An Unremarkable Narrative of the Present

AND WE’RE OFF TO A DRYING START...

Fri, 04 Jan 2013 04:58:00 -0500

Day four into the Dryathalon and let me tell you, there has been ample opportunities that a glass of vino would have sat nicely with. At this rate I’ll be gagging for a hearty Malbec before we’re halfway through the month.

I’ve noticed a lot of the company I’ve been keeping has also been abstaining in my presence, but I’m just sort of thinking “Have a bevvy whilst you can! Have one for me.” I think it is important for me to tell you that I was NOT planning on ‘cutting back’ for January at all, I simply wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for Cancer Research UK. So it sort of perplexes me that anyone would prohibit themselves the joy of a cool white just to stay trim. I’d sooner jog round me living room for an extended amount of time to earn it.

Perhaps it’s the back-to-work early starts but I’ve been feeling rougher than ever in the mornings; cruel irony! I’ve felt better than this after a night heavy-hitting the vespers, it’s beyond all rhyme and reason!

And I’m ignoring the fact that today is a Friday. Because what is a Friday if not an excuse to go out after work and have a couple of social drinks with your mates?

Back to the fundraising though: Nearly halfway, which is lovely. Go on, put your name up there :-)

Thanks to all who have donated so far. I’d buy you a drink but….

xxx

Dry as a bone.

Tue, 11 Dec 2012 19:33:05 -0500

Thanks for reading. And now, thanks for reading more than the first sentence. This is my little write up of being a dryathlete *fanfare* I’m not a dryathlete yet, I have 20 more days to go first, or as I like to think of it, 25 more opportunities to get pissed (sometimes you nap it off and start again).

Throughout the course of January (boring month, what even is it?) I’m going to be completely teetotal in the hope that people see my pain and donate money to Cancer Research via my JustGiving page.

I see you with your pursed lips and post-Olympic comedown and I know what you’re thinking; Why a Dryathalon? Why not a triathalon or a real feat of physical endurance? Well I say ON YER BLOODY BIKE I HAVE A HEART CONDITION, I’D DIE! And when I’m not using that as my go to excuse, I think a dryathalon is much more torturous and agonising then a little jog round some stupid park or something. Especially for someone like me, a social butterfly whose best jokes and dance moves are found at the bottom of a wine glass. Jokes, dance moves, hair – they’re my three things.

Hopefully, along with raising money for a kick arse cause, this little experiment will prove that I am still bare hilare and a reasonably zealous arse shaker without needing Dutch courage! That’s why I’m keeping this blog. Then if I am going round like the black hole of boredom, you’ll all pay me to start drinking again and Cancer Research will get EVEN MORE money. That’d be sweet.

Well, let me start you off with a little anecdote of what happened the day I signed up to the Dryathalon, this Sunday just gone. In my excitement, and the euphoria of Manchester United, Kings of Manchester, winning the derby I decided to go on an impromptu bar crawl with my housemate and great mate Amy (she’s sponsored me, probably felt responsible). After a few bottle of Clapham’s finest pinot and then running round the park pretending to be squirrels I decided to meet an old friend in Soho and take advantage of a three-hour-long happy ‘hour’. Happy indeed.

To cut a long story short, I fell asleep on the Tube (bad) but managed to step off at the right platform (better) then did a graceful fountain of vomit on the platform (worse - totes soz TfL) then panicked and pegged it out of the Tube with all the grace and confidence of Quasimodo that disastrous time he stepped out into public for the first time (worse again).

Thoughtfully, the part of my brain that wasn’t losing brain cells at a rapid speed felt that experiencing this fond moment was not enough for just me and I was compelled to share it with Twitter and Facebook, offering my insightful philosophies, such as “help. Im drunbk. Im bomited.”

I can’t remember much about being home but apparently I told my flatmates a story about a girl I’d just seen being sick on the platform then sensationally ended it with “AND IT WAS ME!” Which I actually now think is very reassuring that no matter how near unconsciousness I get I’m a true raconteur to the very end.

My ‘recently dialled’ read like a list of America’s Most Wanted, which was an absolute pleasure to clear up the next day. I thought about ringing Max Clifford to put all that in order for me, but he’s got his hands tied up at the minute with other things.

But anyway, this is perhaps the opposite direction my online compendium of thoughts should be taking. Sober. Sober, sober, sober. That’s the January me!

Thanks a big bunch for supporting me friends. Both financially and, when the time comes, please keep me away from doing crafty things like smelling drunken tramps to get a little hit etc.

Oh and just to be really clear, during the month I am allowed to drink non-alcoholic drinks, like water or orange juice with pulp in. This isn’t some kind of David Blaine stunt I’m pulling of nil by mouth for 31 days. Please don’t let that affect your donation.

Yours,

Jamo xxx

Rock and Troll.

Mon, 19 Mar 2012 21:02:04 -0400

I love the smell of bacon in the morning. Tonight I realised I love the sight of Bacon in the evening, fighting internet super villains using psychology experts and fake Bacon-bashing accounts too! As you may infer, I have just watched Richard Bacon’s show about trolling. It was an interesting programme but I found it quite disturbing. I didn’t know internet bullies or trolls would go so far, though I don’t usually consider myself naive about these things; I did theatre studies and read plays about people who do the most physically disturbing things any twisted imagination could conceive. As with most things, upsetting stuff is more stomach-able when approached with intellect or academia (note: two different things). That’s why I’m glad the show was made; make the whole thing less shocking and ultimately less effective.

But trolls, though traditionally ugly and big in myths, aren’t generally causing physical harm online. They are causing emotional harm and that’s very different from the plays I read about people jabbing knives up each others’ bums. I don’t think I’m very good at verbalising my feelings when I’m not quite sure what they are and I’m not a fan of extemporaneously sitting at a computer and bashing out crap in the immediate aftermath of an event but I’ll try and summarise my opinions anyway because today at work I learnt that people with blogs are taken notice of, and who doesn’t want to be noticeable?

I think there is some sort of link between the summer riots of 2011 and the online troll forums where people meet to discuss where and how to post disrespectful messages about the dead, especially children or vulnerable people. I think we are witnessing a generation of people who are damaged and seek self-gratification by trying to maxi-shock or stick their faces into whatever they think would be the most taboo thing ever but in an anonymous way that they can switch off from. Yeah it’s ok to stick ‘maxi-’ in front of a word to make it a superlative. I’m just chilling with my homeboi grammar right now, we make the rules here.

I don’t know if my views are particularly patronising, I hope not, as I think these things just incense increasing numbers of people from each side until it is unclear whom is bullying whom. It’s all a nuisance too. Why doesn’t everyone just get a blog, stick their face and name on it and talk about the most interesting things they can think of saying rather than anonymously abusing people? They don’t even have to be riveting just LOOK AT ME, I’m doing it and I’m barely even proof reading my own material, let alone any other poor soul who is kind enough to consider my humble opinions. Just keeping out of harm aren’t I?! Also, come on guysies, they can use the word ‘maxi-’ as a superlative wherever they like and no-one will bat and eyelid.

Going back to the show though, I really liked that radical trollhunter guy who dobs them in to the police and pretends to be one of them to steal secrets. Double agents and moles are cool and sexy but in this case it just saddens me that they have to exist as a remedy to the trolls. It also saddens me that no vigilante groups have deemed themselves ‘The Billy Goats Gruff’ either.

Fairytale PJs aside (private jokes), I want to say to the peacekeepers of the world to keep trying, be relentless. You are my heroes. And for those less heroic, like myself, just keep writing blogs.

Mother lover

Sun, 18 Mar 2012 20:37:35 -0400

Lots of happy and sad news on my Facebook feed at the moment. It is very sweet to see how many people love their Mothers and think that their Mother is the best (I can certainly tell you that it is mine who is World’s Best Mum, sorry everyone).

I prefer Mothering Sunday to Valentine’s Day by a mile because whilst both days may be accused of being ploys to sell cards and flowers and both may be guilty of alienating people, childless/motherless and single people respectively, I think Mother’s Day promotes the idea of true uncompromising love. Valentine’s seems to be an excuse for people who have found a significant other to get smug and worship cartoon drawings which look nothing like the biological organ they bizarrely claim to represent. In fact, I’d sooner devote time and energy to a holiday which celebrates the heart as an organ which amazingly pumps blood around the whole body rather than as a false symbol of adoration and sexy feelings. I know which organ I keep those motivations in and it is a bit further south than my aortic region.

And Valentine’s Day has the initials VD, like venereal disease, which I think is telling enough.

I think telling your Mother you love her is unspeakably important as many who have lost their Mum’s will tell you. By telling your Mum you love her you not only acknowledge your appreciation of her endless hard work, you remind her how loved and special she is to everyone she knows and most of all to you, the person she probably cares most about.

You affirm a choice that she never doubts anyway- that disfiguring her body to bestow life unto you and let you live in a warm cushiony palace rent free for nine months of very critical incubation and growth was not a wasted and painful act but a completely selfless and beautiful thing to do.

When you are able to tell your Mother you love her, you know it is safe because the love was already reciprocated before you were even born. You learnt how to love because your Mum loved you then. You can progress through life loving new people and creating new people to love because you have been instinctually taught how to love from birth. Every day you love anyone or anything it is because your Mum loved you and so every day is Mother’s Day.

I just wish I had not forgotten to speak with mine today.

Love you Mum xx

The Social Services of the bloggersphere should confiscate this page for complete neglect. The best...

Tue, 22 Mar 2011 11:37:00 -0400

The Social Services of the bloggersphere should confiscate this page for complete neglect. The best thing about blogs is that they’re not as demanding as a Tamagotchi though and you can revisit them whenever and hope it still has a bit of life in it, unlike my poor Tamagotchi, Dino (RIP, 3 days old). However, if your blog gets TOO much attention, you could just be filling it with shit, which actually is a bit like what happened with Dino, who had the worst case of dinosaur diarrhoea I have ever seen.

Still on the application train. Not sure why I’ve used a train as the metaphor of choice there, because normal trains are uncomfortable for a bit but ultimately have a destination where you get off and my process of applying for full-time snazzy jobs will never come to an end it seems. Maybe I should go with a kennel theme - I’m the rabid, flea-ridden dog of the employment world, no-one’s picking me up from the pound, even though I would never bite my owner and can do good tricks (do an excellent job basically, if you’ve lost the metaphor by now).

I did have a job interview in London a few weeks ago, which was cool but I didn’t get the job. The short, wondrous, indeterminate time between my invitation to interview and rejection allowed me ten days of living in London fantasy. I was pretending I was progressing through the ranks in a swanky urban scenario, meeting people for disgustingly expensive cocktails, buying amazing things from the world’s greatest flagship clothes stores etc. But even though it was just a fantasy and I could have dreamed anything I liked, I imagined I had problems with rats, which I think says a lot about London.

Visiting the capital was a good experience; I like to refer to it as my slice of London pie. I tasted it, and now I want a bigger portion. The assessment day was alright too, had to prepare a five minute presentation about marketing in the 21^st Century and do a finance/current affairs/business test which was so hard I considered re-enrolling in primary school. I think I knew some of the answers but as time ran out I thought I’d try my hand at pissing in the wind. E.g. Test: ‘Name two successful Canadian businesses?’ I wrote ‘Justin Bieber’. Good one Jamo, 10/10 for on teenybopper knowledge, wanna job?!

Apart from that tricky situation, I think I did alright; I was engaging, delivered the presentation well and swished my hair around a lot (it works for Cat Deeley). But, I really believe the standard of my competition was too good. I was the only candidate out of 14 from outside of London and they already had full-time jobs, most in the publishing industry, which stood them in a sweet position for the job with publishing/marketing agency Raconteur Media. When we were all being introductory and friendly and asking “where have you travelled from today?” I told them Manchester and someone actually went “I’m originally from Yorkshire but I’d never admit that, moved here a few years ago”. To which someone else replied “Yah, me too, from Doncaster, but it’s my biggest secret.” I’m not even joking but one person even boasted their rent is bigger than their Daddy’s mortgage. When I suggested they try for jobs at MediaCityUK one said ”I’d rather be unemployed or dead than live in the north”. I wanted to just look at my handbag, pretend it was a YORKSHIRE terrier, and say “Oh Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore!” Of course the London pie is delicious, but it’s nothing without some Northern gravy.

Was a bit upset I didn’t get the job, though it hurt less than being rejected from a job I didn’t want, like one a few months ago. I didn’t like to tell people that my London dream was over before it had begun though, because delivering bad news and disappointing people by not living up to their expectations is just unpleasant. I snotted over Tom Brown’s sofa about it for 5 minutes but then I bounced back, because like my face, there’s a lot of elasticity in me yet.

I’ve recently noticed the amount of people that have blogs is immense. Everyone’s at it, putting themselves out there. I’ve been thinking I should just take a back seat with mine because any words I type here I could be putting to good use, filling in applications. However, because I’ve given up gossip for Lent I could use the time I spend reading online gossip (there’s my dirty secret) just blogging. Though if I find myself in another situation where a Justin Bieber answer might cut the mustard, I’m putting myself in a disadvantaged position by boycotting trashy goss ‘news’. With so much interesting and stimulating world and UK news going on at the moment, I honestly must say I have been kept more than busy with my internet browsing. Nowadays the image of mass natural destruction has kept me much more engaged, concerned and terrified than the image of botched D-list celeb surgery. And whilst I appreciate the demand for celeb news and media obsession, I hope to continue to associate myself with high quality journalism, even after Jesus Christ has risen in 2011.

So that’s a little update, just felt compelled to write here as it’s very sunny today and I think there is something about sun which motivates people and brings happiness. I hope it’s working for you, and if not here’s a little treat to move things along.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6tV11acSRk

Katie.

Watership Down Workout

Tue, 08 Feb 2011 14:52:37 -0500

This is only a little one, but I thought I better tell someone the numerous connections between bunny rabbits and the gym. For example, like those Playboy (Gym) Bunnies you find in every gym, who don’t break a sweat and wear the tiniest little shorts. And the Duracell Battery Bunnies who absolutely hammer it on the treadmill. I’m so dead after today’s gym sesh, that I think I went above and beyond the the qualifying criteria of Duracell Bunny, straight into the Rampant Rabbit category!

Oh well, if I keep this up, I’ll be as cute as a bunny when (the) March (hare) comes around. Even if I feel like myxomatosis!

Katie.

I’m ever so sorry for not blogging. I wish I could stick to the commitments of a book challenge but...

Mon, 24 Jan 2011 14:29:40 -0500

I’m ever so sorry for not blogging. I wish I could stick to the commitments of a book challenge but I’ve been trying to spend my time in ways which will positively contribute to my ‘future’. I think that’s ironic ‘cos in order to have a future, you must have some sort of present and I certainly have nothing of importance to note on here.

Currently, I’m feeling quite negative about the state of jobs out there. I haven’t spoken to anyone in a long time who remotely enjoys their job. Most people feel underpaid, worried about redundancies and in a career that they think is useless and unfulfilling. Who’s got all the good jobs? Is it Phillip Schofield? He seems happy, but I bet he gets tired and standing near ice has got to be chilly. Luckily, I have the foresight to know that starting and maintaining a career won’t always be this difficult and the job market will continually be changing in years to come. However, it’s easier than blowing my nose to forget to arm myself with this and similar facts in order to destroy my rising cynicism.

When I’m not tearing my hair out at the computer, I have been spending copious amount of time at the gym. Apparently, the endorphins I have been seeking from chocolate all this time can be found after a 20 minute stint on the treadmill, or on my personal favourite machine, the cross trainer – the only machine on which you can feel like a velociraptor having a casual jog.

It’s not just heavy machinery I’ve been using to tone up my ‘heavy machinery’ either! One word: Zumba. Because I’m in the 5% of the class that is under 60, I always try and put 100% into the class from the very beginning, which usually means after 10 minutes, I’m ready to collapse, but I’ve developed a technique that is stamina-inspiring….pretend to be on Strictly. If you want to throw your arms up in the air with true gusto just imagine Craig Revel Horwood’s raised eyebrow and you will do it.

The other day after Zumba, I thought I would attempt breast-stroking half a mile in the pool, so I could enjoy some guilt-free time in the steam room afterwards. And yeah, that’s swimming, not just caressing mammaries, like I bet mermaids do. The swimming went very well, only uncomfortably brushed against two people mid-length and decided that I think it’s pervy for anyone over ten years old and not on holiday to wear goggles (ew!). But, and you must believe this, when I stepped out of the pool and headed for the showers, my towel which I had hung up had been nicked! And don’t say what the rest of the world has said “maybe someone picked up the wrong one” because there weren’t any other towels, so someone KNEW they were nicking mine. Maybe it’s my own fault for taking such a lush deep purple giant towel and following the stupid pool policy of hanging it up before entering the changing rooms, but I was one soggy, pissed off gym-goer! I told the woman who worked there who was BBMing in the changing rooms, and her reaction was a helpful, “ya jokiiiiin’?! I’ll go and get someone else”. In the end, the only resolution was to borrow a damp, just been used towel that was on the reception desk somehow. It was pretty gross and I just showered as soon as I got home anyway, to wash away the musk. Honestly though, who steals a towel? It’s the only time in my life that I wished I had crabs. That’d teach weird towel stealers to think twice before they dry their arse on my lush towel.

With all that fitness activity, you may think some kind of blonde Nicole Scherzinger is here typing this, and I would honestly love to post a picture of my banging bod, show the results of my hard physical labour, but the new hobbie in my life, cooking, has meant there’s not been much of a change. So I’ll post a picture of Natalie Cassidy instead.

My cooking ability is at an all time high, I keep creating recipes myself and making delicious feasts for my family. I’d never cooked a curry in my life but my parents came home to find Beef Jalfrezi, Chicken Tandoori Masala and a sort of Saag Aloo I had just made for them from scratch. My Mum bought my Dad Jamie’s 30 Minute Meals for Christmas and my new favourite thing to do is sit reading it in front of the TV whilst it’s on Channel 4. Like a 2 year old may do with a dvd/book combo. That may seem a bit sad, but not as sad as the fact that I’ve mentally written the first page for my own imaginary cook book. It’s going to have big glossy pictures of such tasty food, and me in a wonderbra (gotta compete with Nigella and Gizzi haven’t i?!) and it’s going to say something really (un)funny like “If you’re a novice like I was before I wrote this book then please stick with the recipes and have some fun cooking. The last thing I want is for you to give up on the first go and just lick the pages boasting my delicious food.” Seriously though, I’m pretty proud of my culinary ambition at the moment and that’s all I can say for that. No jokes.

Before I go, I gotta say thank you to people who have asked me to keep blogging, it makes writing the blog worth it. I know I watched both The British Comedy Awards and The Golden Globes yesterday, and since then I’ve forgotten how to speak in a way that isn’t some sort of acceptance speech, but honestly thanks, and I hope you have time to read this! After all, I’ve definitely spent valuable job searching time on it.

Katie.

Robert Redford as Jay Gatsby. Oh Gatsby, I’d love you!...

Mon, 29 Nov 2010 20:08:40 -0500

Robert Redford as Jay Gatsby.

Oh Gatsby, I’d love you! I’d definitely marry you and come and live with you. What’s that?! Oh that’s your house is it? Ok then, we can live there if we absolutely must….!

I’m so bloody naughty. Blind and illiterate people should be invited to come and bash me on...

Mon, 29 Nov 2010 19:55:00 -0500

I’m so bloody naughty. Blind and illiterate people should be invited to come and bash me on the head with heavy books because I don’t deserve the ability to read. Even though I managed to polish off Gatsby in a day I’ve been somewhat slacking with David Copperfield. In my defence, it’s so big that I give it a couple hours of my attention and I’ve still only cleared about 1% more of it. Maybe it’s the book I ought to be bashed with?

It’s not David’s fault though. I can hardly blame that good-natured little orphan for my lack of progress. I feel bad, because even though a lot of people in his colourful fictional life seem to be treating him badly, it is I who is hurting him the most by not letting him tell me his story.

However, I’ll do my bit for the needy and focus my energies on him after posting this blog. I hope to be finished with the book before I return it to its owner in Eastbourne in a few days time. It’s such a lovely version of the book as well, bought from Camilla’s Bookshop in Eastbourne, which has approximately one billion books on its shelves, waiting to be discovered. I felt like Belle from Beauty and the Beast when I was in there. God help me if they’d have had a neglected shelf ladder out I’d have been swinging on it, belting out some beautiful ditty about how I’m too much of a book geek to notice everyone in my little village fancies me (Disney reference – soz hardcore book fans).

To anybody who is toying with the idea of The Great Gatsby, I’d say go for it. It’s quite short and an easy read so appealing to quite a wide audience I imagine. Characters are full of glamour and gloss, but mainly devoid of moral substance which reminds me of the celeb culture today. Your conscience may cause you to love Gatsby because he deserves it so much, but it doesn’t matter how much you love him, he’s chasing a dream that ain’t gonna happen!

But that’s just my sloppy opinion. Here’s some solid fact - I’ve finished my first book, book number 43: The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald! Yaaay! Let’s bootleg some gin in and absolutely have a swell time!

Katie.

Read about half of The Great Gatsby between the last post and 8pm. I’m already bored of the...

Mon, 22 Nov 2010 18:25:00 -0500

Read about half of The Great Gatsby between the last post and 8pm. I’m already bored of the challenge. Except now, if I stop, it makes the rest of my life seem insignificant. Great.

Going to plough through and hopefully have Gatsby finished by tomorrow then I will move onto David Copperfield (loaned to me by Alex, one of his favourite novels). If any of you want to lend me these novels by the way then please feel free to do so as the library had quite a threadbare collection of classics when I had a quick shimmy round before.

I’ve obviously been thinking about how to structure the whole affair too. E.g. I’ll read A Christmas Carol, around Christmas time and hopefully nail the Harry Potters before I go and see the final film. Hopefully I’ll find them on audio tape too. And think I’ll read a little Jacqueline Wilson one soon after I’ve nailed the dreaded War and Peace which is going to be massive. I should maybe change the challenge to reading War and Peace in a year, I’m dreading it.

Only the beauty of Gatsby and his unrequited devotion is spurring me on. If I was Daisy he’d probably just hire Owl Eyes to sit in his library and read them all to me. Groannn.

Katie.

In 2003 Julie Powell was conducting her Julie/Julia Project, where she had set herself a time...

Mon, 22 Nov 2010 13:13:40 -0500

In 2003 Julie Powell was conducting her Julie/Julia Project, where she had set herself a time limit of 365 days to cook 524 recipes by her favourite chef Julia Child. Her story got turned into a book and eventually a film called Julie & Julia. I watched the film today and liked the feelgood aspect of it and its simplicity- it’s about a woman who achieved something.

I had to pause the film halfway through though as Alex rang me as he walked into town. During this phonecall I told him about how I’d like to get off my arse and achieve something – but I think the motivation from this was coming from the fact that I was hungry, the film had loads of delicious food in every scene and I couldn’t be bothered to go and make lunch. Prompted by starvation I eventually ate, but I found that my appetite for achievement had not been satisfied, I wasn’t just hungry, I was HUNGRY.

I needn’t go into too much detail now, but basically I have set myself my own challenge to be completed in a year. Though the prospect of making gorgeous fatty foods every day appeals to me (and no doubt to my friends and family) it would be too expensive and I think people would think it was weird that I’d gone all Delia. I’ve decided that I’m going to complete The Big Read. In 2003, around the time Julie was doing her challenge, the BBC compiled a list of the Top 100 books as voted for by the British public. They called it The Big Read. I’ve always liked literature, I even did it as a degree, but I’ve always known I should read more (it is not unheard of me to put down a book and watch the DVD version of the story in order to make a deadline – bad).

I’ve printed the list off, which can be found at this link http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/bigread/top100.shtml and I’m going to mark off each book as I read it and hopefully have a chance to log down some of my thoughts about the literature I’m going to encounter. Don’t believe me? I even rejoined the library today and got out my first book, number 43: The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Some of the books I have already read but I’m going to re-read them anyway – such as The Great Gatsby, which I read for A-Levels. Will be interesting to see how I feel reading the book for enjoyment and not academically. If you could call this enjoyment…..?

I hope I manage to complete this little task. If not, I am wary that setting myself such a task is a strong sign I am manic depressive and having an invincible phase. I also have a few other worries. What if I can’t find some of the books? Will I go blind? Will I become a hermit? How many papercuts will I get? All to be answered in due course, hopefully. Stick with me and I won’t let you down. If I do, I’ll bake you a pie from one of Julia’s recipes.

Katie.

I can see how my Nana thinks I am quite the jet-setter as I am back from my second consecutive...

Tue, 02 Nov 2010 14:36:00 -0400

I can see how my Nana thinks I am quite the jet-setter as I am back from my second consecutive weekend away (not forgetting my little trip to Tenerife at the beginning of this month, mind). The weekend before last was a trip to Lancaster to visit friends who were lucky enough to drop out of their mother’s wombs a little later than I did and so are still allowed to be students. The weekend just gone was spent celebrating P Diddy’s birthday in London. When I say P Diddy, I mean Tom Brown, who is equally as slick, before a couple of nights by the Sunshine Coast, which as a comparison to Manchester is the Surface of the Bloody Sun Coast.

I can’t say that I feel like much of a jet-setter though. I was sat in front of a woman on the train today, I’d like to call her Mobileface, who was taking a million different calls trying to track down a DVD for her boss who was obviously loaded from a rich, high-flying company. Her busy busy lifestyle made me feel a bit jealous that I haven’t yet got a job and going round barking orders at people on telephones, smelling of coffee and wearing uncomfortable suits. I think I must have been approaching the old jobsearch with blinkers on this summer, maybe I had assumed that companies should be sending me their CV’s for my perusal before I settled on the ‘dream job’. My monetary situation is really becoming tight now and I’m looking at alternative religions before Christmas hits as an excuse to get out of buying presents.

There’s no denying that my weekends have been glorious, except for one moment this weekend when a bird shat on me. It was in Brighton, so it was a big seagull poo, and it happened when I was out shopping for and hoping to try on headbands. In spite of that, I love visiting people so much and I always find my return is a smack back down to reality, making me realise more than ever that I’m going to continue struggling if I don’t find some employment soon. Being able to travel to see my friends and my bf is really important to me but travel is SO expensive, even Mobileface said that to her mate on the phone and SHE had been buying gold bars at Harrods, truly. I feel like gobbing on posters advertising flights to Europe for 99p, when I can’t even get out my own back garden without saving and sacrificing.

To make matters worse, on the way to London, through no fault of my own (unless the traffic was a karmic retribution, which is highly possible) I missed the train I was meant to get down. I decided I was going to pray till my fingers blistered and hope that I got away with getting on the next train without buying a new ticket which I would only have been able to pay for with my kidney. Amazingly, I did get away with it but when the ticket inspector came round asking for tickets I had to use every bit of energy in my body not to start wailing, as I’m not a natural Artful Dodger type. Unfortunately, the woman in front of me admitted that she had missed the previous train and the inspector said buying a ticket on board should cost £200 but he’d do it for a casual £60! At that point my throat nearly dropped through my arse and the situation proved to me that God definitely had my back in that scenario which I am glad about, but a bit miffed that I must continue to celebrate Christmas as a thanks and thus will be buying presents this year. As this is the case I’m going to be asking for a jet pack powered only by good thoughts and I’m going to sack off national rail forever and use this instead.

It’s unfortunate for everybody most transport is extortionate and I can take solace in the fact that when I have a job things like that will be a lot easier for me financially. That still doesn’t make things perfect and maybe I’m complaining because though the price of travel is expensive, the real cost is the distance away from where I want to be. For this reason, a jet pack isn’t perhaps the answer to all my problems, and I should instead just ask for perseverance, the continuance of relishing time spent with my family and friends and maybe a lucky break. Don’t they say bird poo is good luck?

I am undoubtedly a gregarious and enquiring person and today I feel very much a citizen of the world...

Wed, 20 Oct 2010 12:38:49 -0400

I am undoubtedly a gregarious and enquiring person and today I feel very much a citizen of the world with a lot to learn. Perhaps this is because it is hardly a slow news day or because people devote more effort to their own thoughts when they’re in a midweek midwinter chasm, but I’m becoming really interested in everybody’s Twitter updates and Facebook statuses, which all seem to be contributing something valuable to me.

The majority of my Twitter Homepage is dominated by political opinion about the spending cuts which will be affecting the country over the next four years. To me it seems like the transition between the Labour and Conservative governments works like a good cop, bad cop system. Haven’t we seen this all before? Didn’t the economy eventually get restored but some people suffered? The nearest I’ve been to understanding the finances of the UK was once when I rode the Big Dipper in Blackpool – it simultaneously made me feel sick but also was a lot of fun and after the second up-and-down I could predict what was going to happen for the rest of the ride. History repeats itself.

And even more passionate than politicos are the sports fans whose lives are in turmoil, discussing the effect of Wayne Rooney leaving Manchester United. It seems to me that Fergie likes it when the United players keep their heads down and faces out of the press. It makes me think that during the elections in May when the political leaders were desperate for media coverage they should have done a stint playing for Manchester United and had some sort of illicit rendezvous with a babe (or another man if they really wanted attention). Conversely, naughty footballers should start preaching their political opinions whenever the press are hounding them and they’ll soon be left alone. People can’t really deal with public figures leaving their pigeonholes; just look at Katie Price’s singing career – doomed before it even began.

Speaking of football and politics, my friend said she had worked out how to solve the issue of the country’s deficit: every football player should donate a month’s wage to the country. There are obviously major flaws with that plan but it’s quite beautiful in terms of its simplicity. Kudos to anybody who would like to offer a rough approximation of the mathematics that involves, as I’m definitely intrigued!

Ever so strangely, I’m even interested in people’s self-indulgent tweets and statuses. I’m taking time to click on the links celebs post to promote themselves and donating valuable eye seconds to read what people are eating for their dinner. I’m also excited at the texts I’m getting from people in classes or at work and looking forward to hearing more about their days.

There’s a lot to be said for technology but at the moment if I stop and think about it it’s creating a huge pretty collage of human activity and makes me feel like life is thriving a little bit more than usual today.

Here’s some pics from my holiday to Tenerife. It’s...

Wed, 20 Oct 2010 10:59:52 -0400

On Diddy's Catamaran.

The Bare Necessities.

Typical round of All Inclusive.

Classic babe shot.

Beyonce. Oh wait, that's just me.

X Factor Winner 2010.

Losing cards so doing dares.

Golden glow!

Every dark cloud has a....rainbow?

Here’s some pics from my holiday to Tenerife. It’s nice to have a bit of visual imagery. Would have included a picture of Alex’s nipple but he wouldn’t send it me.

So I had an anonymous blog but that wasn’t really up to scratch because there was no general theme...

Tue, 19 Oct 2010 07:19:52 -0400

So I had an anonymous blog but that wasn’t really up to scratch because there was no general theme to it. It was just me dishing out my opinion on irrelevant topics nobody cared about and in a way slagging people off. I naively thought if I posted it around on a few websites, again anonymously, that people would become captivated by my three unremarkable posts and people would care what I would have to say. Alas, I’m not Perez Hilton and no-one cares what I have to say, so why not stick a name on it and some photos and let my loved ones read it, as they all owe me every fibre of their time and patience.

Well, I guess the hot topic at the minute is the elephant in the room named ‘unemployment’. It’s becoming very annoying as it continually feasts on the peanuts of my soul and shits rejection all over the carpeted floor of my self-esteem. After 17 years of non-stop education you might think my brain fancies a little rest and welcomes the change of weighty, complicated textbooks to weighty, complicated guests on Jeremy Kyle’s stage but I can assure you that being unemployed is the worst.

Though they exist, I cannot type a million reasons why it’s so soul destroying, but here are three fundamental annoyances of being unemployed:

Obviously, no money. I am cursed with empty pockets and the desire to have a wardrobe filled with clothes (with or without the pockets, I don’t care). Having no income is rubbish because at least five times a day I go “Oh wait, I don’t need a job, I’ll travel” then I remember I can’t afford the tram fare out of Bury. Not to mention, when I do get a job I have some invisible massive debts thanks to the student loan. I have no idea where these debts exist or how to pay them but I don’t doubt that they will catch up to me. The only thing in the world that doesn’t cost money is sitting at home and staring at my degree certificate.

Having no purpose in life. It kills me a little bit that every day I wake up to know that no-one needs me professionally. At uni I sometimes used to groan at the prospect of starting a day with a hundred meetings and deadlines but now I realise it’s much worse to wake up and think “no-one would care if I fell right back asleep”.

People expect better. As a high achiever and someone who got involved at school, college and university, people don’t expect me to be unemployed. I appreciate the concern when people ask “how’s the jobsearch going?” but they don’t want to hear my bad news and I don’t want to give it. The only way around this problem is to fashion a sign that says ’lard arse’ and stick it to my forehead. It should say ‘unemployed’ but my forehead isn’t wide enough.

I can’t constantly complain though, because I’ve recently returned from holidaying in Tenerife and holidays are a bit like being unemployed, except in a warmer climate. If unemployment was like being on holidays then I would revel in jobless glory because IT.WAS. LUSH. Just spending hours on end lay in the sun causing future problems for the NHS to deal with is a lovely way of acting unemployed. Along with pregnancy and being on your deathbed, holidaying is an excusable way of doing nothing and that’s a treasured rarity.

Also, the stuff you actually DO is unacceptable non-holiday behaviour. Doing nothing causes you to be unexpectedly sleepy; just call it a siesta and it’s a justified nap. Eating and drinking to excess on holiday is excused by the simple phrase “I’m on me jollies”, which allows you to gorge away. And people laze around nearly naked. I definitely love that bit. I had the customary five minutes of worry before bikini time until I saw a woman who can only be described as Ursula from The Little Mermaid tenderly suncreaming her gargantuan breasts and thought “I’m definitely more Ursula Andress than Ursula Sea Witch compared to this confident lady” and so whipped off my sundress and was set for the scantily-clad week.

Before I go, I’m sorry for the length of this post, like all good English Literature students I am able to say a lot about a little. And I’d just like to say sorry if I’ve offended any unemployed people, as it is only unemployed people who will have had the time to read this and I don’t want to alienate my audience. I think I need you.