The Ghost of Christmas Failure

2010 seems to have a dire lack of the usual Christmas mania. Even though the usual Christmas street lights are twinkling around town, Starbucks are serving their delicious Gingerbread lattes and the standard array of omnipresent Christmas carols has arrived, somehow, Christmas hasn’t quite hit me yet. To me, Christmas time means too much food, a whole lot of wrapping paper, a sprinkling of arguments and well meaning but not always successful family get-togethers. But thus far I’ve been spared from any Christmas feelings, and my advent calendar has practically become a countdown till doomsday.

Tackling the Christmas tree is usually a matter of civil war. Most of our tinsel looks like it’s been through the wars these days and my sister and I never fail to have a vicious argument about the colour scheme (God forbid we ever have another painfully tacky blue-and-white year…if we do, she’s getting bitten). The problem with sharing the decoration of the Christmas tree is it’s such a personal thing, and if neither person gets what they really want out of it, they’ll resent the damned thing until January when it gets lobbed out the door. After the saggy tinsel and bashed up baubles have been strategically placed by either party, our dear old dad will come lumbering in to attempt to fix the ever-faulty Christmas lights, which results in another stupid argument and someone storming off, stamping on a bulb in their dramatic exit. This year I was free to decorate the tree as I wished, but it was a sad a solitary event. I never really thought my sister would get old enough to actually get her own house, as in my eyes she will always be a gawky sixteen-year-old, and never a university graduate with a full-time job. So it was a lonesome and hurried task in a bid to make our house ‘festive’, and certainly not a ‘Christmassy’ process.
Presents are another minefield. I’m usually one of those over-prepared Christmas fanatics who have got every ribbon and bow down to perfection by late November, but this year I’m down the river without a paddle and have no gift ideas. Usually, I spend hours scrutinising over which bulky M&S jumper would look better on my dad, he always shakes, pokes and smells his presents before opening them, and dully takes a stab at what he thinks the gift is. My brother usually uses the same vacant expression for every gift and says ‘ooh’. My sister and mum have pretty much perfected the art of faking excitement at crappy gifts. I think the only time I have ever witness my mother show disappointment towards a Christmas present was the time my dad bought her a size 20 dressing gown. But alas, this year I’ve had little time or inspiration to shop, other than a ‘Fishing With Ferrets!’ calendar which I expect my mother to fawn over for the rest of her life.

My lack of Christmas festivities might have something to do with my college’s dire lack of decoration, or in fact any signs that it’s Christmas time at all. I’ve not seen a glimpse of tinsel, a flicker of fairy lights or a dusting of glitter at all. It makes me reminisce over my Secondary School days of wearing elf hats and belting out Christmas carols in our weird annual nativity assemblies. I can’t blame it all on Strode’s being their Scrooge-y selves though; the weather’s also played its part. My idea of snow as a symbol of Christmas and festivities has completely gone out the window – it plagues us, prevents us, and seeing as no one will make a snowman with me, depresses me.

With only a few days of college left, I’ll be glad to have some time off, and hopefully I can brainwash myself into feeling more festive through constant carol singing and mince pie making sessions. As for the rest of you, I hope you’re not dreading the 25th as much as me. So happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Pro-protest Post: Millbank 'riots' as told by someone who ACTUALLY went to demonstrate

Protesting gets you out of college. Protesting is good exercise, which means potentially less self-loathing. Protesting is a fun way to learn that ‘buts’ and ‘cuts’ rhyme. Protesting is an enjoyable bonding experience. Protesting could possibly save you a fuckload of money.
I feel I appealed to most variations of people with my reasoning. If you need any more reasons I attended the NUS ‘Fund Our Future’ protest in London last week, you can leave me a comment and I will personally find you and break down exactly why my generation don’t deserve to have to shell out ridiculously huge amounts of money, have their futures shrouded by debt and possibly miss out on higher education all together. On Wednesday morning after 2nd period, I hopped on the train with some equally minded individuals (in other words, my friends who bothered going) and made it up to London. As Queen of all dumbasses, I thought the small amount of people I saw walking towards the meeting place were the only attendees of the march. After seeing about ten people with banners, I contemplated my support for the cause. It was only when we arrived to see the huge crowd, taking up so much space we couldn’t even see who was making the speeches, that I got into the spirit of things and made an embarrassingly shaggy placard out of the back of a notepad. It read ‘what’s the story, traitor and Tory?’ and on the back, to acknowledge how lacking my efforts were, ‘I’m so poor I couldn’t even afford a real banner’.

The protest itself was a bit of a laugh. At some points it was hard to distinguish between the protest atmosphere and a just-got-to-a-festival feeling, where everybody you meet is sober and overly-nice to you because they’re not expecting rain (or in this case, a riot). As a whole, 99% of the whole thing was spent walking really slowly and shouting ‘SHAME! SHAME! SHAME ON YOU! SHAME ON YOU FOR TURNING BLUE’, ‘NO IFS, NO BUTS, NO EDUCATION CUTS!’ or my personal favourite, ‘JUDAS CLEGG!’ , and as far as I can see everybody there was really into what we were doing; so shucks to everyone who said ‘no one there even knows what they’re protesting about..yaddah yaddah yaddah...’. I’m pretty sure people don’t bother to travel from as far as Ireland and Scotland, make huge banners and commit an entire day to a cause they haven’t bothered researching. Contrary to the bogus spiel Sky News and the BBC have fed the public, most of the protest consisted of shouting, walking and chatting with fellow protesters. There wasn’t a hint of revolt, a trace of violence or any other sort of suggestion things would turn sour, until we got to Millbank.

You couldn’t miss it. Aside from the obvious huge crowd leaking out of the place, some enthusiastic young specimen was stood outside yelling ‘that’s where the Tories make all their decisions! Let’s get ‘em!’, so off we wandered into the abyss of shouty teenagers and ‘crusty anarchists’. The whole thing was crazy and pretty fun, unless you’re the world’s biggest pussy like me. I ran as far/fast as I could every time someone set off a flare, and I wasn’t exactly one to stick around when some fat emo chick set her deodorant can on fire. To be honest, the whole thing was a bit too ‘Sunday night at Reading’ for me. My cohorts and I completely missed the integral smashing of the window because our stomachs got the better of us and we decided a quick trip to Pizza Express wouldn’t hurt, which meant when we came out we didn’t understand how so many people were on the roof/why the building suddenly seemed considerably worse of the wear. I liked the part where loads of random people with drums and symbols and bells came out of nowhere and started playing an endless ‘no ifs! No buts! No education cuts!’ song, but other than that he whole thing was pretty fruitless for those too scared to get to the front. The height of my anarchy was kicking a bush and throwing a parker pen at a window, only to miss and hit some poor girl in the face.

All in all a day well spent? I don’t feel we are any closer to our goal. But after a day spent waving cardboard and shouting my throat sore, I don’t regret it. We were part of history – however events go from here will determine how much so – but I definitely feel like I was PART of something. And a note to everyone who’s been whining ‘the violence just belittled our cause, no one is going to listen now’: no one was going to listen to us anyway, so it’s just as well we inconvenienced some assholes by trashing a reception. Or in my case, kicking a bush.

Vodka and Choke

Excuse the quality of this blog as I have just woken up with a thunderous head, achy eyes and a throat and tongue so dry it makes me wonder whether I decided to drink sand rather than copious amounts of alcohol last night.

Saturday night out for T.M’s birthday promised to be an event not to be missed – with S.M.J playing tasty dubstep, a room full of attractive people and a few over 18s bands, alcohol was steadily consumed by all. 9PM and I arrive, looking what I suppose is fairly plain but also quite nice, in a new cream dress and heels – albeit to a sneaky bottle of vodka stashed down my tights.

Cut to 2AM and you’ll meet a different girl; soggy footed and carrying my shoes, wrapped in a stolen floor matt from some sort of cupboard, my new cream dress now carrying some interesting black marks from where I’ve given up all hope of getting home and just sat on the curb. Hobbling across the streets of Shepperton and Sunbury, F.B and I have what I thought was a deep and meaningful conversation – in retrospect we talked about Tumblr, 4Chan and who was more ‘indie’.

Thinking back over the night, it’s easy to see when a more sober and rational version of myself would have come in handy. On seeing friends, who will doubtlessly regret it, engaging in a face-sucking session, my immediate reaction was ‘WHHHEYYYYY’, rather than whisking someone away before the heartbreak and disappointment. And when introduced to a friend’s boyfriend for the first time, I’m baffled as to why I thought it was a good idea to sit throwing crisps in her hair and giggling, whilst he glared daggers at me from across the table. I’m equally baffled as to why I thought it was comforting to tell a sad friend all about how much I fancied my boyfriend before he asked me out, or how I once saw a guy she thought was attractive, throwing up everywhere at some other party. I can only thank my busted-up Blackberry for dying halfway through the night, as it saved me from sending embarrassing ‘I1 looeve youuo sow musndch’ texts to E.B, and meant my poor father only had to receive one ‘I’m not coming home yet, see ya tomorrow’, slurred phonecall.

I didn’t mean to end up like this, I honestly didn’t. I just have that awful mindset of ‘oh, one more won’t hurt’, and ‘oh well, might as well have another, keep up with everyone else’, not realising that YES, one more WILL hurt, perhaps not now, but in the morning or when I next check how much money I spent, this one will definitely hurt.
So it is for the sake of my health, mind, clothes and purse that I have chosen to not drink for the whole of November. Amongst other things, abstaining from alcohol for a month is hopefully going to make me feel better about my life. And even if it doesn’t, I’ll have saved my liver some work. I love the flabbergasted reaction everyone seems to have to my choice – ‘not DRINKING?! But what about all the 18ths?’. Well, I suppose I will just have to celebrate the fact you can vote, smoke, get properly arrested, get into clubs, gamble, marry without your parents knowing...

Wild Beasts

Being a vegetarian for 13 years of your life has a few existence-altering effects, beside a low iron intake and an impossibility to find anything decent to eat in 90%of restaurants. And if you were wondering, yes, all I eat is lettuce, and how did you guess, I definitely do want to marry a carrot. Aside from casual bullying and mild inconvenience, it’s something bigger – a fascination with animals. I can sit for hour upon hour, glued to the screen watching Monkey Madness and Meerkat Manor – those little guys never fail to cheer me up or to spark my interest. As a child, I was one of those odd animal-obsessed kids, and was obsessed with the idea of owning a pet lima, pony, kitten, rabbit, lion cub... the list goes on.

So I pretty much thought I’d seen it all – apparently not. Through some excess spare time and a spare bit of googling, I’ve discovered the most astonishing creatures, ones I had no clue existed. These will make your jaw drop, your eyes pop and I can grantee one or two of you will shit a brick at a few of these animals and insects. I’ve gathered the ten most mind-blowing freaks of nature in this list. If you can find anything I’ve missed, I’ll eat my hat – no, screw that, I’ll eat a Rhino Beatle.


10. Proboscis Monkey



This bulbous-nosed monkey may have a huge snout and a bulging belly, but he also is very human-like in appearance. These primates are huge, at an average 72 cm, with an up to 75 cm tail, and weighing up to 24 kg. They tower above the smaller females. They jump a lot as a form of movement, often with their hands out.

9. Micro/Mini pigs



Making something smaller doesn’t necessarily make it ten times cuter, but in the case of these adorable pets, this rule works every time. These teacup-sized pigs were made through selective breeding, initially for medical research, but soon caught media attention and are now bought as pets. Pigs will cost you £500-£700 averagely so don’t go putting them on your Christmas list just yet.

8. Seapigs
Otherwise known as Scotoplanes, sea pigs are found in the very deepest crevices of the ocean, at least 1,000 meters down. Not sure why

they’re called seapigs, because to me they look like inflated condoms. Perhaps I’m just cruder than animal specialists.

7. Star-nosed mole

Residing in North America, this little guy has twenty-two fleshly tntacles to search out his food. His odd nose kind of reminds me of those little frog things children stick to windows. I’m not entirely sure why children stick these things to windows – how is this entertainment? Imagine waking up with those tentacles on your face... Shudder.

6. Komondor Dog

No, it’s not a mop. Nor is it a collection of abused dreadlocks. This is the komondor dog, a large canine with the most fur of any species of dog. I think he’d come in useful in a carwash, but other than that this must be the most high-maintenance dog on Earth.

5. Rhino/Scarab Beetle


If the above video doesn’t make your skin crawl, I think there’s something wrong with you. They’re nocturnal so don’t you dare sleep tonight.

4. White turtle


I don’t think I have to liken this weird, flesh-coloured creature to anything; you can make your own various likenings, depending on the dirtiness of your mind. This little guy is just a normal turtle aside from his odd colouring.

3. Blob fish


Formally known as Psychrolutes Marcidus, these deep sea living creatures sort of resemble a melted fetus. ‘Blobs’ are slightly less dense than seawater, so they float just above the sea bed and swallow edible matter when it passes. Also, they are the splitting image of David Cameron.

2. Aye-aye


Probably the ugliest of the bunch, the aye-aye is a form of lemur, habituated in Madagascar. It’s a nocturnal creature, and its most prominent features are its huge ears and teeth. I don’t know about you, but I think the aye-aye looks like an electrocuted rat.

1. Flying Fox
With a fox-like head and bat-winged body, the flying fox is a jaw-dropping creature. The p.vampyrus is the largest breed, as wings span up to six foot. Most of the p.Vampyrus and Indian flying fox are the size of a child, as seen in the picture above. These odd beings live on nectar and fruits, so don’t panic too much.

Tramp Whistles

Since about the age of fifteen, young girls are thrown out of the innocence of puberty and into an unfamiliar new body. Don’t worry boys – this piece isn’t going to be about the inconvenience of periods (although I could probably write you an entire essay on that), it’s about something a whole lot more awkward. It’s about heckling.

And I’m not saying my only problem with heckling is its awkward premise – hell no. Many a peaceful walk back from the train station has been interrupted by some absolute joker honking their horn. I have to say it’s definitely a problem I encountered much more as a blonde. Yellow-headed ladies are quite easy to pick out, and therefore the obvious and rational action to take is to scare the absolute shit out of them by blasting a horn. And what the hell is the appropriate reaction to this? Should one yell ‘OH THANKS’ after the car? I like to make a point of staring potential horn-honkers out in traffic jams – a stern look that says ‘I am not a lady to be tooted’ hopefully keeping my journey honk-free.

But another embarrassingly awful heckle; the one it pains me to think about, is Tramp-Whistling. I understand you don’t have a job and your days must get pretty long, but it’s just embarrassing for everyone involved. As my dear friend A.O put it, ’what do they expect you to do? Say “oh hey, I know you haven’t washed in a while but I’ll definitely come sit on your face!”’.
What has to be the epitome of bad heckling is when it’s done face-to-face. Most common in builders, chavs and other underdeveloped forms of human DNA. Because it’s never something nice said. It’s never something a girl would genuinely take as a compliment. It’s just a reinforcement of some bloke’s masculinity, and the humiliation of the poor soul who’s heckled-at. I know some girls bring it on themselves, but is it really necessary? I will never forget the humiliating day some charming builder in Egham walked by me, gestured to his friend and said ‘...pair o’ tits like that’ – much the amusement of J.T, and much to the embarrassment of me. So guys, next time you consider shouting ‘ALRIGHT LOVE, NICE LEGS’ at some poor girl, just think about how undignified you’d feel if some Vicky Pollard shouted ‘ELLO DARLING, GET YA DICK OUT’ at YOU.

Facebook Faux-pas

Ah, Facebook. You graciously took the baton from Myspace as the most-addictive social networking website of my generation, and thus also took the responsibility of not only ‘keeping people connected’ and ‘reuniting old friends’, but you also hold the reigns to the world’s biggest popularity contest.
Most of us will recall standard Myspace protocol – adding utter randomers in order to boost your friend count, and hours spent writing just the right amount of ‘About Me’. Lest we forget Myspace bulletins begging strangers for ‘pic for pic’ comments on your new default. I must admit, I am guilty of at one time having the Myspace name ‘CLERR ™’, and a comment box with the words ‘OI FAGGOT’ written in (yes, it does make me painfully cringe to think of this time in my life). But now we’re all older and better, surely we must have learned from those fatal and painfully cringeworthy mistakes? Apparently not. Here is a list of the utmost embarrassing Facebook antics I have encountered.

Making your profile picture be a picture of your car
Sorry, I didn’t realise you were a transformer? Congrats on passing your test and all, but people have owned cars before, and will continue to do so in the future. The bottom line is, your semi-shit lump of metal makes you look like one of those guys who get randy with their cars. How about a nice shot of your face, I’m sure it will do you more favours than your Golf/Fiesta/etc will.

Making your profile picture be a picture of you sucking your boyfriend/girlfriend’s face
It makes me laugh when people do this. It’s like a really aggressive way of saying “I AM IN A RELATIONSHIP, APPRECIATE THE FACT THAT I AM IN A RELATIONSHIP AND AM GETTING MORE THAN YOU”. It’s like a Public Display of Affection, but to EVERYONE you know, including your family.

Adding people you don’t know to make yourself look more popular
I thought we were all older, better and wiser than the Myspace days? Hang on, maybe not seeing as this behaviour is common amongst the darling little 15-year-olds. The only upside to this is when some legend writes ‘Err, do I know you?’ on their wall. Priceless.

Updating your status every 30 minutes (or more)
You’re in a car, on a train, hungry, with ‘da girlies’, getting drunk, bored... Useless information, please refrain.

Writing valuable pieces of ‘wisdom’ as your Facebook status
These are actually quite funny – they’re the sort of cliché morals people used to put in their MSN names back in the day. ‘What’s better – a lie that draws or a smile or a truth that draws a tear?’. It's funnies when it's someone chavvy who have clearly copy-and-pasted from somewhere else because otherwise I could not fathom how they could have managed spelling words with more than 4 letters.

Profile picturing pictures of you ‘really drunk’ or ‘on drugs’ or ‘smoking’ because it makes you l ook HARDCORE.
This one is the one that gets most on my tits, especially when it’s done by 14/15 year olds seeking validation by showing how ‘grown up’ they are. It has the complete opposite effect. You holding a spliff or ToTaLlY DrAnK oFf Y@ NuT$$ doesn't do you any favours. Oh, and pictures of girls getting off with each other whilst drunk with comments underneath like 'OH MY GASH I WAS SEW WASTUD' are also painfully embarrassing. Again, refrain.

Sorry to any of my nearest and dearest who do any of these things. It is likely this isn’t targeted at you, so don’t worry my loves. And to the rest of you, I do realise I’m a sour old bitch for hating everything you do. Sigh, perhaps I should just stick to Tumblr...

AAAC and the power of bullshitting

It’s midnight, and I’m at a friend of EB’s house. Halfway through a film I’m not following, someone jolts us all out of our daze and announces ‘the results are up’.

I’m not the best person with nerves, I’m not going to lie. Especially when it comes to exams. During two of my maths modules for GCSE, I broke down into full-on tears – a difficult feat to hide in a silent exam hall. This time I’ve been just as bad; recurrent nightmares about results envelopes that won’t open, never ending corridors at college and trying to ask people where I can find my results, but no one will listen. The worst one by far involved me getting straight Ds.
So it’s with a jittering stomach I sit down at TG’s house to check my results, logging in seems to take years, and I swear this iMac is taking longer on purpose...AAAC. AAAC. AAAC. I literally could not believe my eyes, is there a mistake? I check the page again. This looks like my account, but it must be wrong, I could never have passed. As the moments pass and it sinks in, I cast around for my phone and ring home. A groggy voice answers, and I tell my mother my results – ‘oooh, well done Claire’. Dad’s reaction is hardly more encouraging – ‘oh. What was the C in?’.After that overwhelming enthusiasm, it’s a little uncomfortable breaking the news to the rest of the group. I text round a few close friends asking after results, but the only a few give me friendly responses. The only sincere-sounding congratulations come from S.C, who takes a 2-year course so didn’t get any results.

As the early hours of Thursday morning creep further upon us, I ponder my results. It becomes clear to me how tactical I have been with my subject choices of English Language, History, Sociology and Philosophy. They all play on my number one strength – the ability to bullshit. These subjects don’t really require facts, to an extent. They require 2 hours of sitting stiffly with a pen jammed in your hand, arguing your point with whatever the hell you can think of you can back it up with. Sociology is basically writing whatever comes to mind, and backing it up with made-up sociologists; ‘on the other hand, Rememdoo had a theory which suggests the opposite...’, blah blah blah, bullshit bullshit bullshit. History and English Language are basically the same feat, they just need a few technical terms and dates thrown around for good measure. Philosophy, my grade C, needs reasoning and counter-arguments – clearly my downfall. I can still remember reading the paper 2 question now, ‘how does art illuminate our experience?’, and thinking to myself ‘jeez, how the hell do I get out of this one?’.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to undermine my results to make you feel better about yours. I am just pointing out that everyone who took Maths, Chemistry, Physics and the like and making a vital errior. There is no leeway to lie, debate and fabricate your way through an exam. So for everyone who’s kicking themselves for their Ds and Es, take a lead out of my book and invest in some Sociology.

Shoreditch 1234 Festival: 24th July

It’s a sunny afternoon and EB and I are heading out to London a little later than planned due to an unfortunate food poisoning incident, or just too much curry. After wondering around Shoreditch for a while, we found our way to the festival – one thing that occurred to me on our journey is how scummy places like Shoreditch seem to contain so many 'hipsters'. It’s pretty odd. It might have just been because of the festival, but for every balding overweight bloke who stared at my tits, there was a nicely dressed, skinny specimen who would glide by on his/her fixed-gear bicycle.

Seeing as my companion wasn’t in a good way, we didn’t get to see too many bands. We missed the wonderful LA SHARK and Pull in Emergency, which was a great shame. Nevertheless, the bands we got to see weren’t a disappointment and the festival was money well spent. Here’s my highlights

Toddla T

The first time I saw Toddla T was in some sort dingy of gazebo, in an event organised by Tate Britain. It was about 2 years ago, and as I recall, I was having a nice little dance until the entire sound system cut out and some crazy big black woman got on stage and started belting out gospel-esque ballads.
With the sound system fully functional, Toddla T was great to watch and got the tent moving pretty well. He doesn’t just produce standard dupstep, it’s got quite a lot going for it. Just the right amount of auto tune and a fast tempo are what gets everyone moving for Toddla T, and he seems it have got the perfect recipe for dance success. It’s more EB who’s into the crazy-MC music, but it’s really easy to get into in that kind of atmosphere. I’d recommend checking out Toddla T to anyone, no matter their music taste – a mix of jungle, dupstep and electronic bleepy noises, his music is fun to listen to and even funner to watch the bunch of nutters in the crowd.

A1 Bassline
Previously known as one half of the gimmicky band Partyshank, A1 Bassline gave a far better set than I expected. Seeing as his previous band made their music with nothing other than children’s toys, it was refreshing to find A1 Bassline has gone in an entirely different direction. Halfway through the set, a girl and a boy start sniffing a dodgy looking brown powder off someone’s hand, and start sneezing a few seconds later – I have to admit I secretly hoped someone had sold them pepper just for LULZ.
Admittedly the music is better than Partyshank’s, but it still got a bit the same-y after a while. It was quite cool to dance to but nothing I would go home and listen to. It’s basically slightly different variations of the same thing on a loop – then again I guess this doesn’t matter if you’re ‘off your nut’ snorting pepper, does it?


S.C.U.M

We only saw these from afar, but they’re a pretty good band. Sounding fairly like a mix between the Horrors and Joy Division, they were good to sit down and watch in the hot July sun. They don’t have a lot of music out at the moment, but Amber Sands is making a splash on the underground music scene and I expect we can expect great things from the ominous-sounding band.

The Dum Dum Girls

Another shit band name but a pretty decent band. Unlike quite a few bands we heard whilst milling around between tents, the Dum Dum Girls managed to produce an interesting, catchy set which has lead me to listen to more of their music. I recommend Jail La La, and will be keeping a close eye on these in future.

These New Puritans
Being the biggest band playing at the festival, we were pretty excited to see TNP. For one thing, they were pretty much the only band we both agreed were good enough to watch. The crowd were pretty hyped as the first song – one of the new ones – started playing. But of course this was all too good to be true. Halfway through the first song, the bloody microphone breaks and TNP sidle off, looking dazed and confused. About an age later, they try again but have the same problem, and this time the crowd are pretty rowdy. Another age and a half later, some beefy-looking bloke comes on and says the band will not be returning, and the now-angry crowd pelt him with cups and loose articles of clothing. Not coming on because your mics broke twice? Pussies.

Fucked Up

Far from the cowardice of These New Puritans, Fucked Up gave a completely mental, lively and exciting set. We only caught a few songs because of dithering over TNP, but the end of the set was a good watch. There’s no better way to round of a day out than to watch an angry, bald, fat man jump on a crowd of scantily-dressed, skinny hipsters.

Surfer Blood – Astro Coast

If you haven’t heard of Surfer Blood, then JHEEZ get off my blog, you musically deprived reject. Joking. But seriously, they are pretty awesome. Yes, I used the word awesome – you know why? Because Astro Coast is such a surfery-summery album that I can just about get away with it, dude.
Astro Coast is a gorgeous album which ought really be played whilst looking at a beautiful beach or hot Californian surfers. Surfer Blood have 2010’s summer surf-rock sound down to a T – slightly similar to Local Natives, Girls and the Drums, but with a more upbeat, hippy vibes. Serious credit to Surfer Blood for making a non-crappy album in what has been a year of pretty crappy albums.
The entire album is brilliant, but in particular I recommend Twin Peaks and Harmonix.

Serotonin: false advertising.

Mystery Jets have produced some of the best indie-pop since the 90s, and their first two albums completely raised the stakes for other bands. But what is this? A third album? Ooh, thought MJ fans, looks promising. If the Mystery Jets were going to slip up on a record, surely it would be that difficult second album. Personally, I was not concerned that this album would be a flop until a friend of mine, who had found the album online, told me it was ‘generic indie shit’. Truth be told, he was pretty right.
The band seems to have taken a masterclass in ‘how to write a ballad’. The opener, Alice Springs, is so heavy in epic drums and catchy lyrics that is borders on a U2 or Coldplay-esque hit. The usual simple poetry in the Mystery Jets’ lyrics is drowned in easy-listening riffs and catchy song structure, and most songs lack significance. ‘Dreaming of Another World’, ‘Serotonin’, ‘the Girl is Gone’ and ‘Too Late to Talk’ are equally disappointing, and barely listenable.
It’s possible you might enjoy this dire record if you like easy listening ‘indie’, or have never really paid attention to the band before. It might even be bearable to put on as background music, if you can ignore the cheesy, repetitive lyrics and general boring performance on this album. I can only guess this record will be loved by Radio 1 and people who claim to like ‘new/underground/upcoming music’ (congrats on finding a ‘new’ band, since they’ve just produced their third album). Oh, and possibly middle aged men who like to pretend to be ‘down with the kids’, especially because some songs have a sort of failed 80s vibe. He’ll say ‘hey, they don’t often make ‘em like this any more’. Yeah, and I should bloody hope they never make ‘em like this again.
If you have to listen to anything off this album, I suggest the following tracks.
Flash a Hungry Smile



Melt



SATS rating: 4/10

Formspring Superiority

Formspring. What a lovely idea. 'Oh, people can anonymously ask me questions!'. With little hesitancy, I made an account on http://www.formspring.me/ a few months ago. I was one of the naive few thinking the worst I would get would be a few personal questions. 231 'questions' later, and I'm astonished at my naivety.

Yes, at first, questions were slightly offensive and rude. Some of them were interesting, I think simply because people had never really seen a formspring before and thought that somehow, in some way, I could find out who was writing on it.

"will you give rob trotter a cheeky footjob?
"how much for a standard fuck?"
"I heard you love flange sandwich's...also, if you're a vegetarian does that mean you can't munch on a cock, coz it's meat?"

Formspring is a prime medium for asking people weird, intrusive and creepy questions. The fact you can ask anything without the recipient knowing who you are opens up endless dimensions of possibility; should you creep them out, ask a genuine question, or offend them with abuse? The latter appears to be the most popular. Of all the people's pages I have visited, it appears the 'better known' you are, the more people are likely to call you a 'dirty slut' or perhaps ask you something charming like if they can 'stick it in you'.

"You have a jew nose :) along with peter nikolson"
"why do you think you're so amazing? When really you're pathetic"
"is it true you dreamt of phillipe bosher naked riding a horse through your bedroom window?"

The funny thing about Formspring is that it's a bit like blindfolding yourself and letting anyone you know say whatever they want to you. Whether this is hurling abuse, or interrogating your most intimate of business, they can pretty much say to you what ever takes their fancy. On the other end of the spectrum, there's those who choose to gruellingly compliment others through Formspring. Take my friend Ben - he's 17-year-old handsome fellow who plays bass in a band, who happen to have an adoring following of desperate 14-year-old girls. So when Ben gets a Formspring, he of course recieves lashings of bumlickery from these little darlings.

"How young would you consider dating?"
"kinda have a crush on you :("
"youre that cute blonde bassist from aty arent yoou? (:"

Above are a collection of some of the cringiest 'questions' on his profile. But even worse than this are the girls who try and have an entire conversation with him in anonymity. 'I like you but you don't like me bk :( :(' or 'Would you consider adding me on Facebook if you don't know me?' are typical questions which then get dragged out into conversations. Do these girls honestly think this will get them anywhere? Will he magically fall in love with their anonymous mystique?
CH: Oh Ben, I saw you've got a new girlfriend, where did you meet her?
BS: Oh you know, on Formspring.
THIS WILL NEVER HAPPEN.

"why do you like to publicly humiliate people? Thats why people think you're a bitch by the way."
"If you want my honest opinion of you, this is it: you're mostly nice, prettier with blonde hair, funny. But sometimes you're just a twat: you're not honest with people, i never knew where i was with you, bit pretentious and you let your anger out too much"
"why are you so mean, you think you so superior to everyone else and always try to embarrass people and it's really nasty and rude and i dont like you one bit!"

My favirote Formsprings to receive are those that attempt some form of psycho-analysis. I know some people are upset by this kind, but if I am honest they just make me laugh. Pretentious? Superior? I'd like to think of how I act superior. I can't really recall striding around college in a cloak, kicking over common people and sneering at them. Nor do I remember any particular public humiliation, other than occasionally tripping someone up and laughing for days about it.

"You are on of the gammyest girls ever!"
"You have a great need for other people to like and admire you. You have a tendency to be critical of yourself. Disciplined and self-controlled on the outside, you tend to be worrisome and insecure inside. Sound about right? "
"Would you rather run down your road naked shaking marracas with a sombrero and a strap on, or you fake tan yourself orange, dye your hair peroxide blonde and wear foundation on your lips for a month? :O "

So here's my advice on the Formspring front: if you're not afraid of hearing people's 'honest opinions' of you, in other words the worst they can think of to say about you, then go for it. Make your account. But if you take people's words to heart, I would strongly not advise you to jumping on the FS bandwagon. No matter how many good friends you are, or how much of a lovely person you are, someone out there will always have something against you. And that tempting little 'Ask' box gives them the perfect outlet to express their dislike; if you don't want to hear it, don't give them the chance.
Then again, you might not want to take my advice. I guess I'm just too 'superior' for Formspring.

Shook up

On Wednesday, I saw something that made me really think. It was a happy summery day, Amy's birthday, and we'd just enjoyed a calorific morning Subway. A man was sat outside Tescos in Egham, near my college. He was a big fellow and was wearing a blue t-shirt, and as we passed I didn't really think anything of him until he began to wave his arms. I nudged my friend Lauren and asked what she thought he was doing, and she made some comment about him looking like he was reenacting Shakespeare, with some over-dramatic hand gesture.

Now, please don't judge us at this point. What you have to understand is that there are strangely large amounts of tramps and general crazy people in Egham. On a daily basis, it is likely you will encounter at least one mad-acting individual on your lunch break, and it's best just to avoid them. So we took him to be another slightly mad Egham resident and carried on down the road. A few steps later, I found my self stopping and looking back at the guy - something in my gut told me this wasn't quite right.

We stopped and saw the man was shaking more. By the time we'd decided this man was actually at risk and we should go over, he was violently shaking and was about to fall on his side. At this point we panicked. One of my friends asked if there was anyone he could get for him, and he replied that his wife was inside, a 'big lady' called Sharon. That was all he could say, he was so violently shaking that it was clearly a huge effort for him to speak.

As four teenage girls with absolutely no experience with people with medical problems, we had no idea what to do. Luckily one other woman came over and stayed with the man while we attempted to find his wife - this involved making two customer announcements and running round Tescos asking all 'big' ladies if they were Sharon. This could have been a slightly funny situation, but the pure panic and fear that this man could be going through anything at all was what spurred us all to keep searching. No Sharon materialised, so the most we could do was to stand by the man and try and help the woman who had come over earlier and a PE teacher from college, who had also joined our little party.

As the situation progressed, a few useless Tesco staff came out to see what was going on - not to help, just to watch... There was some talk of first aid staff, but none materialised, just a few louts in blue uniforms stood about. This is one of the things which angers me - they could have got him water, blankets, a pillow or anything which could have helped. Did anyone do this? No. They stood around, just as useless as us, but less keen to help the poor man.

At last, 'Sharon' appeared and came to her husband's side. 'He's got a brain tumor', she explained, 'and this happens a lot'. As she dealt with him, I whispered to one of my friends 'I think we'd best leave', and we carried on down the road toward college, our days completely changed from what we had witnessed.

The thing that scared me the most about this whole ordeal is how few people stopped to see if this man was okay. Out of all the people on that highsteet, four inexperienced girls were the only ones who stopped to see if this man was okay. Later, when the woman and PE teacher came, I was still disgusted. Surely at least one of those passer-bys would have had more medical knowledge than we did, and would know how to deal with this man better than we did.
As drastic as it seems, this experience has changed my outlook on things - I now fear for what might happen to me in the future. Hopefully karma will take pity on me, but I'm still crossing my fingers that if I ever get a brain tumour and have a seizure in the street, people will do more than walk past me or stand and stare.

Nerves, wrong answers and a very distracted interview

I can't stop sweating, I'm digging my nails into my palms, biting my lip, I can feel that my shoulders are stiff and I'm very upright, my breathing's shallow and I keep jiggling my foot around.
No, I'm not waiting for some sort of horrific surgery, nor am I about to give a momentous speech.
The above description, in fact, is my exact feelings before my first ever job interview, approximately an hour and a half ago. I know what you are probably thinking 'oh it's normal to get nervous before interviews', but seeing as I had no prior experience, this goes above and beyond normal nerves. Yes, I reluctantly admit, I was shitting it. And in retrospect, I can see why.
What are you supposed to say?
'What are your hobbies and interests?' Well, do you want the truth? I think my favourite thing to do is find pictures of attractive men and post them on my Tumblr blog. Oh, that doesn't count as a hobby? Oh, he'll think I'm a complete freak if I say that? Okay, how about watching endless episodes of the Hills? Bitching? No? Okay, I'll go with 'err, I do a bit of acting' (epic lie, I haven't acted in almost a year, unless you count lying to wrangle my way out of awkward situations).
'Where do you like to shop?' Again, the truth will get me nowhere. I can't tell if my interviewer will look disgusted or simply alarmed if I proclaim 'VINTAGE!', so I squirm in my seat whilst thinking of a plausible answer. If I go with standard high street haunts, he might think I'm boring. If I'm outlandish and reference Brick Lane or Portobello Road, he might think I'm some wannabe hipster. I settle with 'err... Topshop, H&M, River Island...' Another epic lie, I have neither the money nor the figure for Topshop and hate buying from H&M because the world and her best friend have the exact same things as you.
When my interview finally ceases, I'm left with another mind-blowing dilemma; how to part ways? Do I give a brisk but firm handshake and tell him I hope to hear from him soon? Or tell him it was nice to meet him? Another lie, meeting him has left me in a heightened state of stress and emotional turmoil. Yet again, I blunder, grunting some remark about expecting a phone call and actually stumbling out of the room (I like to think I made an impact).

Alas, I didn't get the job, so my summer will be budgeted until then. I sincerely hope anyone reading can learn from my fatal mistakes. Have your answers prepared in your head, try as hard as you can not to panic and be friendly.
And for your own good, I hope you don't have an attractive interviewer, as I did. It's so distracting.

Shout, shout, let it all out...

So far, as you've most probably realised, the football has been a flop. I'm not going to lie to you - I know pretty much fuck all about the game. The most I could muster up to say about the England vs Algeria match was 'oh... they seem to have the ball a lot more than us', which is hardly the most insightful comment. To be fair, I was standing OUTSIDE the pub and watching the match through the window, after being refused entry for 'not having ID' (oh, the joys of being 17).
Thus, I can't give you a blow-by-blow of the football. The only England players I can name without frantically Googling away are Rooney, Lampard and Ashley Cole. Oh, and some bloke everyone at this delightful pub last Friday kept calling 'Pesky Hesky'. But even if I can't comment on the actual football itself, it would seem stupid to let such a momentous subject like the World Cup slip under my blogging radar. Aside from the sport, I can write about what I know - in this case, music.




This is the official Fifa World Cup anthem. And surprisingly, it's not too bad. It's catchy and feelgood, and has some sort of interesting dance routine to accompany it, which is always nice.



England's attempt at an anthem is somewhat disappointing. To start with, there seems to be a lack of logic between pairing a fat comedian and an appalling 'rap' artist to do some sort of remix of Tears' 1984 ballad. The entire ensamble seems a bit bizarre. The lyrics border on humorous but seem to have been penned in approximately 15 seconds. My favorite line is 'tired of getting a kick, oi!', which appears in the first verse - it does not relate to any lyrics surrounding it, neither does it rhyme with anything, and it doesn't actually make sense. This song all in all is composed of a yob shouting, a fat guy singing a few bars and an awful lot of synthesiser. But let's face it - are England really going to be in the runnings for much longer? Doubtful. So hopefully we won't have to poison our ears with such nonsense for much longer




The USA's attempt from Weezer, is hardly any more impressive. The stadium-rock feel to this song does nothing for Weezer's credit as a band, and the lyrics prove repetitive and boring. Similar to the UK's anthem, Weezer have lashed on the synth and have seemingly forgotten the ingredients to make a decent song. This song makes me sad for the future of rock music, it sounds like Miley Cyrus or something. I think I'm going to just shut my ears and pretend they never recorded this.

Let's remind ourselves what a true football song consists of. In my opinion, England's best ever output was their 1970 number. It would have been interesting to hear our current team's stab at a football song - although I can't fathom Rooney's singing voice as anything pleasant. Until we're knocked out, I'll be humming this little ditty and pretending I know what's going on on the pitch, hopefully this time not stood outside a dingy pub with only a shirt on my head and my boyfriend's jumper for warmth.