very reluctant to make my feelings known on various topics for fear of my ex-boyfriend's reactions. Since, I've become more vocal but sometimes, you fall into a hole and in my case, my pen is the thing that digs me out of it all. Call me weird, call me what you will. Ironic as I'm an English Language student. Ha.

I should just stop blogging now. It's dangerously addictive, like myspace. I am, however going to add small town records to the links section because they deserve some free publicity. Remember, I'm a linking whore so get in touch if you want a piece of the pie too.

Anyway, enough from me for tonight.

Tears before bedtime

I know I said I wasn't going to blub on here, but sitting alone in my flat and feeling more miserable by the minute, I desperately crave a hug. Just one moment where someone will wrap their arms around me and just make me feel even slightly loved. I don't want to call my best friend, it's her birthday this weekend and I don't want to drag her into this whole mess, at least until tuesday. I can't call my mother because she's of little use when she's on a film set thousands of miles away and has to whisper because they're filming a scene next to her. The one person I want this hug to come from is the reason why I feel like this.

I know this is as good as crying on stage, but I needed to get it out before I combusted.

A Greater Lack of Sense of Self

Blargh. No posts for a few days, sorry. Had a few personal-life issues to deal with and whilst I admit that spilling my guts on here would probably garner more interest than your average post, I'm yet to make sense of it all myself and I don't think public speculation would really be a positive experience.

Anyway, besides that, my 4000 word essay deadline is creeping ever closer. It's now less than a week and I've suddenly been struck by a panic that my topic could end up getting me zero points because it's kind of within the same band as my presentation last term on Pretty Woman. So, more stress.

I hate sitting on the edge of panic. Usually, I wouldn't stress about all of this but when your head's all over the place it becomes just that much more difficult to write an essay. Focus, Ant, Focus has become my mantra in the last 48 hours whenever I find myself wandering in dazed circles in the living room, when I should be discussing the importance of heel heights and makeup in relation to a character. ARGH! I wish someone would just slap me and tell me to get my act together. This essay's worth a shit load of marks and I just really need to sit down and start typing. I'm going back to London this weekend for my best friend's 21st birthday weekend and I know that I might as well leave my laptop here for all the work I'll get done there. That leaves tomorrow, Monday afternoon and Tuesday before its due in. fuckfuckfuck.

Where's the will power when you need it?

Silence of the Cabbage

I've spent the evening living through a real life episode of The L Word. In the process of cooking dinner for my straight flatmate's crowd of lesbian guests, we decided to have a little fun with some of the ingredients. We'd been drinking for several hours and were a couple of joints down, so we found it all extremely funny. Unfortunately, I was so stoned that I only took one picture, and it's a little blurry. Damn you, digital camera. Damn you.


silence of the cabbage.

Drunk. Again.

Is this my third night on the lash? *counts backwards, slowly*. Yes. Yes it is. Let's see...

Thursday? Yes. The boyfriend had a tough uni day and demanded the right to vent his frustrations on the local pub's pool table. Also night that I speared my thumb.

Friday? Yes. Drinks with The Flatmate, Holly and Lucy. Drank very litte, didn't feel that pissed until I got home. Cause of today's hangover.

Today? Well, yes I'm drunk right now. It was Hannah's 21st birthday. I'm sorry if the majority of this makes little or no sense, my mind seems to run away ahead of my fingers. Sometimes, this can spell disaster- especially when I skip out entire sentences during emails sent under the influence. This is generally the only time when I'll send out group emails, and let's just say that the results of these inebriated ramblings have been mixed.

I should probably do the world a favour and go to bed.

Living for the weekend

And streeeeeeetch! It's horrible and grey outside but its Saturday so its okay, I will observe the grey sky from my bed. Even the minor hangover that's crashing round in my skull can't deter my happiness, I LIVE for the weekend. I'm not a worker, I'm an idler by nature.

I've spent the morning checking out www.michaelmouris.com, which is kinda like visiting an exhibition at the Tate Modern from your desk and all the white is very soothing- I feel he deserves a place in the links.

If art-type things aren't your thing, then amuse yourself with the unfortunate names of others. Fifth row drop, far right.

Right, I've overexerted myself once more, so I'm going back to bed to enjoy the rest of T4 with another cup of tea.

More later.

Post-script: Ouch.

I was so wrapped up in my Friday joy that I forgot to show you all my cool new plasters. Last night, a little tipsy and focusing more on the tv than my food, I picked up a foil carton of chinese food and managed to spear my thumb onto it. Annoyingly, it's left thumb and lies where my pen sits in my grip when I'm writing.

Kate got me these for my 22nd, in conjunction with the pirate theme of the night and our shared love of skull and crossbones.



my thumb is cooler than yours

if you reckon your thumb is cooler, send me a picture.

That Friday (the 13th) Feeling

Aah, it's Friday afternoon, I've just returned from a two hour seminar entitled 'Hollywood Comedian Comedy', where I got to watch Seinfeld and Queens of Comedy clips. Pretty sweet, if you have to learn on this final day of the week, although in some ways, this just means the weekend is just that much better. Walking out of that seminar, I had a skip in my step and a cigarette in my mouth, I practically skipped to the bus stop (I don't justify driving if its dark by the time I get back, parking is a bitch on my road, especially in pitch black).

The only blip that has appeared, one tiny black cloud of annoyance, is the emergence of the fact that the dissertation that we have to write for this course isn't 6000 words as I had previously been led to believe, but 8000. That means that I now have two, yes TWO, 8000 word dissertations. But then, it is Friday the 13th today and it all seemed to be going a little too well.

I figure at least now I have a legitimate reason to get drunk tonight.

Old Hat

Meh. I didn't do anything exciting today. I wish I could say that I did but the truth is I spent most of the morning and a considerable chunk of the afternoon glued to my computer trying to come up with a questionnaire that I could show my dissertation supervisor and a list of questions to make it look like I'd actually done something over the christmas break.

I managed to blag it at least and got in and out within the space of ten minutes, smiling all the way, perhaps a little too widely. My other highlight was the Lost finale, although it all seemed a bit predictable. Like Sawyer and the others were really going to sail to safety. C'mon, this is primetime - who are they trying to kid?

Anyway, since I have no interesting stories, I present, for your entertainment (if you can call it that), some pictures that I found when unloading my digital camera today. They're from the explosion at Hemel Hempstead Oil Refinery. My room faces north so all day we just watched the smoke cloud creep towards us ominously.

Enjoy, something more coherent and vaguely interesting tomorrow.

clouds of smoke seeping in...

getting darker...

smoke shadow hits...

but we got some nice sunsets.

"The Pledge of Allegiance does not end with 'Hail Satan!'"

...is probably one of my favourite blackboard lines from the opening sequence of The Simpsons. It still makes me snigger like a 10 year old, as it did last night, when I rolled in from my not-so-local Wetherspoons. Oof, Wetherspoons and its attractive cheapness always seems like a good idea, until you are forced to leave your table every time you want a cigarette because the only tables are either 'family' sections or non-smoking.

Monday club's cheapness was outweighed by the swarms of sequinned-miniskirted-stilletoes girly brigade, on their way to a heaving warehouse-like meat market. Soon, the sparkle of Primark sequin attracts some stripey shirted lager swilling halfwit, who reciprocates the cheap twinkle of the female with a sparkler of his own, usually a gold hoop or signet ring and a few chains discreetly placed upon his person.

They crowded around our table in a previously empty pub once the clock struck nine, flooding every inch of bar and floor space, girls teetering on their heels, boys leering openly. I think my personal prize for most questionable outfit goes to the girl in the aquamarine cotton kaftan and flip flops. Lets not forget that it's January and we're in England, on the coast. This sure as hell ain't Barbados. No doubt that she was desperate to showcase her winter-sun-holiday tan, the origins of this were dubious thanks to the streaks around her ankles. *cough*FAKETAN!*cough*

And then as the clock struck 10:30, they disappeared, as if by magic, leaving behind their half empty Stellas and dry white wines, no doubt to make it to the meat market before 11pm, when the price of entry rises by a whopping pound.

Let the carnage begin.

One Happy Camper

And we're back, live from a cold flat in a coastal town. I'm in a reasonably good mood today, despite the fact that it was the first day back. This is for a number of reasons, which I feel the need to list because I can, so nyah.

1. I got 70% [a FIRST!!!!] for my English Worldwide essay. I wrote this essay in the space of a day, whilst high as a kite. I forgot to do basic essay requirements like double spacing, so you can imagine what the content was like... However, I have lived in denial over the whole of christmas, unable to read my copy of it for fear of the potential cringe factor. Apparently, the more fucked I am, the better I am at academia these days.

2. The lecture hall wasn't freezing. Having spent most of last term shivering the in the expanses of FH140, I was pleasantly surprised when I strolled in and realised it was warm enough not to require my usual polar explorer/michelin man ensemble, which had previously somewhat hindered my note taking.

3. Sainsburys. Knowing I now have food in the fridge and no longer have to survive on stale biscuits and takeaway as I have for the last two days makes me very happy.

4. I fleeced everyone on textbooks. Bwahahaha. A little sleuthing online found me a reading list for my new English course, thus meaning I had the advantage on everyone else, who get the reading list tomorrow. I snuck off to the library BEFORE the lecture and hunted down as many long loan copies as I could. Bwahahaha again. For once, I have textbooks. Bwahaha.

So yeah, I'm happy. Now I'm going to make myself even happier by watching Neighbours.

Broken Promises

So, happy 2006. By now, most of you will have recovered from the screaming hangovers of yesterday, although I'm sure there are a few stragglers. It's a brilliant way to start a new year, isn't it? You wake up, no doubt smelling like you've slept in a barrel and then rolled in an ash tray, with bloodshot eyes and strange bruises dotted over your body and someone else's sick on your sleeve, as you slept in your party clothes.

Not exactly turning over a new leaf, are we now? So instead, we make resolutions, promising that this is the year I will lose that extra weight/give up smoking/save an endangered species etc. Our resolutions are further fuelled in the following weeks- the advertising gurus will be churning out adverts promoting the guilt that we all feel after this over-indulgent free for all. Lo and behold, fitness videos sales will go through the roof over the next few weeks, suddenly we all want spirituality and DeAgnosti recognise this need by relentlessly plugging their seasonally appropriate week-by-week magazine, in this case, £2.99 a week gets you a crystal and inner well being.

Those poor desperate people who buy this crap then spend the next two weeks huffing and puffing in their living rooms along to whichever celebrity needed a financial pick me up, before realising that its all a giant pile of bollocks and chucking on the shelf, along with all the others from previous new year fitness attempts, and probably the crystal magazine.

In office blocks up and down the country, those who've chosen to give up nicotine rather than food find themselves ripping the heads off their colleagues and snapping their pencils when their nicotine withdrawal kicks in. After about three days of suffering this nonsense, its only a matter of time before a co-worker coaxes them outside and gently administers a cigarette just to shut them up.

Instead of making grand gestures with my resolutions, I have decided instead to take it easy and in small steps:

1. I will try to be nicer to people, especially when I am angry. I will count to 10 before I unleash my fury. Then at least they have a head start if things get ugly.

2. I will check my email more often so that people stop being pissed off at me.

3. I will go to my screenings so that my tutor stops being pissed off.

4. I will resist the urge to use fuck as punctuation.

5. I will try to curb my topshop habit.*


Enjoy 2006, back next week, live from a decent internet connection. Until then, student, interrupted is, well, interrupted.

---
*maybe my drug habit too, but lets not get too enthusiastic here.