Cafe del Kirsty

I have some strange allure towards cafes especially old, skanky, greasy ones. I know why this is, of course, I am from Thanet. I skipped school to eat with my mates in cafes and smoke fags and drink beer on the beach. Coastal kids have different pastimes to land-bound kids, different hobbies.
Anywho, there is a very good website which contains small articles about such cafes and so on. The top one out of the London area (which, of course is always going to be the standard for cafes- Del Boy, Tracy Jacks and all that) was one which I used to work at.
This shocked me.
I used to work in Morellis, Broadstairs and this place is different because it's one of the only original 1950's style diners left in the country that have original features. Like the ghastly pink Formica ceiling feature and the soda fountain which was never on. People flocked into our establishment as if if were some kind of Mecca. And, sure, for people with interests such as mine that seems perfectly reasonable. But there is nothing like working somewhere to really really put you off. I won't go too much into it, it was a long time ago and I like my job now so it all worked out OK in the end. But there is nothing more aggravating than hating something that you should really love. And perhaps if I hadn't worked there and associated it with all the betrayal, the rowing, the sadness I felt at that time then I might be able to view what a beautiful place it really is.
And that is depressing.

Fortuity

It's funny.
I had a friend once. Pretty girl, very sure of herself, but not so sure at the same time. I thought if I were a bit more like her and a lot less like me then perhaps I would get along in life- do a little better, be more interesting, have a bit more money. Our lives have moved in coincidental circles, for years we were like a Venn diagram, with my feelings towards her moving from adoration to hatred at the swing of the pendulum. I hated the way she made me feel- like I couldn't compete with her but at the same time I ridiculed her. I laughed at her gaudy way and how she could seem intelligent when it was sheer ignorance. It was all a game, a trick, a test to see if her companions matched her, if they could see through her. I tried to break down an invisible wall. We spent days together (her evenings, of course, spent with whomever the love of her life was at this time) smoking and drinking, talking about our lives and trying to put the world to rights as if we owned it, as if the world was ours for the taking and we were the ones intuitive enough to figure out its mystery. I only wanted to take it from her.
Any now we don't speak, drifted apart like shattered glasses. We were never that subtle.
And I miss her now more than I ever did.

If I have been given the choice, if I hadn't hated my contemporaries so much, if the tutors were younger; this is what I would have liked to study next term at University-


Moab is my Washpot by Stephen Fry is the most fantastical, well written, engaging, spectacular success of an autobiography, dare I say it- book, I have ever read in my life (albeit a short one so far). I learnt more from Fry about understanding myself and my young life than I ever could from my peers and that is something that many would find hard to believe. Stephen Fry is nothing short of an absolute genius. I know, it is a terribly trite thing to say but sometimes one has to go along with the masses because the masses are right. The sadness I feel at the moment is that I don’t have time to sit down again with the book, pouring over page after page of woven quotes which made me scream at the pages, like I have done before when listening to The Smiths, “HE WROTE THAT FOR ME!!”. I related to it, not the situation as such but the way re reacted because of them, hiding behind books. It made me question humanity in the sense that are we pleased that someone feels like us or would we rather suffer the pain alone? I know where I have been within that spectrum but I haven’t stayed there very long. In essence this is something that Fry considers himself:

“It can come a bit hard sometimes to see one's own unique, heroic life pinned so pitilessly to a wall. At other times it can endorse, affirm and save, but as I go clowning my sentimental way into eternity, wrestling with all my problems of estrangement and communion, sincerity and simulation, ambition and acquiescence, I shuttle between worrying whether I matter at all and whether anything matters at all but me."

And it’s true. We question our own worth hoping that it is surmountable to everything else. What is it that we really want? Who’s right it is to say they are worth any more than anyone else? Who’s right is it to say they are worth any less? I think the following passage is the one that made my heart jump most of out of its cage. There is something about how he can say the words you might want to, but can never find the means.

“I have always wanted to be able to express music and love and the things that I have felt in their own proper language — not like this, not like this with the procession of particular English verbs, adjectives, adverbs, nouns and prepositions that rolls before you now towards this full-stop and the coming paragraph of yet more words.”

How I too wished I could so some of the things my friends can do because what good is the art of proof reading? That will never satisfy me. Or, indeed, anybody else.

----

The music of Morrissey has taught me more about myself, other people and the world at large than any in depth discussion about the "politics" in literature. with people, myself considered, that could not know the damn slightest about anything more political than what they have read on Wikipedia on a mobile phone at 2am the day before a lesson (seriously).

This is very cliche but it's true. The sad truth none the less. I often wonder why I pay nigh on something like £8,000 a year to end up punching someones face in when I could stay at home and mope about my room "putting the world to rights" as it were. And oh how I think I do

---

If I had it my way I would force everyone to read Jeremy Clarkson books. Why? Because he is funny, that is why. He, with May and Hammond, make people who know SOD ALL about cars, don't drive or whatever want to watch Top Gear. Because it is funny.

HOW?!?!!

---

The life of a very amateur broadcaster

Friday 2nd November
The end of a long week of recruitment drive, DJing, flyering, boredom and bottles of diet coke.

Saturday 3rd November:
Main Admin. It is now my responsibility to log on top Main Admin and fwd all the emails to whom it is necessary as they have bounced. The amusing part of this is reading all the emails which enables me to delve into the life and world of other exec departments. The downside is that exec members enjoy replying to mail admin so once again the email has bounced and this goes around and around and around in perpetual motion for the rest of the academic year.
Today I mass emailed various promoters, bands, small mammals promoting CSRfm to the world (well whoever would listen really) and now I wait and wait and wait.

Monday 5th November
No fireworks for me, I am too busy setting up for the arrival of BBC Radio Asian Network. I managed to look miserable in all the photos and the turnout was dire but the initials "BBC" help an OK day slightly better

Tuesday 6th November
Meetings, meeting and sometimes no meetings when you cannot find the person and have no idea of their appearance.

Wednesday 7th November
Sometimes, no amount of pretend "planning" and very well thought out "advertising" can stop an event from being worse than you ever imagined. An embarrassment and a waste of time.

Friday 9th November
Marquee+wind+Conservative MPs+ sound monitoring= tedium/10.
No marantz= anger
Myriad fails to trick me
First 1 1/2 live broadcast. I give myself 6/10.

Desire

The Guardian keep tempting me with supplementary leaflets of holidays of cruises and wine tasting holidays in Bordeaux.
I have been shopping for nightclothes and food in Marks and Spencer's.
I bought some flowers and a candle for my room and I have started taking "relaxing" baths.


I am turning into a suburban middle aged woman of leisure.

Alright, so I am not really in the habit of doing this but what the hell. I usually steer clear of blogs outlining my every move as I know humans have no interest in these matters (unless of course they are undertaking them themselves- what awful grammar!)unless there is some interesting information held within re: the location of their ex partner or what Susan said about Tony, that kind of thing. But still.
So, this week I went to Bath, except yes I do go to Bath but that wasn't the main focus of my trip. Tom and I were staying as his godmother's house in Bradford on Avon which was a very odd upside down cake of a house where the sleeping quarters where downstairs and the rest of the house including the front door at the top. This was very exciting and also meant the front room have a phenomenal view over the countryside which one could see for miles. The garden led into a wood and someone who has something to do with Mr Bean lived next door. Lots of animals lived in the wood, unfortunately we didn't see them, such as foxes, badgers, deer and so on. To get to the town you had to go down 36 steps and then through a path which only once persons could fit down length ways so we all had to go single file. I was amazed by the houses because they were all made out of Bath stone or made to look like Bath stone so there were hardly any red brick buildings around which is a very different experience I must say.
One of the best places we went to was this cafe on the edge of the canal. The menu was very interesting to look at and the owners had made it humorous to read. Also, if you wanted, you could eat your lunch in a fake canal boat which was rooted to the side of the canal which was painted in very bright colours which was an exciting gimmick.
Bradford on Avon was very pretty. There was a 10th century barn which, if I do say so myself, I took some cracking pictures of. Unfortunately there isn't much else to do after the first few hours of walking around going "wow" really. We all went for some lovely fish and chips on the last night (as Tom's 13 year old brother having spent all his time in Switzerland had never had it before) and it was very swanky in the restaurant. The whole area is middle class to say the least..

Bath itself was quite different. I guess this isn't surprising really because it is a much larger place and was very tourist focused but living in Canterbury does prepare you somewhat for this. There was a small crescent shaped waterfall below the first big bridge as you come into Bath and the ducks use a little stairway to get up and down so they don't get stuck which I found cute. I was also a tad shocked to realise that you had to pay £1 to get into the park around the river! Tom, Matthew and I went to a different, bigger park and played mini golf which was fun but I got very badly beaten even though I started off with such gusto. I think this is going to go on forever if I don't pipe it down. To cut a long story short I had a good time despite being ill and Bristol managed to confuse me an awful lot. Most of the place seemed to be a building site and as I said to Thomas I am sure it will all be very lovely in 2010 so I might go back then I think.. There were lots of other exciting little bits like seeing a tiny snake (which then gave me nightmares), the dinners we had, mm cake, and as usual I bought some fabulous clothes, dragged Thomas round all the shops and ate a lot of crap.

Page after page of sniping rage

So how do you solve a problem like knowing something you shouldn't know? It's not like it was supposed to happen, it was out of sheer intrigue and amusement and now.. now I don't know what to say. Perhaps to say nothing but would that be untrustworthy? Would it result into too much pressure, an undesirable response? They say ignorance is bliss but what.. oh fuck.
I hate being overly personal, I don't want to inflict the idiocy on others, but it's a hard nut to crack as they say. I am torn between myself (mainly my own fear) and what I think is the right thing to do and to say..
I am a jealous person

How sad, when you try so hard in photographs to hide who you are; the forced smile, the look of desperation, of want-lust, love, hate. The wish and the promise of something more than no-one else can ever give, the look of hunger and disgust but also of sheer hopelessness. You crawl around on all fours but try so hard to pull yourself up because you cannot face this single vision any longer. It's like a curse to you, the days spiraling in and out of each other like an endless stream of emotions and disappointments. You look so happy but in the sense that it feels like you are pleading, wanting someone to pay you attention and not cut you out, the arrogance, the shame. And still you are only half there, like time has been wasted on this endless struggle. Like a fish pulling itself upstream through storm and rain only be eaten by a larger fish who never even had to try, who's charm and force was enough to push through life without the inconvenience of wanting and wishing and hoping. But you've far from had enough. You will keep thinking that one day.. one day.. and the saddest thing is the answer lies there dormant waiting for you to discover it, and take it away.

If I can tell all of this from a photograph, imagine what else I could know.

Your Joan of Arc is a Tour de Force

So..
For a long time I wanted to keep this private, again if my own sanctimonious, pitying whine would be of any interest to anyone other than myself. Idiotic.
I sound unhappy, and I am surely not.
I think I understand something now slightly better. In my last blog I spoke about a fellow who I was able to understand emotionally, which viewpoint similar to mine, perhaps a kind of confidant. Anyway, whatever. The point is here now that perhaps that isn't so important. It is nice to be able to talk to someone and not have to clarify your position because you trust that it is the same as yours but where is the fun in that? And who's to say that this is the same understanding, the mind moves in myterious ways. So now I do think that the meaning of true friendship and perhaps love is that you are willing to accept and to understand a viewpoint that is hugely different to your own.
It's odd how I am not that bothered.

On Friday I went out for the evening. This is a rare event on a Friday because if I have to stay up one minute past Midnight I turn into something far worse than a pumpkin, believe me. The thought of me not getting seven hours sleep scares and infuriates me (it's OK to be in bed and not asleep right the way round til 4am though I must add).
So anyway yes back to my original point. My Finish wife/sister of mine went to an art exhibition held by some chaps she knows from UCCA which was, for want of a better synonym, nice. Most of the work I was very impressed with. Sister Finn and I went on to a pub, where I was then accosted by a barmaid when I didn't think I had my ID was thrown out and then for me to storm back like a phoenix from the flames- BOY DID I SHOW HER, and then we met some of the fellows from the exhibition and moved on.

Usually I would skip these details as I am not in the habit of going on and on about menial daily details but I am trying to make this slightly more interesting and to hold a lot of the context.
My main point is that I spent some considerable time talking to a guy about art, music, social structure and so on and so forth. A lot of our ideas fell in parallels and he said that he found it odd that he has lacerated himself in front of me when I didnt really know him that well at all.
And that got me thinking about things. Was it easier for him to say everything he did because he didnt know me or because he felt there was some kind of connection mentally between us or what? Or was he just drunk? Sypathising with everything I said to sound like he was interested more in the conversation? If he wasnt gay I think I would question these thoughts futher but I am finding it surprising that someone I had limited contact with previously (and for that matter not quite enjoyed it) discussed with me some of my ideas of my whole ethos on life.
Maybe I should keep my cards closer to my chest and push others away.

Red and Black and Yellow

I have grand designs for my new house. Well, when I say "grand designs" basically I mean making it as tacky, overblown and as kitsch as my meagre budget and facilities will allow. Of course I would love to be able to draw all over the walls and plaster every surface with a layer of glitter, paint the well pink and blow up the shed but unfortunately this is an ambition of mine that will surely have to wait.
My intention is eventually to maybe do some more painting. Well, when I say "painting" I mean throwing paint all over two pages on an art book, usually picking the colours red yellow and black, chucking glitter all over the top (one may notice a trend here), shutting the page and sitting on top of it for half an hour listening to tapes of Radiohead which I agrovatingly have to rewind, fastforward and turn over anytime I want to listen to anything particular. This would often be hindered by the fact I had painted the tapeplayer with glitter (...) and thus I would listen to the refrain from "Just" and it would be time to open the book again, where I would meet with a explosion of acrylic and tiny little bits of silver foil. THAT is how I got my Art GCSE, and I don't regret a moment of it.
Although I don't want to do that anymore. Likewise I don't want to paint any more pictures of boats, shells, I don't want to emulate the style of Turner and I most certainly do not want to copy any more Frieda fucking Kahlo's. I envisage myself now, cigarette in one hand, can of coke in the other, pen in mouth doodling basically enlessly all summer taking brief breaks to write more ridiclous blogs and to go to work, where I will write more blogs. I might turn the shed into my studio seeing as I can't blow it up. Who was that guy who blew up the shed? I saw it at the Tate Modern. Oh well.
So anyway yes I am full of great big fat huge ideas and, as is always the way, I don't currently have the means to undertake any of them. Just you wait though- I am getting passionate again.

Hypergraphia

Well, perhaps not.

The mobile phone you have called is switched off

God.
Today my schedule letter came today re: finance for next year, and owing to some round-a-bout fuck-up involving my dad's accountant, some Scottish people and the LEA I have been denied my grant for next year. Why? Who knows. Apparently it needs to be reassessed and then we will see.
Will we now? So until then I frantically wait by the postbox in anticipation of the news that has the casting stone whether I bother to finish my degree?
As much as I like my job I can't help get angry at people who get angry with me regarding other people's short-fallings. This is why today when I called the SLC I didnt shout at Hamish because ultimately it isnt his fault, the same way that none of this is mine, although I dont think this is particually good for my blood pressure. I need to calm down and not get so mad all of the time.


It's only 15 days until I move into my new house. Which means that it is 13 days until my birthday and until I get paid. And I have the weekend off.
Nothing else can excite me more

It rained and it rained and it rained

It's raining. As usual I am procrastinating.
Isn't it funny that when I read an angst-wridden blog I screw up my eyes and get angry about it but then I just do it myself?
I didn't have the best time last night. It was generally ok, but I felt like I barely knew anyone. I didnt know what to say or how to act so I ended up getting slightly drunk. And what on earth is the good in that?
It's still raining. It's been raining for a long time now.
I still have done hardly any work, still, it's a short piece of writing.. I might just get on with it and stop thinking about what I am thinking about.

Sister I'm a..

Usually I might write about how fed I am about certain things or people or really anything at all. A petal that slightly obscured my vision, a spot of rain that ruined the curve of my hair and so on.
Today, no.
Today I am less morose than I have been at other points in the week but still terribly.. well lost at sea is perhaps the phrase that is best suited. Of course not physically, that would be impossible, but in my mind. Oh what a barren wasteland that is. Sometimes I feel full to the brim of life and excitement and hope and possibility. I argue with myself, "you're too young! you have time to catch up!", "you're still young" whilst all around me things are starting to wither away, getting so old. There is grace and dignity in the old but there is the sense of time melting away; you should be married by now, thinking about a family, a career. And still everyone is flying backwards and forwards after one thing or another and surviving on pipe dream after pipe dream. But the same thing that repells me I am hopelessly and unforgivingly enraptured with.

I'd like to think I was somehow different, how I haven't got myself lost in this constant turning on time and the bitching and the gaudy faces. I'd like to think I am not a lot of things, and I am often wrong.
As is common of me at these periods I look back on past times. I remember this time last year I was a hideous wreck. I rarely went to school, I spent day after day clambering from friend to friend, home to bed and out to the beach again. That's all we did. And god it feels like an age ago now. I honestly felt like I was living in a black hole, thoughts and memories of Gene came hurtling towards me getting sucked in the rush and forgotten, spinning through days like there was no stopping. Of course it did.
Early June. I thought, as do those in the idiocy of a broken heart, that I could sit around playing Ludo and deciding I was alright really and that would be the end of it, like a light switch I could turn off and on as I wished, a bathroom tap. The most amazing thing for me is thinking back on this time and how I waited and I waited and I waited to move out of Thanet as if some miracle might occur overnight! Like moving me and all my things to somewhere slightly different might make it all go away. And the older I get and the more I think about it I begin to know
It was less about them and more about me
My agony is rarely the cause of anyone else! My life doesn't feel like it is falling apart because of anyone else's wrongs! Of course there are times when I find it a lot easier to blame others, its like a rotting plague to me- people, the talking, the snarling, the in-jokes, the smell of alcohol on another. It sickens me. But most of all I sicken myself. How, at my age, I would rather lock myself away in the top of my room surrounded by clothes and books and pieces of paper because I wake up in the morning and know they will never deceive me. They won't leave for anything else, they belong to me. And if I must be selfish then selfish I shall be.
All in all I am not ashamed of who I am. The way I approach things is that it is fine for me to be disappointed with myself but if many feel this resentment towards me then frankly I find it difficult to care. Of course I live with exceptions, there are some (who surely know exactly who they are) who's opinions are sacred to me and I would never want to argue with this view. Oh I am going on so awfully much..



...I think I have Sylvia Plath effect

Futher realisations

- As much as I quite like you, your forced arrogance and superiority really yanks my chain sometimes
- Oh to be as misunderstood and miserable and yet so completely adored like you would be such a lovely thing.
- I've been waiting years for you to come home and to grow up and I know now that this is very unlikely.
- Cancer chic makes me sick
- Really, please now, get over your fucking self. We aren't kids anymore..
- By god, I didn't realise how old you are looking. And old people look so ridiculous pretending to be young. I now know that so much was fabrication. What a waste of time.
- There is nothing I can say that will change the way you are acting. But you look silly. Time will show that.
- You are a vindictive, manipulative cow and I swear if you cross the line then I will too despite holding my tongue so far.


Some of you I can't fault though. I like you.

The week that was

or

What I learnt this week

1) Working on your own at a job has its distinct benefits. It is useful for not having to natter to anyone, for reading books, for having a peaceful time. However it then becomes a huge hindrance when one's throat is the size of a pea and, as I found early on this morning, I was only able to communicate through a series of squeaks, groans and mumbles. It then becomes problematic re: getting time off.

2) A person would sooner write an angry email (in this case outlining what they find to be the fundamental flaws with your request, how you are "putting pressure" on them to do as you wish despite merely asking politely, being unnecessarily vindictive and bitter and so on and so forth) which would then take up more of their precious time (of course the world must surely end for exams, you simply COULD NOT do anything else except for maybe sending out reactionary emails and going on facebook) then actually just doing what was required in the first place. The pettiness and the arrogance of this is surely beyond my understanding.

3) Once again I have had it reiterated within myself that often the way a day is meant to be is completely different to how it will be. I never thought for one moment that this Thursday would see me accidentally flinging various drinks round the theatre cafe of that I would make my radio debut thirty seconds after the idea was conceived. I was hoping for something a bit more stable for my first appearance but I was without stress or worry so I can take massive solace for that. I also must not it is easier to tell people to go on the radio than doing it yourself, and that is a side of the fence I would rather stay on.

4) Meetings, on the most part, are a complete waste of time and energy. Especially when they involve watching a disgusting and embarrassing video. Of course that was more the fault of my face as opposed to the media.

5) When there is the introduction of the Trinity Term noise ban and the prohibition of BBQ's some crank will decide to have a party, catering supplied outside the venue. People seem to stomp louder this time of year. Of course, mainly I am against the noise ban but if it means that people will make more noise in order to get one over 'the man' then I seriously disapprove.

6) Fiona and I, however hard we try, will always be too stupid, young or disillusioned to be able to undertake any political debate about anything ever.

7) Kentmail is, practically, my whole life. I am a floundering fish without it. Sad but true

I really could go on forever

The Idiocy of Youth

I know many of you would have seen these, either when they were first posted or when I have been cackling at them since when I re-found them locked inside the Internets forever. But I think they are important for a number of reasons:
- They show what a ridiculously overblown, pathetic, snivelling, jealousy-ridden greasy little youth I was. I was so desperately contrived.
- They serve to remind myself that I am not as awful as I used to be
- They can be horrendously funny.

Half the time I find it hard to actually work out what I meant. I used to cloud everything over in, what I thought, a mystical cloud, like I was some kind of enigma. However, most of the time I think I was too scared to really say what I meant in fear of reverberations.

My first entry (well I say my first, my first entry “on paper” as it were was blank owing to a technical hitch from a 13 year old Kirsty) was a veritable tour de force of ideas and emotions ( please note I have not corrected the spelling, grammar or the absurdness of my prose, so sorry):-

25rd April 2002
I have taken the decision to npt acctually tell anyone what my name on this is- Well my real name is Kirstylyn McComiskey but I mean I'm not telling anyone what my screen name is. Maybe whoever has read this has worked it out as I will give hints... Well to cut a long story short, Tim is in love with Becky, but I think i'm still in love with Tim. But all I want is Tim to be happy, and he is happy. I mean heavenly happy.. Dpon't get me wrong or anything ebut I do like Becky, shes a lovely girl and is good for Tim.. But..despite my feelings, I could never be with Tim again for a number of reasons:
1) He is totally and utterly in love with Becky
2) Hes my best friend and I dont want to loose my friendship with him
3) my parents would have a voyage to freakout city
4) I'm not entirely sure that I do love him or not. Well I do, but i dunno if the feeling will last for long.
Its jes a totally wacco idea thats all...bloody hell

Please take note of bullet point three and the closing sentence. What on earth possessed me to type with such gut-retching disgustingness? Ok, I was only 13 and granted I didn’t tYPe lEIk dIs but still! I am ashamed with myself. Oh and Kirsty no you most certainly didn’t love him as you were only 13. Take note for future. What’s all this about giving hints? Did I really do that? I exasperate myself sometimes I really do. A loosened friendship is the best kind of friendship.
Constantly I used words like “jes”, “thass”, “kewl”, “laff” like I was some kind of renegade Geordie. Embarrassingly I spelt come “cum” for a long time. I particularly hate the use of the word “sux” however I was far from the main offender. It was all “school suxs” and “chavs sux” and “homework sux” and “not being able to go to the disco because I am grounded because I spent all my lunch money on McFlurry sux”.
This one is particularly good:

In the I.T room again and I feel like I want to throw myself out of the window.Life totally sucks..unless you have a theory. And mines is that life is only as difficult as you decide to make it.So I guess why I weant to throw myself out the window. Today has been one of those days (ie- Missing the bus, having food tech, loss of bus pass, bad hair, gurls being shitty, rain etc etc). The only thing that cheered me up was an email from a friend of mine telling me that he was happy in his liife which I found rather cheering. What I dont find cheering is, however, that I aint seem Tim for quite a while (ok so it aint really his fault but I really cant be fecked to go to the library(I haven't the emotional temperment right now thanks). Chavs sux...sorry random cooment there. Ok how does a chav girl turn the light off after sex? She closes the car door.

There is nothing I can say to explain or excuse this. I can’t believe how awful I was at typing! The embarrassing thing is that I retold that joke the other day to Fiona I believe like I never tired of it Can I also point out that at the time a bit of rain and losing a bus pass was a MAJOR deal ok. Absolutely shocking.

I wrote a poem when I was 13. If I showed it to you I would die in shame.




See ya later “suxers”

The worrying time

My perception with recent times is that as I have reached teenage years is what I see as a conditioning of the mind. When I was about seven until around the age of twelve I never worried about pedophiles or rapists or anything like that at all. And perhaps this could be because I was at that innocent age where I didn’t see these things because I was blind to them.
However I see society as producing many recognizable features in the younger generations today that I wouldn’t necessarily recognize in myself at the same age.

Firstly my brother, he will grow up in an age where it is seen as part of society where things like rape and fear of attack are regular things, they have been conditioned in a way to find these things acceptable and that can only have a derogatory effect on society. They say knowledge is power and thats fine, but I think you can be too aware of things so much so you let it dictate your life, you worry about things that perhaps have been blown out of proportion, I am not denying there is a problem but rather that there may be some problem about knowing too much and worrying too much.

I also feel, for a number of reasons that children are not being given the best upbringing they could have had. Perhaps this is old fashioned but with women having more rights, which is brilliant, it has also led to the decline of the stable family home. Children are dumped in front of the TV or a videogame rather with engaging properly with their peers. Of course this is not true of all cases, far from it, but as an effect it will become noticeable. Children need to have an imagination and need to develop their minds, not to be repressed from an early age. Once again this is detrimental to the successfulness of the society as a whole.

University Truths

On my expeditions through Facebook and TheStudentBar I often encounter a list of "things UCAS didn't tell you" or "You know you've been at uni too long when..". Anyway I am going to write my own because my opinion is more valid and rounded.

• //I would rather make some elaborate excuse about dragons stampeeding through my house, noses ablaze, torching through my vital organs that admitting to myself and the seminar leader that I just couldn't be bothered to go (save when I was actually ill, although I seem a bit boy who cried wolf now)
• //My books are always late back to the library. Peroid.
• //It is rather amusing to get lost in one of the colleges
• //I tidy my room, mess it up again, tidy it, mess it up again constantly
• //Laundry day is the worst day of my life.
• //Being able to watch clips of TV episodes on the internet becomes the greatest invention of all time and it doesn't seem to matter that one has to get up every five minutes in order to load the next section.
• //I will find anything to do which will distract me from an essay or just general boredness. I will take unecessary trips to the library, organize my pencil case, go to Woodies for a pint of Diet Coke, journey to the vending machines on campus and so on.
• //Powercuts and Lunar Eclipses become social events.
• //90% of the uni will be a significant player in some society and will wear a hoodie demonstrating this 99% of the time.
• //I am becoming increasingly jealous of the above demograph.