Switch it off!

Here's one of my pet peeves. Well, maybe it's not a pet peeve, more likely i've got some strangely specific mental disorder.

Basically I get annoyed at attention-seeking televisions. When I'm round someone's flat or house I'm endlessly irritated and distracted if there's a tv babbling on in the corner. We're not really watching it, it's just some 3rd rate "50 best/worse whatever" drivel or something offensive like Deal or No Deal or ITV News. But I can't listen to the conversation. I can't focus. My eyes are drawn unwillingly towards the television and I find myself watching whatever god-awful programme is on. It's like I've been forced to sit down an stare at the television. I can't help it, I get drawn to the television and find myself becoming completely controlled by awful games shows and pointless soaps. I try to tear my eyes away but I can't. I just get more and more irratable and frankly bored out of my mind.

But does this happened with television I like? No. And I don't know why. Put trusty old Dave on in the background, or my friend News 24 and I'm as happy as larry and can actually join a conversation like a normal human being. I've even in the past, when finding it difficult to get to sleep, popped on Mock the Week and drifted of the the wonderful Irish tones of Dara O'Briain.

Damn you television. Implanted in my mind the way your are is such a bother and inconvenience.

What’s it called? That thingy. The one they’ve all been talking about. Thingymagigle.

After visiting the Apple Store in Leicester there is now no longer a hole in my beloved Macbook. And finally finally I got my hands on an iPad.




Now, I knew from the start that the iPad is no real revolution, it's not a must have for everyone and it (like all Apple products) is utterly overpriced. But that didn't stop me from pawing over the damn thing, giggling and doing a little dance when I first picked it up. Then the Apple mist cleared.
Oh. "It's a bit heavier than I expected."

You can't call yourself a fresher in second year.

Good lord, is it that time already?!

It seems only weeks since Christmas and not long at all since I was sat in a McDonald's in Westminster reading an email that told me I had a place at uni. And yet tomorrow's possibly the most poigant day of my year. Tomorrow is my final exam for level one. Just like that! A mountain of assignments, a handful of essays, a dvd or two, 3 metric tons of takeaway food and a third of the world's supply of alcohol and here I am. Finishing level one of my degree. Oh my. I'm a third of the way through!

So much has happened this year. I've grown up. I've had ups and downs. I've learned a few life lessons. I've hurt. But I've also had some of the best times. I've made the best of friends. I'm in a proper relationship. (which makes my face do this: ^^ and this: :3) I've also enjoyed the cheap thrill of a one-night stand (or two). And learnt that that thrill gets old quickly. I've actually learnt stuff about journalism! I can now budget myself. I can also take (average quality) notes in a lecture. My god, I can even walk up Steep Hill without dying.

So now what? I've got one exam left and then a whole summer in which to frolick and play until second year comes around. With all the learning and the reading and the note taking and the oh-so-much awesomeness. It's all quite exciting isn't it?

Now to concentrate on my first hurdle. Revision!

Anthony Horowitz, my hero.

“A commercial break! Quick! Kill someone!”

Anthony Horowitz, the creator of Midsomer Murders, Foyle’s War, Alex Rider and most importantly a scene in which two people have sex in a ball pit in (my personal favourite of his books) The Killing Joke. This evening I attended a talk by him (about his work and general awesomeness) at the Lincoln Drill Hall and somewhat drove my friends mad with my fangirlish nonsense. (Though all “nonsense” aside I would happy marry that handsome devil and his smooth tones and wonderful authorish skills.)

He started out talking about good old Alex Rider, the 14 year old spy who got him where he is now. Horowitz told us how he partially owes the success of the children’s series to J K Rowling. Without the Harry Potter franchise publishers would have never realised how popular children’s books could be.

In a Lincoln exclusive (that somewhat made my belly fizz) Horowitz read out the first page of the next and final book in the Alex Rider series. We follow the head of criminal organisation SCORPIA through the British Museum on his way to meet “the third richest man in the world”. Horowitz also told us how an old enemy was set to return. Now personally I was hoping that my darling wonderful (fictional) Russian assassin Yassen Gregorovich would miraculously return from the dead after being shot at the end of the fourth book. But a) Horowitz has now promised a sort of prequel in which we see Yassen at Alex’s age and b) the series isn’t suited to random resurrecting a beloved character. I intend to re-read the entire series over the summer in order to dejuce the mysterious returning foe. Because I’m just that much of a dork. smiles proudly

Good old (yet still remarkably dashing) Anthony went on to talk about his work in television, notably Foyle’s War and Collision. Now I’ve never seen either of these as I’m cough cough allergic to ITV though I may contemplate purchasing the DVDs. Horowitz’s take on the murder mystery genre and the curse of commercial breaks was somewhat amusing (if it wasn’t obvious please see the title of this post).

In the end this talk filled me not only with fangirlish glee but also with a few nifty facts about my favourte author. But mainly fangirlish glee… and a signed copy of my favourite Horowitz which is now my most prized possession.

Thank you Mr Horowitz, for such a delightful evening.

A bit of honesty, vanity and healthy advice.

YO MOMMA’S SO FAT...... oh, actually I can see the TV fine, thank you.

In the last few months my Mom has been going to Weight Watchers on a Wednesday evening. To my surprise and according to my Mom, it isn’t some kind of Cake Eaters Anonymous. It isn’t a village hall full of sobbing fat women, lusting over chocolate cake.

In the last few months my Mom has lost 2 stone and looks amazing.

In the last few months I’ve been living in pyjama distance from a takeaway.

In the last few months I’ve lost the confidence to wear my bikini.