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.