There you have been warned, dog’s and microwaves do not mix. Sorry for my randomness, but it fits my mood; I am feeling childish. Today has been a day of nostalgia, reminiscence,and deja-vu; a trip down memory lane to being a child. We are now on only day 3 of filming our TV projects, but it feels like it has consumed our lives; my dreams of a cosy lie in were cut short by the harsh vibrations of my phone on the cheap Ikea side table. Cat reminded me that we would be filming today, there along with my nice dreams went my plans of a quiet day. Although this is the 3rd day it feels like our entire week has been devoured by it; I have dragged camera equipment all across Yorkshire, resembling some kind of hunchback; today I almost gave up, how I longed to throw the tripod on the floor and have a tantrum right there in the middle of town. Like a city drone I have spent the week commuting to interviews, money pouring down the drain as we have kept taxis on speed dial, flitting from one postcode to the next. However,I will admit this is the most fun filming in a long time; at the Vue cinema I tried to stage the shot of a spilled popcorn box for my ‘One Show’ style piece. I snuck my bag of Sainsbury’s bought popcorn in and scooped it into an empty box we pilfered, then we took it a deserted corner of the carpark and attempted one of the most ridiculous shots I have ever seen. Time after time the wind would whip the box in the air, forcing me to dash around scooping popcorn off the floor back and looking like a starving tramp. Francine was most disgusted as I ate the odd piece, my defence was the 10 second rule. Today we returned to ‘Meanwood Valley Urban Farm,’ this time….it was personal! I stood in a muddy field, hood up, scowling at the grey drizzle falling on my head; Cat had attempted to bribe us with the ‘Marks and Spencer’s‘ sandwiches, my mood lifted slightly as I made a dash for the beef and horseradish. My mood, like the weather, improved further, as in town there was some kind of ‘Milka’ chocolate festival. I became a child again as I stood in the queue surrounded by children in card ‘cow horn’ hats; in the distance Cat and Francine laughed, but I would have the last chocolatey laugh, munching down my two free bars.
As I write this I am delving into my past, pulling all my old pictures off my memory stick, attempting to make room for uni work. I miss the joy of sitting in fields and getting drunk until the sky begins to blur, when we used to hang out at the local locks like the chavs we secretly were; these were the days where 4 Bacardi Breezers would just about do me… how times have changed. The memory stick is ironically filled with memories, sadly most of my pictures are cringeworthy Myspace pictures in emo poses; I laugh at simpler times when pokemon was cool, my hair went curly blonde, and I could go much longer without shaving. Tonight I will stand in the mirror and rip the black cactus off my face with two sharp blades, then in the morning admire the blotchy red massacre left behind. I remember at Christmas my brother tried to blag that he shaved daily; I looked up at baby face and frowned, I had seen more hair on a newborn baby. The only place my brother could possibly shave daily is the slug-like monobrow crawling across his forehead! I have been forced to hide my razor from him, along with any other toiletries I hold dear; he will come downstairs with his hair flicked up, caked in my Shockwaves matt clay and stinking of MY eau de toilette. The feeling of deju vu is once again descending on me; our family holiday with my dad is approaching, that means more sharing with my brother, more hiding my things, more awkward silences disguising our hatred, and more family bonding. I am sure he has stolen one of my tops on my last visit home, it has been strangely absent of late.
I rekindled my love for retro gaming today, reminded of the simpler games: ‘The Sims’,’Theme Park World,’ ‘Theme Hospital;’ I searched the internet looking for the classis. I have recently bought ‘The Sims 3,’ but it isn’t quite the same, seeing two pixelated characters having sex doesn’t have the same thrill to it anymore, also the graphics send my computer back to the stoneage. Evevntually I found a copy of ‘Theme Hospital’ that would work on my computer; it had installed and loaded before I even knew it, not like the old Windows 98 where you could write a small book in the time it would have taken the time to do that. Does anyone remember ‘Theme Hospital?’ You run a hospital where the patients have odd diseases like ‘bloaty head syndrome,’ or are invisible,an accurate portrayl of the real world. I am glad that my local GP will be able to treat my ‘bloaty head syndrome,’ just as long as they have played ‘Theme hospital.’ The graphics chugged and made my screen flash every so often, so it remains to see if I have installed a virus on my computer just for the sake of nostalgia; it is worth it I say. I am seriously tempted to take my laptop to uni just so I can play ‘Theme Hospital’ whilst editing; I can feel a repeat of ‘Mario Galaxy’ addiction coming on here, however this leads onto a great saying in life from an amazing film: “Rule #32- Enjoy the little things” (Zombieland 2009)
I have started this week buried like a bookworm in the cavernous Leeds University Library. The vast expanse spread out before me, acres of books piled high, towering over me. As me and Francine passed through security gates of high demand books I felt like a criminal, the eyes of the man behind the desk followed us, seemingly implying we were about to snatch one of these high value books; it would be quite a money spinner, stealing the most expensive books and selling them out of a van À la Del Boy and Rodney. It would appear the man behind the desk would have good reason to be suspicious, as we scanned out our books and attempted to leave the alarm roared, and the swinging gates locked shut; we were in fact terrorists, and a huge security theft. Now it was all the eyes in the library staring us, BOOK THIEVES….I only wanted a four hour loan!! After the misunderstanding was cleared we swiftly began our ascent, climbing stair after stair, vainly looking for somewhere that wasn’t silent study. So this was where I spent my Monday, tucked away in one of the many ‘caves’ of silent study, thumbing through ethics books, and licking yoghurt off a spoon; it is these ‘shhhh silence’ situations that I find the hardest, you almost want to make noise, huffing and puffing, just so the people around you know how bored you are. I imagined what it would be like to live in the library, hiding in the stacks as it gets locked up, sleeping in the children’s section; apparently Sheffield uni library even has its own showers. I could live of a diet of leftover food scraps, and suck moisture from the books, it is at this point you realise you have been in the library too long.Eventually I gave up and decided our time would be better spent applying for ‘Coach Trip;’ so we finished the application, found an embarrassing picture off Facebook to send in, and popped it in an envelope; our fates were sealed along with it.
There is that dreaded day in my coursemates life, the day you realise you have to edit tomorrow, and still have nothing to edit; you quickly dash around cobbling together interviewees and blend it into something half decent. For me, that day was today. The sun blinked from behind a cloud as I left my house, my jeans were optimistically rolled into turn-ups, hoping the day would follow suit, sadly it did not! There were various excuses for why the general public wouldn’t talk to me, too busy, in a rush, one salon owner even claimed I couldn’t interview him because he was a professional actor; after just half an hour of traipsing the streets I had already had enough, the people of Hyde Park hate me.
Like a stalker I would lurk just slightly in the shadows, scanning the street for a potential sound bite, when my prey was selected I would lunge, microphone in hand, not giving them time to think; the excuse of ‘I’m in a rush’ seemed a bit ironic as watched the elderly people who had said it amble away into the distance, I am just not cut out for a career in journalism. As I entered a local garage two burly men approached me, stained with oil, and barking what did I want, I feebly tried to explain but was told an interview was off the cards. I asked one of them ‘What do you think about crime in Hyde Park,’ his response: ‘Well I’ve never been caught.’ To add insult to injury I even lost my professional edge, just when I had the perfect person I realised I had stood in a present, left by the canine world; I scraped my foot on the grass having lost my all dignity, then decided to call it a day. That incident summed it up nicely. The afternoon improved as I nabbed interviews from my neighbours and decided my piece needed some sounds; me and Francine had great fun smashing glass and throwing bricks, we anticipated every move of a potential burglar and tried to recreate this for radio. All we need now are stripey jumpers, and swag bags with dollar signs; a new career prospect?
An early night’s sleep is needed, I will be up at the crack of dawn finding yet more people to talk to! I wish you goodnight and warn you not to leave everything to the last minute; however this is how I always have, and always will live, on the edge of a knife blade.One good thing from all this is I actually forgot to eat for most of today; I briefly slurped down a nut-tastic Frappuccino on the terrace, but that was it until this evening….forget WeightWatchers, eat some stress for breakfast.
Sorry for absence without leave, but for some reason my diary became suddenly full the past few days. I will firstly update you with my Food Soc antics, a night of pig nipples, Mickey Finns, and toilet trips. For anyone in Leeds a visit to Kendall’s bistro is a must, tucked away in the far end of town, this quaint restaurant slips underground into a French cavern. Under the cover of candlelight you are ushered in to gaze at the menu chalked on the wall. One of my highlights was the unexpected starter of binoculars, we were informed that this was for the short sighted who couldn’t see the chalk menu; I was half hoping to take them home and become a peeping Tom. I made the decision of 3 courses, and half a bottle of wine for £23…this was my first mistake!
There was great anticipation for the three courses that lay ahead of me; the bread baskets flowed (I always make the most of free bread), and I sloshed my half bottle of wine from what appeared to be a vase, into my glass, whilst I waited for my goats cheese and red onion tart. Goats cheese is one of those things on a menu I just can’t resist, I salivate whilst ordering it, then pounce on it before it even hits the table; if dogs produced such amazing cheese then I would be tempted to try that as well. On the subject of nipples I will now tell you about the main course: Pork Belly; unfortunately someone’s pork belly still had a nipple attached, I winced as the person opposite me quite happily crunched it down along with his crackling. This little piggy went wee wee wee, straight in my mouth.It was delicious, and I had just enough room for my pot au chocolat; but this wasn’t the last I would see of the pork belly, hunched over the toilet at 4am it came lurching back for another tasting. Perhaps it was the wine, or the bottle of Mickey Finns I had after dinner? All I know was it wasn’t green, and I could only see traces of pork, I must have been saving it for later. My only hope is my next food soc outing won’t be quite so….messy. Cat has now been elected el presidente, already she is whipping up ideas in her head how to get more members, we have already recruited Francine, so our empire is slowly growing.
I have spent the last couple of days in love….yes you heard it here first, I am in love…..with a computer game! I have become completely addicted to “Super Mario Galaxy.” I found myself with Wii remote gripped in my hand, straining at the screen like a zombie, minutes slipped to hours, before I knew it a whole day was wasted. I quite happily flung the fat Italian plumber around space, battling little monsters that resemble potatoes, attempting to rescue Princess Peach. The old format remastered for the kids of today, I drifted back to a time when we would play “Mario 64” on the Nintendo 64. Back in my day each game was a clunky plastic cartridge that cost £50, we would spend hours trying to do it, getting our dad to do the levels we couldn’t, then swearing when he made a mistake; each pixel took up most of the screen, but we thought the graphics were amazing. My obsession went even further, when I wasn’t able to play it I made Jordan play through Skype and let me watch, barking orders at him even though I was unable to make anything out; I even tried to watch a walkthrough on Youtube. I have decided now is the time to sever the umbilical cord, I was ratty and annoyed, if someone tried to talk to me I would snap, so I think it was for the best to end our relationship; sorry Mario, you’re not the man for me.
Today I have finally started the essay, the clouds may be heavy outside, but over me they are lifting slightly. In an almost trance-like state I began to type; my fingers furiously bashed at the buttons, pulling quotes from my reading, throwing in my own intellectual ideas. I read up on the 10 threats to journalism, opting for sensationalist articles, apparently “If it bleeds, it leads.”Barely any time had passed and I realised my essay was half done; admittedly it is probably absolute rubbish, but I feel I have made a start, and Francine seems impressed. Apparently I have ‘changed,’ this new Tom that does work, and tries hard, where is the real me? On my other work front things aren’t going so well, I repeatedly try to contact the mounted division with no reply, I told cat I had tried to contact the ‘Munted’ division, which caused a giggle as we imagined Herman Munster on a horse, fighting crime in Hyde Park. My head is full of creative ideas for what to do, so much so it is in danger of exploding, and spraying these ideas all over my walls. After this mornings marathon type I think enough is enough for today, I will sit back, watch come dine with me, and let the hours roll away. Tomorrow may be the start of the busiest two weeks of my life. Record this, film that, edit this, essay that. To top it off on Friday we have a trauma workshop; the ethics department will subject us to the real life horrors of journalism, how I cannot wait to be in a room of screaming actors, and busy journalists….. roll on summer!
Two bloodshot eyes hanging with punchbags underneath, the reminder of the night from hell I was subjected to last night. Apparently the walls on Mayville Street are constructed of paper, and the house from the road behind made good use of it. I am a great fan of Hot Chip, but unfortunately not when I hear “Over and Over” OVER AND OVER in the wee hours of the morning.http://mp3.rapid4me.com/download/11570205-over-and-over-naum-gobo-remix.html
Hot Chip- Over and Over (Naum Gobo remix)
Despite the annoyance I have to admit there were several funny conversations, I could compile a dossier on my rear neighbours based on what I heard last night, names, what course they do, plans for the week…. even when they last had sex. So people of Mayville Place look out, me and my blackmail booklet will be coming to find you if there is another repeat of last night. My feeble attempt at hammering on the wall only provoked excitement, prompting them to bang along with the rythmn of the music and hurl abuse through the brickwork. They even had the decency to leave the music blaring full blast for me to enjoy, as they spent half an hour out the house, at the Co-op. This brings me onto the title of the blog…. 3 am drag artist?! The only boy in the group, ‘Danny’ as I believe, made the drunken decision to try on ladies clothing, while I admit to dabbling in it for fancy dress, it is not my first choice of attire, and one I am sure he will regret. I could hear him posing and pouting for his pictures, I conjoured up the image of a smarmy greaseball ;however this was as close as he would be to getting in a ladies knickers, he reliably informed everyone he hasn’t had sex for 2 months…. maybe it is your willingness to dress as a woman Danny?
I tossed and turned, bouncing in my bed on the broken slats,trying to find a more comfortable way to block out the noise:
(spread eagled, covers off, covers on, on my back, on my front, upside down, pillows on head)
I eventually resorted to counting sheep; like fluffy clouds they jumped over wooden fences, and I gently followed them for a peaceful recharge of my batteries.
Early to bed, early to rise, late to bed, late to rise. I won’t reveal what time I woke up, but it is safe to say it was nearing the afternoon, and it was time to lock heads in a furious ethical discussion. As we entered the room, late, it looked oddly empty; the usual class of about 20 had been whittled down to just 8 hardcore students. The volcano had claimed some, and as for the rest, deadlines… or just plain avoidance? As the room heated I began to wish I had chosen the last option, we regurgitated the usual opinions on racism and a journalists duty, but I found myself distracted. It is a sad state of affairs when you would rather watch two fat bald builders plant a tree, than participate in your own education.
I am fast considering just turning this into a food blog, 90% of my posts seem to be related to food in some way or another. As I sit here now I am in fact covered in chocolate. Smeared across my favourite blue polo are the remains of a Cadbury chocolate sponge, I lack the motor skills of a fully developed adult. I sat in my armchair and once again marvelled at Heston’s success; however I am not sure on a savory curry ice cream, or duck liver arctic roll. I most enjoyed his camel” Humpy meal”, but was disappointed over his lack of toy; I remember the days when happy meals were great, the toy would tie in with a Disney film, or you got a “Beanie Baby.” Secondly, today has been quite the culinary adventure, I have been bullied into joining the food soc, taking my love of food to a whole new level. Perhaps I will become like Julie from “Julie & Julia,” blogging about all my food related adventures and becoming famous;perhaps I will write a cookery book, or learn how to bone a duck ( no you sick minded people, it means removing the bones and cooking it!) All I know is that tommorow we are taking a trip to France, in the form of a french bistro in town. 3 courses £16.95, beret not included; I am half contemplating drawing on a curly moustache and seeing what the reaction of my new food friends would be. I could even wear my stripey top, doubling up as both nautical and french themed. I have spent many years making fun on my french friend Lucy, so I will be sure not to inform my new embrace of her culture, to me she is still a baguette!
Fingers crossed tonight will bring a more restful sleep; all quiet on the western front at the moment, lets just hope it stays that way, otherwise I may have to combine food and sleep, and invent some hamburger earmuffs.
Unfortunately for me I won’t be able to fashion an impenetrable cocoon, hide away for six months, then emerge as a beautiful butterfly; for me the only thing that will grow is my waistline! The wining and dining of late is starting to take its toll, my body groans under the sugary excess it has been subjected to, and begs for a simple pear, or a salad. But, I will never learn; today brought with it the temptation of Slug and Lettuce 50% off, in a moment of weakness I found myself sidling towards the door and sitting at a table with menu in hand. Being quite the Slug connoisseur I suggest a platter; sadly yet again no spin the rib, Cat felt it was too immature for two serious journalists such as ourselves. £5 ligther, and several pounds heavier we waddled further into town for more bargains. At Boots, the form of a virtual make up machine brought with it a whole new avenue of fun; we both decided the pink lipgloss and purple eye shadow were a good look for me, before I could stop Cat the picture had found its way onto facebook. A quick de-tag later and normality was restored, but I am sure this will become a frequent game.
My bank account rang with the KERCHING of the student loan company; despite trying to spend less I have survived since the last instalment, by the skin of my teeth. What I am yet to master is to remind myself it is in fact a loan, not money I have earned and will need to pay back. A long summer of working at the school, or beeping through the Sainsbury’s tills will be my reminder of this. I first thought of my loan at 5.30 am; as the rain hammered my skylight I remembered….LOAN DAY!!!! Quite sad that at 5.30 I was tempted to check my bank, and that money was the first thing I thought of when I woke up. It is hard to explain to non-students, but loan day is like Christmas; you furiously dash downstairs to get the x-box you wanted, or the knitted jumper from Matalan. Loan day has that same sense of wishes getting met, or bitter disappointment as you are forced to live off more Aldi beans for another week. My list of unnecessary items was long, what to buy first, it is again that naive sense of having money. A trip to Topman, and I couldn’t help myself, a striped top that had been winking at me since last week, something to add to my new, nautical themed summer wardrobe. I picture myself punting on the Thames, in a boater hat and blazer, discussing my days at Eton. However, my actual purchase was just a snip at £12(before student discount), but at the till, a great smile spread across my face; wrongly priced items are a god send to the student masses, I left the store having paid only £5.10. I may actually cry the day my student discount is snatched from me and chopped into many pieces; on this day Topman closes is offers to me, and cinemas return to their extortionate prices.
Before all my monetary shenanigans I had to endure the two hours of education I actually pay for. Like a witches coven we were crammed into the stuffy basement to listen to radio packages to help us better ourselves. The location of our department leaves a lot to be desired, locked away underground, like the Fritzl’s of journalism,the walls close in, and the grey seems to cling to you; it clearly shows what the university think of our profession. Morning drizzle and humidity had already made the walk to uni uncomfortable, but due to the heat I found a sickness rising in my stomach; I slurped down my Frijj chocolate brownie milkshake, but this only made things worse . I attempted to lighten the mood by teaching Cat a zombie game I had found on the internet, infect the world, and take over. I found myself sadisticly enjoying as each pixel character fell to its death, only to re-emerge as a rotting corpse; several times I was told to “Chill out,” as I was taking the game too seriously. We made use of the many weapons at our disposal, including a zombie Ronald McDonald, zombie Michael Jackson, and zombie Colonel Sanders; I laughed as he hurled his poison Kentucky fried chicken at innocent civilians. We whiled away the time with our screen hidden from view, slowly creeping across the world map with our deadly infection, claiming it as ours.
As the afternoon merged into evening my feeling of sickness continued; once again I found myself only craving some fresh fruit. For once this was a good thing as I made a trip to Morrisons; the bags of crisps, and boxes of cakes remained untouched on the shelves, my trolley slowly filled with a balanced diet that my mum might actually approve of. My housemate/chauffeur Jade filled hers with a vast array of frozen items, but was most annoyed that there were no “Turkey Dinosaurs” left; Bernard Matthews had abandoned her, so she had to settle for Morrisons own brand. I wasn’t used to this much effort in one day, a month off has left me dishevlled and weak; either I need to get back in the game, or I am becoming a narcoleptic. When Mikaela came round to discuss essay tactics I was hardly in the mood for intellectual stimulation, but it quickly turned into a fun evening of reminiscing and sharing ideas for our impending deadline massacre. We ended by presuming that Francine is now somewhere at sea, boarded on a cargo ship, bound for Leeds by the end of the week; with that Mikaela left and I returned to my sloth-like status. For now I am exhausted, and must return to my cocoon, to emerge as some kind of suitable member of society.
The great debate, crab or lobster?? Either way Sebastian has now become my new style icon,and at this very moment we could be mistaken for twins. Although the sun’s visit was brief, the damage was enough; he has vanished back behind the dull tones of grey, whilst leaving me to deal with the consequences. My first mistake was that rookie error of sun cream, since last year I appear to have lost my bargain basement bottle, don’t worry, as of now it will be top of my shopping list. As I poked my head from the skylight I assured myself a few hours in the sun would do no harm, and that my pasty skin could do with an update. I crammed my bag with books, a bottle of Dr.Pepper and a bag of Jelly Babies fresh from the freezer (try it, they make a refreshing summer treat); I migrated from pyjamas, flung on a pair of shorts and a vest,and set off to work on my farmer’s tan.
Spread eagled like a starfish I glinted up at the sun, and modestly munched my way through my gelatinous children. The freezer had stuck them together, clumped for safety in numbers to avoid selection for my mouth. Like some kind of alien from a Ridley Scott film I ripped off their heads and sucked out the insides . Finally,two lone soldiers found time to pose for a picture, before biting the bullet and joining their comrades. I was quite happy brushing up on ethics, madly scrawling away notes until the inevitable happened, just as I actually set out to do work my pen broke; the ink chugged to a halt as I naively jabbed at the page, trying the resurect my stationary. Giving up I rolled onto my back and admitted defeat. Fortunately my boredom and Jelly Baby massacre didn’t last long, my friend Charles decided to join the party. He had spent the morning telling me how amazing his new phone and GPS was, however he couldn’t put it into good use and track me down in the Hyde Park masses; my red and white tan streaks made it much like a game of “Where’s Wally.” A trip to the shop, and we were stacked with ciders and beers, ready for our return to the park; the air was filled with a cocktail of drugs, the hiss of NOS canisters, and the melee of conversations. As the wind set upon us, and the evidence of my sunburn set in we decided to call it a day; Charles suggested we continue the festivities at Hyde Park pub, where a football game was on.
I would like to point out at this point I am not a football fan, I wouldn’t know one side of the pitch from the other, but before long I felt myself caught up in atmosphere. I oohed and aaahed with every missed opportunity, and smiled as I saw the smugness of John Terry wiped away; the love rat slithered back to the changing room to lick his wounds following a red card. Perhaps it was the cider talking, or the general ambience, but I have to say I enjoyed myself, and even fitted in quite well. Charles suggested I randomly select a team, and support them no matter what……he said “Spurs?”, I said “another time.“It was all going smoothly, until I approached the bar, and heard the inevitable….“You got any I.D mate?” My man point quota plummeted. Still not satisfied with the evening we stumbled back to Charles’ halls, with the promise of collecting more alcohol on the way. The bright neon lights of a fair drew us in, like psirens it called to us, and we couldn’t help but ride the giant spinning wall! Whirled like clothes in washer your head was flung backwards, pinned to the cage, all you could do was laugh and enjoy the ride; although I was slightly unnerved by the toothless man opposite me trying to lift himself off the ground. Suitably spun we collected our alcohol and made our way through the fair; the two bald men behind exclaimed that we would have enjoyed the ride much more if we had been on “Meow, meow,” I left them to it!
The evening continued, we drank MORE, watched Britain’s got talent, and visited the flat next door. The time rumbled on, to the constant phrase, “Is that all the time is,” when 11pm rolled around I decided I should take the long walk back to Hyde Park. Alone in the dark, on the streets of Leeds I turned to Becki Bell for a phonecall; when it came to the decision of: Long safe work home, or Dark rape walk home, she advised me to take the shorter route. Through the park I went, unrecognisable from the fun of the day, now it was filled with the ghostly rememnants of litter, and dark shadows. I kept a bottle firmly gripped, playing the scenario of smashing it in an attackers face; thankfully it didn’t come to that, which is good, because I probably would have just ran anyway.
This morning I awoke to a reminder on my doorstep to register as a voter; my new found appreciation for politics may just sway me to register, but then that is just the start. Who to vote for? In all honesty I wouldn’t know where to begin, the closest I get to supporting anyone is joining a facebook group laughing at vandalised conservative billboards; it is a highly reccomended group, and worth a laugh. I’m sure my vote would be much more relevant in the next election, but for the time being I would quite like to see the Lib Dems wipe the botox look off Cameron’s face; though i’m sorry to say to Mr. Brown, I think it is time you were put out to pasture. Continuing my sealife theme from before, I have been desperately trying to find a story for my 5 minute TV package. I emailed the Blue Planet Aquarium in an attempt to find something interesting, and that I would enjoy filming. I thought about diving with sharks, but was immediately put off by the £200 price tag; I pay a lot of extras for my course, but that is one thing my modest loan won’t stretch to. Even with the impending workload the aquarium tank is half full, I’ve nearly reached the end of my second year, and I can see myself going somewhere. Before I know it, it will be May 17th and I will be stepping into BBC Merseyside for my work experience, just another sheep in the pen, or the start of something great? But for the moment back to David Randall’s “Universal Journalist,” whilst I pray I will soon be some shade of brown, not copying the crustaceans.
Now I know it’s not polite to laugh at other’s misfortune but this rendition of “Touch My Body” is worth an honourable mention; my favourite lines are “I know you love my cock,” “Rape me in my thighs,”and”You won, wanna go Norway.” He just about about beats the video of someone singing “I can’t live,” with the words “Ken Lee.” The foreign charts must be entirely comprised of Mariah Carey, damn her tricky lyrics; but I applaud them and say keep it coming, it makes YouTube a better place.
Yet again my ethics slipped further down my to-do list as I replaced it with the film “Gamer,” a world in which you can pay to control people, or get paid to be controlled in a real life complex called society. Think of “The Sims”, but with more graphic sex, and more internet paedophiles. If I was EA games I would be seriously angry at Gamer for ripping me off, and demand some simoleons to help me develop “The Sims Serial Killer expansion pack.” The film takes the concept one step further, putting death row convicts into a real life Call of Duty style game; survive 30 games, you go free. It is much like the film death race: big guns, big men, big boobs; I almost lost myself in the sea of flailing limbs and blood.Now, this film isn’t going to win any awards but it certainly puts your life into perspective; what would it be like to be a puppet at someone’s disposal? To have no control over your actions, what you say, what you do, in retrospect, to be a Sim? I’m pretty sure having my genitalia pixilated when I go to the toilet wouldn’t be a pleasant experience.
My two weeks of isolation are nearing their end, my fortress of solitude will soon be invaded by the pitter patter of student feet, and an increase to volume of mess. I have to admit I don’t think I would last long as a batchelor, pretty soon I would contract a deadly disease, or turn a shotgun on myself. So it is time to let down my Rapunzel hair and let them climb inside to my rescue. Unfortunately the return of housemates means the departure of my batcheloresque lifestyle; I dread to think how many bin bags of rubbish I have accumulated, or how long it will take me to wash all the dishes. But c’est la vie, time to man up and become a “Desperate Housewife,” pull out the apron and tie the strings behind my back. Yes that is me in a pink apron, however it was purely for the purposes of the school play; there is an image of me dressed as a french maid floating around, but I thought it was too shocking for your gentle minds. On the spring clean front I finally found the desire to wash my towel, just in time, before it sprouted legs and leapt out of my skylight. It now hangs limp and defeated from a coathanger, drying in the afternoon sun.
An update now from earlier in the week, I forgot to do my rave review of “Heston’s Fairytale Feast,” the egg headed chef didn’t fail to enchant on every level. Snow white, Cinderella, Hansel and Gretel, Jack and the Beanstalk; all reinvented by the Willy Wonka of the cookery world. Perhaps most shocking was his starter of……….CHICKEN TESTICLES, an apparent delicacy in France; well they can keep it, I still wasn’t convinced to try the recipe myself. My eyes nearly popped out of their stalks at the size of those beasts, this was then followed by many sexual innuendoes from the guests about balls in the mouth; I like to see Channel 4 uses guests on the same wavelength as me. I conjured up images of what it would be like to eat these once in a lifetime meals, stolen from history, or even to eat at the fat duck restaurant, well one can dream. His grand finale was a shed sized gingerbread house, complete with edible windows, edible drainpipes, and an edible doormat (I hope they managed to eat it before going inside.) The guests were like real children in a candy shop; you could see the childlike glint in Faye Ripley’s eyes as she gnawed through the roof support, and Hardeep Singh Koli, as he smashed the boiled sweet window with menace.
Another day filled with nonsense and triviality, maybe tomorrow will be the day I put mind to keyboard and bash this bad boy essay out. But for now I am looking forward to an evening of Facejacker …… review to follow
As mentioned on facebook it seems that the Jeremy Kyle studio has doubled up as a political boxing ring. When watching ‘First Election Debate’I am wondering whether this is the political style X-Factor that Simon Cowell said was his next move. It is nice to see Nick Clegg grabbing some air time, and holding his own against the political heavyweights; the underdog may still rise from the ashes. Along with the Nick Griffin ‘Question Time’ , this is the only political show I have ever watched; I thought I would jump on the bandwagon ,join this moment in history, and attempt to be intellectual. I am unsure if any of you actually watch my videos, but I don’t put them up for my own good! Please watch the one below, I promise it will make you laugh(on another note also watch Cassette Boy ‘The Apprentice.’)
Today I began the dreaded task of essay preparation, this, is in actual fact far harder than writing the essay itself. I found myself surrounded by piles of notes, felling like this cheeky chappy( If only I was made of £5 notes all my monetary woes would be solved). Upon reflection I do wonder what I do in my lectures, very little was legible at all; it mainly consisted of doodles, or messages to Francine asking her to go for a potato. So with notes out the window I turned to my electronic friend, Google Scholar, and trawled through the musings of intellectuals. My head pounded with words, and my eyes seemed to morph into two squares; the glare of the computer forced me to give up after just one article as I tried to digest it. Perhaps tomorrow will be more fruitful? However, I do feel I have accomplished something, on the way to the gym I took the slight detour to the library and took out a book on journalism. How I can’t wait to enjoy the chapter on ethics, sat in my armchair, swirling a glass of brandy and muttering to myself whilst puffing on a pipe.
Now, on a less educational note I slipped further into my overdraft today; admittedly it was only £10, but I felt all my essay work deserved some retail therapy. Tucked away in a lost corner of the internet is a cute little website called Lazy Oaf, packed with trinkets and madly designed t-shirts, this is the very place I bought my burger hat all those weeks ago. Today’s purchase marks the first stage of new invention; new look, new hair (when I get my loan), new season. Here I am spending money before my loan even lands in my bank account, but hey it’s only money, and you can’t take it with you; also if I die I won’t have to pay it back… take that student finance. So, to the left is my brand new t-shirt, not very clear I know,but most of you will get to see it,and unfortunately the speech bubble isn’t included; I will have to fashion one of my own. Against advice I will shoehorn myself into a size small, as I am sick of having clothes hanging off me like and old bag lady; this choice I am sure I will regret as the tumble dryer chews it up and spits it out, fit only for a doll.
Well I end yet another rambling blog with reference to Iceland; sorry not you Kerry Katona. It appears that an aggravated volcano has had the last laugh; sadly, this ensures the news will be filled with health reports, travel reports, and environmental reports for the next few weeks. Pictures of desolate concrete airports transformed into metal graveyards captured from the sky news copter, however I feel no sympathy for those stranded in warmer climbs! Terrorists volcano? ITV news has just compared the incident to a terrorist attack, causing travel chaos far worse than 9/11, wow mother nature really does know how to screw with us.