Great, Now we're all con-dem'd!

What a disappointment.

Now I’m eighteen, I got the vote for the very first time. There I was, strolling down my road on an overcast 6^th of May until I saw that iconic sign attached to a local primary school: “Polling Station”. I mean, what could be more fun than going ‘Polling’?!

Upon reading that sign, I shot back up the road with all the urgency of a man caught short after eating a dodgy kebab – donned my bike’s crash helmet, and wrapped myself in my bed sheets in order to provide myself armour from the “Polling”. Slowly and surely, I worked my way back to the station – took a deep breath – got ready for a “polling” of my lifetime, and with an almighty scream, kicked the door as hard as I could before doing a back flip into the room so I had the element of surprise.

When my feet made contact with the floor, and my vision stabilised – what did I see? People fighting with polls? Polls being used to volt MPs into the world of politics?

No.

I saw 78-year-old Maureen. She stared at me as if I were possessed – and silently slipped me a “polling card”. No violence, No polls – Just cross the box and get out. I hadn’t felt that low since my mum sat me down, and told me that Santa wasn’t real…Just one week prior.

Anyway – Unless you’ve been living with your head under a rock for the past month, you’ve probably noticed that David Camwrong is now our PM. Which is fantastic…If you are rich! Yes, he’s “Toff on crime, Toff on the causes of crime” – but what did Gordon do wrong? Yes, he called that bigot a bigot – but who cares what he says in the privacy of his own car? I’m sure Camwrong says much the same in the privacy of his own lair over a nice glass of lizard blood!

One thing I will draw your attention to is that the BBC will probably get so many cuts that it’ll look like a really bad art project from Blue Peter. (Or Just “Peter” as the shows now called – due to a lack of budget to by blue paint.)

Anyway, as a media student, I have obtained a copy of the new BBC channel guide and have printed some of the new, conservative led programs below.

1800: The Zero Point Five Show

(Formally “The One Show”.) Join Adrian Charles as he is forced to perform a series of demeaning tasks in a bid to pay for the hospital bills of his sick wife.

1830: Strings and Things

Prime time family entertainment featuring Essex pensioners giving a fascinating insight into the world of parcel wrapping.

1900: Mr. Who

Family entertainment featuring timelord David Tennant’s crippling descent into depression where not even the ability of manipulate time allows him to apply for a PHD as he never went to Eton.

1930: Sick on Single Mums

Join Ann Widdecombe as she tours Britian in her Jag, pulling over only to purge yesterday’s lobster dinner into the faces of unsuspecting members of the public that are not from the ‘Pure Breed’.

2000: Go to Bed, Peasants.

David Cameron addresses the nation and informs the weak mortals to get to bed to ensure they have all the energy for work tomorrow on their labour camp. HAIL CAMERON.

Ps. I call shotgun on leading the labour party! That’s how it works, right?

Picture the Loan.

Well, there you go folks. Half term is over. What did I do this holiday? The same thing every 18-year-old male and female in my situation does...

...Sign myself into crippling debt.

Basically, in a bid to escape the "fantastic" environment of my "wonderful" home town, I spent about ten minutes last Thursday in front of my PC screen flying through the nice'n'easy student loan application procedure.

Well...almost.

By "about ten minutes" I mean "The whole goddamn day", and by "nice'n'easy" I mean "so amazingly tedious that my inner child figured out that Santa was non-existent and is yet to stop crying." At first, things weren't too bad and the questions were easy, and, based on all the information I had typed out about myself, my finances, and my education - I was all set. Right? That's all they need to know?

Wrong.

Next came the questions about if I was religious, and if at the age of eighteen, I already held any degrees. Then came demands for information about my family - and, as I hit the final "submit" button and agreed to send them my birth certificate and a photograph of my left foot to confirm my identity - my heart sunk. I realised what was happening. They are building a clone.

By synthesizing the data they are probed off of me, the student loan company are planning to build a clone of me - except he'll be stronger, quicker, more witty and twice as attractive as me - and, when I finish my university course, they'll activate him and he'll have just one thing on his mind. My blood. He alone will be sent to track me down, and retrieve the money I borrowed from the state to cover my university fees, and If I can't pay it back - he'll kill me, and sell my body to cover my debt to the NHS. Or at least they would...

...If the people at the student finance knew how to lift a pen.

Fortunately they don't - so making a clone of me will be off the cards, and besides, the people who run that business have got to be in bed by seven after a long hard day of drooling. Mum's orders.

So there you go "Student Finance" - I now feel about you the same way I feel about Butlins and Jedward...combined. You make me sad. I hope your happy.

Check back next week for a "hehe" happy "hoho" article about hamsters! (Or something similar.)

Peace!

PS. As of now, every time I post, I'm going to give you a link to something interesting as a special treat. See! Told you that I liked you!

Yes, it's immature, but this made me laugh a great deal! Enjoy:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWUkgwo-zJE

All Change, Please.

There I was – the time? 6.30AM. Location? My bedroom. I stared longingly out of the bedroom window on the morning of Friday, 22nd January – wondering how I would cope with the three-and-a-half hour train ride down to Southampton. Exactly one glass of water and two slices of white toast later, I arrived at my local train station.

Now, it was still pretty early in the morning (McDonald’s was still serving it’s breakfast menu) – so I decided to buy a coffee so that I didn’t look out of place with all the super-cool, upper class business people that I was about to share a train with to London Victoria. I took my seat and tried just a sip of my coffee, and I must say – British Rail has done it again! Somehow, all hot beverages served from stations in the south east are served at above boiling point, which, naturally, caused my eyes to water to the extent that I was able to actually clean the carriage I was in with my bitter, pain-induced tears – making it the first moment in recorded history that a commuter train had been cleaned, at all, ever. The train ride to London took about an hour, with me sitting there – staring out of the window as if I was on some sort of futuristic safari in which the “pure breed” are invited to be chauffeured through the dark, “fragrant” depths of Deptford – snarling and giggling at the less fortunate stumble around outside looking for jobs to do in an apparently “recession free” Great Britain.

As the train slowly clunked into the station – a beautiful thing happened. You see, from London Victoria, I had to get to Clapham Junction (which wins the “Most interesting-and-or-disturbing smells for a public service facility award, 2010) – which meant running across the whole length of London Victoria station as my train and the train to the junction were on separate sides. Little did I know, the train I needed was there already – and to make the scene more perfect – about 70% of my train’s passengers wanted that service too. It was like being in a film; row upon row of nameless uniforms stood up, all with facial emotions to suggest that someone had left a Dolly Parton CD playing, waiting for the doors to slide open – and sure enough, when they did - *boom* - I was catapulted into the first thirty seconds of “Saving Private Ryan”. In horde, we shot across the station – jumping out of the way of strategically placed bins, and hopelessly lost tourists to the relative safety of the bunker / 09.32 service to Clapham Junction. Most of us made it. Some didn’t.

Lest we forget.

After another two-and-a-half hours, I rolled into a rather rainy Southampton station. Using the map I had scrawled on the back of Sainsbury’s receipts, it took me just twenty minutes to make the ten minute walk to the university – which is when things got…’interesting’. Firstly, I accidentally walked into a lecture, which caused me to freeze like a deer in the front headlights of a twelve-point-three tonne lorry carrying schoolbooks, before disappearing without becoming metaphorical road kill. Fortunately, almost seven hours after I originally left – I made it in time for my interview. This is when I got my “super-special surprise”. Guess what? They had closed my course. Really. They hadn't even told me! My course was no longer existent – leaving me with nothing more to do than admit defeat – and begin the long, tedious journey back home.

Peace

PS. My girlfriend is working on an art project that is taking her a long time. Thing is - its already a billion times better than what I can, or will ever be able to do - she's very talented! Will be "awesome" (she doesn't like that word - all the more reason to use it!) -to see the final project!

Britain's "Big Freeze"

Well, boo-hoo Britain! Boo-bloody-hoo! It's just snow!

Wednesday 6Th of January started as normal for me. I woke up at half-past-silly, and forced myself out of bed - and into the bathroom to perform the manly task of turning on the shower, and, like all true men - constantly and timidly putting my hand in the shower stream to make sure that the water wasn't too hot for me. After plastering myself in the usual list of shower products that contain ingredients that no-one can pronounce - yet must be good for me as the bottle clearly states "Designed to revitalise the modern man, and give him everything he needs to make him look and feel his best." - I mean, that's me, right? Right? I got changed...

...Anyway...

It was then a short, gormless stagger down the stairs to perch myself in front of the TV to find out what was happening in the world. Let's face it - not much in the way of cool things are happening at the moment. A politician spoke out of turn - and surprise surprise, Michael Jackson is still dead. However, I was flung from my zombie-like state when I saw a startling report from a on-location news reporter who was practically screaming down the microphone sounding so terrified I though that she may as well have been standing in the middle of a middle-eastern battlefield, wearing a "shoot me" t-shirt, available from all good shops in my imagination, whilst simultaneously being shown photographs of a naked Gordon Brown. She was reporting that the UK had been hit by a "disastrous" snow storm. With that, I sprang from my seat - and ran to my window, fully ready to put into effect all that training I had learnt from watching that 30-second Ray Mears trailer the other week... What "life-threatening" condition was I greeted with? About an inch of snow. That's all.

Now, in true British style - every school, workplace, and road in Britain went into full post-apocalyptic lock down. Sales of canned food skyrocketed as people prepared to ration food for the next thirty years, news reports constantly streamed in saying how we should all stay in doors and how anyone who even attempted to look out of a window would surely die. Now, believe me, I'm as cowardly as the next man - in fact, after seeing a 60-second clip of "High School Musical" - I promised myself I'd never go to an American high school as I could never sing like that and someone like me would be destined to become a social recluse in such a affluent environment as depicted by the completely-realistic-because-television-never-lies-fly-on-the-wall-documentary that is "High School Musical", but even I was able to summon the courage to head outside for a few brief moments to construct a impromptu snowman at the end of my garden, that, thanks to the more recent mild climate - now looks like one of the Nazis from Indiana Jones...Mid-Melt.

Still, I guess I should be thankful for the days I got to spend at home doing coursework, and spending on the phone to my lovely girlfriend! So - whats going to happen in this "big freeze"? Will the death count fly all the way up to population-crippling "three"? Who knows. I've already said my farewells, just in case. I think you should too. Check back Friday to see if the world has ended or not!

Peace.

PS. I stayed over at my girlfriend's place at the weekend. I must say, her father is one damn fine cook!

Dawning of a Decade

Happy new year! Sorry I haven't posted much recently - but I've been as busy as a suicide hotline just after the release of another vile installment to the sickening twisted cult that we have come to know as"High school musical"...and believe me...that's pretty busy!

So, here we are - 2009 is over, and 2010 is now sitting on my desk, waiting for me to get stuck in - and it's already shaping up to be an amazing year. I've not talked to you recently, so let me bring you back up to speed. Remember "Operation for Awesome"? - my application to uni? Well, I've done it!

I was sitting alone in my room one quite November evening when an email landed on my desk. I opened it. It said to check UCAS. Naturally, when a non-descript letter arrives at my desk - without hesitation, I follow its instructions without deviation - and it's never gone wrong (albeit no longer being allowed anywhere near farms, the elderly, or the Cayman Islands). All of a sudden - my heart rate doubled when I found that my application to my first choice university had been accepted, sending me into a hyper state in which I ran around the house like a 6'1'' pinball for about 2 months straight.

After that, I was quite content that 09' couldn't get any better. Oh, how wrong I was. Little did I know, 09' was about to go from "good" to "Amazing".

You see, for a little while now - there has been this stunning young lady in my life - in which up to recently, I was far to nervous about asking out. However, on the 21st of December, just as the year was getting it's coat ready to leave us being propelled head first into the new decade, I finally took my chance - and asked her out. She said yes! All I could do is sit there - grin like a complete pillock, and feel my heart rate go from "pretty quick" to "Captin' - it's gonna blow!". In short, she is nothing less than amazing - and I am incredibly lucky to be have her as my girlfreind.

So here we are, standing nervously in the doorway of the next decade...so what are we waiting for? Shall we go in? (Please wipe your feet on the way in - I want no trace of the 'naughties' decade on the carpet.)

I'll try and update my blog one a week, Fridays as of now. But that's a "try". Odds are I will be distracted by the blinking light on my computer, and will sit in a semi-hypnotic state for hours, and thusly not post again for another year or so. But I'll try to.

Check back soon!

Peace.

PS. University life can be expensive. I advise winning the lottery first.

Thank Goodness it's Friday.

Super duper ultra fast blog update - blogs as of now will be updated Fridays as they are now once-a-week!

See you Friday!

Peace.

PS. I do still love you all. Sometimes, it's hard to blog and work at the same time - but I do still love you. Do you still love me?

Can I get a Venti Java Chip Frappuccino, Double Blended, To Go, Please?

Oh yes - today I deserve overtly-homosexual, dramatically over-named coffees. Don't worry, however. Even I am too manly to order the aforementioned coffee - and go for my regular weapon of choice - the far more manly "Mocha with Whipped Cream".

I often stand there, alone, at the front of the queue - frantically searching through my numerous coffee shop loyalty cards in order to pull out the one that will save me a whole twenty pence whilst the people stand behind me, chuckling about what beverage I have selected - however - I don't care. Of course I don't! I've got a script to finish!

Basically, I am working on a film noir at the moment - and despite the fact that it's only to be about five minutes long, and I've been working on the script for weeks - It's still not finished! However, I have not thrown in the hypothetical towel yet as the reason I am allowing what I call "script snobbery", and what others are calling "being a social recluse with no life and no chance of ever getting a girlfriend" to take place - as this film will play a huge part in my university application. Tonight, I've decided that although I do have to go to my Saturday job tomorrow, I am pulling a now trademarked "all-nighter" to make progress, and will naturally rely on one of my local coffee shop's manly beverages to maintain me through tomorrow.

Still, with "operation for awesome" AKA "Applying to uni" now in full effect - I don't mind pulling more all-nighters, and besides, you get to hear some mighty interesting sounds at half-past-silly when you live in an urbanised area; - the kind of thing that sounds mildly reminiscent to every episode of "eastenders" being crammed into a sandwich, and fed to you through your ears in just thirty seconds.

Anyway, the script has a horrible habit of not writing itself, So I'm going to get back on with it!

If I am alive, check back Monday to find out what happens!

Peace.

PS. I have installed a new, brighter light bulb today. I don't like how dull the old one was - it made the hallway look scary at night - which made me afraid of using the toilet.

Congestion Charge In Operation.

Funny, really - come to think of it.

Every day, thousands of commuters have to pay to travel through London because they are causing "congestion" - despite the fact that they are trying to help the economy by working. However, I woke up this morning feeling rather congested myself; Sore throat, and a blocked nose - yet, when I attempted to get the illness to "cough up" it's £5.70 fee - it simply responded by sending my chest into a involuntary spasm, causing me to pretty much fall over and kill myself in the shower - and I've already established I've died enough recently.

However, this cold going around at the moment does provide it's advantages. A few of you may remember by mad dash for the toilets last week in order to change for college? Well - the teacher who teaches us the the lesson before that dash had also fallen to swine / bird / chicken / mongoose flu, allowing me to casually stroll along the empty corridors, make my way to the toilet - get changed, sit down - and take a nice, hard...

...Cold and flu tablet to help relive my symptoms.

Anyway, today, I have been making a real effort on my personal statement. For those of you that don't know what a personal statement entails - it is an application letter to university that actually promotes the use of narcissism! What a fun, fun way to spend a few evenings! Writing a letter about how great you are which will actually see the light of day as opposed to being filed down the back of your bed with the rest of them so that you can one evening pull them all out again, and read through them enjoying a escapist sequence in which you single-handedly cure cancer, enforce world peace - and end global hunger by simply reciting one of Nickleback's albums on the kazoo, and, as such, will a Nobel prize as presented by Mr. T for "Awesomeness to the highest level".

Of course, in actuality, its the first time in my life I've actually had the heart rate of an Olympic runner who has just been made jump by the starter pistol, run sixteen marathons, realised he hasn't filed his tax return and noticed that the world is currently watching him through there TV screens as he begins his race to give Britain another bronze medal...all at the same time whilst I'm sitting here, writing this statement. Why? Well, I have found this course called "Broadcast Operations", which may as well be called "Hey there, you know everything you ever wanted to learn and aspire to going into as you grow older in sense of a epic career? Well here it is." Of course, this title was rejected as it didn't quite fit on the UCAS website.

Anyway, this statement is still very much a work in progress, so I'm going to need to get back on with it. Feel free to make yourself a cup of tea, and maybe watch some TV. Isn't Futurama on Sky One this evening?

Peace.

PS. Today, at college, I ate a Prawn & Lettuce baguette. It was very nice. If you get the opportunity to eat a Prawn & Lettuce baguette, I recommend you take it.

Poetry is Manly.

Today was Wednesday here in the UK - and, as such, nothing really happened. However, because I am a true man, armed with nothing but my manly credentials - I am going to attempt (and fail horribly) to write today's blog in the style of a poem.

Today started like any other,

I combed my now non-existent hair whilst being laughed at by my mother,

It took me just over twenty minutes to walk to school,

with my lack of hair removing the last of my "cool".

I only had one lesson which was just under an hour-and-a-half,

and decided to show "Mega Shark Vs. Giant Octopus" which attracted a solitary laugh,

It was soon after this I got the green-light to teach,

to the year 7's, film and media - I will now preach.

As one-ten rolled around it was time to leave for lunch,

and I headed for the shops with my usual bunch,

and now I'm at home with a sore throat,

serves me right for going out in the cold without a coat.

Check back tomorrow to find out what happens at college,

I will write a new blog to boast my new knowledge.

Until then I bid you goodbye my Friend,

You'll be glad to hear this poems at its end.

Peace.

PS. I think I have a cold. You'd best wash your hands after reading the blog today. I wouldn't want you to catch my illness.

Feeling Like a Shaved Bowling Ball.

After a wonderfully uneventful day at school - I headed off to my local town center in order to have my hair "styled" - as, of course, that's what all men do after a long hard day.

So - Me and my mop-like hair sat there, waiting for someone to come along and attempt to hack away at what could have easily been used to insulate the family home providing lower fuel costs for years to come. Sure enough, after a short wait standing awkwardly in the corner whilst all the more fashionable people sat on sofas, listening to the latest in cool-people music, reading their cool-people magazines - a guy came over, introduced himself - and took me to the "consultation chair".

The second I heard "consultation chair" - the idea of going to the doctors sprang into my mind - and I immediately thought I had walked into the wrong place, and was about to get the surprise of my life as he grinned, and slowly removed a pack of swabs from his pocket whilst applying a pair of rubber gloves. Luckily, all it was was a chair in front of a big mirror where you sit for five minutes whilst the guy mocks your poor hairstyle, and lists a seemingly endless list of things he wants to do to it (most of which was legal).

Before I could say "I'm homesick and I want to go home" - I found my head forced into what looked exactly like a male urinal from a local restaurant - but, to my great relief, turned out to be one of those oddly-shaped sinks they use to wash your filthy, commoner hair before they have to cut it with their higher-order, finely-crafted hands.

The next stylistic step in my attempted stroll down the fashionable hair catwalk was to sit in another chair, directly by the shop window so that people commuting in the local area could look in, and smirk at me with their manly credentials as I sat there with my hair soaking wet, all alone. Just as I thought that I was no longer loved, and was getting ready to leave - for the third time in one month, I though I was going to die. In the reflection in the mirror, I saw a guy walk towards me holding a pair of scissors. If you live in a town anything like mine - If someone you don't know walks at you with a pair of scissors - you turn around, square up to them, look them straight in the eyes - then drop to your knees begging for mercy whilst you wave your wallet above your head. It the clicked that I had paid him to cut my hair - which he proceeded to do.

At the end, I put my glasses back on to look in the mirror - and was surprised by the total stranger looking back at me. Twenty-three seconds later, it became apparent that I was looking in the wrong part of the mirror - and that "stranger" wasn't me - but the sixty-four year old lady sitting behind me having a blue rinse. As I re tuned my eyes on the mirror to look at myself, I noticed the one mistake the guy had made. I had said "I would like my hair to remain quite long" - he, however, must of heard "Hello. I would like you to cut a silly amount of my hair off so that even bald men chuckle at me as they drive past in there 2005 reg Nissan Almera's." So, overall, mission fail.

I really hope my hair grows to a good length again soon - It doesn't look good at the moment, So I refuse to talk to it until it does what I want and resume a better, longer length.

Anyway, I am about to become a film teacher for twelve to fourteen-year-old students! Tomorrow, I have to start planning lessons. Find out how that turns out Wednesday.

Peace.

P.S. Today, I decided to buy my first bag of pistachio nuts. They are a healthy food that tastes good at a low price. I would recommend them unless you are allergic to nuts and so are prone to anaphylactic shock.

Stomp the Yard.

I couldn't wait for today to begin. Today, you see, we were due to attend a "creative industries workshop" day oddly set at a local dockyard.

There I was - cola in one hand, inspiration in the other. I waited for the bus to pull up in order to start our epic journey which became very interesting very quickly.

After the mad panic was over to secure the back seat of the bus for myself, as that is where all the cool kids sit - I secured myself to my newly-claimed seat, which was stained with 10 years of service to an all-boys grammar school. Moments later, the bus lurched to life - but we didn't even reach the end of the drive before the bus following us in convoy used Team America's secret signal to stop us as if we were about to die.

Little did we know - we were. And if you remember correctly, I already died once on Friday - I'm not doing it twice in one month. Reason for our close brush with death? Our exhaust pipe had pretty much fallen off, and had drawn an artistic black line down a good length of the drive. With that, the driver expertly captained the bus back up the drive in reverse whilst the students sat silently - terrified that the whole bus could collapse at any given second. Fortunately, the expert staff found and resolved the problem (by duct taping the exhaust back to the bus which is in no way a health and safety breach) before our journey set sail to the promised land once again.

However, as the day started - It was obvious I had made a terrible mistake. My mistake? I shouldn't of woken up that morning - my own, twisted dream world would have been a far safer place.

Instead of learning the things I thought I'd learn - like camera operations, or film production - I was taught (and I use the word "taught" very loosely) to "street dance". Now, you've probably never met me Mr. Forty-year-old-stalker-from-Holland, but let me tell you something. There is a reason you don't see camera operators dance - it's because we can't.

In front of us stood a good looking young lady in her mid-twenty's who was able to pull of the various "street" moves with a touch of class - and there we were. A group of teenage media students, wobbling alot on the spot - looking about as "gangster" as a double bill of "Songs of praise". After 'Pop locking' for an hour and a bit, it was time to part company with our newly-met dance teacher. She smiled when we left. I can't blame her. I smiled too. I'll save my dancing for embarrassing my limited number of friends at nightclubs when those places no longer terrify me with there loud music, flashy lights - and "fashion sense".

Tomorrow, however, I will attempt to get a new hair style. I'd say I'm optimistic, but, my hair is good at one thing. Looking sucky. Check tomorrows post to find out what happens in my incredibly manly hair styling session-type-thing!

Peace.

PS. We also heard a band play some music today. They were very good. Mind you, that is in my opinion. You might not like them.

Now I can legally drive you round the bend.

As always, I promise not to lie in my blogs. So - I warn you now - I am very tired, and am prone to explaining things in my own, marvelous, sleep-deprived way. So let's get started.

Today, I had a driving test - and then I died.

There I was - sitting in a no-names-mentioned driving school car of which an anagram would be "SBM" - awaiting my examiner to come out an examine me to see whether I would pass the exam which examined my ability to drive. As he stepped into the vehicle, and asked me "Are you nervous" - I was very tempted to say "Yes, but don't worry -I'll pass or die trying", and then lock the doors - but decided not to as I thought that at least one person inside the one point five tonne chunk of metal I was about to drive at forty-two miles per hour should be compos mentis, and not busy praying to as many Gods as they could think of to ensure that when we hit the brick wall that "just came out of nowhere" they had a reservation in whichever place looked the nicest.

Fortunately, I am a atheist - and so was more than happy to pay attention to the road, and not make the same mistakes I made taking my test last time. Hell, at no point in the "Highway Code" does it say "Hitting old ladies and / or children is not a generally good idea" - trust me - I checked! Still - turns out that what I call "population control" the courts call "Manslaughter" - which meant that I didn't quite pass first time. However, this time I did pass! Huzzah!

But, as that guy in "Spiderman" once said - "With great power comes great responsibility". In this case - it was trying to get insurance. Now, I did my research - and a couple of companies did get back to me with quotes. When I announced that I was a seventeen year old male from a urbanised area, they simply mailed me a bucket with a note that said "Hey scumbag, here's a bucket. Fill it with gold, money, and the blood of 100 virgins, and we will grant you your car". However, after completely emptying the local nursery - I was unable to meet the 100 target, and so have decided to put getting my own car on hiatus until after I leave uni.

Finally, I said I died. That's because one of my friends decided that she would have a birthday. She doesn't ask for one often (She only really asks once a year) - so I decided that I would play along. However, when the invite arrived here at mission control / the bat cave / my bedroom - my eyes were drawn to two things. 1. She had written it on silver card. How very cool. I wish I had silver card. 2. I had to dress as if I were dead. I didn't have much time to come up with a plan - but I decided death wasn't enough - and went for full on "Gore".

By "Gore", I mean Lesley Gore. My death involved a five second loop from Lesley Gore's song "Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows". Sure enough, after just 0.2 listens, the last rice-grain of sanity in the curry that is my mind was ripped from me, sending me into a death-like trance which worked perfectly given the aim of the event.

Anyway, my blog is weekday only folks - So I will see you lovely people Monday! I'll Miss you! Will you miss me?

Peace.

PS. I have work tomorrow. I hope the weather is nice. The sun makes me happy when I can bask in its glow behind my till.

Access Denied.

...And in the left corner - weighing in at 120 pounds - it's me!

Today was 'day one' at the college - and it almost went without a hitch. Almost. Firstly, using my charming good looks and charisma (or lack thereof) - I was able to excuse myself from lesson a little early to go and get changed so I wasn't walking around the college campus in a suit. I headed down the long empty corridor with my clothes in hand. Remembering the odds of the girl's hockey team catching me getting changed there immediately removed the option of stopping - instead, I picked the nearest toilet.

Firstly, I'm 6'1'' - and so not the smallest of people to walk the planet. Getting changed in a cubicle which was about 4 foot by 4 foot in terms of floor space (without factoring in the annoying toilet that seemed to get in the way of my mission) turned out to be a slow, painful experience. Sure enough, every time I hit my elbow, arm, foot or leg against a part of the cubicle - I let out a short grunt of pain. Unfortunately, the other "guests" of the toilet didn't know that the only thing I was doing was getting changed - and so may have felt slightly unnerved to hear a teenager make a series of grunting noises in a locked toilet cubicle. By far, however, the worst part was when I removed my shoes - and placed my socked foot on the floor. I was greeted with a very sticky texture - which to this very moment I dare not recall as I do not want to know what it was. Ever.

Getting into the college was a walk in the park. Everything was fine. Our teacher was waiting for us by the main entrance, which to my great relief removed the odds of getting lost and ending up resorting to eating my own work books, and cannibalism as hunger and insanity set in. Now, security in this day and age is very important - so I understood why my old student ID badge was replaced with a new one that unlocked doors to the various places I was meant to access. However, this new system did cause the only disadvantage in today's journeys.

About two hours into lecture, my bladder informed me it was time to go to the loo. Immediately. I had a rough idea of where the loos were - and it was also to be my first opportunity to use my new ID badge to open the doors which led to toilets. As I headed out of the lecture room, it became apparent that time was running out - which lead to a very brisk walk down a packed corridor, which led to all manner of funny looks. So there I was, in front of two big locked doors. I delved my hand into my pocket to grab my wallet, and ID badge - and waved the aforementioned badge frantically in front of the box-thing on the wall. Nothing happened. I knew that if that door didn't open in the next 10 seconds, I would have no choice but to leave the janitor a surprise in his bucket. Just when I was about to give up, I flipped my ID badge over - and to my astonishment, I was using last years badge! With the speed of a hypothetical bullet being hypothetically fired from a metaphorical gun - I removed my wallet again, found the correct card - and felt comforted by the satisfying "click" the door made as it unlocked. From then on, all was well.

In addition, I am currently as nervous as a solider about to jump out a burning plane at 20,000ft who has forgotten to pack his parachute. Reason? Well, Number one - those men down my road look mighty shifty. Number two - I have my driving test tomorrow.

Read tomorrow's post to find out how I do!
Peace.

PS. The college has places you can buy coffee. I smile upon this. Coffee is the staple of modern society.

This item has been flagged as irrelevant.

Hey. I'm 17, single, broke - and a media student. My life is awesome.
If you are reading this, you are: (A) Very bored. (B) Awaiting the tales of my life, and my general antagonism.

This blog will follow me for a few years, even though no one will read it. Let's face it - making a blog is far less girly than writing a diary - and my "manly" credentials are pretty much non-existent as my life revolves around the production of film.

Lets get this party started...

Today, as always, I attended my sixth form in my quest for knowledge - and naturally did all the 'right' things. I worked very hard on my documentary which I will talk about another day, continued development on my A2 film project (Which will be a noir - because the 1940's are cool), and made a series of hilarious euphemisms in which the simple act of texting someone took on the full effect of practically asking them out for the evening, getting them drunk, totaling your car - then waking up next to them twelve hours later in a travel inn just off the M2.

Also, I was tricked into reading a "example essay" that a student had written for his school a few years ago. I saw them all being handed out. There were ones on making folk music, teaching, becoming an author - and what did I get? A grueling fourteen page depression-fest about hepatitis b - which on closer inspection turned out to be a scary, twisted autobiography in which the student who wrote it explains how he caught the illness whilst taking drugs. This, of course, is the kind of luck I always 'benefit' from.

Lastly, I found out today that on Thursdays I have to take one lesson at a local college. My previous lesson ends at 11.30, and I am due on the only bus at the exact same time. That gives me no time at all to get out of lesson, find either a toilet or empty corridor to get out of my suit into something more casual (and, of course, the second I remove my trousers - the whole sixth form girl's hockey squad will walk down the previously empty corridor, turning me an interesting shade of crimson red as they mock me with their superior physical prowess) before having to jump into the bus, and instantly be transformed into some kind of human package being shipped off to the college in something that resembles a semi-reliable version of parcel force. Will it all go horribly wrong? Of course it will!

I'll let you know what happens on Thursday's update.

Updates will be daily for now.
Peace.

PS: A van just went up my road with the back doors open. I hope he knows. Maybe I should have warned him.