Saturday 30 January 2010

My Last Ever Blog ...

..Okay. Not really. But it might as well be.

MY LIFE IS OVER.

Let me set the scene. I was at home, with my housemates, happily watching Celebrity Big Brother, hoping Dane would win (the public know NOTHING), not a care in the world. And then Davina announced that we could audition for the last ever Big Brother, and to check online now.

I ran to the computer, opened up Firefox as quickly as my trembling hands would allow, and hurriedly went to the channel4 website, beaming with excitement.

"Ah, Big Brother, I will be with you soon", I thought, as I opened the auditions page.

But then - oh it hurts to even talk about - I read the dates. I couldn't believe it. Most of the auditions had already happened. There were only the Glasgow ones left (for this weekend), and London for next weekend - and I already had tickets to go to Warwick.

My lifelong dreams had been shattered. I was destroyed. I have tried to see it as being fate, as a sign from God, it just wasn't meant to be. But I just can't let go. I was meant to be in that house.

Even worse than that, the Deal or No Deal website has been telling me 'server busy' for the last two days. I don't understand the world.

I JUST WANT TO BE ON TELEVISION.

There's only one thing for it. I must date a Rolling Stone. I'll let you know how it goes.

Thursday 28 January 2010

Lecture, Seminar... Naptime.

When you're at university, you like to feel that you've grown up, you've matured, and you're essentially a 'grown-up'. It's meant to be that perfect in-between stage, where we learn how to be independent, and begin our journey into adulthood. However, in one way, university simply turns us all into children again.

When we're little, we fall over, and then shout for mummy, who immediately sorts out our boo-boo with a plaster and a kiss. At university, we spend all our money on getting so drunk we fall over, and then call mummy, who (reluctantly) sorts out our financial boo-oo with lots of money. Practically the same thing, right?

When we're little, we organise the day through meal-times. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. And not forgetting nap-time & snack-time. Although breakfast is a time of day rarely seen by university students, the rest stays the same. Nap-time is essential, or else we'll be extremely cranky, and nobody likes a cranky student. Snack-time is worse in halls, when you spend about 95% of your day in the kitchen, but nonetheless it still exists amongst second and third years; you need frequent 'snacks' of coffee and Redbull for those horrible days when nap-time has to be skipped. Shudder.

When we're little, we often have times when we throw up on ourselves, can't quite walk straight, and have trouble talking. This one doesn't even need to be explained.

Not that I'm complaining. It's brilliant. If only the homework was still the same.

Monday 25 January 2010

University of Facebook

Anybody who has been on Facebook in the last few days cannot have failed to notice the massive increase in groups desperate for new members, eager to increase their numbers.

This is not simply due to the number of sad, shy, anti-social teenagers who long to have their life acknowledged via the power of social-networking, but can actually be related to graduates attempting to 'win' themselves an internship.

Saatchi & Saatchi have decided to award successful candiates with a summer scholarship, through a series of challenges described on the group page as 'The Apprentice meets Big Brother' (although I think we all know nothing could even compare to the current BB). The first of these challenges was to create a Facebook group, and then get lots of people to join it. The highest 50% of the groups made are allowed to take part in the second challenge.

Whilst this is all very interesting and oh-so-modern, it's also darned annoying. My entire Facebook news feed is filled with 'John Smith has joined the group 'If this group gets to 1,000,000,000 members then I will sky dive from a helicopter made from the fingernails of A-List celebrities, without a parachute, with at least three members of the Royal Family", and so on and so forth.

And where does it end? Will CVs only be accepted if they are recited (oh so beautifully) by Stephen Fry, with a million hits on YouTube? Will all job interviews take place on Stickam? Will degrees be given out via Twitter?

Who knows? All I can say is, thank God I have Broadband.

Saturday 23 January 2010

To Gym, Or Not To Gym?

I hate going to the gym.
Actually that's a lie. I don't mind the gym. I just hate it when other people are there.
Actually that's a lie. I don't mind other people. I just hate the people that seem to be at my gym constantly.

I expected the gym to be full of flabby tummies and wobbly bums, but apparently it's the latest hot spot for the thin and beautiful, who manage to remain immaculate even after an hour on the cross trainer. In fact, better than immaculate, they have a healthy glow. Yuck.

I have two theories:

Number One: These are people paid by the gym to stand around and show you what you could look like if you actually went there more than once a week.
Number Two: There is an international thin and beautiful alliance that has decided it is their duty to make us slightly chubby, very sweaty mortals feel too embarassed to go the gym, thus providing them with a system of gym bases which they will then use to take over the world.

Clearly these are the only two possible options for them to be there. I reckon the second one is much more likely, to be honest. However, do not fear! There is an obvious solution. I suggest eating lots of choccy biscuits to keep your strength up, and avoiding all gyms in general.

Just to be on the safe side. Obviously.

Wednesday 20 January 2010

The Morning After The Night Before

The alarm goes off. Snooze goes on. Alarm goes off. Snooze goes on.
Two hours later, a knock on the door, and a bleary eyed, pyjama clad student runs down the stairs, jamming contact lenses in with one hand and trying to drag a hairbrush through the birds' nest that magically formed overnight with the other, trying to understand why they've been forced to wake up before noon.
And yet what were they doing the night before? Not a heavy night of questionable drinking games and vomit filled toilet; no, something which will inevitably cause much more damage to their degree.

Television.

Oh, it's such a terrible thing. My household literally has a timetabled schedule of programmes to watch every day. I recognise the people that sign language shows about mountain climbing in the early hours of the morning. I watch the same episode of Friends at least four times a day - damn you, e4 plus one!

I can fool myself that I simply wish to make the most of my television license; that as a student, it is my right and duty to make every single penny worth it. It's not even simply background noise, something to keep us mildly entertained whilst we busy ourselves with much more important, useful activies.

It even takes a considerable amount of effort; we seem to be missing a remote, resulting in the actual need to get out of our chairs and manually change the channel! Can you believe it?
Soon the government won't have to worry about binge-drinking; it's binge-watching that they'll have to worry about.

I do however, have a solution, which will not only solve obesity and poor work ethics, but could even help the global warming cause and eventually result in world peace.
Simply - oh hang on, I'll tell you later, QI is on!

Crucial Conundrum

I now know what it feels like to be old. I have literally reached that point in life where I realise I am no longer a child and that my days will now consist of complaining about politics and getting drunk on two glasses of wine.
How have I come to this decision? Snow.

For a London girl, snow at Christmas time should make me excited beyond my wildest dream. When I was younger I would fantasise about building snowmen in the same way other girls would dream about marrying Robbie Williams.

So surely this winter should've made me the happiest person in the world? Unfortunately not.

Instead of frolicking in the beautiful piles of fluffy, delicious snow, I am sat inside a freezing house, with numerous amounts of blankets, a microwavable reindeer and at least 7 pairs of socks. Complaining. About the cold. And the state of the roads.
Even though I can't drive. That's how bad it is.

Soon I'll be complaining about the youth of today, and their inconsiderate habit of having FUN, and why don't we bring back Tony Blair, he was such a handsome young man, and, oh my God, what are you doing, turn the channel over, WE'RE MISSING COUNTDOWN.
Although, to be honest, Countdown is a jolly good show.
I wonder if they show it on 4OD?

Tuesday 19 January 2010

Determination and Intoxication

Latest Booze News from the BBC.

Apparently, all-you-can-drink offers and speed-drinking competitions may soon be banned from our good old locals, in order to crack down on alcohol abuse. Interesting.

Now, I don't know about you, but instead of worrying about this threat against our right to get absolutely bladdered, I'm more curious about where these offers and competitions take place. My local pub offers overpriced lager and watered down vodka; I don't need to drink a glass of water in between each drink, the landlord provides that in my double voddy Diet Coke already!

And yet I still manage to get drunk. I guess if there's a will, there's a way. Or perhaps if there's a predrinks on cheap booze at my house beforehand, there's a way.
I suppose it's things like that that have led to this concept that keeps popping up; to raise the price of alcohol in general, in an attempt to stop binge drinking and prevent children from buying booze at 'pocket money prices'.
If people want to get drunk, people will get drunk.

I'm a university student; I am the absolute authority on alcohol, alcohol abuse, and everything in between. Trust me on this. We will drink anything. My housemates have worked their way through port & Coke (apparently not too bad), Baileys & Coke (that curdles. should've realised that), and some strange black stuff in a dusty bottle. Still don't know what that was.

The point is, nothing will hold us back. If the price of vodka rockets and I have to resort to drinking beer (so many calories, dontcha know), then so be it.

Because, as God is my witness, I refuse to see the end of binge-drinking as we know it. Be proud, my fellow boozers. Alcohol is your friend. And indeed, alcohol helps you make friends. Nobody likes to admit it, but it's true. That's why Fresher's Week is so ridiculously alcohol infused. It's far too awkward to talk to new people sober. Bring out the booze, and everybody is bestest buds! To be honest, if it wasn't for alcohol, I don't think I would have any housemates.

So, politicians, raise our drinks prices if you must, and cancel these myserious speed-drinking competitions, and all-you-can-drink deals (but please tell me where they are first), but they won't work. With the power of fake ID, for our young followers, or the magic of a student loan, we will get drunk. And we will love it.