Running in public part 1

Running in public. We all try to avoid it, but at some point, we have all done it. Some do it more than others though, and as it's just over a year that I have now been living in London, I wanted to catalogue some of the different "runners" which I have encountered, and become accustomed to.

Tube runners

I encounter these bastards every day. I'm talking about the platform crossers who RUN. Everyday at Stockwell, I risk death by commuter trampling as I walk across the death platform to get to the other side. SO. MANY. BLOODY. RUNNERS. Look at them go! Suits flying out, briefcases flapping in the wind and eyes half closed with the determination to get to the platform before the train has even arrived! Why? Are they actually, so competitive that they feel like they have to BEAT the train? Or beat all the other commuters who inevitably end up getting on the same carriage as the runner and subsequently pass the time looking at said runner by thinking "what a twat".

The Dad Run

This isn't a breed, but a type of run. Obviously. I cannot take credit for this, instead full ownership goes to @rjball87 . The dad run can be seen up and down the country on a daily basis, and despite the misleading name, can be done by anyone. I'm a huge fan myself. I usually break it out when I'm late for a train, have a ton of random things like a wok and a cuddly toy camel with me, so can't break into my natural Usain Bolt gait and have to settle for the part run, part walk, part jog. AKA THE DAD RUN. It's a classic.

Gig rant.

So last Friday I went to the Union Chapel to see Alexi Murdoch. It's up there as one of the best gigs I've ever been to. The Union Chapel creates an atmosphere like no other as everyone sits quietly in their respective pews watching the artist perform. There is no shuffling, background chat or people alternatively spilling drinks on you/stepping on your feet. It is lovely. Alexi Murdoch is also lovely. If you are unfamiliar with him, then sort it out and listen to this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_R5IQoIYvTM

It's great. This is another well known one:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Uz8uRWoC0I&ob=av2n

So yes, an excellent artist, a cracking venue and overall it was a brilliant evening spent with some of my best friends. It was great.

However, this being Alexi Murdoch and this being the Union Chapel, there were a few people who found the mellow and calming sound and atmosphere clearly a massive turn on, and so were indulging some full on make out sessions, a little odd maybe, but it did amuse me as it reminded me of the Seinfeld classic "you were making out during Schindlers list?!"

But what infuriated one of my gigging comrades most, was when looking for a decent video from the gig, she found this beauty. Which is unfortunately, a potentially excellent video (good sound, good recording etc) spectacularly sabotaged by someone who just couldn't resist tunelessly singing along occasionally...It sparked the following excellent tirade about the rules of gigging:

"A gig should basically follow the same rules as those found in swimming pools.. no running, no bombing (this applies to the group / support act) and the most important NO HEAVY PETTING. In addition DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES MUMBLE AND SING OUT OF TUNE ALONG TO THE SAID LIVE MUSIC to ruin a perfectly beautiful sighable song AND THEN POST IT ON YOU TUBE TO SHOW THAT YOU ARE OUT OF TUNE AND RUINING A PERFECTLY LOVELY SIGHABLE SONG FOR EVERYONE AROUND YOU. It’s like saying HI CAN YOU HEAR HOW LOVELY THIS SONG IS – GOOD WELL I HAVE RUINED IT AND AM STUPID ENOUGH TO POST IT ON YOUTUBE SO JUST IN CASE I PISSED YOU OFF AT THE GIG I CAN REMIND YOU HOW BLOODY ANNOYING IT WAS THIS IS ME I AM HERE HATE ME PLEASE."

I agree with all of the above. I should have recited this very rant to the two girls who once came and stood directly in front of me in the middle of a Tracey Chapman gig and regaled each other with stories of some poor bastard they had both shagged recently and essentially compared notes... Fine, I have no problem with that, share away. But really? In the middle of a fucking gig?! Someone is standing with a guitar and singing. This is not a fucking soundtrack to your life, if you think that someone standing in front of you singing is your cue to start talking about some poor sod and his weak technique I really think that something is wrong. Of course though, I kept all this to myself, I did sigh and shuffle a lot but next time I am resolved to take action...I'll punch them in the face.

Confessions.

So as my dedicated followers on twitter will know, I went for a run last night in an attempt to conquer St James's park. It didn't end well. It started well: we stretched, we procrastinated, we checked the map of one of the smallest parks in the world in case we got lost and eventually after thorough security checks, we set off. It started pretty well. Unfortunately, it didn't end well. I'm currently one swollen ankle, a grazed leg and a cut hand and knee down. Oh and did I mention I'm going to a domestic abuse help centre (for work) today? Doesn't look great.

Now the title of this blog obviously suggests I have something to confess. Falling over in public and making a tit out of myself is nothing new. It's practically a daily occurrance in Horsley land. No, my confession lies in the reason I fell over.

I fell over because I wasn't paying attention. Why wasn't I paying attention?... Well because I was tweeting on my phone. What was I tweeting? Something hideously moronic along the lines of 'check me out I'm such a bloody jogger. LOLosaurus'.

Yep. Now its out there. My shame will take me to Outer Mongolia. I doubt ill ever return.

HAT HALLOWEEN

It's been a while since I've updated this blog, and a while since I've had a good old fashioned hate filled rant about something. I usually internalise my rage for the Northern line at 8.15 in the morning which tends to be peak "moron" time. 8.30 is just peak "a stupid amount of people" time, but 8.15 is when all the morons tune in, pitch up and piss me off.

Anyone who has ever been out drinking with me will know that I'm a ranter. I bloody love a good rant. When I'm on my horse though my rants are generally limited to a pretty pathetic repertoire of: a) How much I love the friend/stranger/chair I am ranting at; b) How much I love Fleetwood Mac and c) Convaluted arguments about the Conservatives. Overall though, there's is usually a lot of LUV and occasionally some HAT. Speaking of LUV & HAT please check out one of my favourite blogs. You will LOL, if you don't I may have to punch you in the face, tough luv.

Anyway, I'm getting carried away with the love and the violence, so back to the original purpose behind this post. So it's Sunday morning, and last night I went to watch the Blair Witch Project on a big screen at the Union Chapel in Islington in honour of Halloween. It was a pretty awesome evening, I nearly got into a fight with an old woman there (another story) but aside from that it was sweet. I love horror movies and the Blair Witch is one of the best, it's so well done it's not particularly scary and best of all where pathetic people like me are concerned, it doesn't stay with you afterwards. I mean, if I had just watched the Blair Witch on a Friday night knowing that the following Saturday morning I was heading off to some woods in North America, by myself, without a phone and with a map which was essentially some diagonal lines and a few dots, yes, I think it could then be the kind of film which scares the shit out of you a few days down the line. However, FORTUNATELY, I live in London. I haven't seen a fucking tree in 8 months, let alone a forest. I think I'm going to be ok.

So you see, I love horror movies, I'm a big fan and I've seen a fair few in my time. What I HATE with the fiery passion of Mount DOOM is Halloween. God I loathe it. I hate it so much I'm going to have to go and rock in a darkened room before I can continue writing otherwise I am genuinely running the risk of bursting into hate fuelled flames with my last words being "FUCKOOOHALOOWEEEEEN!!GAAAAH!!!!!!!!". So I'll be back in ten.

I didn't go and rock in a darkened room, I do have better things to do. I made tea. Lovely calming tea.

I find it difficult to put into words why it is I hate Halloween so much. I think it partly stems from a deep rooted misunderstanding. I've never in my life been trick or treating or even met a trick or treater (as in had one knock at my door). Having grown up in the countryside there were:

a) Only 2 other houses to go knocking on

b) Both of whom's occupants had an outlook of "don't open the door after 4pm, that's when the Jehovas come knocking"

So I missed out on that. To be honest though, that doesn't really bother me. And when I was a kiddie it didn't really bother me either. No, what really annoys me about Halloween is the sheer idiocy it brings out in people like no other event/time or year. Last night I saw more independent people dressed as giant fluffy bananas then I thought possible. WHY? WHAT IS THE POINT? If they were some genetically created flesh eating bananas which could strike you down with a potassium overdose at 100 paces I might be able to muster a granule of grudging respect. BUT NO. They were just people who thought to themselves "ha! Bananas! Fluffy! HALOWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!"

But worse than them. Then any others in the world in fact, are those people running around screeching "I'M A VAMPIRE LOL!!!!". Highlighting, loudly to me that you are the worst type of irritating moron, doens't make me want to whip out a cape, smear some fake blood over my face, set my face to "deranged" and join in with the screeching. Rather it makes me want to move to Nova Scotia, live in a hut and pray that I'll never have to speak to another human being ever again.

So in conclusion, I have a message to say to Halloween:

Dear Halloween,

Just letting you know that despite everything, I'll be back to hate you again next year. I don't blame you for Twilight. That's your one redeeming feature. Don't take it personally. Jesus, man up.

Love etc,

Horsley

xxx

Tales of the mothership

So, a bit of context: When I was 14 my sex education primarily came through Neighbours and the occasional cryptic comment from my parents. Both were horrific.

The mothership once cornered my 19 year old brother and 17 year old self in the kitchen and asked us both whether we "wanted to know about the birds and the bees?" Instead of telling her to bugger off like rational human beings I think we both reacted with screams, yelps and frantic eye darting. Mum however, found the entire situation hilarious, made some horrendous comment about "your father" (which my sub-concious has thankfully, obliterated) and reached once again for her wine glass.

I'll save the time about she asked my poor brother and I to buy weed for her to another time. I have a reputation to uphold, after all.

Interpretation through Twitter, yeah

Twilight

@ladyisavamp

Sex

Is

Wrong

Unlessyouaremarriedtoacrazyobsessiveancientvampirewhosparklesinthesunandnotsosecretlywantstodrinkyourblood

P.S Whoar, have you seen the werewolf?

Rebecca, Daphne Du Maurier

@screwyoudanvers

So it's pretty boring on this island, I'm just chilling with this American bint but she keeps ordering me to do shit like darning. She can fuck right off.

Hello, attractive brooding man with suspected emotionally damaged past has been sighted...time to get my claws into him.

Totally saved him from jumping off a cliff. I AM SO GREAT.

We've eloped, innit. American bint was PISSED. Ha!

Bit creepy in this massive house...I'll just pretend I know what I'm doing, that'll be fine.

Jeez who was this Rebecca chick? She's dead people, MOVE ON. Especially you, Danvers.

This is awkward, might be married to a murderer. THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS TO ME.

Oh wait it's ok, apparently Rebecca was a right bitch. Ha! Shall we elope again?

Laters, SUCKERS! FTW!

HEY THERE!!!

So, like a lot of other people over the years I have watched a fair amount of Sex and the City. (fear not, this is not a blog about Sex and the City) but this combined with various conversations I have had with my brothers American girlfriend and other Americans I have met "around" has given me a fair insight into their differing style and approach to 'dating'. I may be wrong, but it strikes me that Americans will just approach each other and ask them out, and they'll do this ALL THE TIME and this is what constitutes dating. Kind of a sweeping net approach.

It also strikes me as standing in a very sharp contrast to the English approach, which in my experience tends to go more along the lines of:

Get wasted; Drunkenly pull someone; Get wasted, drunkenly cop off again; Maybe repeat a few times, but basically you're now going out. Only one party may be aware of this shift in relationship status, but that's ok.

To NOT BE SOBER is the key, key part of this. The thought of stone-cold soberly walking up to another person and being all: "Hi, I'm so and so etc etc, would you like to go for a drink?" is quite a terrifying prospect.

Much more familiar is to approach/be approached by a stranger, possibly fall over and redeem it all with an opening line of "HEY THERE!" accompanied with *JAZZ HANDS*

Winner!

Updates from the back

So those of you who have come in any form of contact with me over the past 8 weeks are probably aware, that I have been suffering from chronic back pain over this time. It has not been pretty.

Back pain is a familiar foe to me - I was afflicted badly in my second year, after a vigorous game of squash I was left virtually crippled having pulled a muscle. I literally couldn't believe that pain as bad as it was could be a muscular problem, but it was. Although I was left unable to walk standing upright or at any great speed for a couple of weeks - highlights included 1) being overtaken by a Granny on the street; 2) receiving a text from a friend which went along the lines of "I just saw a little old lady walking along and it made me think of you" - I did recover and despite the odd twinge, have been largely unaffected since.

But now it's back (no pun intended), with a brutal and vicious vengeance. The motherfucker. If I had to characterise back pain at all, I would simply say that it is a vicious motherfucker.

It has lead me into some pretty unpleasant circumstances. For instance, I cried, at work. Now I loathe crying in public (by public I mean anyone who is not my immediate family), and usually I contain my crying until 2 or 3 AM, in my room, alone. But back pain, the motherfucker, caused me to cry at work. The HORROR. I am now feeling slightly better about this outpouring of emotion though as when I was telling a friend of mine about my tale of cringe he told me to "Stop being so ridiculously British, you are allowed to show emotions, you know? Jeez". SORRY. SORRY!

My most recent humiliation was in the past few days. My back has been well on the way to recovery, but clever me decided that spending 8 hours driving over 2 days and then going for a cycle ride was definitely a brilliant idea and now I am paying the price with an epic relapse. I'm talking only-doesn't-hurt-when-lying-on-the-floor kind of relapse. FUCK. So having spent the past 8 weeks moaning and waiting for physio I finally decided to go Chuck Norris on their (the NHS') arse...and call up and ask politely for an appointment. I got lucky, and was able to see a physio the next morning.

So, this is how I found myself. Unable to drive, or walk to the hospital I had to get to bus. It was too painful to sit down at the bus stop, so I had to lean against a piss stained part of Salisbury's standing next to a bin with half extinguished cigarettes blowing smoke into my face; but at least the pain was bearable. Oh, wait no it wasn't, the brief respite was over. Shuffling from side to side to try and ease it, shaking from both the pain and exertion of standing up, sweating and just generally feeling and looking miserable, I found myself thinking,

"This, this, is living."

Brap! Brap! I hate it when my cereal goes soggy. Brap!

A colleague of mine remarked to me recently that I was born twenty years too late. My brother has frequently told me that he believes that I actually live in a cave, such is my lack of knowledge, or even basic awareness of current music and cultural phenomena.

The main foundings for these statements are because my musical passions lie firmly with Fleetwood Mac, The Beatles, The Kinks etc etc and because until recently I thought that "Dance music" was an acceptable term of description for anything remotely "dancey". Hell, I think with that one word I have proven my point. I mean, I can no more distinguish dub step from trip hop than I could determine one lobster from another.

I am however, not alone.

Now I am not the reincarnated spirit of the News of the World, so this blog will not feature naming and shaming, but I will say that a good friend of mine (you know who you are) did once interrupt a conversation about dub step with an apologetic "I'm sorry, but I just don't know who this dub step band are". Much hilarity and pointing and laughing followed this statement, but frankly, I'm just lucky that he said it before I did.

To be honest though, I'm pretty happy chilling in a glorious darkness of oblivion from the current trend of attempting to beat box about how you hate it when you're cereal goes soggy, or...whatever. At least by admitting, quite openly that I have no idea, it does save me a lot of hassle. There is no need to suffer the humiliation of pretending to be up with the latest tune by DJ pancake (again, or...whatever). Nope. It's far easier to play the ignorance card and I can recline happily in my chair of false superiority, with Penny Lane in my ears and in my heart - wonderful.

Diary of an angsty teenager

Day 1
I JUST WANT TO BELONG

Day 2
Maybe I'll join a cult.

Twitter for Fascists

The right to freedom of speech is incredibly important to me. I regularly attend events, seminars and read blogs and articles about protecting our right to free speech and the ways in which it is but a distant dream in too many countries in this world. I spent time working for Britain's leading organisation promoting freedom of expression, and the protection of these liberties was a huge influence factor for me when deciding which party to vote for in the General Election. So, you see, I care, about our right to free speech and freedom of expression.

HOWEVER. There, is one context when I will willingly and happily go full circle upon these values, and lead a horse-led fascist fueled charge in an attempt to SHUT UP the moronic sentiments which are inflicted upon myself, and others through the median of Twitter.

Now, I am aware, that this post will in all likelihood not be without some hypocrisy, so please excuse me. I tweet, and I write this blog and whilst I happen to think that I am the most fascinating person in the world, and that everyone who reads my tweets will be forever gripped in an enthralled state of interest, excitement and hilarity, I have come to accept that this is not always the case. I do like to think though that I will never be annoying enough to cause some random person with too much time on their hands to write a blog post about how they would like to forever ban people from expressing their most boring and inane updates every thirty fucking seconds.

'How can someone be aggravated into such a rage by Twitter posts?' I hear you asking. Don't get me wrong, pointless facebook statuses such as "I just pet my dog lol" also make me want to dive screaming headfirst into the abyss; but the sheer volume of twitter and tweets is far more terrifying.

Below are some examples of some of the tweets which make me want to track down each individual moron, knock on their door and pretend that I think they are brilliant and then actually, punch them very hard in the face.

First, literally, ANYTHING RELATED TO JUSTIN BIEBER. Every one of the tweets below, is real. I don't have the mental capacity to create the kind of spieling which "Beliebers" do. I officially hate that I know what a Belieber is.

RT IF U HAVE NEVER SAID ANYTHING BAD ABOUT JUSTIN BIEBER!!!

I no longer say "Justin Bieber". I only say "Justin" because my family already know who I'm talking about. #itsabelieberthing

*Call from unknown number.* Normal people: "I’ll just hit ignore." Me: "Maybe it's JUSTIN BIEBER! HELLO?!" #itsabelieberthing

Forget about Paige,forget about Jelena. It doesn't matter,all that matters is supporting that amazing boy named Justin Drew Bieber

So Twitter opens up an wall of white noise of MORONS bleating on about how much they love a high-pitched 14 year old. I mean, Jesus, somebody stop them! Who could stop this the ranks of sane people are calling, ah if only there was a way...

Worse, perhaps than the legions of ordinary morons yakking away, are the hundreds of equally tedious celebrities, who bore us all to tears with the updates of their lives. Apparently celebrities also eat bacon sandwiches. OH MY GOD. WHO KNEW.

Boring celebrity tweets include:

Cool, I'm about to reach 4,400,000 followers!

Hmmmm... Thinking Vegas... Comments..? Who's there? Any EPIC parties? talk to me cadre.... on the runway...

Both of the above are from the walking breathing car crash which is Charlie Sheen. Who is a tosser. I confess, my research for this blog was pretty limited, but you see, I knew that by giving a voice to an idiot such as Charlie Sheen, that I would not be disappointed. I went onto Charlie Sheen's twitter page and approximately 45 seconds later, BOOM, I have written confirmation that the guy is a prat.

And then, in a league of her own, is Elizabeth Hurley who bores the world with such thrilling nuggets of fact about herself such as:

Thank you to Estee Lauder for the bulging bag of goodies sent to my Gossip Girl trailer. Smothered in new product now....

Somebody stop this, for the sanity of the human race. Twitter facism, it makes a lot of sense.

The Rumours are true - Fleetwood Mac is the answer

Stop.

Listen to this. A song, from simply one of the best albums ever produced. I never tire of listening to it, and doubt I ever will. It is spectacular.

You see, Fleetwood Mac are the answer. Fleetwood Mac are the connection which is already there but just hasn't come up in conversation yet.

In the grand scheme of things, I'm still very new when it comes to Fleetwood Mac. I discovered them maybe 7 months ago, and it has been brilliant. Fleetwood Mac has opened up a entire world of music to me, and even better it has lead to so many new conversations about music with people with whom you'd usually just be stuck talking about the London-Manchester Virgin train service. BUT NO MORE FOR NOW THERE IS FLEETWOOD MAC.

Rumours is one of those fantastic albums in which the lyrics actually mean something, and something very real for that matter. The lyrics are so personal that just by listening to the songs you feel yours becoming entangled in the band politics.

Fleetwood Mac creates a bond between happy go lucky 70s pop fans and formula one fans.

Fleetwood Mac creates a bond between two human beings with EARS purely through the utter genius of the tracks on Rumours.

I will sign off with two of my favourite tracks from this quite phenomenally good album, and I don't think I need gush anymore. Fleetwood Mac is the answer - just listen for yourself, and enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YEi7GPkxfsE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5eCEdu_gQE&feature=related

How to win the Apprentice: A foolproof guide

I would like to start by saying that although this may be a foolproof guide... it is probably still not "Apprentice candidate" proof, so no doubt the morons will carry on each year. This does mean however, that I will still be able to enjoy the Guardian liveblog which is without a doubt the funniest things about it. The other day I laughed so much and so loudly that I found myself apologising (to my empty flat).

I'm relatively new to the Apprentice. I discovered it when I was in my last year at uni (clearly taking the whole Finals malarky really seriously) - which was the year when the hilarious but occasionally incontinent James and the terrifying "I smash eggs with my EYES" Debra were candidates. They were hilarious, if slightly terrifying. Who can forget James' comment to two male models eating ice creams "Not too much suggestive licking there guys...we're not trying to make a porno." If only, James, if only.

So despite being relatively new, I am still now a pretty committed fan. Although Stuart "field of rampant ponies" Baggs was clearly a hideous human being he was also really funny. I have also learnt a lot. Mainly about how to succeed in business - do the exact opposite of whatever they do is usually a good start, but I also think I have learnt enough that I'm confident I could apply, and I'd probably win.

Nonetheless, I have felt inspired enough to write a short guide on what not to do, for all those hopeful candidates out there.

Rule #1

Don't suck up to Alan.

You don't want to win, you moron. Alan Sugar is a twat who can't even grow a beard properly and constantly berates candidates for being unable to sell wonky chairs and fake sunglasses because when he was a lad that's what he did and now he's really rich and successful and reads the financial times and drives a really big car which destroys the environment but he doesn't care because he's Lord Sir Baron Alan Sugar and he can do what he likes. NO. RUN. RUN AWAY. I COMMAND YOU.

Rule #2

Do not talk about The Apprentice, or Robot club.

Oh wait, sorry getting my entertainment confused here, that's Spaced isn't it? No rule number 2 is NO SMOKING.

Rule #3

Don't try that hard.

Everyone else is going to be giving it at least 137% so I say, chill, kick back on the 37% for a while, you'll go far.

Rule #4

Golden Rule

Do not, WHATEVER YOU DO, have a one to one with the camera just after you've made a deal saying how confident you are feeling about the task and that you personally have just turned it around and won it. No, fool, you have just lost. Jesus buy a fucking dictionary and look up irony and then get off my screen.

Rule #5

Always refer to Karen/Nick/Alan as Margaret.

Hopefully if everyone does it enough times they'll bring her back.

Rule #6

Try and lose.

The "prizes" are always actually poorly disguised punishments for being in the apprentice in the first place. At least if you end up at cafe de fail you'll get tea. And I'd love a cup, cheers.

Rule #7

continuation of 6, but a bit further, try and get fired as soon as possible really. First show would be ideal. You hopefully haven't had that much of an opportunity to make a huge twit out of yourself, you get to meet Dara - who I LOVE - and you're off the British public's radar pretty swiftly. Also, you're saved from ever having to work with Alan Sugar. Phew.

Rule #8

At least try and cut the bullshit.

I don't care if you once played footsie with the Dali Lama, clearly you'll go far, but somethings I maintain are just better if kept quiet.

I've only given this blog about 48% (I'm destined to be amazing when I go on), so can't be bothered to think of more rules.

I think I might apply actually, if only because it means I'll have the opportunity to get absolutely hammered, go into the board room and lunge purposefully at Nick. Yeah mate.

No argument needed, I've won

So I've recently finished six weeks of debating classes, and I thought it was about time I blogged about it.

The final conclusion is... six weeks later I'm still crap. I think I can just resign myself to the bitter reality that debating is something I will never be good at. I can add it to the long list of useful things I wish I could do, like sailing; or forming coherent sentences, or not scaring strangers by asking what their top 5 favourite puddings are. But no.

So my motivation behind starting the whole debating classes was mainly, because I was getting fed up with losing every argument I ever found myself in. My usual technique is to sit by and inwardly seethe but this has lead to such unpleasant occasions as finding myself once sitting next to someone who described chairman Mao as "not such a bad chap actually". To be fair, on that occasion it was better that I just held my tongue as violence would have probably ensured.

So on the occasions when I did allow myself to become entangled in arguments I would inevitably lose. Entangled is definitely the right word too to describe my efforts too. I'm going to be really geeky (for once, HO HO) and reference Lord of the Rings... you know when Frodo and Sam are playing hide and seek or some shit in the giant cave with the fuck off spider (which scares the living daylights out of me) and Frodo gets tangled up in the web (stupid sod) and he's stuck and it's all uber traumatic and tense? Well, the analogy I am (eventually) getting to is that Frodo is stuck and helpless and he has no idea how he got there. Which is exactly what happens to me when I argue. Obviously I mean without the giant spider with murderous intentions and a hobbit, but you get my drift. A BLOODY MESS basically.

Also, to summarise, here is an image of what I've been banging on about:

I allow my emotions and my tongue to argue before I even BOTHER to attempt and engage my brain, and this happens EVERY TIME. So I'll try and make a sound (aka, counter-argument) and all that come out is "GNAAAARRRRGGGHHH.... NO!" which, in the grand scheme of things... is pretty rubbish as far as replies go. This then pisses me off, and I will probably end up crying or calling my opponent a horrible person who I will hate forever. I should clarify though, this is generally only the case with relatives - with friends I'll just harbour some casual resentment and then inevitably get distracted by something shiny and the whole debacle is forgotten. As far as debating and discussion go, I'm officially shite. Hence why I signed up for debating classes - I was going through a scary phase of 'Actioning' stuff, thankfully it didn't last very long.

So the debating classes were pretty hilarious. I'm fairly sure they weren't meant to be, but they were. There were some absolute comedy characters who made it a really fun experience. My stand out personal favourite has to be Rosa, who is Spanish. That's pretty much all I (or anyone else in the class) knows, as you literally couldn't understand a word she said. Which can make for an interesting debate. Believe me.

Next in my failed attempts at personal development: Watching more Lord of the Rings so I can remember the name of the giant spider. WIN.

Growing Pains

I have recently created a shared playlist on Spotify, "Growing pains". I shall preserve my friends' modesty by merely referring to her as 'cb'. NB this isn't a cunning shortening of her real name, which interestingly, is actually Donald! Parents can be so cruel. ANYWAY, on with the blog.

So yes, 'Growing Pains' is a mixture of some of the music which we used to soothe ourselves with whilst in the midst of the agony, the horror even, which constitutes teenage angst. Ah, teenage angst. I've basically written off 13-17. It's pretty rare for me to be able to look back on those days with a fond smile and a head tint as I think of all the glory. NO. They were awkward hours spent tortured over what I now have literally NO IDEA. It's funny to think back about the things which used to literally devour all of my time worrying about now, I'm like WTF mate?

Strangely enough, one of the things I do find myself having to thank teenage angst for, is my love of music. I mean, obviously I had always been aware of music in the years before...thirteen, but it had never held any real significance for me. There's only so much you can glean from Boyzone and Britney Spears. Really.

So it was through my various friends who were also experiencing issues of teenage angst that I discovered some of the bands which I came to utterly adore, and then subsequently...forget. This was one of the funniest things about this brilliant playlist was just remembering all of these bands and tracks which I literally used to think were the absolute shit, and just haven't really given them the time of day since.

So lets see, what features on this epic playlist. Well, the rules were that we were allowed 20 tracks each which were most significant to us, in the dark years. Now at the time of blogging the mystical Donald (cb) and I have quite a few shared playlists as we have similar tastes and it's a good way of not only sharing cool music but discovering new artists at the same time. However, judging by 'Growing Pains'... we weren't quite there yet in terms of the similar taste thing.

Now before I reveal what some of the cringers are - I must justify myself. There are some pretty cool bands in there. Radiohead, for example, have always featured pretty heavily in my music taste, and if they don't represent teenage angst then hell I have no idea what does. The pixies, also I still listen to, not as regularly, but I am still more than prepared to give them well deserved kudos. The Pixies are a cool band. Other acceptable features include: The Libertines; The Vines; The White Stripes; The Streets; Nirvana and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. So really, not much shame there, and as I said earlier, in some ways I'm thankful to the angst for introducing me to some awesome music which still features heavily in my (ear) life.

It's more when I remember having ventured down the line of... *deep breath* Avril Lavigne; Eminem; The Distillers; The Bronx and creed that I start to wince. Now I'm not all out dissing them at all - it's more the connotations that come with. I had forgotten, for example, how much I was into The Distillers. I thought they were so cool, and that I was therefore "pretty hard" for liking them. This attempt to be hard lead onto me attempting to like stuff like The Bronx. I never really did, but I tried, oh how I tried.

When I really start to squirm is when I think back to how I actually thought Avril Lavigne was awesome. Like genuinely, as an impressionable 14 (*16) year old I wouldn't go so far as to say I thought of her as role model, but I definitely thought she was someone I would like to be like. OH GOD. Right, seeing as it's all coming out and I will never actually have to suffer the consequences of this blog because I will have DIED FROM THE SHAME I reach Eminem. Yeah I was into Eminem, I used to read along to his lyrics and try (operative word definitely being try) and rap along. Of course, I was shit and usually about half a beat behind, but this activity of rapping along helped me with my teenage angst as I felt like I related more to the lyrics. Oh how I related to these important, anger and hate filled lyrics which I definitely felt spoke to me and were, like, all about me y'know?!

Like I said, THE HORROR. I almost wish I had never evolved into finding music which could 'speak' to me. Life was so much easier when I was at the very early stages of teenage angst and pretty much loved any song which ever said the word fuck. It was like buying a cd with a Parental Guidance sticker on it and leaving it around the place just so people knew how cool you were. And that you could swear, evidently.

With that, I shall sign off, I have to go to a darkened room and rock for a while. Maybe I'll listen to some Eminem to help me through. Maybe.

NOT pleased to meet you...?!

So the festive season is over, and I find myself in the midst of cold January with no amusing advent calender antics with which to start my day. Sad times.

It was a pretty amusing Christmas, and I would like to dedicate to the main source of entertainment... my beloved mothership. Yes, the mothership, a force beyond many others to be reckoned with. After a relaxing Christmas day with friends we returned to the homestead to open our presents and to casually get on it, as is traditional across the nation. An extremely pleasant afternoon / evening it was too, and somehow it culminated with my mother sitting on the sofa, glass of wine in hand, listing word she deems as being "common". This is, it would seem, one of her favourite past times, as worryingly when I was regaling this spectacle to some friends the next night in the pub they responded with "oh yeah, we've heard that list. Standard."

I can't remember the exact list - I did make notes at the time but as the casual, socially acceptable drinking continued I think someone burnt them having mistaken them for a log. Easy mistake, could v'e happened to anyone. However, there is one which particularly sticks out in the memory. According to my mum, it is possible to commit social suicide simply by saying, "pleased to meet you". I mean, WTF?!

Unfortunately I was distracted from exposing the horrors of saying "pleased to meet you" as not actually being a perfectly socially acceptable thing to say when you first meet someone as it has been for centuries. Somehow the conversation suddenly bounced onto my Dad being accused of being both homophobic and suppressed because he didn't like Brokeback Mountain. To be fair, Brokeback Mountain is really not my Dad's kind of film. He's old school in his film taste, but he was tricked into going by my mother, who vaguely described it as something to do with cowboys and claimed that it "would probably turn out to be a modern take on a Western". Or not, as the case turned out. Fortunately my Dad did manage to pull through, and is now able to give an accurate and concise summary, as my brother found out when he asked how the film was and was met with the response: "If you want to go and see a film about buggery, well that's the one for you."

Ah, quality family time, you just can't beat it. Roll on next year I say.