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.

The Weather Forecast

I will break the ice in true British style by talking about the weather, or more specifically about the weather forecast. My old geography teacher always moaned about the weather forecast because of the dumbing down of it all. Firstly they don’t show the jet stream, which is a passage of air in the upper atmosphere that essentially controls the weather, they even show the jet stream in America but broadcasters deem us as not intelligent enough to comprehend it. And secondly the presentation of the weather forecast is no longer done by meteorologists but by attractive men and women reading a script and waving their arms.

My problem with the weather forecast is far less sophisticated; it is one of those petty irritations I so often write about. The clue as to what a weather forecast is, is in the name, a forecast of weather, that is what the weather is going to do in the future. This is very useful, it helps us plan our outfits and excursions but also gives us a scapegoat when the weather tricks us all and the country grinds to a halt under a foot of snow or countless barbeques are ruined by thunderstorms. However I can appreciate that the weather is pretty difficult to predict as it is based mainly on what it has done in the past so if they get it wrong and I get drenched, I don’t really mind.

We have established that the point of the weather forecast is to predict weather so why do they tell us what the weather is doing now? I always thought that windows were invented for the very reason of seeing outside so telling me it is sunny is a waste of your time and mine. So then, why does the weather forecast go on to tell you what the weather did earlier? I was there Mr Weatherman, I experienced the cold wind and as a result I put my coat on, but thank you for telling me this redundant information. What is even worse is when they get it wrong, how can one possibly get the weather wrong when describing what it did only a few hours ago? I had spent an afternoon in central London and it had rained and rained and rained for hours. I came home still dripping, got changed and watched the news. There was the weatherman on the London news telling me what the weather had done earlier. He claimed that it had been a lovely day all across London, not a cloud in the sky and glorious high temperatures. How wrong he was, it had not been a lovely sunny day and I had the damp clothes to prove it. I briefly imagined a cartoon-style raincloud that followed me around, raining on me and me only but it seemed more feasible that the weatherman was an imbecile.

You should check out the blog of my biology friend Katie Barry at http://worldofkatiebarry.blogspot.com/ She is just starting out in the blogging world and needs some air time.

And a shoutout for Claire because...well because she asked for one.

Finally, happy birthday to Irritated Mutterings, we are 1 today.

One is the Loneliest Number

I am now on exam leave, I've finished school forever and now have those nasty little buggers known as exams to get past. Now because my parents both work and my brother and sister are both at school I spend about 7 hours of every weekday being completely alone at home. Being in my own company for such a prolonged period each day has drastically altered my mind. How the unemployed manage, I will never know. Here are my findings:

1. I now drink between 6 and 12 cups of tea in a day, it is a reward for completing a practice paper, the solution when stuck on a question, a refocussing activity and a way to stave off boredom. I ran out of teabags the other day and went into meltdown. I had to venture to a neighbour and beg for supplies.

2. The most exciting part of the day is when the post arrives. We are near the end of a postal route so this usually takes place around 11, as soon as I hear the letterbox* clatter I dash downstairs so pick up the letters. I am overwhelmingly excited if one of the letters is for me, it rarely is though. (*Does anyone still have a box for letters or does everyone just have a flap so the letters fall onto the doormat?).

3. My mind is captivated by the smallest things. On Monday I played catch in the garden, by myself, for half an hour. I am teaching myself new juggling tricks with varied success, I now have an excellent finishing routine. I lift half of the table tennis table up and play against myself for ages, I've won every game so far.

4. I have apparently turned into a professional chef. Everyday I cook an unnecessarily complicated meal. I have so far had a beef and gravy sandwich, home made pasta puttanesca with bacon and my pride and joy - bacon wrapped faggots^ in a tomato, onion, garlic and mushroom sauce. (^Faggots are pork belly, liver, heart and lung in meatball format).

5. I now need to have a playlist for everything on my iPod. The Cheer up Joe playlist, the Chemistry Revision playlist, Biology revision playlist, Physics Revision playlist, Top Songs, Classics, Silly and Fun playlist. It is just sad. I am currently listening to Silly and Fun.

6. I have become desperate for companionship. I have given appliances and objects personalities and traits. Obviously the radio, kettle, fridge and cooker and my best friends, the desk is my boss and the dishwasher is my mortal enemy as I have to empty it every morning. Another sign that I am going completely doolally was my plan to attract a birdy friend to keep me company when revising in the garden. I tore up some bread and put it in a trail towards my chair. I was hoping for a robin but ended up with a blackbird and a sparrow, can't argue with that. The sparrow even sat on the arm of my chair until a big nasty crow scared him off.

7. Clothes and brushing my hair seem to have become unnecessary, my hair is always a mess although still frequently washed and my clothes are effortless, it's all tracksuit trousers, t-shirts and massive jumpers.

8. I have turned into an eating machine, my lunch is always massive and I constantly snack on anything and everything through the day, I got through 4 bananas, 8 cocktail sausages and 2 kitkats yesterday alone.

9. The naked run to the bathroom has become much less fun. I'm sure you've all done it, made a dash in the nude between bedroom and bathroom before showering, with noone else in the house there is no need for speed or sneakiness, removing all entertainment and thrill that it provides. I've considered doing a detour past an open window just to the the adrenaline buzz back. I have to fetch more toilet paper myself if it runs out. The naked dance has far less risk attached. I go to the toilet with the door wide open. I sing or whistle constantly.

10. I actually revise.

Pet Peeves and Pure Hatred

They say everyone has a pet peeve, something minor that drives them mad. My dad can't stand drinks being vaguely near the edge of the table, my mum goes crazy about dirty plates being left anywhere. I don't mind my dad's pet peeve because if he sees a drink near the edge of the table he moves it an inch or so inwards. My mum however is a different story, once we have finished a meal she starts to get annoyed at the presence of dirty plates on the table but does absolutely nothing to solve it, instead forcing me and my siblings to remove them, if it bothers her that much she would get off her arse and move them. Rather annoyingly I have forgotten what my pet peeve is so I can't write about it and mock myself, sorry.

I can however remember my pure hatred. There is nothing that raises my blood pressure like lateness. This is a hatred shared by both my dad and my brother, in the words of my dad: "late says' my time is more important than yours'." If someone is late meeting me without any warning I find myself doing nothing, wasting my time waiting around. Late wastes time for everyone and less is achieved, it is infuriating. In order not to appear hypocritical I avoid being late at all costs, I always leave more than enough time for things and if there is even the slightest chance of me being late I text or call whoever I am meeting. There is no way late is ever a good thing, when a woman says "I'm late" it strikes fear and panic into the heart of a man, or so I've heard. If a baby is late it causes discomfort to the mother and could mean labour has to be induced to prevent disintegration of the placenta. Late can mean dead. There is no good late. Fact.

The Royal Wedding

It is time for me to face my decision on the Royal Wedding, I can be cynical and hate everything about it, lap up every little detail and make it the focal point of my life for this week or go in between and enjoy my day off, wave my patriotic flag and be glad to witness such a historic day. Naturally I have gone for the latter. The night before I'm going to a Royalty themed party and as I always do I'm dressing as gay-ly as I possibly can. I looked for little loopholes in the theme and decided the way to go would be Freddie Mercury (lead singer of Queen) before his death in the 80s. Here is a picture of the dress rehearsal, moustache will feature on the night: http://twitpic.com/4q7h21 .

With my decision to passively enjoy the Royal Wedding my mind (and others') began to wander and wonder. What would happen if the Queen died? or Prince William or Kate got cold feet and didn't show up or one of them fell ill or it was revealed that one of them was having an affair? There would be uproar, chaos and devastation across the world.

I suppose an affair could be covered up by a super-injunction, which I find just ridiculous, how can famous people have the right to cover these affairs up but not the average Joe? I reckon that if you have an affair then you have to deal with the consequences, be it an extremely angry partner and/or a tabloid thunderstorm. If footballers can no longer control where they stick their willy then they should have to endure all the publicity and shame that it entails. If Prince William or Kate had an affair it would need more than just a super-injunction, it would need a hyper-mega-uber-super-injunction.

Sorry it's a short one, revision beckons.

Double standards

I should be revising, don't tell my mum. I know, I'm 18 and still scared of my mum, you would be too, she is terrifying and runs a dictatorship whenever it comes to exams. Unfortunately this has a negative effect, I do my absolute best not to revise to spite her, bit silly really.

I recently stumbled across a website after hearing about it on the radio. The idea of the website is for women to take pictures of men on the tube sneakily and post them on the site for other women to comment on, have a look - http://www.tubecrush.net/ . This is an interesting idea, not as good as a feature in the now deceased London Paper in which men and women would write love messages to people they had made eye contact with on public transport in London, often inviting them for drinks or dinner. I read this feature every day in Summer 2009 while working in Canary Wharf because I found it hilarious and secretly hoped one would refer to me. One day I broke the unspoken rule of London and spoke to someone, it was pouring with rain and the roof in London Bridge station was leaking. The trains were ridiculously delayed because of so much water so I was sat on a crowded rush hour train that wasn't going anywhere. A young woman (I would guess at about 25) was obviously not happy and without thinking I made a humorous comment about something. She giggled like a schoolgirl before we resumed the norm and ignored each other but kept smiling until the train was eventually cancelled and we were all forced to get home another way. I rang my dad and moaned, he instructed me home somehow. The next Monday I was reading the London Paper and eventually came across my guilty pleasure, the lovestruck bit. After reading a couple I got onto one that said "To the young looking guy in the purple tie on the cancelled 18:19 to Dorking from LBr, you made me smile on a day noone else could, drink?" My immediate reaction was that it must be someone else but then I began to break it up: young looking - I was 16 so young looking, made me smile - I did that to someone, cancelled 18:19 - I was on that, purple tie - I only had 3 ties, one of which was purple. How could it not be me? I didn't follow it up, the T&Cs said you had to be 18, it would never go anywhere, it was cheesy and would be so inappropriate. I met my girlfriend 3 days later on Epsom Downs anyway so I really didn't miss out.

Anyway, this website, in principal it is mildly amusing but a technique I learnt in (sigh) critical thinking is to reverse the situation and this reveals a terrible truth. Say there was a website of pictures of women on the tube that men had sneakily taken without the women knowing. There would be uproar, people would get in serious trouble, heads would roll and the stories would be endless. With this in mind why is it acceptable for women to take photos of men they don't know and submit them to a website for public judgement? Comments include "How fabulous! The new Victoria Line trains come with matching hotties. We'd wondered why ticket prices had gone up!" So I'm playing the double standards card that I so often play when it comes to advertising, either I want this website gone or I want one that works in the opposite way. And no I'm not bitter that noone has put a picture of me up, anyway I haven't taken the tube for months so one day I might be secretly snapped.

Back to revision, chromatography and sprectroscopy await.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Back in the good old days I used to look forward to school holidays, I would watch television all day, watch videos (remember them), play in the park/garden and play games with my brother. I then got older and would go out with my friends during the day. I then got older again and started going out in the evening and sleeping throughout the day. HOWEVER, these holidays I don't go out during the day, I occasionally venture out in the evening but my holidays are for one purpose only: revision. I get up at 9, start working at 10, lunch 1-1.30 and finish at 4. Depression usually sets in at around 11 and suicidal thoughts tend to creep in at around 2.30. I prefer the old school holidays, when can I have them again?

I had a revelation recently (I have them quite often but very rarely act upon them) about breakfast. It has become clear to me that porridge is the key to a long, happy and successful life. For this reason I went out and bought a kilogram bag of porridge oats (which should last about 3 weeks) from Waitrose for about £1. Porridge and strawberry jam every morning gets me to lunchtime without getting hungry and is easy to make and cheap and variable. If porridge was a woman, it would be the greatest woman alive (assuming she wasn't pale and gloopy like porridge is).

You may have noticed that another change may be taking place next month. We are having a referendum (oooooooohhhhh I hear you say) on the current voting system. This was David Cameron's way to get the Lib Dems to surrender everything they stand for and form a coalition. Clegg has got it alright though, if I had the chance to change the voting system to one in which I do better off then I would do it. This new system is Alternative Voting (AV), possibly replacing First Past The Post (FPTP). The no to AV party have worked out that it is possible for the party finishing 3rd in total votes can come 1st overall thanks to some complicated votes ranking and redistributing, I'm not here to explain, look it up if you care about it that much, but as an Arsenal fan I'd be happy for AV to be incorporated into the Premier League. However I don't reckon it's right for politics, I won't try to persuade you, my audience is intelligent to make it's own mind up (I assume you spotted that "it's" should have had no apostrophe - that was to prove your intelligence) but make sure you have done your research and don't blindly vote to change for the sake of it or keep it the same because it's tradition. I have done my research and my opinion is No to AV. I even get to vote this year which is very exciting, put my cross in the boxes for AV referendum and council people followed by fish and chips.

You have trusted me with recommendations in the past so go on http://www.richardstheone.org.uk/ for a lot of interesting opinions and insights into current affairs and things general (a lot like I do but slightly more eloquently).

New Experiences

A lot of things have happened for the first time recently. Obviously most of them mentioned here will be about me so I'll start with something that isn't. If you are a seasoned reader you will know I complain a lot about advertising, well the advertising world has got minorly better recently as the people in charge of advertising are now regulating online adverts. Unfortunately I will no longer be able to fraudulently claim to have free holidays, cheap viagra, a scent that makes you irresistible to the opposite sex or branded clothes at primark prices to boost my hits as the advertising authorities will get me, which noone wants.

As for me, I had my first trip to hospital a couple of weeks ago, it all started on the football pitch. David Streather pulled out of playing in football because he had a cough or something so I split the responsibility of filling in as goalkeeper with Danny Watts. We both warmed up in goal, him with green/blue house (our team) and me with brown house. Rather foolishly I chose to punch away one of the shots, it hurt like hell. Here I was presented with two options: pull out for the good of my wrist, or man up, keep calm and carry on. I chose the latter. First half I was playing centre back, this not being particularly strenuous on the wrist I had no problems, dealt with their pacey striker with ease (he wasn't particularly bright) and we went into half time at 1-1. Now it was time to pull on the gloves. The opposition really came at us second half but with not much end-product I didn't have too much to do. I made the routine stops from the torrent of corners and made a couple of saves (one involved diving in front of a striker and blocking the ball with my knees). With a minute left to play they came streaming down the right (my right), I hovered at the front post awaiting the cross, it came in and

went way over my head. I sprinted across the goal to cover the other post to be greeted by a stinging shot on my right. I parried it out into the area with my hurting hand, right towards another opposition player, he delayed slightly before volleying to my right. I threw myself across the goal making an expert stop that was cleared for a corner (it was described as Gordon Banks-esque and "the best save I've ever seen") In all honesty I got quite lucky, I am very good at diving to my right, if it had been on my other side I would have fallen over vaguely near it. They then scored from the resulting corner. When I was back in the changing room I noticed my wrist a little more - swollen, slightly purple and hurting a lot. The next day I took myself to A&E, I was X-rayed from every conceivable angle before being told I had broken my wrist and put in a cast (a purple one). I couldn't sit exams on my own, eat, write, play sport or juggle. I had another appointment one week later in which I was told I had not broken my wrist, simply sprained it, great, missed playing in the best football match of the year and had a scribe for exams for nothing. The cast was removed with a circular saw, a terrifying experience.

I mentioned the best football match of the year, this is the school vs Old Sutts annual game followed by drinks and curry. I went along to watch my team, who despite being without their influential captain marched on to win 2-1, the only school victory of the day. I decided that being in a cast would not inconvenience me enough to miss the drinks and curry. Free drinks had a bad affect on me leading to another first experience. A bottle of wine and countless beers led to a very drunk Joe. I have almost no recollection of the night past a point whatsoever, other than having hiccups on the way home. I was helped to bed and slept with the light on, practically sat up. I felt terrible in the morning (just before having my cast off), struggled with breakfast before showering. I finished my cup of tea and that's when it hit me that something wasn't quite right. I made it to the toilet before losing my chunder virginity, 10 months into my binge drinking career, my defining point was lost. I proceeded to chunder again later that morning before turning up at the hospital practically dead. I struggled through school with lucozade and a massive bottle of water. Five days later I still can't stand the taste of alcohol, especially wine.

For any homeless people reading this I have a suggestion for you, invest in bubble wrap. I went to a hobo-themed party wrapped in bubble wrap and I have never been so warm and cosy. It also provides excellent entertainment for yourself and others, I had guys and girls

popping my bubbles all night (pictured is my girlfriend in a stylish bin bag dress and me in bubble wrap and a friend's cowboy hat.)

Have a good Easter, mine will be spent revising all day and night.

Ejaculation denied

A collection of things have happened recently, I have learnt to juggle after 4 weeks of practice, the world has started to fall apart and fate has turned against me.

I'll start with a work story, it was a beautiful sunny Sunday lunch time and I had been baking bread, rolls, baguettes and pastries since 9 pretty much non-stop. I had just taken a batch of croissants out of the oven and put them on the rack to cool. It was at that point that a reasonably attractive woman came over with her boyfriend and asked if we had any croissants. My response was "I've just taken some out of the oven actually, how..." before I could finish she squealed with delight and full on snogged her boyfriend who seemed quite surprised by it (not that he was complaining). I was quite taken aback, at where was my thanks, I had bloody made them? Not saying I want that but why does he get all the credit? Me and my fellow bakers came up with a theory: croissant fetish, what else.

You are probably all aware that the world is falling apart, with half of the middle east rebelling against the dictators they have suffered under for years and most of pacific countries being struck by floods, earthquakes and tsunamis. However this timed we faced more, a nuclear crisis. The timing was impeccable, having just completed my section on nuclear power in physics, the crisis in Japan made perfect sense to me. Unfortunately as a scientist, my curiosity struck, part of me wanted a total meltdown or nuclear explosion, having not had a nuclear disaster in my lifetime I wanted to see what would happen. Obviously I don't want people to die or for the world to end, I just wanted an experiment. I am slightly concerned for the impact this will have on Britain's nuclear future, public opinion is at a low point and noone is going to want a nuclear power station near them. These people are morons. Nuclear is clearly the way forward, with no CO2 emissions it is by far the cleanest fuel and resources are not as limited as coal, oil or gas. As for safety, forget about it, the safety procedures and protocols are incredibly extensive, short of a natural disaster they can handle anything. Since Britain and Northern Europe are not near a tectonic plate boundary we don't have to worry about earthquakes, volcanoes or tsunamis. One last nuclear note, my utmost praise and respect goes to the engineers who have sacrificed themselves to stabilise the Fukushima Nuclear reactor, they exposed themselves to massive amounts of radiation to save their country and the future of nuclear power.

I had a bit of trouble sending my work home from school, with a virus still in the works at school I'm not putting my USB stick anywhere one of those USB ports at school without super firewall protection which I do not have (Techno STD style). Resorting to sending it home, I have to go through the long process of signing in, new message, attachments, selecting them, attaching them, typing in my own email address and sending. Thinking it had gone smoothly I turned off the computer and got on with something else. When I get home I find an email telling me it was blocked from sending due to "Sexual Content" because one of the documents contained the word "ejaculation". Firstly, I may have been using this word completely honestly, ejaculation can refer to any kind of sudden movement or outburst. Secondly I was writing a presentation on the Sympathetic and Parasympathetic nervous systems. I'm sure you are all aware that the Sympathetic Nervous System (SNS) controls all of the bodily functions that require an extra bit of kick (increase in heart rate, increase in breathing rate, temporary digestive halting to conserve energy and any of the Fight or Flight mechanisms). One of the functions the SNS performs is to cause ejaculation, a perfectly reasonable thing to mention in an A2 level presentation. Stupid webmail, might not be able to finish on time now.

I recently refereed the SGS El Clasico, the monumental fixture of Brown House vs Red House (Browncelona vs Real Red House). The report in the school sports tabloid (What's The Story: Sporting Glory - WTSSG) featured my name more than any of the players, clearly I made an impact. Described as "power-hungry" after awarding a controversial penalty, "rulebook-loving" for making the players stand on the half way line for the penalty shoot-out and "the dictator himself" for showing a red card to a player for gross sporting misconduct. I thought I had an excellent performance, anyone who was present is free to comment if they felt any differently.

Now the fate thing, anyone who is bored by displays of emotion, close the window now, it is the soppy bit. There has always been an expectation to see my wonderful girlfriend once a week (excluding Tuesdays, as lovely as they are) be it half a day on Saturday or Sunday or the evening on Friday. Unfortunately in the recent few weeks this has not happened. I have joined golf club at school meaning I am unavailable on Fridays. This isn't usually a problem but when for some reason Saturday becomes unavailable we are presented with a bit of a problem. This week she was busy on Saturday so I made alternative plans for a lads night at a mate's house on Saturday night. I then tried to pencil in a leaving do for a friend at work for Sunday night, exactly when she wanted to see me. My dictator of a mother however forbade me from going out twice in a weekend so I was saved the decision between work friends and girlfriend (undoubtedly would have chosen girlfriend because I am a right sop). So here is the 2nd week in 3 that I will not be seeing my girl and I really miss her, the day night I did see her I was too drunk to register anything anyway. Nothing seems to be working for us so we need to plough on until some kinder times arrive. Moan over.

Referees (football)

After reading a post about referees written by a friend of mine I started thinking about my feuds with referees and how it highlights the fact that I am everything that I hate in others. Mild tangent - I can't stand people who think they are above certain aspects in life that everyone takes part in but I consider myself to be way above starbucks, it is a horrible place that serves horrible coffee at inflated prices to stupid people who are trying to appear like they are vaguely cultured (ie. everyone except me). Does this mean I hate myself? That is a topic for another day.

Anyway, back on track, referees. I am a referee, not only this but I am an incredibly stubborn referee, what I see is what happened and whatever I decide is obviously right. I have been qualified nearly two years, I passed a practical course so already consider myself above the traditionalist theory course-ists. Not only this, I got every single question right on the multiple choice section of the exam and passed flawlessly on my practical exam, even receiving comments such as "wow, when you put that shirt on, you just look like a referee, a proper one."

When I referee I often encounter twats who argue with my every decision, they think they know better and stop at nothing to get in my head, this of course causes me to look for every opportunity to penalise them or even punish them. I am the ref, I am in charge and that's how it is. However, when I am a player I am worse than those who argue with me because I actually know what I'm talking about, putting referees on the back foot. Quite often I am a joy to referee, if the ref is qualified and consistent (I can manage bad refereeing because we are all human but inconsistent refereeing is unforgivable) then we get on well, obviously they get things wrong but you have to accept it. My problem is with unqualified referees who referee by their own rules. An excellent source of these people are school football matches, PE teachers who think they rule the world and A-level students who can't play football but try to help out anyway. One example of this was in a school match against Christ's Hospital, the referee was a right tosser, didn't know the offside rule and couldn't keep up with play. Losing 4-2 with a few minutes left I made a perfectly timed run onto a through ball, outpacing at least 1 defender. I rounded the goalkeeper, thinking this could be my moment of glory before being felled like a mighty oak tree by the goalkeeper. He went right into my ankle with his studs, just outside the 18 yard box. The foul alone merited a caution at least, the positioning and situation demanded a red card. Here came the 'referee', the cards were out, justice would be done. Hang on, that card is yellow, what a cowardly decision! When asked for an explanation he said "he wasn't last man". When arguing against this I said he was, I was in a far better situation to see that he was, he was the only player in front of me. Secondly I was forced to explain that last man is not even the rule, the rule is "denying an obvious goalscoring opportunity" which it definitely was. He threatened to caution me. Got him back though, refused to shake his hand and I always shake hands and apologise to referees I have given a hard time. I have many more examples of poor refereeing, just ask me sometime.

Eyes and Exam results

School has been pretty fun this past week, there have been practicals, football matches and all sort of new and interesting things. My scientific highlight of the week has undoubtedly been the dissection of an eye. (On a side note I feel obliged to clear up the correct pronunciatiation of dissection, it is a word that particularly annoys my girlfriend's dad so I do all I can to spread the truth. Contrary to popular belief it is pronounced diss-ection like in disc or disband, not die-section like dye or dine. Glad I have sorted that, he would be proud of me.) If you imagine an eye I bet you think it is soft and squishy, or maybe gloopy. They are not, they are pretty damn solid and tough. First we had to cut off the muscle around the eye, exposing it completely. Next was cutting into it, although preceeded by lots of pissing about and picture taking:

What else does a teenage boy do when presented with eyes? Back to the DISSSSection, eyes are pretty round and solid. Getting the scissors into the eye was like trying to get into a gobstopper with a fork, difficult. After nearly stabbing through my hand numerous times I developed a clever securing method involving the tweezers, I wish I could show you it. Upon piercing the Sclera (outside hard bit) I was greeted by a bitty black goop from the choroid (membrane that prevents internal reflection) and further goop that was the Vitreous Humour (goop that gives the eye shape). Our quest was for the lens (which was goopy), after finding mine and attempting to look through it I came to the conclusion the the animal that had so kindly donated its eye to me needed glasses. I did manage to read newspaper through it, inspecting a match report between Newcastle and Fulham from November (which ended 0-0), using a piece of an animal eye did not make the report any more interesting. In our school noone uses gloves for dissection, we are men.

I have some exam results tomorrow, needless to say I am quite nervous. It is quite odd being nervous about results, the part to be nervous about is surely the testing itself. Nervousness is a mechanism developed evolutionarily to help us perform better in high stress situations. To start with this hardly helps with academic thinky things as it is more about muscles and can actually be a bad thing in exams. I am hardly going to need all the extra adrenaline, strength and energy to pick up and open an envelope, unless of course they have included a detailed analysis of my mistakes, making it very heavy or have used extra thick envelopes with super strength glue. I, like many of my school comrades am facing a problem tomorrow. The results become available at 7:45am, I have a double free period meaning not arriving at school until 10:11am. Do I pick the results up as early as possible or turn up at 10 and grab them before double biology? A friend of mine will be picking his up as early as possible whereas another will be leaving it until the end of the day. It was only a few minutes ago that I realised that contrary to popular belief, the results will not change depending on when they are picked up. With this in mind I'll take the extra sleep and grab them around 10, unless of course I am too tense to sleep.

Good luck to all those collecting results (even though you needed the luck back in January and need very little luck to successfully open an envelope).

My Assorted Antics of Half Term

Half term is a glorious thing, especially February half term in year 13, it is the last chance to relax properly with little/no work to do, the best kind of relaxation. Obviously I had a little bit of work and I went through the motions of motivation appearing and disappearing very quickly. I did myself proud and did my physics homework on the Tuesday and finished it off on Wednesday. I then turned my sights to chemistry only to find I had left my text book at school, what a calamity! This put me off doing any work at all and as a result Sunday evening was spent frantically doing horrifically difficult biology homework. Not my best idea of the week. If you want a more detailed insight into the physics of procrastination read the blog of my friend (and comerade) Dave: mylifeisdaverage.blogspot.com the post called something to do with Winnie the Pooh.

This week featured a landmark in my growing up, I lost my clubbing virginity. It started at a mates house for the pre-lash (and the lash-lash for the under 18s amongst my friends). This consisted of a great deal of beer and playing on the wii. We played Just Dance 2, a game I had brought along which involves dancing in sync with the on-screen avatar. I am absolutely terrible at it but really enjoy it, and so did everyone else so I'm glad I did so. What I lack in dancing skills I more than make up for in virtual driving skills, MarioKart time. First I combined with everyone's favourite Diversity Kid lookalike, James Prince, to form team Joe James (we kept it simple) and blitzed the competition. Then came the Grand Prix, four novices were chosen as captains and they picked their teams. In a team of 3 and as Seed 1 I raced in the First and the Final (4th) races. I destroyed the field in the first race, finishing miles ahead of all my competitors. In the final race I was less lucky, caught in a fierce rivalry with Dan Watts I found myself at the back of the pack. My skillful driving and unparalleled knowledge of the game ensured I was back in front with one lap to go. A stroke of luck on Dan's behalf led to me being hit by a shell on the final stretch allowing him to take first place. With the superior team, the points favoured my team and we came top of the pile. The everything changed, I was made a captain and given last pick. Obviously I made Dave Williams mine, we have an unexplainably good chemistry and link perfectly in competition. Spurring each other on and advising on each race we both turned dire positions into prosperous ones, once again controlling the Grand Prix.

Back on track, clubbing. We went out in Kingston, our night coinciding with Frankie and the Heartstrings performing, luckily I quite like them so in a not very crowded club venue made my way to the front and being as drunk as I was I made myself seem like their biggest fan alongside Stephen Richer. High fived the lead singer twice and the drummer once, and managed to get hold of the set list, a successful night and only two hours into it. Then came the clubbing bit, expensive drinks and loud music, ideally I would have liked it more crowded so the atmosphere was right but had a laugh anyway, Indie and Alternative night ensured the music was brilliant. On the way home I bought a kebab and walked 4 miles before getting to Matt's house at 4 for a cup of tea before sharing his double bed (James got the spare bed and I hate the floor). He got cramp and kicked me at one point.

The next day was tough, I went to see my sister's dancing show with my equally tired girlfriend. It was a two hour show in which my sister featured for about 4 minutes but it was very good and we both enjoyed it. I am a bit OCD about syncronisation and timing so dancing shows exhibit this, easing my crazy mind. We then went back to mine to watch a film, and when I say watch a film I actually mean watch a film, we watched Goodnight Mr Tom, a film I love. Under normal circumstances it gets me a bit teary but in my fragile and unstable state it had me crying twice, oh dear.

The day did not end on a high, I got an email telling me Bristol University had rejected my application to study there, I was not happy, although I didn't particularly want to go there, the feeling of rejection is still pretty horrible, especially since they made an offer to someone I know for the course I wanted who is about as dim as a broken streetlight. Oh well, as my nan always says "their loss dear".

Frowned Upon

A lot of things in this world are not allowed, murder, theft, rape etc. all pretty nasty things but with laws help to prevent people doing this and punish those who do. Everything that is not against the law must therefore be considered doable, people can go by doing these law-abiding activities and noone is bothered. Unfortunately this is not the case and there is a very large grey area in between, this area contains many activities and things that are perfectly legal but seen as the wrong thing to be doing. This grey area can be named "The Frowned Upon Zone". Not illegal but not appreciated either. Naturally The Frowned Upon Zone contains a variety of things, from the should-be-illegal playing shit music out loud in public, using a seat for your bag on the bus or fat people wearing promiscuous clothing/being topless to the London-etiquette such as talking to people you don't know, wearing tracksuits out to dinner and eating food from one shop while in another. One that usually divides opinion is pissing in the shower, think about that one.

One particular thing that is frowned upon greatly is public flatulence, obviously it is rather unpleasant but it should be acceptable, the passing of gas is perfectly natural and everyone does it, even the Royal Family. Not only this but it is not healthy to hold it in, trapped gas is incredibly painful and if it diffuses into cells or the bloodstream it cocks up the pH (another Beaumontism) causing pain and problems, after being around any female (especially my girlfriend) for a lengthy period of time I am in horrific pain for a couple of hours while everything sorts itself out inside me. A country in Africa is even considering making public flatulence illegal! Madness! Not only a ridiculous law but pretty difficult to enforce. The police will have to resort to "he who smelt it, dealt it" or "he who denied it, supplied it". And for those of us that blush very easily, we are in serious trouble, facing lengthy sentences for farts that were not ours.

I am going to start being more literal in life and surveying the general public, standing somewhere and frowning at those who perform an action deemed within "The Frowning Zone", perhaps even encourage others to join me.

Blogging Scrapbook

I have been collecting dribs and drabs that would make up something to write about but nothing really substantial came up so I'm going to collect all of my little snapshots of interestingness and stick it together in this scrapbook of a post. Enjoy my rough, untidy patchiness, after all, a scrapbook should never be neat and organised.

Let me start by say welcome my Labels and Jellyspoons. I may sound mad but this is what is known in my school as a Beaumontism, a phrase used and made famous by my slightly eccentric but infinitely brilliant chemistry teacher Mr Beaumont. He has lots of little phrases that are commonplace in lessons but if used in an exam would leave the examiner thinking you are a dribbling fool or escaped lunatic (Mr Beaumont is neither). An extremely popular one is "it will just sit there and smile at you" meaning "it won't react" not to mention "this is going to kick some arse" which naturally means "it is very reactive". I have had a sudden mind blank of the other good ones so any readers who have been taught by Mr B, feel free to add some in the comments box.

Next little scrap for the book - Valentine's Day, believe it or not, I am not a fan of February 14th. I sometimes abandon my usual conservative views in favour of radical socialist views (just ask me my opinion on starbucks) and Valentine's Day is one of these times. Why do I need to spend an enormous amount of money on my girlfriend, just to prove that I quite like her? I prefer to spread my heart out, spontaneous flowers in mid-June, just because I happened to walk past some flowers with a bit of spare change, out to dinner at the beginning of October, because I feel like a treat or a hand written letter at the end of March, just because I'm in the mood for it. Unfortunately the corporate dogs in all their money grabbing wisdom, made a day in which it is customary, almost obligatory to treat your other half (my better half). To take it further, restaurants, supermarkets, card makers, chocolatiers and just about every feasible activity double-treble their prices to milk as much money out of men desperate to buy their way into their spouses knickers later that night. Men judge each other on their plans for the Mrs, looking down on those who are planning "a quiet night in" instead of a romantic cruise on the river or dinner and fireworks at sunset on the hill where we shared our first kiss, ruthless competition between males drives them further to prove they can treat their woman better than the next guy. The world needs more spontaneity, not ruthlessly organised gift buying. Having said all this I did fork out for a rose, champagne, dinner and a card. Why? Because it is the rules, obviously my girlfriend is great and deserves the best treatment I can possibly give but why does it have to be scheduled by the retail calendar? Then there is the even worse side to Valentine's day, single people feel terrible, another year with no plans, I'll just sit at home, watch a film, eat chocolate and feel sorry for myself. If treating her was spontaneous then desperately lonely people would cry themselves to sleep one night less each year.

If you ever find yourself walking down Sutton high street on a Sunday evening you will be struck by how desolate it is, I felt like I was walking through a post-apocalyptic world, shops all shut, completely deserted, rain falling and the only sounds being my footprints and the rain on my umbrella.

When I go to work, I get the bus to Cheam to meet up with my beautiful girlfriend before going to work. It is these frequent journeys to Cheam from Sutton that has led me to alter one of the worlds oldest sayings: "There are only two certainties in life: death and taxes" ~Ben Franklin but was misheard in London and converted to "death and taxis". I realised this is wrong, the two things in life you can be absolutely certain of are death and 213 buses.

Four scraps - more of a scrapbooklet than a scrapbook, oh well, happy scrapping.

My Glorious Return

I'm back, it has been a long absence, nearly a month. I have had exams you see, three nasty horrible A-level exams (and two AS retakes) totalling five opportunities for me to make or break my future. This entailed a great amount of revision, essentially ruining the Christmas holidays for me. Revision requires a substantial amount of willpower, which I undoubtedly have, I went without alcohol for four weeks in the run up to the exams, not an easy feat. I have always wanted someone to question my will so I can say " Tah, no will, my middle name is will!" (it is actually William making it a brilliantly clever thing to say).

Going without alcohol for so long was pretty tough, especially when the person you are attempting it with is a raging alcoholic who can't even manage 3 weeks, cough cough Matt Pottle! We went to a lads curry night with all my mates to order and eat curry, play FIFA11 and drink ourselves silly, or in the case or Matt and I, make a pot of tea and have a lovely civilised chat. Our pot was ruined by some twat pouring lager in it, we were not impressed.

After finishing my exams (Physics unit 4 was my last exam) we went to the pub to celebrate, 4 weeks dry meant I was pretty liberal and had a full wallet and drank in excess for several hours, it was brilliant. I was then at a mate's neon themed party the next night, drinking to excess, covering myself and others in neon paint and making brilliant noble gas jokes ensued. It was the next morning, whilst playing football in the bitter cold that it hit me, it was still January, I'm only half way through the year and still have to go to school. Damn.

I have a warning for anyone reading this, recently I have developed an urge for conflict with whoever is unfortunate to make me snap. This started while I was playing football, I always have the slight urge to argue with referees, being a referee myself it gives me firepower in the form of knowledge. I can catch them out on technicalities, make them look foolish and ultimately achieve nothing but smugness and satisfaction. This has got to the extent that I want them to make bad decisions, giving me reason to argue with them in the hope they will say "and are you a referee" so I can go "yes I am" and metaphorically give them the two finger salute. So yeah, don't annoy me because I already have my argument prepared against you, whoever you are.

Whilst having a conversation about "The Man" (see previous post) a friend reminded me of something that happened to me today. While walking to school I was overtaken by a small child who was running, in an attempt to get him to come back his dad shouted "come back, he is much bigger than you, and might squash you" referring to me. This man does not know me, just assumes I am a clumsy-child-crushing-buffoon. I have never crushed a child.

Hope you have enjoyed my return.

Formspring and McDonalds

Once again exam season is approaching, providing me with fuel for blogs and less time to write them. I also seem to be spending more time on facebook, reading and re-reading statuses about the communal hatred for revision in the hope that something interesting will pop up. It never does.

What really gets me is the torrent of Year 7-11s that have decided to add me as a friend. People I have never even heard of or even seen but apparently they go to my school. Not being a complete arsehole I think back to my times in those years where I did the same thing so I accept. BIG MISTAKE. The lower years constantly treat my news feed to ignorant, uneducated statuses or constantly make formspring posts. For those not up to date with the latest time-wasting websites it is a networking site on which you make a profile and people ask you questions anonamously, you then answer them and they get posted to your profile. Some people think it is a good idea to link their formspring profile with their facebook profile, littering my news feed with useless tosh about people I hardly know. Formspring is a horrible idea, it acts as a platform for cyber bullying and a picking ground for paedophiles and sexpests. The next horrible idea is being able to link it with facebook. These lower school kids with no revision to do just resort to bullying each other on formspring constantly. Girls try to make boys like their friends, boy abuse girls, boys abuse boy, girls abuse girls, IT IS HORRIBLE. One boy, I will call him JMB is liked by a girl called Phoebe. All of her friends are trying to find out why he doesn't go out with her, all his guy friends are calling him gay and he replies with a straight "no." or equivalent. Oh Phoebe likes you, what about Phoebe? Why don't you go out with her? Oh hey GAAAY, You like men. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP. I have since hidden him from the newsfeed.

Those little postcards from the postman are pretty annoying, give my package to the neighbours and they will drop it off when I am home, don't make me trek it to Wallington to pick up a package that was slightly to big for my letterbox. So little initiative these posties.

I went to McDonalds today and with no cash I was forced to pay by card. The woman serving me went off to get my food and I was left with the dilemma of when to put my card in the machine. At work I have to press a button before the machine accepts cards but she pressed no such button. When she returned she tapped the screen and said "Is it in yet?" My friends were not within earshot and I did not know this woman who was serving me. The greatest "that's what she said" moment was lost forever. How saddening.