Thankful For Glade Touch 'n' Fresh

I really have to stop drinking Strongbow.

Why? Does it tear up my insides?
-No

Does it give a terrible headache the next morning?
-No

Do I go through it so often I'm just losing money?
-No! It's because it makes me awfully flatulent!

Yes, Strongbow fucks up my ass. It makes my farts stink even more than farts should normally stink and they come all too frequently as well.

If I'm ever to meet a fair young maiden (or failing that, her 'not-so-fair' friend) it may not make the best impression for my to be continually followed by the smell of the festering remains of last Tuesday's chicken and potatoes mixed with dead apples and constantly having the noise of a depressed lawnmower protruding from my back door, which is a shame really, since alcohol seems to be my only gateway into the world of meeting new people. And usually my tipple of choice will tend to be that fermented bitter apple ass fuel, which puts me in a kind of Catch-22 situ-(hang on, need a crap..............OK I'm back now)-ation.

Ooof! You know, it's at times like these I realise I really am thankful for Glade Touch 'n' Fresh... but back to the rambling...

(Although to be honest, the fact that you're reading this line means you've read through all that and you are strangely interested in the activities of my bottom, you pervert.)

Anyway, next day always means the memories of the night before come flooding back (and apparently tumbling out of my ass). Memories like "oh, so I did have pasta bolognese for dinner last night".

I would, of course, just like to say that not all of what you've just read is true. I actually had pasta bolognese on Tuesday and chicken and potatoes last night.

Like "Whoa!" And Stuff

I've been inspired by boredom (and the faint smell of what I can only assume is either cannabis or somebody having forgotten to water their plants in their hot bedroom) to write something on here. Trouble is I'm still finding it difficult to get excited about the surroundings when I don't know many people here. Of the people I do know, they either live far away (not as far away but still away from this Halls of Residence complex) or they can't be bothered with me! Is it too much to ask to befriend people who currently live a short walk across the way from me?! Nevertheless, I've resigned to myself being a current sufferer of Weltschmerz.

But what, exactly, is this Weltschmerz of which you speak?

Please. Give me time to type!

Weltschmerz is a word of German origin, meaning "world pain", and is used by the people of Germany to describe the depressing sensation of realising that life and this reality in general will never live up to the expectations of the human imagination... and a vivd imagination at that. Trust the Germans to come up with a single word for such a concept.

So, after telling myself numerous times I wouldn't hype up the idea of University life in my head whilst in my humble hometown, I big fat stupid went and did it anyway and now I feel bad that, even though we're only in the beginning stages, I've built up an idealistic view of what I would expect this whole place and its people to be like and now had it cruelly shattered before me as I can no longer dream of moving away and imagining what this place has in store for me because... well... I'm here.

I don't actually know where I'm heading with this and it's quite late and I'm babbling and very soon I won't be making any sense any more and fuh wazzle poop mo'hinggy frrop booble-wazzle in my guh-HAY'VIN like "whoa!" and stuff so yeah I'll stop now.

Besides, tomorrow I actually have classes featuring human interaction!

The "Film" Your Friends Told You About

Out of fear of me neglecting this thingy (again), I have returned.

There's really not much to talk about considering the "awesomeness" of the coveted Fresher's Week was somewhat dampened by the fact that... well, I'm in the middle of the country with nothing to do. In layman's terms (where the Hell did that saying come from by the way?), the best night out one could have over in humble Crewe consists of a lovely tipsy stroll to the railway bridge with a bottle of cheap cider in hand, spending the best part of an hour looking out at the approaching trains whilst complementing the scenery with "ooh, aren't all the lights pretty!" followed by a drunken stumble to a curry house that looks like someone's front room, rounding the night off by wandering across the fields ultimately collapsing face first into a freshly laid pile of what can only be referred to as "recycled grass" from a nearby cow.

Anyway, as it occurs to me, I don't mind staying in for a few drinks and social banter with a few of my nearest and dearest thus making the middle-of-fricking-nowhere an ideal social scene for me. But I guess Fresher's Week let me down slightly purely because of how... you know when your mates tell you about a film that's really good and you really wanna see it and when you do it just isn't what you were hoping for...

In that sense, alcohol-fuelled evenings of wonder and, occasionally, inebriated lust play the role of the "film" your friends told you about.

Having moaned about all that, I don't mind about how much I drink this year, how much work I do, how many friends I have. I'm just happy getting on with it the way I want to and the massive downer this week comes from other people being on massive downers from the fact that they seem to be mainly borderline-alcoholic party animals let down by the overhyped "film". The general negativity from about 83% of the folk over here has started to bleed through and make me bitter and want to join them in their moaning, complaining and ranting over how the proposed "best week of their life" has been somewhat shit, which I am doing... here!

As for the other 17%, well I haven't heard from them since they're mainly the more introverted, would-rather-stay-in-for-a-few-drinks-and-social-banter-with-a-few-of-their-nearest-and-dearest types. You know, like me. Understandably, those kind of folk are a lot less vocal in public and if they have any complaints or feel the need to moan they do it on an Internet blog since their self-esteem is somewhat dampened by being so introverted that they feel the best way to express themselves is non-verbally yet public where they secretly like to think they have lots of friends and followers.

As for the rest of the week, well not much to say really. Although I am thoroughly anticipating how well I do in trying to pay attention during the "Television Genres" unit of my Film and TV Studies course, purely because the lecturer of the "Television Genres" unit is a very well educated Korean lady with an excellent grasp of the English language. However, listening to spoken English with a strong Korean accent does take some getting used to. Not meaning to take the piss or anything, I'm genuinely thrilled to be studying under the guidance of a professional, no matter what their cultural background; although considering the brief talks we've already had, I can't help feeling that half the students taking the "Television Genres" unit may mock the poor woman or cast aside whatever she has to say because they simply can't be bothered paying attention to listen properly. As for the rest of us on the "Television Genres" unit, I can't help feeling that by the end of this year, we'll be well educated in the field of "Television Jangas".

Pseudo-racism aside, I've been catching up on Junior MasterChef on BBC iPlayer whilst waiting for October to come around so that I may purchase a TV Licence so I can watch TV for reals instead of recorded and streamed by catch-up services online. It's like MasterChef, except it's kids cooking. And I mean it's like MasterChef. If I could cook braised steak and curried samosas with seasoned vegetables, including pan-fried aubergines in a leek and garlic sauce at the age of eleven, I'm fairly certain I wouldn't need to be in fucking University right now. The least I was expecting from these kids was melting chocolate in a bowl and adding Rice Krispies. Amazingly, I have seen the light to want to start cooking, like, properly thanks to these youngsters but unfortunately being a student restricts my budget somewhat to teabags, milk, bread, tinned soup and copious amounts of instant noodle snacks.

I guess it's just as well, the voiceover woman on the damn kid's show told me that if I want to cook at home too I have to get an adult to help me.

Stuff From The Last Six Hours

So earlier today I managed to tear myself away from my home of 21 years in an effort to be one of those "make it on my own" kinda people. As it turns out, I was the last of seven people to arrive in this flat, meaning I've felt somewhat the outsider compared to the other six, who've had the best part of a night to get to know each other really well. As it happens, they felt for me and (even though they were going out anyway) invited me along for an exploration of the new hometown. Here's some stuff from the last six hours:

Moved in, had boxes everywhere and whilst trying to sort everything out and stressing out unbelievably, my dear mother was hellbent on having a cup of tea and chatting to my fellow fellows whilst father tried to force me to eat a cheese and onion sandwich, which quite frankly is a lost course since I don't like onion anyway.

Once the folks left and I was left with my "crew" (as I shall now refer to them since they are in fact my roommates... in Crewe), who managed to distract me from my organising and stressfulness for an afternoon of stuff including holding up a bus with no change and quite frankly no sense of direction, and discovering that a lot of places in town centres are closed on Sunday afternoons.

Luckily we had ASDA at our rescue, which was only fair since I needed refrigerated and frozen goods and had moneys left over from my dear old mother taking pity on my new found student life.

OK, I thought this post might end up being longer but to be honest I really can't be bothered now. I've spent the rest of the afternoon washing my cooking stuff before using and sorting this 'ere room out whilst attempting to fill the awkward "getting to know you" silences with awkward "getting to know you" conversation.

Now I have a cup of tea that's going cold and a bowl of Coco Pops going soggy, so shut up and leave me alone!

Next Stop, The Real World

In the final stretch before I leave this place for pastures new, which conveniently happen to be a mere thirty-or-so miles away, I've been accounting for all that I've learned about life over the last 21 years, 2 months and 24 days. I've come to this simple conclusion.

School is rubbish.

My reasoning for this? Well, as much as a compulsory school education with set curricula and syllabi are great in an academic sense, I found that I've learned more about life from the three years I have not been taught under compulsory guidance. OK, sure, school is great and without it I wouldn't have the necessary skills in English and Maths and shit (I dropped Science in favour of the fast-becoming popular lessons in Shit) to be the knowledgeable young being I am today.

I also realise that during these school years, typical children get bored of school and begin to explore the big wide world for themselves. However, as a prime example of not being typical to the case in point, this has not always the case... in point...(?) Therefore, as a school pupil I've just breezed through knowing what I apparently need to know and being told that this is the way the world works.

Cue late 2007, I am no longer a school pupil. Next stop, the Real World.

I ended up enrolling in University at a site so close to home I couldn't move out but had a bitch of a commute every day to study a course I chose on a whim of thinking "it's alright" at the time, but as it turns out it didn't excite me as much as I'd previously thought or hoped. My living location contributed to my lack of friends, acquaintences and nights out for socialising, which (even though I wasn't much of the socialising type at the time) wore me down. The 50 minute commute (about 39 of which involved walking... in the winter) and the ever fun propect of Seasonal Depression (you know, with the days being shorter and perpetually dark) wore me down. Eventually I noticed the sadness and depression in me and realised I needed to cut out the crap from my life that was making me all sad and depressed in such a way.

Cue end of January 2008, withdrawal from University studies.

I was now no longer a student, and not working either. This made me everything I detest. A jobless bum living off other people. Luckily this did not last although not through choice. Through the whole month of February I tried finding work but to no avail until one night when my mother informed me that my next door neighbour happened to be the assistant manager of a local discount store... you know, like Poundland except cheaper. Reluctantly I went along to feign interest in a job vacancy, which I managed to fill. Still reluctant, I decided to go along with it for the time being, assuming I wouldn't stay longer than two and a half weeks. I stayed for two and a half years.

During my time working in retail, I learned more about talking to strangers all day every day, which kind of goes against what they told me when I was five. More than that, my co-workers and colleagues (both words, I'm pretty sure, mean exactly the same thing) are not the book covers they appear to be. The ladies in their mid-30s are not some stupid drones doing the bare minimum to get by but in fact hard working mothers trying to take care of their respective families the best way they can, getting on with it and having a laugh to at least make the best of a bad situation. Call me stupid, I knew about the whole "don't judge someone before you know them" but I guess something in the back of my head never believed it. That, along with "relax and be yourself".

One night during the summer of 2008, I don't even remember drinking, let alone being drunk, but for some reason I remember sitting in our local around a small table almost crying into the bottom of an empty pint glass wondering where my life was going. It was at this a few of my surrounding fellows around me advised to look into the local college.

Cue August 2008. I am interviewed at the local college and accepted onto a course I sort of thought was "alright" and prepared to be knocked down again after a couple of months.

Turns out in a reverse of the way University treated me, I hated it to begin with and ended up enjoying it shortly afterwards. People I met, who I wouldn't so much call my closest friends, but definately some good people I could get on with during a college course, became prominent figures in this next chapter of my life.

And now here we are (I say "we" because even though this is pretty much my life story, I'd like to thank you if you've managed to stick with it this far. It's like a fun and boring journey through someone's mundane stories... you know, like an old man talking about his days in the wars or and old lady talking about the day she saw a cat), staring into the abyss of unknown-y-ness and getting ready to write the next chapter of this book with... well you know, my face as the cover. What?! You gonna judge me on that?!

But the most important things I've learned are definitely how unpredictable life can be; how unpredictable situations could be, how difficult things are to handle, how fun things are to handle, how annoying people can be, how amazing people can be, and most importantly (even though I learnt it pretty quickly, it took me three years to actually fully understand and deal with it) everybody's life is individual... this is mine and this is how I choose to do it. These are the people I enjoy talking to, these are the places I like, these are the situations I'm comfortable with, these are the choices I'm making, these are the mistakes I'm learning from, and nobody can tell me otherwise.

They don't teach you that in school.

Shameless Plug

Shameless plug, I know, but it's all finished now. If anyone's out there, watch this, now, or else...

http://www.youtube.com/view_play_list?p=43ACA74A985FEC8A

Oh Yes, I See How We Got There Now

I do, of course, feel as though I've made it in the Internet world. At least to some degree. I mean let's face it, in the vast majority of things I'm still an unknown wandering the wilderness of anonymity with the only company coming from my RL peeps (that's the people I know in "real life" in case any non-geeks were wondering). Not saying I don't like my RL friendlies, cos obviously I'm glad they're around, but still it would be nice to branch out a little on the Internet and touch the lives of some other wandering soul on the other side of the world. Why? Well, for the poops and giggles really... but most importantly to say that I CAN!

My best attempt at reaching out to those with a common interest is the currently ongoing (but almost nearing completion) task of displaying my skills at playing Spyro The Dragon (yes, that one what was made like 12 years ago) cos, you know, surely there's some lonely bored kid searching YouTube for odd videos related to the old game cos, you know, I am usually that lonely bored kid searching YouTube for odd videos related to the old game.

Despite my best efforts at notifying the good people at YouTube Towers that the material is not owned by my good self and have instead listed the folks who made that there game all that time ago, they kindly decided to notify me that the videos of me playing Spyro The Dragon contains music from Spyro The Dragon leading to a couple o' wee advertising banners popping up in the lower fifth of the frame. Banners including (last I checked) a link to iTunes for the music that one could pay for and download legally to enjoy at their own will, as well as an ad for enrolling in American colleges.

Purple dragon...mystical fantasy world...American college, oh yes, I see how we got there now.

Don't worry fellow geeks, the videos still exist in their current forms and I am not to be subjected to any torturous endeavours or fall victim to any Satanic ritual for my crimes... at least not yet, anyway. It just means that someone has actually bothered to take notice of my humble vids and identify the background music from them, providing a handy tool should anyone wish to spend the princely sum of ninety-nine of their hard earned pennies (or something, I haven't checked the exact price yet) on owning a piece of music what you heard in a video.

Luckily they have no grounds to slap a copyright tag on the narration as I can confirm that voice is, in fact, mine.

That Is How You Spell "Diahorretic"

Hello, poor neglected abandoned thing. I knew I wouldn't take care of you very well. It's probably the reason they gave me a bag of flour to cradle that time instead of the real live baby. It's just as well I guess, I got hungry halfway through the day and decided to be resourceful in making what eventually turned out to be shortbread biscuits, which quite frankly could've easily gone horribly wrong had I been allowed to care for the aforementioned real live baby and would've resulted in a mildly grotesque anecdote involving (amongst other things) crying and an empty baby bungee and let's face it, I'm not particularly one for the apparent notion of "dead baby jokes".

I can, of course, confirm that all of the above is a complete lie. Nothing more than a mere fabrication born out the fact that I've not been on this 'ere thingamajigger for a good solid while now. In fact they wouldn't even give me the bag of flour to look after.

Since I've been gone, (even though I've always been here, just not on this particular portion of the Intermaweb) I started doing them kinda talking-loads-of-crap-to-the-camera-edited-together-quickly-in-a-desperate-attempt-at-humour-slash-getting-people-to-like-me videos, then over a short time just didn't any more. Having said that I'll probably reignite that old disposable lighter sometime in the future, but for now, I shall stick to just writing about it. That way you're not thrown off by that god-awful thing I call a face and that slight lispy thing I've got going on with my voice. For now I'm currently two-thirds of the way through uploading the mammoth four-and-a-half hours that is the time about three weeks ago I ended up recording myself playing (and narrating with that slight lispy thing I've got going on with my voice) the first Spyro The Dragon game from way back when computer games were slightly more advanced than left-to-right two-dimensional sprite adventure-thons but not yet reached the stage where you can use a .44 caliber Magnum to blow off the heads of seventeen Artificially Intelligent zombies from 20 paces culminating in you being rewarded with a cacophony of blood and undead brain bits flying in all directions... in High Definition.

Needless to say, I've missed writing/ranting on here. I forgot how much fun it could be. I came here apologising, saying I've not been around for a while before meandering off into the verbal diahorretic nature I seem to find myself accustommed to.

(And yes, that is how you spell "diahorretic"... even if Google did try to fob me off with some lame-ass Americanised "diarrhetic" spelling when I went to check)

But I've decided to hang up the video blog for a wee while, although I'm never saying never again. Ideally, I used to imagine myself as somewhat of a narrator or commentator of some sort since I don't particularly have a pretty face to show off, which is actually quite a shame seeing as the rest of me is... well... I'm a pretty slammin' hottie if I may say so myself. But unfortunately my face is the first aspect of me that people see upon first meeting which makes it even harder to find a suitable female mate. I suppose I could always meet new people in the nude with a paper bag over my head in the hope that my luck may turn slightly but can't help wondering how long it would be before I was gently escorted off to an institution of some sort where they encourage you to talk about your dreams and watch Countdown with the sound off.

However, I fear that my voice is leading me into a similar state of "urgh, nobody wants to listen to that all the time" so my vocal-only option is going ever so slightly down the pan. I guess Spyro was my attempt at commentary/narration/talking a lot in a public-sector and I've managed to bung that up by moving to and from the microphone and subsequently either sound like I'm shouting or mumbling.

So, with my face glamourous enough to be on radio and my voice so crystal clear I could narrate silent movies, I'll stick to the writing aspect of letting my inner thoughts out unto the world. I suppose I'd better get the practice in. I am, after all, studying Creative Writing as a fully full-time student next month.

And I have no excuse not to write here again because I've remembered the password for this thing now.