Ice skating

For years past girlfriends have been swearing they are going to make me go ice skating. Every ounce of my common sense went against it, why would anyone move on to a cold slippery surface that is difficult to function on when the safe, frictiony and relatively warm ground is everywhere. Not to mention, when on a slippery surface, having sharp blades attached to the end of your legs, the least controlled of the limbs, is a ridiculous idea.

Despite my resistance for so many years, my girlfriend succeeded where many (not really many) have failed before her and got me to go ice skating in the fair city of Nottingham on her visit to see me at university. All was well until we tried to get on the ice, we were immediately turned away by the ice bouncer for not tying our skates tight enough. Naturally he retied her's for her, leaving me - the novice, to fend for myself. With my feet now dying under the intense pressure of the sharp plastic skates I made my way towards the ice, absolutely certain I was going to die. The classic bambi on ice comparison was pulled out repeatedly, although unlike bambi, I didn't fall over. On my second visit with friends I was given the advice "trust the ice", I chose to ignore it, as far as I'm concerned the ice is the enemy that must under all circumstances be conquered. This time I was compared to a giraffe on ice, all arms and legs flailing everywhere.

I hate the children who can do it, less than a third of my age and whizzing around, cutting me up and tutting my slowness. A particularly twattish kid cut in front of me and in my anger I muttered to my companion "I hope the little bastard falls over." Seconds later, he did, there were tears and lots of people checking on him. I got quite a glare from my friend, guilt consumed me...for about 2 seconds before I cracked up, carefully disguising it as a coughing fit. That will show the smug little wanker.

On my two visits, I have developed the ability to go reasonably fast, despite flailing arms. Unfortunately I have not yet learnt how to stop, people and the sideboards are my only method of stopping. More often than not I judge it quite well and gently stop myself with my hands. However sometimes I come in far too fast and cause a huge panic to whichever unlucky friend I have grabbed on to or crush my stomach and ribs against the wall, it hurts. Still not fallen over though.

Despite all my fears and doubts, I really enjoy ice skating, I should have been less resilient with my exs, I could be a good skater by now.

Strikes and toilets

I was filled with anger for humanity a lot this week, the main reason was the public sector strike. Deluded morons throwing their toys out of the pram because they are feeling the effects of the country having no money. In my university bubble we were unaffected though, university lecturers (arguably the most intelligent people in the country) decided not to go on strike, being intelligent and well-informed enough to know that they have actually got a good deal, it could be worse and that this kind of strike is incredibly unlikely to achieve anything. Enough about that, I could write about that forever and no one wants that. In short, I respect the right to strike but this was not the time for it.

What really pissed me off was a toilet attendant in a club, they just expect to be paid for handing you a piece of paper to dry your hands. They are just twats who could be easily be replaced by some moderately well assembled plastic. If anything they are unhygienic, clubs are expensive enough as it is without having to pay to was my hands effectively so on my first lavatory trip I used my trousers to dry my hands and on the second abstained from washing my hands at all. You may know they also sell other things, such as a spray of aftershave, condoms and lollipops, preying on the drunk masses. Any vaguely well prepared club-goer will have already have sprayed on a bit of aftershave and have brought along a condom. Even on the off chance they pull and have neglected to bring a condom, the girl will most likely have remembered - that's right ladies, there's a dual responsibility for protection. With all that in mind the only reason for the toilet-men is to sell lollipops at extortionate prices. They all need to fuck off and get a real job, or maybe they are so unskilled that they essentially have to withhold needed commodities to make a bit of money. I hope they hate themselves as much as I hate them. I hope some club managers are reading this, sort those dickheads out! And while I have your attention, stop playing just one verse of the songs I like while playing shit songs all the way through. Over and out.

Literally the only post I've done for a year

I quite like words, I especially like to use words to emphasise other words. Exaggeration is something I quite enjoy too, for example "it was about a million degrees today." Quite clearly, even in writing and to anyone with a reasonable grasp on the English language and normality knows that it was obviously not a million degrees today, I was exaggerating and it was probably 40 degrees at most. I was obviously talking metaphorically.

Unfortunately, in an attempt to make their exaggerations even more powerful people have started using "literally" when talking metaphorically. I hate these people. "It was literally a million degrees today." Oh was it? What did you use to protect yourself from this intense heat? I'll get NASA and ESA on the phone right now with your secrets of withstanding such temperatures. Mind you, I can't reply like this because then I look like the dickhead. "It was so funny I literally died," "I haven't eaten in literally a year," and "I had to walk literally a thousand miles today" are all examples of this misuse. They all got my hopes up, a cure for death, a solution to starvation and an incredibly efficient walking method? NO! You did not literally die, literally go a year without eating or literally walk a thousand miles. Stop abusing "literally," a well respected word to be used when talking fucking literally.

I'm so glad I got that off my chest, I literally feel a bit better.

It never rains but it pours

That's right, a second blog post in just 3 days. You may be wondering why I am writing again, it is partly due to my "freshers' flu" which in reality is just a nasty cold but has left me without the energy or inclination for socialising but mainly because it is pouring with rain. I am currently at the University of Nottingham studying biology and loving it. The only very slight downside is my mile long walk to the biology school (no buses available or needed) which I have to do several times every day. It is a reasonably nice walk with a lake and lovely views but I am not looking forward to doing it in Winter when it will be raining. My biology tutor reassured me about my rain fears. He said "this University only came number 1 in one university ranking: least rainfall". Until today I was confident in his statistic, I got absolutely drenched on my walk back from a lecture, not a pleasant experience. Oh well, life goes on, I had rain in London so Nottingham rain isn't so bad.

A fridge is a very complicated piece of machinery, I have one in my room. I have finally got to the stage where the noises it makes during the night don't wake me up so that is alright. It does have a tendency to freeze the food at the top though. I decided I'd had enough of this so turned the dial from 3 to 7, no more frozen food for me! I awoke the next morning to find everything in it frozen, not good. Apparently a higher number does not mean a higher temperature, it means a higher power, they should make that clearer.

My room is right above the junior common room (jcr) so I can always hear what is going on in there. When I first moved in I thought i might have trouble sleeping because of the noise should I decide to go to bed a bit early. To my surprise, I sleep like a baby through the noise of the jcr, even if there is noise in my corridor (if I have the willpower to go to sleep and not get up to join them). What always wakes me up, without fail, is the clocktower in the Trent Building. I seem to be the only person in the hall who can hear it but it wakes me up constantly, despite being half a mile away.

I have a big choice tonight: stay in and focus all my energy on recovering before Saturday (more to follow) or go on the Biosoc Campus 14. The campus 14 is the campus bar crawl of 14 bars. I should really preserve myself for Saturday because I am going on a Rag Raid. Organised by a charity called Karnival, we are bussed off to a city in the UK to collect money for charity whilst dressed up to a particular theme. I am going to Bristol, Professions theme. I will be going as a referee since scientist is far too common. The best bit is the journey home, the Karni reps get you absolutely smashed. There are rewards for big collectors, punishments for poor collectors and copious amounts of alcohol. I am very excited. They even tie a black sack to each person so chundering is not an issue, maximising drinking ability. Crazy. Wish me luck.

Back at Last

I'm sorry of the looooooonnngggg break in my blogging, I have had absolutely no inspiration due to having a really good summer with nothing to moan about. But good news followers, I'm now at university so (despite having an amazing time) I have plenty of new findings to moan about.

Freshers flu, how did I let myself get struck down by such an inevitability, the late nights and excessive alcohol were unavoidable but I ate fruit, drank plenty of orange juice and water and ate reasonably healthily in an attempt to avoid it. Alas, it did not work and here I am, sat at my computer, nose running and unable to sleep due to a stuffy head. I loved freshers week (or WeekOne as it's known at Nottingham because we like to be original) but this illness has kicked me while I'm vulnerable. Also, I have been forced to pen my box of tissues and it reminded me of an old quibble of mine, why does the first tissue of the new box insist on bringing out it's friend with it? I only want one tissue, why give me two? Do tissue makers assume that opening a whole new box of tissues must mean a dire situation that can only be rectified by two tissues?

A change I've noticed in myself is in my voice, partly caused by the sore throat, my accent is altering ever so slightly, I find that every now and then I say a particular word in a completely new regional accent. I'm surrounded by people from upp North, Wayells, Somerrrrrset and Irland. So sorry Surrey accent, you become become tainted.

There is very noticeable rivalry at university, East wing vs West Wing in hall (still not sure what wing I'm on), Catered halls vs self-catered halls and the main rivalrly: everyone vs Rutland Hall. Naturally all abuse is carried out through the medium of song, if you're interested in these chants ask me at some point and I will belt them out at full volume for you. The Rutland hatred goes one step further, with a little phenomena known as The Rutland Raid. This involves going into Rutland undercover as a Rutslut and stealing whatever furniture and appliances you can get your hands on: toasters, kettles, chairs and sofas are fair game, personal possessions are not, this is rivalry, not robbery.

I am no longer allowed to do a naked run to the toilet/shower, as thrilling as it would be in such a public place it is apparently not appropriate. So instead I resort to doing it with a towel round my waste. Many times I have been caught and it has become known in the corridor as "Joe's scantily clad shower dash", clearly I need to get better at the dash before a naked attempt.

I am loving life and there is only one way life could be any better. Alex why don't you live in Nottingham, I miss you so much! (sentimental bit complete).

Stay tuned, I have more spare time and procrastination opportunities so blogging may happen more often.

The Lads' Holiday

The first week of July I was on a Lads' Holiday with 6 of my closest friends (notable absentees were Ally and Dave who were greatly missed throughout the week). We went to Salou in Costa Daurada which is just south of Tarregona and Barcelona in Spain. Usually my blog is very text-orientated but (forgive the cliche) a picture tells a thousand words and I was too drunk to remember the majority of it so I will select some choice pictures and comment on them instead.

Visiting the Camp Nou (Nou Camp for you uncultured English)

Just casually hanging around with Welsh Alex

The Joe and Tom sit on motorbikes/scooters game

Partying with the Thomson rep, red paint meant I was taken and unwilling to cheat, the green on Tom meant up for anything

Playing on the high-speed train track...as you do

Looking damn sexy in true Bond style

A drinking game involving passing ice...nothing else

Drinking copious amounts of sangria

Fun with the fountains

The black person count

Having just made the winning shot in beer pong

Outrageous shirts and room 301 (the best room)

An outrageous amount of rum and coke combined with a drinking game

These photos barely even scratch the surface of what we got up to, if you want to see more just go on to my facebook http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=671825382 . It was a top holiday, I missed tea and the girlfriend a lot though. Would I do it again? Hell yes. I'll do words again for my next blog, promise.

Credit where credit is due

I'll admit, the title is almost completely unrelated to what this post is going to be about, a lot like the posts of Dave Williams of mylifeisdaverage would be (in case you were wondering, he did not go AWOL, he just defected to tumblr, just like every other teenager with too many thoughts and feelings that can only be expressed by pictures or quotes.). This post is about credit but not the good kind of credit, it is about money lending.

I am of the rather traditional view of "if you don't have money then don't spend it" which if everyone shared rather than the typical DFS "buy now, pay later" mindset, we would not still be in economic meltdown. Big businesses and banks have taken advantage of the human nature to spend what they have, in fact Parkinson's second law is "Expenditure rise to meet income", present a man with £100, even if he has to give it back in the future, that money will be spent and he must recover the money in order to give it back or face the consequences.

Obviously there is a need to borrow money to buy a place to live and this is done by a long term mortgage from the bank, details are set out, conditions put in for loss of job or unexpected problems and eventually the money is paid back with interest. A newer form of borrowing money is in the form of the credit card, this short term lending causes all sorts of problems, unless incredibly strict on yourself, you will spend stupid amounts of money you don't have. This is obviously a bit of a pickle when it comes to paying off that credit card, yeah, you have to give back all that money you spent plus a little bit extra to pay off that kind, lovely company that let you use their money. It gets pretty nasty when you don't pay and the interest really kicks in, plunging you further into debt without you having a penny to show for it.

What I really hate are the new short term lending companies such as QuickQuid, Wonga and countless others, they focus on people struggling to pay bills with payday just too far away to wait it out and charge stupidly high interest rates in exchange for the speed and ease you can borrow money. Here is my message to the world: don't use these companies, short term lending is a terrible idea, if you have bills that need paying but payday is still a week away, phone the electricity/water/phone company and ask nicely for an extra week, they are human and will understand! Not to mention that most companies give you the option of what day of the month to pay your bills so it can be shortly after payday.

Sorry this one hasn't been hilarious, I am quite passionate about this.