student, interrupted

Epilogue: what ever happened to Anti?

2006-06-28T13:38:00.000Z

Some of you may be wondering what happened to Anti. Or maybe not, you have nothing better to do and you're just looking for a way to kill time until five o'clock rolls round. Whatever. I'm gonna tell you anyway. It's not for lack of ideas that I haven't been here, most days I find myself jotting down future potential blogs of wrath. Unfortunately, lately I haven't been in the mood to sit in front of a computer for mixed reasons, some personal and some silly, such as wanting to get a really good tan. But those will have to await my future blog projects.

For now, I'd just like to say that despite all the loafing around, watching daytime television and frittering my time away, I'm proud to say I got a 2:1 for my degree. So it isn't a first. I'm still damn happy and so ner. Sorry, I'm being juvenile. Long and short of it, its been a great three years.

So, what you going to do now, you graduate, you?

Well, I have a job starting on the 10th of July, so I guess I must now officially, and somewhat sadly, renounce my status as a student, much more so a student, interrupted.

Kinder X

2006-05-24T18:45:00.000Z

If there's one form of chocolate that I take particular delight in, it's Kinder Surprise. You know, the chocolate egg with the toy in it? Yeeah. Everyone loves Kinder eggs, as they shall hereby be referred to as. Not only is one's chocolate craving satisfied by the delicious combination of white and milk chocolate, there's the toy.

Once I've devoured my chocolate, I love cracking open that little plastic case thing inside and seeing what little bits of plastic require putting together. Recently, I've noticed that these bits get less and less and plastic figurines, pre-built or almost complete have started to appear. Not only is this a travesty as there is nothing that I enjoy more when stoned than the challenge of building a plastic racecar, I have also noticed a disturbing new theme to these toys.

It seems that those cunning employees at Kinder are finding ways to have a bit of subversive fun with the kinder toys. Tired of racecars, chicken with flapping wings and so forth, these poor souls (who probably thought their degreee from an art school would pay far more dividends than designing plastic crap for unappreciative kids, are probably grinning into their coffee. I first noticed with a rather dubious mariachi guitar player, who when run along a surface would jiggle his arm supposedly to look like he was playing his little plastic guitar. In reality, it looked like he was having a whole different kind of fun, if you get my drift. I have since lost the little mexican but last week, I got a whole new obscene kinder surprise.

Having munched through my chocolate and cracked open the plastic inside, I was greeted with the sight of a very bug-eyed pre-built figurine of a pirate snail (I know). At first, I tossed it aside, thinking it didn't do anything. It wasn't until much (well ok, an hour) later when I was considerably drunk that I picked up the toy again and ran it along the table top.

I was shocked. As my pirate snail wobbled along the table, his eyes began to pulse in and out, his head expanded and contracted again and honest to God, he was gurning. I couldn't believe it, pirate snail had clearly munched his way through a bag of ecstasy. Unfortunately, I can't figure out a way to video the movement as the figure is so small, so below are a series of close-ups of the one I have dubbed 'Kinder X'.

The 100th post

2006-05-23T16:33:00.000Z

So, not only is the 100th post, it's also the POST OF FREEDOM! This morning, when I woke up, I was no longer a slave to forced knowledge. I cast off the shackles of higher education and instead, crossed my fingers and began the ritual of praying for the best. My final essay went in after much confusion to do with title forms and then the afternoon saw the final exam I will ever sit. Although, I haven't really sat that many while at Uni, it seems to be a bit hit and miss.

So. Guess that's it. I'm no longer a student. I have no more studies to be interrupted. But until the end of June when the fruits of our labours are graded, re-graded and classified and in the eyes of the NUS discount, I shall at least remain in part a slave to the institution at which I have spent the last three years supposedly toiling. Which in a way, I suppose I have. I have perfected the art of the lie in, collected several big library fines, learned to cope with whole new types of mould and acquired minor skills in electrianism and plumbing and a new appreciation of dishwashers amongst other things.

Today, I have also gained a new appreciation for the simpler forms of technology. Since getting my last new phone about this time last year, I had various issues with its lack of delivery of messages, crazy flipping display and lack of technology. So, last week when my upgrade date rolled round, I called up my provider to see what they could do. The results was that I ordered what seemed like the very spiffy Nokia N70. It finally arrived amongst much rejoicing on my part and admittedly, a little bit of over-enthusiastic package tearing.

Ooooh I thought as I held the lovely chrome phone with massive display in my hands. Niiice. But then my eyes drifted down. Yes, the screen may be big but the keys are absolutely miniscule. Now, I've had phones with small keys before but a 4 year old would have issues with these. If I were male and in possession of larger digits, I would be even more displeased. At least I have nails to poke with.

I also think it has too many buttons. Way too many. I keep on accidentally knocking all of the tiny ones on the side and being whizzed off to some random menus. Suddenly, I find myself drawn back to my old dodgy flip phone but I shall persist and give the N70 time. Perhaps it'll grow on me.

What Antonia needs

2006-05-21T19:00:00.000Z

So, my friend Carl posted a thing about the Google thing where you type your name followed by needs (eg John needs) into the search engine and see what comes up. So I got curious and typed in Antonia needs to see what came up. The first link took me to this, which basically sums it up.

However, as you may've noticed, the above link takes you to antoniabance.org.uk. This may sound narcissistic to some but I always find it really weird to come across or meet another Antonia. I suppose it's because its not a very popular name like others such as Charlotte or Tom, etc. So there's always this slight fascination when I meet another Antonia, it's almost like they've stolen your name or something.

Anyway, I am waffling mercilessly, it's probably the heady mix of excitement and dread that tomorrow has brought onto my shoulders.

Final exam. gulp.

It's over! (Well, almost)

2006-05-17T16:52:00.000Z

Dissertation Run 06, originally uploaded by spiltink.

Monday finally came and went, in a very drunken blur. I probably should've eaten some breakfast before getting stuck into trips to the bar. As you can see from the picture of my friend Holly* and I above (taken in the time old hold-camera-aloft-and-smile fashion). Not only are we drunk, we're also decidedly windswept. Having mocked us all with sunny weather last week, the day dawned very windy, overcast and generally blah. And yes, it did rain later.

Bastards.

The great British weather didn't deter the runners though and there were lots of comedy moments of people streaking through the gathering crowds or doing the final run in fancy dress, which in our collected drunkeness, the crowd roared their approval of.

It's very strange to think that the dissertations are done and gone; However, its not all over quite yet. There's still the small matter of that exam and the 3000 words that the english department feels it is due. It's with heavy heart that I return to my laptop and books after the brief taste of freedom that Monday (and the subsequent Tuesday recovery day) afforded me. Until then, I hold on with the knowledge that it'll all be over next Monday.

NB: * - you may remember Holly from our adventures over at the The Oz Blog, our adventure through the South Pacific's dossing trail.

Playing with Utensils

2006-05-14T23:35:00.000Z

Ladies and Gents, you may want to stick a fork in me because I. Am. Done. Well, almost. There's still a small matter of another 3000 word essay and an exam but in my eyes, the bulk of it is now over.

Both dissertations sit printed and bound, with all of their title sheets and so on attached. I feel I can once again reclaim my social life and the right to get drunk the second those get handed in tomorrow and believe me, drunk I will get. But right now, I am beyond exhausted and my bed looks far too good. This week has pushed all of my previous boundaries in terms of hours spent tapping at a keyboard, it's also tested the theory of how long it's possible to go without a shower and exactly what time the sun rises in May. This probably makes no sense.

But it's over. Yeay.

HMWJC? - How Much Would Jesus Charge?

2006-05-10T18:40:00.000Z

So, we've all read about the stories of people selling their kidneys, virginity and souls on ebay, but surfing around on ebay today, I came acorss some fruit loop who has gone one better.

Buy Jesus!

Well, not quite. Apparently, some time in 1984 in a small town, a tall, handsome and 'golden' Jesus visited our religious entrepeneur and bestowed upon him the answers to all of life's most vital questions- you can buy the cure for cancer, the location of heaven and the solution for world peace for the startingly price of only £7000.

Bargain.

Publicity Trainwreck

2006-05-07T20:45:00.000Z

I've broken off briefly from my day of analysing cross dressing comedies, there is only so much Robin Williams one person can take in a day. So, continuing on yesterday's theme of slating Tom Cruise, lets discuss those eager beaver Scientologists who want to see The Cruiser elevated to a God-like status.

First it was keeping Dianetics in the bestseller lists, then last month we all heard the story about Parada magazine's Tom Cruise poll being rigged, right? Well, according to dear ole perez, the trend continues, extending to MI:3 ticket sales. Scientologists really aren't doing anything to endear themselves to the general public, are they?

I'd like to take a minute to point out that I didn't always laugh at Tom Cruise. There was a time when I could almost be convinced. Of course, I am no longer 12 years old, and Pat Kingsley is no longer TC's publicist. But maybe its too late, not even the new publicists he's hired can fix the horrible PR disaster that he has single handedly managed to get himself into.

They say there's no such thing as bad publicity but in this case, I gotta disagree.

Flying visit

2006-05-06T10:02:00.000Z

Right, so I planned to blog yesterday since I haven't in a while but then I fell asleep mid-afternoon and by the time I woke up, I'd forgotten everything. I tried again but got distracted, wandered off and basically, yeah, I couldn't be arsed. But since it's saturday morning and I'm still waiting for the sleep-hangover to clear from my foggy brain, so I figured I'd come and talk gibberish on here. Rather than talk in detail, how about some short things going on? Yes, I can cope with that...

BOYCOTT TOMKAT

Yes, it seems that the publicity trainwreck that is TomKat has finally lost all credibility and the people want Cruise outta H'wood faster than you can say 'contract relationship'. And what the people want, they get! Personally, I can think of nothing worse than carrying on bankrolling this fruit loop. At least when I went to see War of the Worlds (yes, I admit it- although it was Spielberg), it was free because the projector for the film we WANTED to see was broken. Did anyone see that programme on Channel 5 about them last night? Aah, trashy TV.

THE NEW POPWORLD
...is poo. Come back Simon and Miquita, all is forgiven! Yes, even you Miquita, although Simon has nothing to apologise for, other than making me spray tea over the floor from laughing too hard once. Alexa Chung may look pretty but where's the irreverance?! The comic timing? Note to model: pensioner gag from the Ordinary Boys shoot? Not funny. Back to the catwalk with you, young lady.

So, we've had the bitching about entertainment, lets move onto something more controversial than Saturday morning telly, Politics.

SO MUCH FOR THE TRAM?
I don't really care much for politics, I'll be honest, although I do get the odd rage once in a while. My main source of rage is usually primarily directed at the Mayor of London, Ken Livingstone. I have never had such a dislike of one man, what with congestion charging, traffic light fixing, bendy buses and so forth. But the pinnacle of his idiocy seemed to be in his insistance that a tram in west london would be the solution to all of our traffic problems. It would not be. It would divert traffic onto even narrower residential roads than the Uxbridge Road, would require beautiful old buildings, trees and local businesses to be demolished- the list is endless so I'll stop now. Anyway, the majority of boroughs that are affected have been held by Labour for a LONG time. Not anymore. So Ken, kiss your tram goodbye.

Right. Enough. This has been WAY more than a flying visit. There is work to be done.

Emo scene kids and more work. As always.

2006-04-26T18:01:00.000Z

With a hangover, comes guilt and with guilt, comes the need to do penance in the form of dissertation writing. You may've- but probably haven't- noticed my absence recently. This is because the gigantic pile of work that has been threatening me for sometime finally carried out it's promise and has all but eliminated my social life.

I had to give my final presentation on Tuesday and rather than spend the previous weekend working on it (as would have been wise), I instead chose to do a bum breaking 12 hours in front of my laptop last Sunday working on my English dissertation. It meant that my presentation for my other class was pretty shit in comparison to most but by Thursday, I had pretty much finished my dissertation. It now only needs tweaking, and can therefore quite happily take a back seat in the grand scheme of things.

And although I wasn't best pleased about the idea of doing a presentation this week, that too is now also done and dusted, meaning the attached essay can now join the english dissertation in the kiddie seats and so I grudgingly accept that it was a good idea.

All that remains now is another 8000 words, so once again, it appears that I'll be spending the majority of the following week alternating between the stack of books I acquired at the library yesterday and my laptop. ARGH!

However, this is not to say that I don't allow myself a little bit of fun once in a while. I love me a bit of myspace cruising, but clearly not to the extent of some people. And so, it is with much chortling that I pass on to you, dear reader The First Annual Myspace Stupid Haircut Awards and their spawn, The Second Annual Myspace Stupid Haircut Awards.

Enjoy your weekend.

No rest for the wicked

2006-04-24T15:58:00.000Z

I should be writing the presentation that I'm meant to be giving about how language in advertising conditions the way we think. Instead, I'm on here. I figured I could allow myself to post after yesterday's MARATHON work session.

For twelve hours, I sat on the floor, in exactly the same spot. I got up only twice - once for the loo, the other for the pizza that I ordered to compensate for the fact that I hadn't eaten all day.

I finally caved and made the pilgrimmage to the supermarket today, I couldn't hold out on air alone for much longer. There is at least one positive aspect to all of this work and hopefully it shall manifest itself on my waistline. I can't help noticing that I jiggle more since my trip home for easter, where I was virtually force fed by my overly concerned mother.

Another positive aspect that I cannot fail to notice is that I now have HALF of my english dissertation written up. Actually, over half- 5000 words. It has undeniably eased some of the pressure of the work, although there's always something to be done.

And with that, I must return to analysing Beyonce's face at close range and the implications on readers. Joy.

Free time? What's that?

2006-04-22T00:45:00.000Z

I know I haven't blogged in over a week but right now, I'm just too tired, stressed, sleep-deprived and malnourished to look beyond the next essay. Three weeks is all I have left. Three weeks. THREE! ARGH!

[runs and cowers in a corner]

Jerry Bruckheimer is one rich bastard

2006-04-13T00:50:00.000Z

Another day passes and with it, goes another wasted opportunity. Today, I put aside work and hit Oxford Street for a little retail rehabilitation - I figured I deserved it as I stayed up til waaay past 3 last night, analysing the data for my dissertation. It's quite possibly the most tedious thing I have ever done. So tedious, that even describing it would make my make my brain cut out, so let's not risk that, okay? Not this late in the day.

What really disturbed me about my work last night was that in the process, I managed to watch approximately 6 hours of Jerry Bruckheimer's various dramas. I admit, much of it was my own doing. First, there was CSI and CSI:Miami on Five, then I flipped over to Living, another CSI.

Half way through, I got bored and switched onto Sky Three, where I got to watch 2 episodes of Cold Case. Once it hit 1 am and all credible TV was long gone, I stuck on one of my CSI DVDs for company whilst I worked and it played right the way through, all 4 episodes.

I bet that man is sitting somewhere, in a very large mansion, on a very big pile of money, being attended to by an army of semi-naked nymphs. Or robots. He's probably so rich, he can get the guys at SONY to make him a little robot kid.

Ooh, that'd be creepy.

Anyway. TV is once again on it's sliding scale into the downright awful, so I think I'll take it as a sign and go to bed.

Or watch some CSI...

I just don't like Mondays

2006-04-10T20:59:00.000Z

There's no getting around it, they should've just named Monday Shitday.

Somehow, no matter how hard I try or how little I set out to achieve, the day never goes my way. Despite promises to myself last night that today I would finally get my political piece out of the way, I'm still nowhere near.

At only 1000 words, I figured it would be easy. What I didn't factor in was my complete lack of willpower when it comes to these kind of things. So instead, I spent most of my day staring into the middle distance, watching a pair of pigeons squabbling on the fence.

And now, its 10pm and I'm only 500 or so words in and I'm determined to get it done before I go to bed, even if it's just a rough draft. Like the little engine that could,

I think I can, I THINK I CAN!

No, I can't.

Sunday Night Live II

2006-04-09T23:39:00.000Z

At last, we have a wireless set up in the house, which allows me the opportunity to simultaneously watch tv, smoke a spliff and surf the web, all from the comfort of my bean bags in the attic. I've spent the day wandering between this location and the kitchen, reading the papers and generally being unproductive.

I shouldn't have written so much yesterday. Yesterday, in a burst of guilt and a silent house, I sat chained to my laptop for the better part of the day, save for walks in the garden. I somehow managed to get over 1000 words written, which proved to be the majority of the methoodology for my english dissertation. So, with that and my history/background section almost entirely written, things were starting to look up.

I even got a sushi dinner as a reward for my hard slog from my mother, so impressed was she by the fact that I'd actually done something, rather than loaf around all day as I am otherwise typically inclined to do.

Unfortunately, all of this had a detrimental (sp?) effect, as today I got nothing done. And now, I find myself unwittingly watching snowboarding on Channel 4, because I cannot find the remote control.

Nor can I find the second bar of chocolate that I liberated from the fridge about an hour ago. In my stoned haze, have I eaten it? Or has it suffered a worse fate, falling victim to the all consuming straggly-fur beanbag on which I have spent most of the evening?

If it is the latter, I fear that it may have melted somewhere in the burrows of the beanbag, which will subsequently need dry cleaning. Like Police Chief Wiggum laments on The Simpsons, nothing gets chocolate out.

In other news, why have I heard nothing of Clerks II? This alone proves the extent to which uni work has taken over my life. I've been reading Kevin Smith's blog over at silentbobspeaks.com, which has made it to my addictives list.

Enough yammering, all of this snowboarding is giving me motion sickness. I need to find that remote. And that chocolate bar, before it's too late.

The Great Ribena Berry Mystery 2: Revenge of the Berry

2006-04-05T16:17:00.000Z

So, following my previous post, I suffered another bout of procrastinitus and found myself trawling google to find out about the Ribena berries.

I headed over to ribena.co.uk to see if they held the answers. And in some respects, they do, although I can't link directly to any of them, since they are of the belief that flash is cool, so instead you'll either have to go find it all yourself or read what I found below:

It turns out that they have 5000 acres of blackcurrants growing for them in the UK. That's a lot of blackcurrants. In order to impact on their percentage claim, we would therefore need to get about 500 acres of land and wait for three years until the blackcurrant plants mature. And in those three years, doubtless that GlaxosmithKline will probably acquire more land and more blackcurrants until they are emperors of the darkened berry. It's a fruitless battle, pardon the pun.

Big Corporation 1, Liberators of the British Blackcurrant 0.

The Great Ribena Berry Mystery

2006-04-05T14:44:00.000Z

So, as we all know, all this supposed essay writing is really just a ruse and most of the time, I'm either doodling or wandering around my house, marvelling at various pretty things in a semi-stoned state. This afternoon for example, I spent a good ten minutes staring up into the leaves of the palm trees that are planted in our garden, just because I could and it looked ever so nice.

With all this time on my hands, I often start to think about really stupid stuff (see above). Last night, an old nagging question surfaced. Ever since Ribena changed their logo and added the shpiel about how 95% of Britain's Blackcurrants make Ribena, it got me to thinking, how do they know this?

Was a special task force set up over at Glaxosmith Kline? I can imagine the board meeting:

Boss: "Right, Jones, we need you and Hargreaves to find all of Britain's blackcurrants and bring them to us! Do you understand?"

Jones looks puzzled. "ALL of them sir?"

Boss: "Yes, go door to door if need be and bring them to me. I must only have BRITISH blackcurrants, do you understand?! Not Australian, Not South African and certainly, not American. I don't care what you have to do to get them, get me those blackcurrants"

Or perhaps, they've bought a large chunk of Somerset and have set up their own dedicated blackcurrant farm, so large that it is believed to contain the said percentage of blackcurrants.

Then, there's another aspect to consider - what about all of the blackcurrant plants that grow wild or in gardens? Surely, they must make up more than 5% of the total number of blackcurrants? Perhaps you, dear reader, have a blackcurrant plant that remains unregistered with the appropriate authorities? This has led me to wonder what would happen if I were to theoretically buy a couple of hectares of countryside and grow my own blackcurrants? Would Ribena be forced to change their percentage to, say, 93% or less, maybe? Or would Ribena thugs, dressed in giant purple velvet ribena berry outfits come and squish me to death, only to be added to their ever so sweet fruit mix drink?

Anyone willing to stump up the cash to buy a couple of hectares of land, grow some blackcurrants and test the theory?

Ssh!

2006-04-01T15:31:00.000Z

I've never been the biggest fan of tom cruise, I'll be honest. Not for his lack of acting skills, just he sends my weird-o-meter off the charts. Now, not only has Katie Holmes found herself in a ~~contract~~ relationship with this man and up the duff with ~~someone else's~~ his baby, he's also convinced her to have a drug-free and noise-free birth, as I'm sure those of you who read trashy magazines will know.

Not happy with the baby being born into a silent world, he's now also apparently demanding silence and slow physical movement in the baby-zone around his mansion, posting large placards outside.

Check out the whole story here.

If I were his neighbour, I'd have a 3 day festival in my driveway. Actually, make it a rave.

Anyway, enough Tom Cruise bashing. As I mentioned late last night in a rather strung out nonsensical post, I went to the 4th Polish Film Festival the other night to see Persona Non Grata, the story of a senior Polish diplomat stationed in Uruguay, who suddenly loses his wife. I'll admit freely now that my Polish most definitely was not up to scratch enough to watch without reading the subtitles, but then with 4 languages in one film -Polish, Russian, English and what I presume to be Spanish - it was probably the safest option.

After the film there was a Q&A with the director and then a reception afterwards. Never before had I been so please to see a canape, having not had time to eat dinner before we left the house.

Anyway, time to get back to the data in which I perpetually sit.

Zombie anti

2006-03-31T23:49:00.000Z

God, I feel like one of those workaholic parents who sneaks into their child's room when they come home after a long day at the office, long after the child's gone to bed and feel guilty. This blog may not be a child but I know I've been neglecting it.

I thought it only fair I should raise my hand and say 'hey, guess what? I'm not dead.'

So,

[raises hand, waves it around half-heartedly]

I'm not dead, but I can't be too far off with these levels of exhaustion. In between working my ass off in front of pages of data, I've been out and about, trying to reassemble myself into something that vaguely resembles a human being and not a sheep dog.

I also went to the opening night of the Polish Film Festival last night, to see Zanussi's film, Persona Non Grata.

However, right now, my exhaustion is overwhelming. Stories will have to wait til tomorrow.

Sleeeeeeee-py...Zzz.

Blogdom is as boredom does

2006-03-26T21:47:00.000Z

Ah, salvation in broadband! It's only taken 6 weeks and a dozen phonecalls to the two parties involved but finally, my internet connection resembles something vaguely useful. It also means that I can finally make use of the 140GB hard drive on this computer and systematically fill it with all the crap that my pittance of a 4GB laptop won't allow. I swear, that computer is on it's last legs - it makes horrible wheezy sounds when I overburden it with the request to open more than one programme at a time and frankly, I'm amazed it's made it 4 years without any serious ailments.

As always, I should be doing work but I'm yet to do any today and since it's almost 10pm, I doubt I'll really get anything done. Still, there's always tomorrow, right?

This isn't going to be a very long blog, nor will it be particularly interesting either I expect, since I've barely left the house since arriving here on Tuesday, I'm ashamed to admit that it will all be tv.

First off, just how good were The Games this year? Okay, so maybe seeing C-list celebrities sweating it out for some medals that the props department knocked up really isn't your thing. It wasn't even really mine either, but somehow I got drawn into it this year.

And the reason? I never thought I would say this, believe me, but Adam Rickitt. I'll give you all a minute to stop laughing on the floor and re-compose yourselves. Yes, he who once writhed naked in a perspex box has finally won over my affections. Drafted in to replace Goldie after he broke his leg, wee little Adam stepped up to fill some mighty big shoes with just two weeks to go. Despite his lack of training, there he was night after night, coming fourth or fifth in pretty much everything but seeing him soldiering on with two black eyes from the diving and keeping his chin up really stirred something in me (not like that, you filthy people).

In comparison to someone like Amanda Lamb (what does she do anyway?) who cried when she didn't win, or Javine who was smug and ungracious everytime she kicked someone's ass at something, Adam really stood out, soldiering on.

I like good sports, even if they have made some dodgy career choices in the past. So, kudos Mr Rickitt.

My next kudos go out to Simon Amstell. Last night, with a lack of good television, I tuned into the repeat of Never Mind the Buzzcocks, guest presented by Mr Amstell. I have two words to describe it: FUCKING and BRILLIANT. I don't think I've laughed so hard since I went to see Mike Wilmott last summer, particularly all the Kenzie baiting, although he held his own very well.

Told you it'd be boring.

From the depths of narrowband

2006-03-23T15:13:00.000Z

You may or may not have noticed that I've been gone, what, over a week now? Yeech. Sorry. The essays keep piling up next to me, as do the library books, and they don't seem to ever diminish.

I'll be honest, it's not all work work work though that's behind my disappearance. I meant to blog the afternoon after St. Patrick's Day but being a relative newcomer to the deviant that is Guinness, I wasn't quite prepared for the monster hangover the following day. It was epic. I became paranoid at one point that I'd done myself permanent damage, some kind of brain swelling or something, but in reality, it was more a case of lie down, shut up and wake up Sunday feeling almost normal.

Another reason for my disappearance is the lack of Broadband. I've had to return home in order to actually get some work done and as of yet, we're still waiting on our broadband. It's now 6 weeks and counting since we got the ball rolling, and I have to say, I'm impressed with just how incredibly useless AOL have turned out to be. Don't even get me started on the NTL side of the story, I could write a book about my previous battles with them.

Coming home also means that currently, at least until our broadband works, I'm having to use the mac. Although I was resistant at first, I'm gradually learning to deal with it, although I must stress the word gradually. One improvement I made was to go to PC World and buy a NORMAL mouse for it. Although mac mice are very elegant, they are absolutely bloody useless - not only does little rat not listen to where I want it to go, there's only one button. As a life long PC user, I was inconsolable -and increasingly infuriated- by the lack of a right click button. So out with the prettily designed but ultimately useless mouse and in with its uglier but smarter Belkin sister.

Anyway, on with more pressing matters than computer mice.

Those who read the comments will undoubtedly noticed the kind offer from Websurveyor.net. Well, dear Dryegor, I'm sorry to inform you that my university's English department is so underfunded and understaffed that they're cutting another two lecturers for the next academic year. Said teachers are already so overworked and underpaid, that I think that if I tried to add so much as a paperclip to their workload, they might go about trying to rip off one of my limbs. Plus, your analysis system didn't really do it for me anyway.

But thanks anyway.

Also, from the comments. Ben Brodie asked where's cheap and good to go in London. It took me about five minutes to claw my way back onto my seat from the floor, where I've been rolling around laughing. London is one of the most expensive cities in the world, nothing is cheap. Hell, we're not even allowed to drive into town for free. However, I'd offer the following advice:

1. Get an oyster card as soon as you can. Sadly, our evil Major, Ken Livingstone, has decided that cold hard money is apparently too complicated and time consuming. In order to stop people spending their cash, he's jacked up the prices for anyone who dare use a note to pay for their travelcard. As well as cutting the cost of your journey, it'll also save you money at various tourist attractions like the London Eye.

2. The hop-on-hop-off bus A very good way to see the proper sites, last time I had the pleasure it was about £15, expect higher prices. Pick a sunny day, sit on the top deck and wear a warm hat.

3. Tate Modern is a great way to spend a day, particularly if its raining and horrible outside. Lots of the exhibitions are free and I love it. End of.

4.Camden Market is also fun. Try to go on a weekend day when it's at its best but watch your bag! Lots of cheap and cheerful crap, plus loads of food stalls and the remaining odd eccentric.

Ultimately, invest in a guide book. And bring lots of money.

anti needs YOU

2006-03-15T18:39:00.000Z

ARGH. Okay, so the survey over at websurveyor.net didn't work out well. Apparently, you can only get 10 responses for free and after that, the price hikes up to $500. $500! The best bit was when they offered me a student discount of 10%. Ha. So with the help of Dave, I've managed to stick it up on another site:

http://www.eva.surf.org.uk/anti/anti.html

Remember, if you're British, watch TV and have 5 minutes to spare, I need YOU!

Drinking and Pleading

2006-03-13T18:48:00.000Z

What a weekend. First the DRINKING. I headed back to London on Saturday for one of my old school friend's birthdays and to meet an old friend from America who was over for a few days. We all trekked into zone one to go for dinner at Belgo's in Covent Garden, where we drank far more than we ate, probably because their drinks menu is bigger than their food menu.

Not a bad thing.

After dinner, we staggered out and into a cab to the very posh no. 5 in Cavendish Square. I have to admit, I'm not fond of these kind of clubs as unless you're willing to fork out £300 for a table, you are forced to stand like a groundling and the only way for someone on my budget to be able to afford drinks is to latch onto one of the sleazy old cigar smoking men sitting at one of the tables or the drunk Etonian weilding a charge card to Daddy's account. I reckon I could spot one at 30 paces - striped (usually blue) shirt, loafers and quiff, usually thrashing wildly to music, arms aloft and stepping on everyone around them, completely oblivious.

Yeuch.

Luckily, we were beyond drunk at this point and after some wheedling with those clutching the clipboards, we managed to cut our entry fee down, which meant we could all afford precisely one glass of wine each.

Probably because we were so battered, we all then got a bit overly excited when we spotted the girl who played Nikki on the brilliant As If on the tiny dancefloor.

I finally rolled in sometime after 4, collapsing in front of the TV, only to realise I was watching the previous day's episode of The Wright Stuff, whose topic was should swearing be a crime. I suddenly realised that this was probably quite useful for my dissertation and tried to take notes. Unfortunately, I was so incapacitated that this proved to be a far greater task than originally anticipated and I should probably just cut my losses.

Now for the PLEADING. I have a favour to ask. If you live in the UK, watch TV and have nothing better to do, I need YOU!

[does Uncle-Sam-pointy-finger-poster-imitation]

Please go yonder and complete my shortish questionnaire about attitudes towards swearing in general and in television. I pledge my undying love to those who do and even more love to those who happen to pass on the url to others.

http://websurveyor.net/wsb.dll/54975/survey.htm

Now, back to the aforementioned dissertation.

Jelly ache

2006-03-09T21:49:00.000Z

Watching The Road to Guantanamo on Channel 4 right now, I've absent-mindedly managed to eat an entire block of undiluted jelly. So I figured whilst I wait for the belly ache to kick in, I thought I'd doss around on here. Since I doubt I'll post again til Monday as I'm being forced through a chain of circumstances to return to London yet again.

Anyway, if you've been living in a dark cave somewhere for the last week, you may be one of the few individuals who still hasn't seen the 'leaked' Sky One Simpsons promotion, where real people re-enact the opening credits of the show. I have to say, it's pretty genius. For those of you who missed it, I give the gift of youtube:

On a completely different matter, one of my favourite ways to waste time on here is to go blog hopping. See that little box in the top right hand corner of this place that reads next blog? Well, I like to press it, repeatedly, until a blog catches my eye or as is sometimes necessary, until I find one in English. Over the course of the last couple of weekends, when I should've been doing dissertation work, I've been reading other people's blogs. Some are funny, some are weird and some are just heart breaking. So below are some of my un-put-down-ables, so to speak:

Support For Christi Thomas // Kate Maintenance // Chewie // Eric takes Los Angeles // The Daily Dump // Malcom's Crazy Adventures // Cityrag // MC Hammer's Blog // In Prague // My Boyfriend is a Twat

...and finally, anarchy's not dead, it just isn't interested:

click for full image

That should keep you going until I get back. Oooh, I feel the jelly ache coming on.

An evening with Jack Johnson (in technicolour)

2006-03-07T20:43:00.000Z

I'm feeling too lazy to write anything, so as promised, here are my pictures from Jack Johnson.

Yes, I know my camera has a shit zoom.

An evening with Jack Johnson (and Elle Macpherson)

2006-03-05T19:35:00.000Z

I'm back. Been absent for a few days as I was trying to get various things sorted before I went back to London over the weekend. Should've mentioned that. Oops. We still don't have broadband at my London home because AOL doesn't do broadband for macs. Great.

Anyway, I went back to London to see Jack Johnson at the Hammersmith Apollo, which was wicked. Damien Marley came out to do a song, which pretty much made one of my friend's weekends and I have to say, I've never seen a more enthusiastic crowd, literally.

Jack walks up to the mike, crowd goes wild. Jack fiddles with his guitar, crowd goes wild. Lights change from purple to green, crowd goes wild. You get the idea.

But in all fairness, I feel they had just cause. It was one of only a few gigs that I've been to where every song was note-for-note perfect and where I didn't feel I'd been jipped. £22.50 plus all of the ridiculous service charges is a lot to pay for a gig, so we couldn't quite believe when we got a full two hours of Mr Johnson's time, with a selection from all his albums, unlike most main acts that play half an hour of their new album, then one old song, if you're lucky.

We also had the privilege of having Elle Macpherson, with mystery-quite-fit man, dancing along two feet in front of us. Oddly, she was wearing sunglasses on top of her head indoors, at night, in a dark auditorium, and didn't clap after any songs, even though she seemed to be having a good time, dancing along. Weird. Once you're famous yourself, is it no longer required that you applaud?

I'll post some pictures once I've unloaded my camera.

Pancakes, Drugs and Microsoft

2006-03-01T17:10:00.000Z

Oof. I hope you all had a good Shrove Tuesday. I'm still feeling a little bit queasy from the sheer volume of pancakes I consumed. Only 364 days til the next one, thank god. I don't think I could look at another pancake for a while.

Today, according to the ITV lunchtime news, the UK was named as the Cocaine capital of Europe by the UN. Crystal Meth and Cannabis were also cited as 'serious threats'. Considering that last week we had a Crystal Meth special on This Morning which stressed that CM isn't really that popular here, I'm a little confused. I've been offered a virtual rainbow of drugs in my lifetime but never Crystal Meth. And having seen the effects that it has on people, I'm not surprised that it's not seemingly popular, although let's be honest, that never stopped Heroin being passed around. I've read various things over the years with the problems in the US with CM, including a very graphic novel that pretty much sealed the deal on crossing that experience off my list but until recently, I'd never really seen anything on it in the UK. But then, I guess people have to get their kicks somehow.

As for weed, fair enough, smoking is bad. So is the possibility of unleashing the schizophrenia within. But there are millions of people across the world who spark up or chow down space cookies on a regular basis without being menaces to society. Probably because most of them are sitting at home on their sofas giggling at cartoons and eating whatever they can get their hands on. Something that's been around since 4000 BC ain't gonna disappear overnight.

Now, enough politics, more youtube goodies. Today's pick is a brilliant satire of Microsoft's overbranding:

Short Circuit

2006-02-27T16:46:00.000Z

My brain just short circuited. I was debating the nature of what makes a swear word offensive or something along those lines when there was an overflow of ideas and my brain literally said NO MORE and cut dead for a second.

Not that I was surprised, I saw it coming. I've spent most of the day doing research for my dissertation and attempting to write my methodology. I've also been trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of my head that keeps screaming about all the other stuff I should be working on too.

So I got on here to step away from the work and spend a little procrastination time whilst (a)not spending money (b)still being able to pretend to myself that I'm doing some kind of work, like browsing archives.

My current procrastination flavour of the week has definitely got to be youtube.com. There's just so much random stuff to amuse and entertain.

Today's choice way to waste 10 minutes or so is The EmO.C., a brilliant spoof of the O.C.:

Right, back to the work.

Star Wars Kid

2006-02-26T22:10:00.000Z

Since it's Sunday evening and I really should be doing work, I figured it'd be more fun to watch TV instead and pretend that the work I have doesn't really exist. And what better way to waste an evening than with one of Channel 4's never ending series of 100shows. We've had best pop songs, greatest TV moments and so on, so it was inevitable that the researchers got together and produced a 100 funniest moments one wasn't it?

Sometime in the 80s of the countdown, Star Wars Kid cropped up. Am I the only person in the world to have not seen this?

According to the subtitled facts, its estimated that it's been seen by 100 million people across the world. There have been various versions of it over the last few years, where people have edited in proper light sabres, the rolling opening explanations of Star Wars and so on. To see more of Star Wars Kid and the resulting phenomenon, head over to youtube.com.

Now, back to the TV.

Fake Plastic Horses

2006-02-24T17:34:00.000Z

I just saw my first 'my little pony' advert in probably, ooh give or take, 15 years. God, that makes me feel old. I had presumed that the little plastic figurines with multicoloured hair had gone to the big toyshop of obscurity in the sky long ago but apparently, they're back.

return of the pony

I admit, I read something about their comeback a while ago but completely dismissed it. Clearly, I was wrong. This has got me to wondering about what ever happened to my own collection of hideously coloured ponies. I remember two of them in particular, which between the ages of 5 and 7, went everywhere with me before they were shelved in favour of some new garish plastic toy. One was white with a glittery arse and the other was a small pinkish one with wings that flapped if you pressed them in the middle.

In a way, I find it odd that something so simple is back in fashion. So many toys these days require batteries or programming, hell, even Barbie's not safe in today's technologically fuelled times. I never thought I'd see the day when fake plastic horses were apparently selling out.

Anyway, I'm off to enjoy the weekend because once again it's Friday. YEAH!

AWOL (again)

2006-02-23T18:30:00.000Z

I've been off AWOL again. I wish I could say that it was something exciting like a last minute holiday or somewhat but the reality is that it's week seven of spring term and there's a pile of work that seems to grow with every passing day, no matter how much I do. All of that time I spent last week, dossing around online pretending to do work has meant that I've actually had to do some work this week, for real. It's slowly dawning that there's a lot of work and very little time to do it in.

It's disturbing that there's less than 10 weeks left to my university education.

In the meantime, as some of you know, I've become infatuated with the Sony Bravia advert. Surfing youtube.com, I found the full commercial (I think there's also an extended version lurking somewhere) to keep you all amused whilst I'm off to do yet MORE work, so for your viewing pleasure:

Hasta la vista.

Library rant

2006-02-20T15:53:00.000Z

I hate the library. Every Monday, after my lecture, I traipse in with a bag of books that I've taken out the previous week and probably not read, only to replace them with a fresh set of the same. However, as it's now at week 7 of term, the battle for essay books has begun. Throughout the library, people are hiding books, stuffing the ones that they need in completely different sections to as to throw others off the scent.

Of course, that's provided that the books exist in the first place. For my English course, there are 4 copies of the core textbook to share between 60-odd students, which meant that after the first lecture of the course, it was pretty much an all out scramble to the library to get hold of the holy grail.

So, I've finally decided to cave and buy the books I need. I can no longer bring myself to troll the dusty shelves of the library for books that apparently don't exist or are completely unattainable.

Roll on, the ever increasing overdraft.

Needed: one dose of willpower

2006-02-19T20:18:00.000Z

I've spent most of today in front of a blank word document, pretending to myself that I'm doing work rather than just watching TV and reading various blogs.

To add to my procrastinative nature, I've been debating what to cook for quite some time now- I have a choice of either chicken or pizza. I know I should cook the chicken as it's going to go off and it'd be such a waste but my stomach is leaning toward the pepperoni pizza that's in the freezer. The more I think about it there, the more I want to eat it. Plus, the pizza's easier to cook and doesn't involve handling raw meat.

Considering the state of my hangover, I'm not sure I could do that.

Hungover Sunday

2006-02-19T14:29:00.000Z

Ah, the morning after the night before, don't you just love it? I woke up for the fifth day running at 4 a.m., convinced I was blind as yet again, I'd fallen asleep in my contacts. I really have to stop making a habit of it, I blame Quizmania on ITV. The boyfriend and I have become late night quiz show addicts, betting each other junk food for possible answers.

Anyway, last night we hit Wetherspoons full gusto and with much glee, we discovered that they were once again stocked up on Kopparberg. Joy. Whilst I'm usually a staunch investor in the Jack Daniels corporation but I could be swayed if Kopparberg was made available widely. For those of you yet to sip this sweet nectar, Kopparberg is a Swedish cider, previously only available in Pear flavour but now also available in Apple. You can imagine how excited we got when we found out about this new flavour- everyone had to try it. Our table was soon littered with large empty brown bottles and everyone was slurring.

The entire top floor of Wetherspoons got closed off whilst we were there, apparently there had been a stabbing or fight or somewhat and what was previously a bar became a crime scene, which meant that those from our group who were late in arriving got forced to stand in the freezing cold outside and queue as downstairs was now bursting at the seams with all those from upstairs.

We decided to leave after a while and head to another pub that would hopefully be less crowded. Oh, how wrong we were. We arrived at our destination to be greeted with steamed up windows with bodies pressed against them, writhing in the semi darkness to the absolutely booming music. Up til that point, I had never realised how nice it was to be in a non-music pub, which was doubley reinforced when one of the more worse for wear of our party decided that I was to be their set of ears for the rest of the night. Despite the boyfriend's best efforts to rescue me, I was effectively trapped for the rest of the night with the sauced one bellowing over the loud music directly into my left ear.

I wish I could have offered some valid opinion on what they were saying but in my own inebriated state, I just focused on the cigarette on my hand and tried to look interested.

Anyhoo, I'm going to recover from my hangover. When will I learn not to mix my drinks?

Grey Saturday

2006-02-18T16:56:00.000Z

Another Saturday, another day of watching people running. Owing to the rain and general greyness of the day, I came to the conclusion that doing anything other than watching the Athletics on BBC1 and maybe doing a little dissertation work, would be unproductive.

Plus there's the fact that its required of me to get hideously wasted this evening as there's a 21st to celebrate, which will undoubtedly involve heading into town to the local Wetherspoons and drinking until one or more of us are sick, as is tradition in the great game of binge drinking. But I've been relatively good this week, most evenings I've stopped after a few, although I'll admit that last night I was seeing double by the time we left our local and made our way over to the offy to buy some crisps.

I've just looked out of the window and there's a beautiful sky outside. If I wasn't in my PJs, I'd run outside and get a better one but hypothermia never suited me well. So, instead, here's what I saw:

Better go make some food.

Retraction and Paul Weller

2006-02-17T12:15:00.000Z

[edited from original post]

What is yesterday's scandal is today's virtual binliner. I admit that it was harsh to post something like Life On Parade and I have relented and removed the entire post and all related matter on the subject. And I'd like to take this opportunity to issue a formal apology to those involved.

Now, on to other things. Last night in the pub, my mobile suddenly began to vibrate violently on the table. Considering it was 10:30 at night and my mother, I figured it must be something important so I picked it up, heart in my mouth. The following exchange took place:

My Mother: IT WAS PETER WELLER!
Me: You what?
MM: In the lift on Saturday in Selfridges. The man you recognised. Are you not watching The Brits?
Me: No, I'm in the pub.
MM: Well, it was Peter Weller!
Me: Don't you mean Paul Weller?
MM: Possibly.

So, you get the idea. On Saturday, on our way back up to the car park, we shared a lift with Paul Weller and I believe, his children. I wasn't entirely sure if it was him and my mother had no idea, but it turns out I was right and it was indeed Paul Weller.

I love going to Selfridges, you're pretty much guaranteed to see someone famous drifting about. In the past, I've seen Will Young in the women's CK jeans section [odd], Derren Brown [really weird eyes] and I've walked smack into Denise Van Outen.

Ooh how exciting.

ROAR.

2006-02-16T19:16:00.000Z

[editted]

It's too dark to take pictures of the trees, so that'll have to wait until tomorrow. But since I'm on such a picture post roll, I figured I'd show you lot something from my first year flat, that one of my eleven flatmates got sent for her birthday.

I shall leave you all grimacing, I'm off to watch Eastenders.

Trees

2006-02-16T13:48:00.000Z

Bloody hell, they just keep coming, don't they? I can't seem to stay away from my blog for more than a few minutes. Probably because I've run out of things to stitch, clean or sort. Perish the thought that I should do some actual academic work.

I couldn't if I wanted to anyway, as the local council's got their park wardens feeling all important, dangling off the trees outside my window whilst wielding chainsaws.

I'm surprised they left the tree trimming so late, back in London they were making sure all the trees looked odd and spikey back in December. I just about managed to summon my digital camera to life despite the failing batteries to take some pictures:

ooh the envy - 40 feet off ground with power tools

I'll try and get some more later when they're done, camera batteries allowing.

Blast from the past

2006-02-16T00:32:00.000Z

Another night past midnight, another illicit blog. It's becoming quite the habit these days. I thought I would share something weird that happened to me yesterday.

Sitting around in the evening, I noticed a new text message had come through sometime earlier. So I opened my inbox and let me tell you, I was surprised. The message was from my former best friend (hereby referred to as mfbf). Mfbf and I were best friends from the age of about 15. We'd known each other since we were 4 but only got to know each other when we ended up as lab partners in chemistry. And along with my current best friend, we ended up as a merry trio.

However, when I returned from six months of backpacking during my gap year, the cracks began to appear and within six months a series of events led to mfbf being removed from my circle of friends. I'm not going to lie to you- going from speaking five times a day to suddenly nothing wasn't fun. It was like losing one of my limbs but ultimately, I feel it was the better choice, at least for me.

This severance happened two years ago in January and since then, we've spoken once. Our friends have mostly known better than to put us in the same room, just in case. But apparently, when I spoke at her in general rather than to her specifically to correct her on some gossip about one of our other friends, she apparently saw this as an olive branch. Maybe it was some kind of subliminal one, I don't know.

But yesterday, she apparently saw it fit to text me. Apparently she saw me at a bus stop and wanted to offer me a lift to town but I had my ipod on and didn't hear her shouts or honks. I know that she probably didn't really want to offer me a lift, but let me know that she had finally passed her test. About bloody time.

I'll admit that rather than blank her (too childish), I sent her a civil reply that I was indeed deaf to the world with my ipod on. And that's how I'll be, civil.

Don't expect any reconcilliations.

On a more cheerful note, I was flicking through the my pictures file on my computer and ended up browsing through some photos from my trip to Morocco two years ago. Whilst I took most snaps with my trusty SLR, I took a few on my digital camera when we were on the Sahara location, nothing exciting, just lots of the scenery. So now you can be bored by my photographs of the sunrise coming up over some production trucks, including one with smoke from my cigarette:

Okay, now I'll go to bed.

Put the mullet down and step away, the fashion police have been called

2006-02-15T17:50:00.000Z

As some of you may know, one of the soaps that I love is hollyoaks. Those of you who've watched it over the years may remember the Hunter Family. Recently, the various characters that made up this family have disappeared. Dan was killed in a fiery explosion in his rally car, Ellie was disowned by the family after it turned out her dead husband was a serial killer, the parents were shipped off to Cyprus, Lee was kicked out of college and went to do good in Thailand with Zara Morgan and Lisa... well, Lisa got her own spin off show along with the resident fireman eye candy, Ben, called Hollyoaks: Let Loose. Absolute dross.

Bear with me, there is a point to this.

I never much cared for Lisa, with her thick Birmingham accent, bad dress sense and general resemblance to a rugby player with eyeshadow. The boyfriend and I used to smirk when she appeared on screen, whinging at someone in her monotonous voice and in an array of hideous outfits.

Unfortunately, it appears that Gemma Atkinson, the actress who plays Lisa, has chosen to emulate her onscreen alter ego's dress sense. Whilst reading the new issue of Heat magazine yesterday, I was stunned into silence for several minutes by this abomination of an outfit, not to mention her new hair cut.

If you're eating, please look away now.

crimes against fashion: michelle bass, gemma atkinson

Michelle Bass, the woman on the left, is not much better. Some of you may remember her as the bunny boiler from Big Brother 5 who chased Stu and called everyone chicken. Since dumping Stu and getting a boob job, she's trawled every last channel for a job and ended up with soft core porn. Is ritual humiliation part of her contract as presenter of Channel X? I can't help wondering what on earth she was thinking when she allowed some makeup girl to stick those hideous wings on her eyelids. Or perhaps thats 'in' in Newcastle?

Yeuch.

PS some of you may've noticed that Sunday Night Live posted twice. I have no idea why.

AWOL

2006-02-15T11:07:00.000Z

Apologies for going missing for the last few days, I wish I could lie and say I've been extraordinarily busy but the truth is I was only medium busy and lacking in willpower.

Happy belated Valentines Day to those of you who unlike the Boyfriend, celebrate it. He goes with the usual 'over-commercialosed crap' line, when its really that he doesn't want to buy double priced roses. His excuse is that I don't like flowers, which isn't true. In fact, if he learnt to buy flowers, he might get dinner cooked for him more often. Anyway.

I'll post more later when I'm less hungover and slightly cleaner.

Sunday Night Live

2006-02-13T00:39:00.001Z

Again, it's late at night and I'm still awake, watching series five of The Simpsons and debating whether to cook. I'm getting hungrier and hungrier (is that the right spelling?) and the notion of making some brownies suddenly doesn't seem so strange, nor does the idea of smilies and baked beans.

However, both would involve slaving over the oven, or rather standing guard, in the freezing cold kitchen. Unfortunately, I haven't got any instant style junk snacks. There's isn't even any toast, so I can't finish the brussels pate and even if there was, the toaster has ceased all operations. Hence BANG goes the belgian wafle idea.
I shall go to bed hungry.

Or I'll crack and make brownies.

Sunday Night Live

2006-02-13T00:39:00.000Z

So, two Rabbis get into a Volvo...

2006-02-12T19:39:00.000Z

In what sounds like one of the many bad jokes I've been known to tell, today I got into a fender-bender with two Orthodox Jewish Rabbis. I had stopped at a zebra crossing to allow a very determined and harassed looking mother and her small toddler cross the road. I looked up into my rearview mirror to check my makeup as I waited and instead watched in slow motion-like horror as a dark Volvo came speeding towards my bumper. Out loud and to noone in particular, I muttered oh no as our bumpers came to be one in a soft thud and that aching sound of crunching metal.

I couldn't quite believe it when I got out and walked over to the other car, only to be greeted by two men with little curls and big black hats, each with a matching concerned and slightly stunned look.

I have to admit, I felt like crying. My poor little car, defiled yet again. And so, I've returned to my student flat, sans car and once again at the mercy of public transport. And whilst I will have to deal with feelings of frustration when having to take the bus to university, at least I will not have that slight edge every time a car alarm goes off on my street or some yobs run past it.

Anyhoo, I need to be unpacking as I've returned with a very heavy wheelie case full of clothes.

(Away)

2006-02-10T14:40:00.000Z

I'm going home for the weekend to drop off my car and hopefully get some broadband sorted for my London residence, so there won't be any posts from me until at least Sunday, so you'll have to amuse yourselves over the weekend. So until then, leave a message after the beep.

Beep.

Yeah, sandwich.

2006-02-09T15:07:00.000Z

Aaah, I love the days when I give in an assignment. The sun is shining and if it wasn't so cold, I'd go for a walk. I've decided to drive home tomorrow morning and skip the whole seminar rather than the final hour. It seems more sensible than getting stuck in friday afternoon traffic on the M25, which sucks at the best of times. Last summer, I was stuck in traffic for three hours with only A Crow Left of Murder by far the worst Incubus album, in my CD changer. I stop-started for almost the entire 80 miles down to the coast, meaning it was impossible to run out and change the CD as I was alone in the car and I wasted the better part of a full tank of petrol on a journey that usually takes a quarter of a tank.

Hence, I'm not keen to repeat the experience again.

Now, I'm going to go and make a sandwich. When I have made that sandwich, I will look at it briefly and then devour it. When I'm done devouring it, I'll go and buy a paper, some junk snacks and then lie around devouring that too. Very stoned. I'll shut up now.

Yeah, sandwich. Mmm.

Yet MORE bouncy balls

2006-02-08T23:59:00.000Z

I know that I keep going on and on about that the Sony Bouncy Balls advert but I can't help it, it's a point of mild obsession. I was on ifilm.com tonight and I found the clip below, filmed from inside one of the houses on the street that they used to film it:

How much would you love to see that kind of thing happen? There have been various drunken plans to buy out the surrounding toyshops and recreate the scene but a serious lack of funding means that so far, no deal. Personally, I think it would be cool to do it at night with glow in the dark bouncy balls.

Can you imagine?

2006-02-08T18:31:00.000Z

Would someone PLEASE slap some willpower into me?!

Quickie

2006-02-08T16:16:00.000Z

The parentals swept into town for a brief visit to examine the car today. My dad managed to bang out the worst of the dents with a mallet and a cushion and my mum had a nose around the flat, since she hadn't seen my new living quarters.

This post's going to have to be short and sweet, I've just found out that my dissertation outline is due tomorrow rather than Friday as previously thought so I've got to get my ass into gear and make up some nonsense to hand in.

Back when it's done, in the mean time, entertain yourselves with the best of Family Guy - click here.

Post-script

2006-02-08T02:31:00.000Z

I promise, I really will go to bed in a minute, but before I do, I just have to draw your attention to the wonderful houseplantpicturestudio.com, which I was directed to by socialitelife.com, who noticed the project Pictures of an Unknown Family Who Probably Owned a Liquor Store, which is brilliant, but go surf around the rest of the site too. I'll add it to the links section tomorrow, when I'm not seeing double.

Right, going to bed.

Late night rantings

2006-02-08T01:44:00.000Z

It's the early hours of wednesday morning, well really it's still tuesday night, and I'm still awake although that's hardly surprising, I'm rarely asleep before 1:30 most nights, I just don't fall asleep otherwise.

My parents are driving down tomorrow to have a look at my poor little car and figure out the best solution to a nasty problem. I hate being carless. Even though the man from the body shop said it should be fine for short distances, I'm too sad and scared to drive it at the moment, just in case it overheats and I end up somewhere on a narrow side road, cars whizzing past far too close for comfort.

So I choice to avoid the possibility and use any other means possible, although at least most of my uni stuff is cancelled this week or missable, meaning that I only have to go in on Friday for a seminar and then I'm straight on the train up to London for the weekend from campus. Hopefully if all goes well tomorrow, the car will go in then or Thursday and I'll be able to pick it up, rejuvenated, early next week.

I've got so much cleaning to do tomorrow morning, besides the small mountain of washing up that I've accumulated over the last three days, including all the of the crockery and cutlery from the sunday roast that's still sitting on the living room table. I know you're probably going eww, gross but I'm currently trying to prove a point to my flatmate, who thinks nothing of leaving plates encrusted with ketchup and the remainders of her cereal and milk rotting in the living room for days at a time, or at least until I clean it up.

So tired am I of this daily ritual of picking up after others, that I decided to launch a campaign of education. Previously, whilst living with a boy who saw nothing wrong with leaving pasta in pans for a fortnight and considered licking his plate to be cleaning it [seriously, I'm not joking], my flatmates and I resorted to leaving his pans and dishes under his door once they had exceeded the grace period of a week. Once his naked foot had made contact with some very furry blue curry, he at least kept his filthy pots in his room, which probably explains the smell that wafted down the hallway whenever he opened his door.

Two years down the line, I have devised a new plan of action. I have instead assumed the role of accumulating as much dirty crockery as I possibly can, a role that my flatmate has apparently taken to with aplomb. So far, I'm doing reasonably well at this too- in the living room sits a tray loaded with 3 dirty plates, 4 bowls, a mug of gravy, two glasses devoid of Coke, two empty jars of mint sauce, a can of stale beer and heaps of spoons, knives and forks. In the kitchen, I have stopped washing up whatever I use in the process of making my meals, stacking an ever increasing pile next to the sink. I am basically becoming a slob, although not really. Whilst I can not wash up, unfortunately I still have to take out the bins, sort and put out the recycling, clean the oven, floor and surfaces because I know that if I don't, she certainly won't be moved to.

Unfortunately, I'm not sure that the parentals will agree with my methods, so tomorrow morning will dawn with me standing at the sink, elbow high in washing up.

Joy.

Blog Burgled!

2006-02-06T12:37:00.000Z

I've been blog-burgled!

Some of you who read blog may've noticed that over the weekend any posts I put up on here and any comments you may have posted are non-evident. No, I have not been on a clear out crusade or just lazy, instead my blogger apparently went insane. I'd like to take a moment here to say that blogger support have been absolutely NO help whatsoever.

The most I've had has been an automated reply that featured FAQs that had no relevance when I read them on the site and certainly had no added relevance when I read them a second time in the auto-email. So I sent yet another email detailing the problem and still nothing. [sighs]

Anyway, a recap of sorts now. So, Saturday morning I wake up, get dressed and decide to go for a walk and spend some money that I don't really have. I look out of my window when my car alarm gets set off by a passing lorry, only to notice a strange shadow on the bonnet. Thinking that it's probably dirt I think nothing more of it, deciding to check it on my way.

I get my bag and walk out of my flat and cross the road to see my car. When I get there, I stop dead in my tracks. Why? Well, the pictures below will be pretty self-explanatory.

My baby! So, I called the boyfriend who came and stood next to me in the freezing cold whilst I paid 55p a minute to speak to the police and file a crime report. It was very apparent that someone had decided to walk along roofs of cars, rather than the pavement. Luckily, not only had the yobs who did this left their footprints, a neighbour of mine- concerned about his own car- happened to glance out of the window and see the entire thing. He then jumped into his car and drove around the block, looking for the hooligans who'd felt it would be entertaining to jump off the roof of my landlady's car (also dented) and onto the bonnet of mine, and came across them in the kebab shop round the corner, where they were duly recorded on CCTV.

Forensics rocked up a few hours after I filed my report took photographs of the footprints and finger prints on all of the cars and took the video footage from the kebab shop. It was all very exciting and CSI-ish, and whilst I know that there is slim-to-no-chance of them being caught, I hold out hope as I have friends who committed this very crime a few years ago, being caught out by a footprint that one of their flip-flops left on a roof. They were caught, forced to pay fines and damages and got put on probation as they had no prior records.

With these kids, I hope their asses end up in juvie.

Long and short of it, my car has to be towed back up to London today and I am left vehicle-less. ARGH.

However, yesterday was a little better. The boyfriend and I went to see the really rather wonderful Jose Gonzalez, who found fame recently with the bouncing balls advert for Sony. If not, click the still below to see some more stills and jog your memory:

It would've been even better if I hadn't had some broadbacked badly permed chav blocking my view for most of the time after taking three attempts to heave her overweight ass onto the crammed bar where we were perched and blocking EVERYONE's view.

Right. I have to go call the towing company about my car. More later, provided this blog doesn't disappear.

Friday Friday Friday

2006-02-03T17:57:00.000Z

It's Friiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiday! YEAH! I've always loved Fridays, but I love the evenings on a whole new level since I was bestowed with afternoon seminars this term. I love coming home from them- I buy a paper on the way, walk through the door and cast off my folders, library books and heavy winter coat before flopping on the sofa and devouring my non-academic reading of choice and smoking a spliff. There is no better way to wind down.

As well as my newspaper, I can't help but read Jodie Marsh's car crash of a blog. Allow me to provide you with a few choice samples of Marsh's extraordinary wit and wisdom:

"Mind you, this is a paper that a few days ago called me a "grotty glamour girl". The editor of said rag is a feminist ginger bitch, ugly as sin, who alledgedly beats up her own bloke. Who the hell are they to call ME "grotty"...
I know that to Rebekah Wade (editor of the Sun), Barrymore isn't a threat. Her bloke isn't gonna run off with him and certainly wouldn't look at him in an appreciative way. If I, on the other hand, was given ten minutes on my own in a room with Ross Kemp, I reckon I could give him wet dreams over me forever more. That, my friends is why she won't let any of her staff say anything nice about me and why she won't work with me. I can't wait til she gets fired and a nice Ed takes over. I'll be back on them front pages again and she'll be trying to cling on to her bloke (probably by beating him over the head with a lamp while her new best friend Barrymore takes a dip in her pool with a fan he's met in a club). Ha ha. Let all the scum float round in their cess pit together I say. Who wants friends like Barrymore or Wade anyway?! Not I....." Wed 1st Feb 2006

I never thought I would find myself defending The Sun, but I have tremendous respect for Rebekah Wade, she's one of a handful of female editors and more power to her. Plus, anyone refuses la Marsh more publicity gets a big smiley next to their name in my book.

And now, another gem:

"Stevie has a new phone and his ring tone is one of the recent house tracks that all the clubs are playing. Every time it has rung in the last few hours, it's made me want to jump onto the nearest table and start gyrating my hips while stroking my own body." Thu 2nd Feb 2006

Classy. I bet you don't wear any pants either when you're dancing on the table, do you?

Okay, enough snarking on Jodie, although I'd strongly suggest having a look through her picture galleries, particularly number 12, which contains a very fetching picture of her vomit, which you can access here.And before you ask, it's pink, so it colour coordinates with the rest of her somewhat dubious ensemble, perhaps a porno homage to Angelica from the Rugrats?

Enjoy.

On being ill

2006-02-03T01:04:00.000Z

Does ANYONE out there know how to get rid of a cold?! This god damn virus has been sitting in my nose for the better part of a week and if I didn't know better, I'd think it was sinusitis again but I'm too scared to go to the doctor's and it is, again.

My last battle with sinusitis was about 18 months ago, after Reading 2004. After spending three days camping in marshland with our own river running right outside our tent, we were also subject to the burning plastic toxic smoke on the last night of the festival, which as luck would have it, blew straight into our tent.

Two days after the festival, I was due to fly to Prague with the boyfriend to stay with my mum, who was there filming Oliver Twist. When I got there, after a miserable flight, my mother took one look at me and summoned a doctor. I was taken to the hospital and after breathing in various tubes, taking x-rays of my lungs and having my nose and throat poked by various doctors who spoke to each other in czech, I was informed I had toxic poisoning and sinusitis. Basically, the smog from the final night had settled into a layer of nastiness in my lungs and had to fight it's way up and my sinus' were fucked to shreds. Cue antibiotics and advise to try and hack up as much of the shit in my lungs as possible.

Pleasant, right?

But now that same stuffiness is hitting me way after a normal cold should've left and I can't help wondering if it's a repeat of it all. I can't really afford to spend any more time in bed but with the weather as cold as it is, indoors seems a very good place to be. Althoug walking back from the pool hall in the weird suspended animation rain and plummeting temperatures probably won't help it much, if I'm honest.

Guess I'll just have to see what happens tomorrow.

Lefty

2006-02-01T23:32:00.000Z

I'm trying to teach myself to use my computer mouse with my left hand. Although I'm a lefty in most respects, I've always used my right hand for navigating my computer, although that's simply the way I was conditioned at school. When you're one of two lefties in a class of 20 and the teacher's already frowning at the way you hold your pencil, you don't suddenly ask to have the mouse switched round.

I just thought I'd try tonight because it suddenly struck me, it's never something that I've considered before and this could be a fun way of procrastination. I've had a little fun experimenting in paint tonight, as you'll see in the picture below.

It's harder than it looks. Try it and send me your efforts.

Toast(ed)

2006-02-01T19:35:00.000Z

It's probably not healthy to eat 5 slices of toast loaded with brussels pate in one day, but I just can't help myself. The boyfriend doesn't finish work til 9, so prince charming with a takeaway won't be here for a while. It's just sooo good.

I meant to have an active day today, getting things done. However, it didn't work out that way when I woke up and it was a deep dark grey outside. Instead, I rolled back over and went back to bed, where I have spent most of the day, with intermitent visits to the computer or the kitchen. I've only recently vacated my pyjamas in favour of a shower and clean clothes, as I figured it was the decent thing to do since the boyfriend will be traipsing in the cold, the least I could do was not smell.

I've finally regained the majority of my hearing but apparently only in one ear, which makes me feel very imbalanced. I've also got a slight sensitivity to loud noises, which makes me grateful that we didn't go bowling again tonight. I wish this cold would just go away. ARGH.

Might just go make some more toast to placate myself...

2:15

2006-01-31T02:13:00.000Z

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?!

2006-01-30T14:56:00.000Z

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

2006-01-30T02:10:00.000Z

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

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

hearing under water

2006-01-29T23:44:00.000Z

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

2006-01-28T17:11:00.000Z

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.

2006-01-28T15:01:00.000Z

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

2006-01-26T17:53:00.000Z

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

2006-01-26T10:13:00.000Z

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

2006-01-25T17:58:00.000Z

...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.

2006-01-25T00:18:00.000Z

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.

2006-01-20T18:43:00.000Z

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?!

2006-01-20T00:02:00.000Z

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

2006-01-19T21:45:00.000Z

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

2006-01-19T18:26:00.000Z

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

2006-01-16T23:43:00.000Z

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.

2006-01-15T01:38:00.000Z

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

2006-01-14T13:13:00.000Z

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.

2006-01-13T17:44:00.000Z

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

2006-01-13T16:43:00.000Z

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

2006-01-12T00:54:00.000Z

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!'"

2006-01-10T19:47:00.000Z

...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

2006-01-09T16:51:00.000Z

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

2006-01-02T23:58:00.000Z

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.

Did Jason really Do Lulu?

2005-12-17T00:12:00.000Z

yes, its Friday night and I've stayed in, not because I'm lame but because I tried to tackle the nightmare that is Oxford Street in the fortnight before Christmas. I've never seen anything like it. I try to avoid it but my mother's present of a Topshop gift card was burning a hole in my pocket and there was a dress I had to have. I still don't like taking the tube but I'd rather not pay £8 congestion charge, even though I end up spending roughly the same on public transport. Ken Livingstone and NCP are not getting my hard scrimped cash. Oh no.

Anyway, to anyone who's confused by the title of this entry, allow me to explain. This evening, lying on my bean bag, smoking my joint (god, aren't I a cliche?) I watched Friday Night with Jonathan Ross, well, flipping between that and Jimmy Carr on Channel 4 to be honest. The first couple of guests didn't really interest me, I was waiting for the big guns, Take That. Ooh I used to love them. Not in the screaming, jumping up and down, my face covered in eyeliner tattoos at sweaty stadium tours kinda love, no. Thank God, at the time I was still too young for all of that. Anyway, I digress. So there they all are, crammed onto JR's ugly-beautiful sofa like a bunch of good looking sardines when and I'm not entirely sure how (that would be the weed) but the topic of Lulu came up.

The (much) older singer had released a single, relight my fire with them many eons ago, back when I was still in pigtails. For years there were rumours that one of the guys from the group had slept with Lulu but noone ever really knew for sure who precisely it was. Tonight, after a bit of to-ing and fro-ing between Jason and Howard, it was revealed that it was in fact Jason. I'd always had money on it being Robbie, but fair play.

Finally, as many of you may have noticed, I haven't been posting in the last week. This is because I am back in London. This directly hinders me in all internet activities as:

1. I am on dial-up and I am not a patient person. AOL likes to send me broadband literature but will they give me broadband? No.

2. The only computers that AOL will allow onto the internet are the two macs in our lives, my mother's laptop and the new pretty G5, which for all the speed I'm seeing on my connection may as well be one of those monstrous beasts from the 80s. I also hate macs. I was raised on windows and damn it, I'm forever enslaved to Bill Gates. The keyboard is weird and feels too small, there's no right-click button on the mouse and... my list of complaints is endless.

For these reasons, you probably won't hear much from me over the festive season as it takes me about three times as long on this thing than it does on my lovely little Toshiba laptop. There is the possibility that we may acquire broadband over the course of the next few weeks but I doubt it.

Enjoy the holidays.

Explosions at dawn

2005-12-11T18:41:00.000Z

This morning, back at my London home, the boyfriend and I were woken by the sound of a muffled explosion. Whilst I simply rolled back over, momentarily stirred, the boyfriend heard what sounded like tiles falling onto or off the roof. Dazed by the noise, he told himself it was nothing and went back to sleep. It was still too dark to see the plume of smoke gradually emerging somewhere off in distance out of my window.

The source of this plume of smoke was the oil refinery in Hemel Hempstead blowing up bit by bit after what's currently considered an 'accident'. Throughout the morning, my family and I watched the big grey cloud drift slowly over most of West London. As we drove back down this afternoon, I annoyed my boyfriend by constantly marvelling at the massive plume and remarking on the rather spectacular sunset that was the result of the smoke.

Apparently, the blast was heard as far away as the Netherlands. Not really surprising when there's 150,000 tonnes of petrol, diesel and aviation fuel as your accelerant. We certainly heard it 20-odd miles away, but can you imagine living two roads over from this giant factory? Your patio doors would be ruined.

They're predicting that the fire will carry on for a few days until the fuel's burnt away, so here's hoping for a bit of rain over the next few days.

I can't believe I'm saying that when I have to drive to London again tomorrow.

why are pirates, pirates?

2005-12-09T19:25:00.000Z

Because they arrrrrrrre! I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. As I've mentioned before, yesterday was my 22nd birthday as well as the final essay deadline day. To mark the occasion, I decided it would be fun if we all dressed up as pirates. Never have I seen people take to fancy dress with such enthusiasm, especially from the twentysomething males of the group.

So, plastic swords in the air and eyepatches affecting our spacial awareness, we hit the town to wreak some havoc. I don't think there was any property damage, unless one of my friends managed to graf somewhere whilst I wasn't looking. We narrowly escaped being hauled over by the police who were managing the simultaneous chucking out time of a gig and several bars. Our plastic swords apparently looked a little bit too realistic.

Let's just say I'm a little bit too hungover to type much more, so I'll leave you all with a picture from the night:

girls make better pirates

The secret's out.

2005-12-07T13:52:00.000Z

I've been found. I thought that to all intents and purposes, I was fairly anonymous in this enormous web universe. After spending my formative teenage years posting at ubbs at sites such as narcissistic.org and abuse over at roadrage, I thought that owing to being two computers down the line, as well as several sites, I thought that student was relatively untouched and overlooked. I don't promote, I'm not really bothered.

But someone else has.

And they are in possession of a very dubious mp3 of my friend Hannah and I singing our drunken classic 'Let Me Lick Your Face'. Please, Shiny McShine, get in touch and send me a copy of that mp3, it's been a long time since I had a copy of that. Also, please identify yourself. Who are you? How did you find me? Why can't chickens fly?

This means nothing to most people, hell, noone reads this, so it is only me, but I want that song. It's like something to throw in the scrap book from when I was 15.

Meh. I'm only getting so navel gazingly introspective because it's my 22nd birthday tomorrow.

Ooh Arr!

2005-12-07T00:19:00.000Z

Oh ye gods, I'm bored. Everyone else still powering through their essays, noone to go into town with. I even cleaned the bathroom today, I was that bored. Not the washing up though, that seems to be quite contentedly growing. Besides which, I'm sure the flatmate will bugger off to her boyfriend's in due course and leave it for me to do, say, on my birthday- this thursday.

Thursday also happens to be essay giving in day so my social life is thus reborn on this day too. To mark the double occasion, my friends and I have decided to go on a jolly binge drinking jaunt dressed as pirates.

So, if you're in a seaside pub this thursday, I'll be the one with the eye patch and the cutlass.

The Ethics of a Flatshare

2005-12-04T14:46:00.000Z

This year, I opted to live with only one person, after having lived in a house of 12 in the first year and a house of 4 in the second. In every dwelling, certain issues crop up naturally, and for the most part they're often quickly resolved, although there are some that are left to simmer, untouched, until someone upsets the proverbial pot or fucks with the oven.

The majority of time, I have no issue with my new flatmate. Bar a fight over the washing up two weeks ago, we get along well. But for the last two days I must confess, I have been plotting her demise. The reason for such a drastic move you ask? Her alarm clock.

The flatmate has one of those plug-in radio alarm clocks that doesn't require manual resetting (ie pushing a button) that a lot of alarm clocks have. It does however, have an incredibly irritating screech of a wake up call.

I think you know where this is going.

Despite the howling call of the alarm clock, my flatmate barely registers and usually just turns over, letting the wail continue until I am forced out of bed to shout at her. Whilst this sometimes has it's benefits, early start etc, it's not always the case.

For the last three nights, the flatmate has fucked off to her boyfriend's house, neglecting to switch off her alarm before she left. So, for the past three mornings including today, SUNDAY, I have been summoned out of bed by the screeching plastic beast in order to shut it up. Despite my best efforts of pressing a selection of buttons, I am unable to render the little bugger silent.

This morning, I almost managed to blank its cries out, except that it intergrated its ear splitting noise into my dream, culminating in me going from a very lovely cosy dream to a horrific nightmare where the noise was a bomb blast.

Once again, I stumbled out of bed, slammed the off button, narrowly missing the snooze - that would've been a disaster. Then I fell back into bed, exhausted in my semi-sleep state and passed out until 1pm. It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't a sunday. It wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't ill. It wouldn't be so bad if it hadn't happened for three fucking days in a row.

After much ethical/moral debating (okay, not really) I've decided that it's more than fair that if she doesn't come back tonight and deal with it herself tomorrow morning it's my hammer, not my finger, that I'm using to shut it up.

PS: it's come to my attention at dear old blogger.com has changed its format for posts and no longer has a manual setting for times posted. Some of my earlier posts may seem to have strange time posts, so in those cases, I believe its plus or minus eight hours. For this reason, someone out there sucks.

That's all the vitriol you're getting for now.

Filling your day, part one

2005-12-02T18:06:00.000Z

So today, apart from doing laundry and going into town- only to be driven back home by arctic weather- I've managed to waste vast amounts of time online. Firstly, there was the excellent popbitch mailout, followed closely by Holy Moly! mailout, which threw up this gross little gem. When I say threw up, I believe I'm not far off the mark. The precise context of this image was as follows:

So, what shade is bin-nosed glamour slop Jodie Marsh exactly?

Photoshop says #BA7C4B.

Holy Moly says "Kebab".

I'm with Holy Moly on this one.

Other than that, I've also been simultaneously grossing myself out and laughing my ass off at the wonderful awfulplasticsurgery.com.

Go. Look. Laugh until you wet your pants at what people will do to themselves willingly.

Stick a fork in me...

2005-12-02T12:24:00.000Z

because, ladies and gentlemen, I am DONE. As of 4 pm yesterday, I am free. My last piece of assessed work, the 2000 essay, is cosily settled in the arts department office. It's an odd thing, freedom. You spend so long hankering after it, salivating at the thought of that elusive lie-in, that when it comes, you're not entirely sure what to do with it.

It's strange suddenly not to have something hanging over my head. I am home yesterday after handing in my essay, put my bag down and tried to focus on what I had to do next to satisfy the little voice niggling at the back of my head. But I couldn't, because there is no more work. Everyone around me is still pumping out essays, grumbling about the lack of sleep and library cues, whereas I am free of uni burden.

And I feel guilty. I know I have nothing to feel guilty about - for the last two weeks I too have found myself becoming overly familiar with the library as the scramble for books reached its peak but I've also been reasonably lucky. Although it didn't seem like it at the time, my welsh presentation in week 2 was a god send. I would hate to have had yet another piece of work in the final two weeks of term, as testified by those whose presentations I've watched in the last week and the deep rings around their eyes.

Unfortunately, there's a downside to having no work to do. Like I said, everyone else is still slogging away, meaning there's noone to play with. So I will sit and twiddle my thumbs alone for now, filling my days with doing three weeks of laundry and generally sorting my life out.

Yeay.

will work for clean socks

2005-11-30T20:09:00.000Z

Some days, I surprise even myself. In the last seven hours, I've written a 2000 word essay from scratch, having woken up with a worse version of the fluey symptoms that I went to bed with. It usually takes me two days or so to write a 2000 word essay but owing to my presentation yesterday and the time that took, I was just glad that I'd done my preparation last week.

This is the first time I've been so organised. I marvel at this because I've never been organised. I am messy, I am scatty, I am also a pothead. The chances therefore of something like this happening are so small, so absolutely miniscule that I feel like I've won the lottery or something really quite wonderful.

It may not be a great essay but under my constraints and my inner feelings of cotton-wool-head that seems to come with the flu, I will consider this an acheivement, at least until I get my mark.

So that's it, the final piece of work that I have left. And it's done. Everyone else is still beavering away, and I'll get to spend my days catching up on sorting my life out. I have three weeks worth of laundry to do and no clean sheets left. I am in desperate need of clean socks, the opportunity to see my boyfriend and generally, reclaim my life.

As of 4pm tomorrow, I will be found in my local laundrette, reading a magazine- something I haven't done in a while.

Week nine jibberish

2005-11-30T00:44:00.000Z

I am once again joyous. Early this afternoon, I gave my presentation on Pretty Woman. BANG! Another piece down, thank God.

Now only a 2000 word essay stands in my way. I have aprroximately 36 hours in which to write it, deadline of 4pm on Thursday. Can I do it? Probably. Will I suffer at the hands of sleep deprivation again? Probably.

ARGH.

This post probably makes little, or no, sense. The more academic work I am forced to do, the less capable my brain becomes when it comes to simple tasks such as forming a sentence, or navigating around Sainsburys. I could draw a graph about it, charting the change. Instead, I'll do us all a favour and go to bed now.

Zzz.

Oh Fuck, It's Sunday

2005-11-27T20:19:00.000Z

Oh god, it's Sunday. I hate Sundays. Well, I like Sunday-day, but Sunday night is my worst part of the week. When I was at school, I'd be sitting at my desk surrounded by textbooks, head in hands.

These days my anguish is not caused by the loads of homework due for the following morning but the morning itself. Tomorrow I have a 9am lecture. Whilst those of you who have chosen the office monkey route of life may cry 'so what?!', lest I remind you I am a student who mostly does not rise before 10:30- and that's an early start. Whilst the working population is crammed between someone else's sweaty armpit and the token lunatic on an overcrowded train, I like to be tucked up under my goosedown Habitat duvet, courtesy of the Student Loans Company.

And amongst these palid grey workers, I'd like you to find me one person, just one person who actually thinks 9am Monday is okay. The world would be a happier place if nothing could be done before 11am on that particular day. No more disgruntled workers walking in with AK47s, sleep deprived and probably rain sodden, that's for sure.

So tomorrow morning, I will wake up at the bumcrack of dawn, when it's still dark- I'm morally opposed to this. If the sun ain't up, then neither am I. I will force myself into the shower, pray that the plumming hasn't gone mad and that there's some hot water.

At least I am not alone. The other 30 odd students on my course all turn up as equally blurry eyed and oddly dressed as I do, now prepared for the igloo like climate in our lecture hall. I swear I've even seen one girl with those pocket heat packets that you crack for warmth. Over the weeks, I've tried to maintain some sort of fashion dignity but as term goes on and the temperature rapidly drops, my outfits are becoming more obscure. I've recently rediscovered some Abercrombie longjohns that my mother bought me for trips to Eastern Europe in the winter (more common in my family than you'd think). I have now taken to wearing them religiously under my skinny jeans in some vague stab at warmth and stylishness but when I walk into any room above freezing, I begin to sweat rapidly.

Maybe tomorrow I'll finally kick back and wear my sweatpants. Tucked into my uggs. Whilst part of me shudders at the disgustingness of this look, the comfort monster in me can't help but salivate at the idea of cosiness.

I have vague notions of what might win.

**as I'm a fan of shameless plugging, visit halagoogoo.com. Glam rock in fancy dress, you know you want it.

Doing a Becker...

2005-11-26T23:55:00.000Z

Has anyone else noticed that the woman at the beginning of the Sandals advert bears more than a passing resemblance to Linda Barker, she who will endorse anything vaguely home related? Who could forget those disturbing commercials with David Seaman?

Today's blog will have to be equivalent in terms of length to Boris Becker's visit to Nobu's janitorial closet as myy deadlines are rapidly approaching and the panic is setting in, although not as much as it should as my essay deadline's been pushed back to Thursday. Thank the lord for the incompetence of the administration department.

So today, I'll leave you to entertain yourselves with Noel Edmunds.

Neighbours, suburban TV crack?

2005-11-23T01:35:00.000Z

Another week, another morning being rudely awoken by the builders upstairs. As I type, they're drilling directly above me, rendering even thinking impossible. I just hope they get done before Neighbours starts.

I really shouldn't be watching TV, or for that matter blogging, when I have this much work but the deadlines are still a week away and to a procrastinator such as myself, this is a time to finely hone skills such as doodling and feed my addiction for daytime TV.

Allow me to sample my TV choices for you on an average weekday, in between the heady rush of my 11 hour uni week. I begin my day, between the hours of 10:30 and 12:30, with This Morning. I used to watch BBC in the morning, but since they brought back Philip Schofield to my mornings, well, that was it. It all harks back to saturday mornings watching him and Sarah Green on the Live and Kicking couch and those waves of nostalgia are oddly calming when having to wake before noon. However, I WOULD sack the stylist as I honestly can't believe the trite they allow in this 'fashion' segment. Pah.

Once Phil and Ferne have left my screen, I face a tricky decision - flick over to BBC for the remains of Bargain Hunt or stay for the ITV news. Frequently, I stick with the news on this channel, although I find it hard to digest with its sensationalist claims- a bit like what would happen if The News of the World or Daily Mail suddenly became a programme.

After I've finished with ITV news at 1:00, I often switch over for the BBC news. This is news I like, a bit more level and, well, its the BBC. Since I started at university, the one thing that I can't quite get my head around is the regional news. As a native londoner, I have become accustomed to stories of violence, drugs and generally, the grimier underbelly of the city. My local news on the other hand is filled with the plight of local wildlife and primary school initiatives, with only the odd mugging or two thrown in once a fortnight. As barbaric as it may sound, I find myself hoping for something a little grittier.

However, regional news is small fry and for this reason, I nominate this as a good time to take a quick shower, making it back in time to check the weather report, before the jewel in the crown of daytime TV scheduling, NEIGHBOURS! Over the years when I was at school, I drifted away from Neighbours but entering the realms of uni (and visiting the country of origin for this wonderful soap) has stirred something in me and made me LOVE it.

Neighbours is like crack.

I KNOW I shouldn't watch it, let alone twice a day. I KNOW I schedule my working week around this show and that it's very sad. I KNOW that if ever there was going to be a reason for me to fail my degree, it would be Neighbours. Neighbours is my daily treat.

But still I can't stop watching.

However, I am not alone. Since I started living in student accomodation, I have been surrounded by other Neighbours addicts. We gather in each other's rooms, huddling around TVs and sigh with happy relief as one as the opening bars of the theme song flood the room, getting our first hit. I have to admit that frequently, I'll watch Neighbours twice a day. Why not? There's nothing else even semi-decent during those particular slots [1:40-2:05 and 5:35-6:00 for those of you non-converts]. Sure, I could be out doing something but in the current Siberian climates, I'd rather be on the sofa with a cup of tea, blanket and Ramsey Street on the screen. I'm not alone though. Last year during an afternoon viewing of Neighbours with some friends and just how awful it was that we watched twice a day, my friend George suddenly piped up 'Well you have to don't you? Alone at lunchtime in your room and then with everyone else in the afternoon so you can discuss it.' I was dumbfounded. At last, someone had finally voiced this secret taboo that my flatmates and I lived with.

Enough about Neighbours. I'm sounding like some kind of weird born-again convert, which I suppose in a way, I am. After Neighbours, I am lulled into a nap or lunch by Doctors. I'm in two minds about this programme, I think I preferred the single episodic style to the continuous plot episodes now. Doctors (2:05 - 2:30) is not what keeps me on BBC1 though. The real reason is Diagnosis Murder (2:30-3:30)- Dick Van Dyke, a murder plot and some plucky younger sidekicks - what's not to love about this show?

This is the point where my loyalty to BBC1 fades and I switch to Channel 4 for Countdown (3:30-4:15). I'm yet to meet anyone who doesn't like this show. I mean it. The late Richard Whiteley was marvellous and I wasn't sure how much I'd like it when Des Lynham took over but credit where it's due - he filled some pretty big shoes.

And now, we come to the show that I first mentioned in my blog, my latest addition, designed to fill the gap, my one opportunity to turn off my TV and get outside. Deal or No Deal ended all hope of breathing in some fresh air. Noel Edmunds has been missing from our screens for some time and yes, the first time I watched this show, I did think 'Where's Mr. Blobby?'. A quick summary: 22 people, 22 boxes with sums of money between 1p and £250,000. 1 contestant and his box join Noel to find the one with £250,000. There's a banker and lots of tension. Watch it because I can't be
bothered to summarise the rest. 'Why?' I hear you ask. Need you ask?

IT'S NEIGHBOURS TIME!

Hurrahs all round

2005-11-21T05:46:00.000Z

Hurrah! I have reasons to celebrate!

Firstly, the simpler of the two - last night, I had my first ever poker win of £10. Hurrah!

And now to the second, a slightly complicated tale. I apologise if the following makes no sense, telling an abbreviated version of this story is a bit like trying to fit the dictionary on a piece of A4 paper...

Last term, at my dear institution of higher learning, we were given four choices to pick from for our final course this year. These included the following: Documentary II (following on from Documentary I which was subsequently cancelled), Hollywood Comedian Comedy, Race and Ethnicity and Post 1960s British Cinema. Eager as beavers, we all signed up to our chosen courses, with many people choosing the comedy course or British cinema.

A few weeks later, word spread that Documentary I and II had been cancelled. Annoyance levels were high as this was one of the most in demand courses offered -every film studies major I'm friendly with selected this as their first choice- but then we were struck with another blow, Comedy was cancelled.

So now, we had two choices- Race and Ethnicity or British Cinema, except that there wasn't really a choice as they carried different weighting - 18 and 30 credits respectably. Therefore, if you were a major, as I am, you had no choice in which course you were put on. Suddenly, my entire film class was to be reunited in Race and Ethnicity, the only choice out of the original four. Let me mention at this point that weighting was NOT mentioned when we were given our choice forms in the previous academic year.
Nor was the fact that our department was to merge with the Media Studies department and that the film students would be forced to do media courses for the duration of the Autumn term. There is no love lost between these two departments on a good day, so tensions were at an all time high.

Hence the already agrieved film students becoming even more agitated when we found out that we were being effectively farmed out to the Cultural Studies department, via Media. Cue much angry ranting at course tutors, writing of angry letters and petitions and finally, success.

On Thursday, we were all sent a very condescending email about how a 'small minority' of us would be allowed to do Hollywood Comedian Comedy. I will dig out the email in a future post, right now I'm still a little giddy from it all.

So Hurrah. Write the Wrong worked. Now, if only I could petition the beings above for warmer weather...

The grips of winter.

2005-11-19T05:31:00.000Z

Oh. Fuck. It's. COLD. Seriously, last night walking back from Circus Oz to the taxi rank, we crunched across frosty grass and walked silently, each too cold to talk, listening to the sound of our teeth chattering.

What's happened? It's like bloody Siberia outside. Waiting for some friends outside the appointed restaurant we'd chosen for lunch, the boyfriend and I were forced to walk up and down the street in a bid to keep warm. We even went into the local library in an effort to ward off hypothermia, and this was mid-afternoonish. I dread going outside, as I have to shortly. I've taken every effort to layer up- fur lined booted, long johns, jeans, long top, hoodie and extreme polar jacket, as well as a scarf, hat and gloves.

I bet I get frostbite on my nose.

loud fights and whispered conversations

2005-11-17T03:20:00.000Z

Last night I had a fight with my boyfriend. It was one of the most bizarre to date, for reasons as follow:

1. The fight we had took place within a very loud local rock club, whilst something by Pantera was playing in the background.

2. We were located either by the speakers or right behind the dance floor for the duration of the fight.

3. When fighting, we were both rather drunk.

For the reasons above, I'm not even entirely sure that the fight we were having was the same one, as neither of us could really hear the other, resulting in us both having to shout directly into one another's ears. Eventually, I left when it was clear nothing was to be resolved then and there, heading home and being accosted by a slimey white van man who offered me a lift the top of the hill. Luckily, I was literally at my gate, so I managed to pipe out a polite, if slightly on edge "No thank you!" and ran to my front door. Phew.

So today, Kate and I headed into town for a spot of retail therapy and lunch, a combination when presented to me will instantly lift my mood, although today I have to say, not much. I ended up spending money that I don't really have and can't really afford. However, I'm now in possession of a new rather swish black Vintage Process hoodie, a skull and cross bones vest top and two clutch bags. The mission for a silver clutch bag has been long and arduous. I've spent hours online, hanging around on ebay but nothing has really grabbed me. They've been too small, or too shiny, the wrong metallic shade, with odd openings, nothing has been right.

Anyway, I bought two- a larger silver one which isn't quite the pewter I'd like but it'll do as nowhere seems to do what I'm after, and a sparkly green leather one with studded detailing, but I figure I'll just hide that side. It's a bit smaller than the silver one, hence quite useful for nights of less junk.

I really shouldn't have spent the money. I really shouldn't have bought both bags. In a way, it's my anger towards my boyfriend coming out. After much to-ing and fro-ing about what I wanted for our two year anniversary, I told him a silver, preferably leather clutch bag. For a long time, as I said earlier, the search was fruitless. But then, so was my physical shopping habit. It's getting so bitterly cold so suddenly that my trips out of the flat, bar the necessary, have been few and far between.

[sigh] I should go photocopy. I need to return books for my film presentation and go scout for books I need to write my english worldwide essay this weekend. It's funny how the library changes throughout the year- at the beginning of term, there's usually a handful of third years and eager over-achievers desperate to get books before anyone else. It's only around week 6 that things get busy, and by next week it'll be busier than the on-campus club during freshers week. So at least amongest all the drudgery of the mountains of work, there is at least the social aspect of being able to catch up with people you haven't seen all term as all you scour the bookshelves in vain.

This is what my life will soon be reduced to, socialising in the library. But can it really be a conversation if you're both whispering?[sigh]

BANG!

2005-11-16T03:05:00.000Z

Oof, no posts for a few days- Over the weekend, I made a trip back home to indulge in the luxuries of my mother's house. Unfortunately, one of the luxuries that is not afforded is broadband, so I sent the weekend in internet Siberia, letting my library fines hike themselves up by another fiver simply because I couldn't handle the pain of slow loading pages. I know that good things come to those who wait but on a timeout site, jack shit comes to those who have to wait for their pages to load.

Last night, I tried to post but my computer was hijacked by Ellie, who subsequently navigated the page away from my pending post before I'd had a chance to save it.

[sigh]

Anyway. My flatmate now has a new occupation. It seems that the word of myspace.com appears to have her in the grips of early stage addiction. For the last two nights, she's stayed up til 4 am posting and tweaking.

When the builders came in this morning and started to lay a new floor directly above my head at 7:30, you can imagine that I was not impressed, and my flatmate even less impresssed.

We were eventually forced out of bed by the relentless banging, which appeared to only be occuring in the vicinity of our beds, to the living room where both of us watched GMTV for the first time in three years. I personally prefer to sleep until This Morning, waking only when Philip and Fern are firmly installed on my screen.

Anyway, I'm hungry.

"It would be like cutting off my left hand.."

2005-11-09T23:06:00.000Z

This morning, in leiu of actually doing some work, I attempted to upgrade my mobile phone as our cleaning products have disappeared to my flatmate's boyfriend's house, meaning that I'm not able to exert my energy elsewhere.

So far, four phone calls. So far, no upgrade.

On my first attempt, I was passed from Upgrades to Customer Services, where I was promptly told that I wasn't allowed to access my own account. Right. After ranting at the obnoxious assistant, I hung up, hit the internet to be armed, and hit redial.

This time, going on information that I had been given by the first woman in Upgrades during my last call, I headed straight for the Customer Services option from the robot menu. A mechanical voice told me to redial on a different number. Ho hum.

Third call, different number, another robotic voice, which informs me that this number is no longer in use and to please dial the original number.

As I once again redial the first number, I'm beginning to feel every so slightly annoyed. After manoeuvering through the robotic voice menu, avoiding both the Upgrade and Customer Services buttons, I finally got hold of a human at the other end. Hallelujah.

However, what ensued was a complete farce. After finally being granted access to my account and explaining that I would like to upgrade my handset after six months as the one they sold me last time was cack, spend a small fortune with your services, yadda yadda yadda, the surprisingly sympathetic phone jockey put me on hold whilst she rang Upgrades to have a gander.

Some delightfully bland pop blared into my ear as I sat patiently on hold. Click. 'Hi, sorry, no can do. But you say the problem is your handset?'

Once again, I reiterated my story- when I have paid for a handset, I expect it to work correctly. As a text reliant user, I don't feel my handset is working properly when SMS messages take four days to arrive in my inbox. Nor do I feel that all is well with my handset when the display flips upside down whilst I am using it.
'Let me put you on hold, I'll get on the phone to Nokia about this.'

Once again, my ear is blasted with the cheesiest of pop as I wait and wait. Click. 'Hi, sorry, Nokia can't give you a replacement handset, but they can repair it for you.' She then calmly adds that it would probably take about a week, maybe two. To this, I found myself calmly replying that I was a student and therefore unable to afford both a landline AND a mobile, giving them my only communication porthole with the world would be a bit like cutting off my left hand too.
The thing is, if I thought it was just my phone, then maybe I would consider sending it off. Unfortunately for Nokia, I've met other people with the same phone and the same gripes, so repairing it probably won't go a long way.

Again, there's nothing else they can do.

I feel like screaming blue murder at these people. Can I BUY a handset? Well, yes, for £300. Option shot down. I then proceed to point out that surely it's in the company's interest for me, the loyal customer, to have a phone that works, that I can use. A working phone means I will use it, the more I use it,the more money I will spend with the company. Everybody wins.

Sympathetic phone jockey emphasises and agrees that the system is ridiculous. I hope for her sake that the phone calls aren't recorded, or she could end up like one of my friends, Mark*.

Mark was a first year student I knew who supplemented his student loan with a part time job working for a large multimedia company in their customer services department. After working there for a while, listening day in day out to peoples' complaints, Mark finally cracked one day and day to agree with a customer who was ranting about the lack of service he received and about the company's CEO. A few days later, he arrived at work, to be called into the floor manager's office, where once he was seated, a small tape recorder was produced. The floor manager pressed play and the above conversation thundered out.

Mark was promptly fired and escorted out of the building by security. So perhaps this is why so many of customer services workers are snipey and rude. They simply fear that if they are vaguely nice to the customer, they risk the firing squad.

Enough story telling for today, I've spent far too much time griping and not enough time thinking about lunch.

[* -name changed to protect former employee's nuts from being mangled by heavies]

Minus wisdom teeth but plus a research project...

2005-11-08T23:10:00.000Z

Week six of term and with a week of severe procrastination behind me, last Friday the universe decided to punish me for my laziness. I skipped along to my dentist's office, expecting just a check up and maybe a bollocking over my sugar habit but oh no, it was worse than that. Far worse.

Before I know it, comments are flying at me about whipping out my wisdom teeth 'now that I'm here' (what?! where's my baking soda clean gone?) and suddenly I'm on my back with a bright light being aimed directly at my eyes and my dentist is looking slightly manic as he brandishs one of those awful dental injection needles at me. After this, my whirling dervish of a dentist whips off upstairs 'to prep for surgery' (WHAT?! when did this become an operation?) and the nurse begins to ask me questions just as I lose all control of my face.

Why do they do this? Surely, when you're losing all feeling in your tongue and most of your mouth, it's best to leave the patient to sit quietly, perhaps with a magazine, rather than force them to risk the embarassing humiliation of drooling all over themselves as they try in vain to stop themselves from accidentally biting down on their numb tongues whilst simultaneously trying to answer questions about where they're going on their next holiday.

Needless to say, soon I couldn't feel a thing and my dentist reappeared, his slightly mad man-ish curls bouncing around him - aha! So, he was fixing his hair, not donning scrubs. Phew.

I will spare you most of the gory details but I will tell you this: the two top wisdom teeth popped out with no problems but my lower left, which was coming in horizontally was one bastard of a tooth.

Following my experience, I'd like to warn those of you out there, do NOT get your wisdom teeth removed when you have any vague plans whatsoever. I spent most of friday evening and the rest of the weekend high as a kite on a mixture of penicillin and super strength ibuprofen, spiked with other delightful numbing drugs, meaning there's no way that I can operate power tools, nor my car.

And now, four days on from my dentist inflicted torture, whilst the pain has subsided to a tolerable level but still to the point where loud noises make my teeth ache, I've suddenly stumbled upon the fact that my Research Project proposal form, the first step on the journey of an 8000 word dissertation, has to be ready for Thursday in some reasonably legible, coherent and fact based form.

Two days to plow through as much data as Ofcom can supply me with, in order to come up with some kind of hypothesis.

ARGH. If this wasn't bad enough, neither my flatmate nor I can figure out the intricate workings of our boiler, which we suspect might be some Ikea-like monstrosity, as the instructions all appear to be in Swedish and have apparently no mention of how to reset the timer device. I am doomed to shiver at my computer forever.

Ah, another academic year begins...

2005-10-11T00:35:00.000Z

we find our heroine barely into week two of her final year. The work is already beginning to literally pile up around her- a presentation on the Welsh language (Welsh?! WELSH?! why?) due on thursday, books lie scattered across the floor, notes enscribed on loose leaf pages, crumpled messily and shoved under the sofa. Let us not forget the 8000 word dissertation that constantly looms like a dark cloud on the horizon. Read this! Outline that! WELSH WELSH WELSH. Enough third person. Ahem.

On top of it all, the new flat has awful reception and the freeview box which bought much joy in the previous house is now all but useless, unless you happen to have a penchant for the trite that passes as children's programming, CBeebies, which I don't.

Despite this, I have spent most of the day camped out on our currently baseless sofa (another story in itself), which is still rather uncomfortable, staring at the grainy squiggly lined image of BBC1. For some reason, we have little or no reception and so staring at the TV is not recommended, unless you wish to either hypnotise yourself or acquire an eye condition.

At this point, this doesn't really seem like it would be a bad idea... Somehow, through my own incompetence and some miscommunication, I have landed the role of week 2 seminar presenter, topic of (no) choice, WELSH.

revision is a dirty word

2005-06-02T03:20:00.000Z

It's the 1st of June, and we all know what that means. Up and down the country, millions of young people are in the midst of exam fever- waking at four in the morning, panicking about the chemical formula for glucose, conjugating verbs and god knows what else. And whilst many duly revise, working hard and achieving that semi-transparent glow of those who spend too much time in front of a computer, there are also those who stick two fingers up to their notes (provided that they have any) and instead fill their time with other relentless rubbish. Welcome the procrastinator.

But I'm worse than your average hormonally challenged 16 year old, wringing their hands over a poxy maths paper. Oh no, I'm worse. You see, I should know better - I've scraped through both GCSEs and A-levels by the skin of my revision tolerance. Never one to hit the books, I spent most of my teen years doing what I considered far more productive than long division - smoking cigarettes in the park, seeing my boyfriend or generally getting up to things that I still dare not tell my mother about.

Now at the ripe old age of 21 and as a second year university student, I definitely should know better. Like my contemporaries, I should be fighting over the carrels and dictionaries in the library, but instead I seek the comfort of my living room. You see, I'm a born procrastinator. And now, far away from the comforts of home and the supervision of my parents- who although largely absent would once in a while intervene and force me to spend a day doodling in front of my english books- I have found whole new ways to be counter productive in my student house. The endless pile of washing up has disappeared as I and my flatmates can suddenly leave no plate dirty for more than 20 minutes, as long as it keeps us from staring dispassionately at notes that we can't read anyway.

Largely owing to the fact that I no longer have the option of doing laundry to fill my afternoons and that my room is the cleanest it has ever been, as well as that bastard crazy frog advert having driven me from TV, my procrastination hobby of choice, I have turned to blog as my solace.