The Scrooge Epidemic

Is it me or has no-one felt particularly festive this year? The majority of people I’ve spoken to have told me how this year, they’ve felt less Christmassy than ever before. WHY?!

True I was one of these depressingly unexcited people…up until 9pm Christmas Eve when it finally sunk in…

Was it the weather? Rain does make everyone’s moods worse its true, and it’s hardly very festive. Is it the financial climate? No one has been particularly looking forward to the expense of Christmas, this year more than ever! Or is it simply because we’re all that one year older?

But that’s the thing isn't it? When you’re a kid, Christmas is all about the anticipation of Santa coming, presents to play with and too much chocolate to nibble on. When you get older, the realisation that Christmas is an expensive, stressful, bloated time of year finally sinks in. But actually, I beg to differ. I refuse to turn into a modern day Ebenezer Scrooge so here’s 3 lessons to remember about Christmas:

1)      The most successful present I gave this year was a sentimental one.
Lesson: You don’t need to spend half your inheritance to make people happy.

2)      Things usually work out even when you do forget to seal the envelopes down, or the Sellotape doesn't stick properly or the turkey gets freezer burn.
 Lesson: There’s no point in getting stressed about things you can’t change – especially when they often can resolve themselves.

3)      Just because there is a temptation to buy everything in the festive aisle of the supermarket doesn't actually mean you have to eat it all within 24 hours. Unless you’re going for a ‘Man VS Food’ style Christmas…
Lesson: You don’t need to be bloated every year on the 25^th December and declare, rather angrily, by 8pm that you will never, never be eating again.

Finally, let me remind all you Scrooges out there that, yes, it’s unlikely you are feeling particularly festive on a wet winters day when you still have wrapping to do. But that doesn't mean that Christmas can’t be something to look forward to. Take it with a pinch of salt; it is only one day after all. So remember the words of a great man, Mr Charles Dickens, and think of the true spirit of Christmas.

Now go and eat a mince pie and cheer the hell up – you’re giving Scrooge a run for his money…  

21: An 'adult' at last...

So it's happened. I've reached another major birthday and have thus worked my way through the age restrictions of youth. Now, the only thing I can't do due to age is get a pension. Or a bus pass. Oh the travesty!

Yes that's it folks - I've reached the grand age of 21.

AKA - OLD.

That's what people keep saying to me. Is 21 really old? Is it though? What does that make fifty year olds? Ancient?? Let's put this into perspective for a minute - 21 is just over two centuries. For me, a '91 December baby, it's seven thousand, six hundred and seventy days. Oh.

Alright forget the maths - it doesn't matter because it's not how old you are, it's how you are old... (good ol' Gavin and Stacey!).

Besides, I can honestly say that as people get older and reach that 'age of maturity', it's (ironically) quite unlikely that they will mature. Of course, you gain a sense of wisdom, experience and common sense, but even the most sensible, grown-up still feels like a child sometimes!

This is what I'm going to keep telling myself. After a fantastic birthday, where I was completely spoiled with cupcake flowers, visits from friends, the most sentimental presents ever and gorgeous keepsakes, I have realised that I am one lucky, lucky girl.

So despite constant references to how old 21 is, it doesn't matter. In my head, I'm 21, I'm still young and life has only just begun (metaphorically speaking...)

I'm 21 and I still haven't grown out of the cheesy grin...

Flamin' hell it's cold...

Following on from my last entry, any of the mid-term meltdown stress I was suffering from has well and truly disappeared with the traumatic incident that happened in our student house this weekend. Although it most probably should have contributed to my very own breakdown, it actually injected a bit of perspective and a strange amount of adrenaline.

Let me explain.

It’s Friday morning. I’m deservedly rather excited about the prospect of a night out after what feels like a year-long week. I spend the day working out at the gym and wading my way through more reading and yet another essay.  I do all of this with a little shiver; not out of horror at the work, but because the house is slowly getting colder and colder. So much so at one point, I’m sure I felt the house itself shivering.

My housemate and I investigated and linked the lack of hot water with the ominous red light on the boiler. Pretty sure that was green before… Wisely, she phones the landlord who comes and resets it and all is funky-dory again! J

 He’d probably only been away for an hour when the main bulb in my bedroom blew. Now, we’re not the type of household to have spare bulbs lying around, so I just phoned our landlord and he came straight back. It’s a good job he did too – the red light of death returned on the boiler. We waited anxiously on the stairs whilst he slowly took apart the metal box on the wall, both silently aware that we needed the hot water to come back on so we could shower for our night ahead…

He emerged from the bathroom with a grin (to this moment I still don’t know what he found so amusing.)  He told us that the boiler needed a new part and he didn’t have a spare one! YAY!

So to sum things up, we had no hot water and no heating and we hadn’t showered yet. Sometimes I just can’t believe my luck.

Our landlord did try to help…but that’s when things started to turn rather dramatic. He showed us how to get the electric shower to pump out hot water and said that he’d wait in his van for 20 minutes with a clip on one of the boiler tubes just to heat the house up for that duration. Then, once we’d showered, he’d come back in and take the clip off – that way we’d at least have taken the chill off the house. It sounded like a good idea at the time…in retrospect we probably should have considered that by clipping a tube he was blocking whatever was running through it and letting it pile up…

My housemate showered and came out with a shiver saying the temperature of the water dropped. I attempted to shower and could not for the life of me get any hot water. I was just thinking about giving up when I smelt gas.

‘Don’t be stupid Steph. Why on earth would a bathroom have a gas leak?’  I thought. I turned the water off and poked my head round the shower curtain to look at the boiler.

The monster in the corner of the room. 

Or rather, the blue monster in the corner of the room as a tidy gas flame had engulfed the box.

I jumped out of the shower and grabbed a towel before the less threatening little blue flame turned into an ever so slightly scary real flame of fire which was coming from the boiler and into the room. The very room I was standing in wearing only a towel and my owl slippers. I freaked.

Yelling ‘FIRE!’ I grabbed my phone and reached for the door, which, by the way, is right next to the boiler. Yes readers, that’s right. My only exit was right next to the flame that was potentially endangering my life. And all for the sake of a sodding shower and a little bit of warmth.

With my housemates shouting at me to come downstairs, the landlord ran up and it was extinguished, mainly thanks to the draft of air I’d let in when I legged it out of the room.

Danger averted.

Well, the good news from all this is that our fire alarms work! The bad news is that I was ever so slightly shaken up and spent the next hour when I was meant to be getting dressed and excitedly putting make up on drinking tea, having a little cry and then having group hugs with my housemates. And I still hadn’t had my shower.

So where are we at now? We still went on our big night out – we saw the life threatening situation as more of a reason than ever to let our hair down a bit and de-stress with some cheesy tunes at Ocean nightclub.  And I finally managed to have a quick shower. But the boiler still isn’t working and the house is still rather cold. But we did learn a few things from this.

1.  Student life is not only damaging to your mentality with the threat of a mid-term meltdown, but it’s also rather unpredictable. Unpredictable but never dull.
   
2. Blankets are better than flames....

Mid-term Meltdown...

There comes a time during a University semester when students begin to look a bit tired and pale. They are non-responsive in seminars and when they do finally say something, it's more of a grunt or a sniff. A vacant stare will appear over their face.

No, this is not an attempt to get into the Halloween spirit and create some ghostly account of University. This is a phenomenon I have decided to call 'mid-term meltdown'.

Think of it like a mid-life crisis but for overwhelmed, and tired, University students. (Oh woe is us!)

I almost had one of these this week, when (as luck would have it) everything just seemed to come at once. With no reading week this year, I was wary that I had an essay due in, meetings to attend, and a mountain of books to read, all for one week. It got to the point when, on the verge of tears in one of campus' coffee shops, I considered calling mountain rescue and just giving up.

But I persevered. I manned up. With the help of litres of caffeine and a combination of late nights and early mornings, I did it all. (You really don't need as much sleep as you think y'know!)

In my week of stress, I noticed that I wasn't the only one around campus who looked like it had all got a bit too much. You know the feeling, the work just piles up, the colds set in and you start counting down the weeks until Christmas (or in my case the weekend and a well deserved night out!)

On the bus this morning I was sat behind a girl wearing a woolly hat.
'Wise', I thought to myself, 'it's like the Arctic out there.'
Then I looked again. I can tell you for a fact that her hat was from H&M. I can tell you for a fact that her hat was fairly new ... because she'd left the tag on it. Hanging cheekily down underneath her little pom-pom was the square piece of cardboard that she has most probably spent the rest of the day cursing for making her look so silly. Undoubtedly, this was a symptom of mid-term meltdown - too tired to notice that the tag is still hanging off the bobble on a woolly hat. Tragic.

I then waded through a room of what felt like synchronized sniffs and fits of uncontrollable coughing. The cold's have hit Uni, and they just make everything feel so much worse!

I persevered through my day and went to pick up tickets for the aforementioned night out. Bright eyed and bubbly I struck up conversation with the staff. Only to find out that mid-term meltdown doesn't just hit students... Struggling to remember what day it was, forgetting to write my student number down, and then almost writing my first name where my surname should be, we eventually managed to sort everything out and I sauntered smugly away with my tickets.

So yes, I've successfully dodged mid-term meltdown; I had a stressful week but such is life. I survived that mountain and I have a weekend of freedom to enjoy before it all starts again! So far, it's 1 to me and 0 to 3rd year. You have not broken me yet!!

But be warned readers. If you're mooching around campus and towards you comes someone who looks paler than you think possible, could carry their library books in the bags hanging from their eyes and is wandering aimlessly like a...well, like a zombie... don't be scared. Be sympathetic. It's mid-way through the term and they're merely tired. Besides, you could be next.

RadioHead

So that’s it. I’ve come back to uni and I’ve broken into the world of radio.

The speakers aren’t going to know what hit them…

On Tuesday, I walked into the URN studios at my University filled with nerves & excitement. Before I knew it I was thrust in front of the microphone, reading the news bulletins and joking along with some of the afternoon’s friendly presenters. I felt so welcome. Then, two hours later, I was back in front of a microphone, sat around a table with 3 others discussing some intriguing news stories…and you know what?

IT WAS SO FUN!

Yes I realise those capitals are going to look like I just angrily shouted that in your face, but I can’t stress this enough. 

I wasn't going to tell anyone about being on air; y'know. Just in case it went horrendously wrong. At least on radio anyone who didn't know who I was wouldn't recognise me around campus...But, once I'd had the practice of the bulletins, and caught the radio buy, I ended up telling almost everyone I spoke to that day what time I'd be on air and how they could listen in. My Dad even recorded it... 

I left the studios afterwards, with a mixture of emotions – thrilled that I could say I’d just ‘been on air’ and had spent most of the afternoon ‘in the studio’ (check me out...), disappointed that I hadn’t thought to join URN sooner, but excited that at the same time next week I’d be doing it all over again!

So what do you think…shall I open my horizons to include broadcasting?!  

In which I dabble in the world of modelling...

People always say that a good writer has ‘life experience’.  Basically this translates as: a good writer has a whole bunch of memories and adventures that they can draw on as inspiration for their work, giving it that much needed sense of realism.

So to my mind, that means that a good writer should act a little bit like Jim Carrey from Yes Man. They should become the epitome of spontaneity; they should have eagerly outstretched arms, ready to grasp every new opportunity that flies their way.

Which might explain why, when I got the opportunity to do a modelling shoot, I confidently said yes before kicking my shy alter-ego backwards into the freaky cupboard in my university room where she belongs.

And well, well, well, look who turned out to be called ‘talented’.
(Yes they may have been fibbing, but they still said it.)

A week or so ago, I dragged one of my closest friends with me to Leicester and spent about 3 hours in a studio; the focus of a camera lens. We had numerous shots taken in numerous outfits, all the while laughing about lighting and the inevitable language barriers we were having with our Polish photographer – whose English was actually really good, and simply made us realise that for two English students we use slang way too much

 Suddenly, midway through the shoot, confidence levels began to drop. Luckily, someone had some rather eclectic but mood boosting music on their phone, (I tried not to cringe too much when the familiar tones of Busted sounded out from my Blackberry….)

Then, a pink feather boa got brought out.

Cushions appeared.

 Wind machines were used and became known as ‘our little friend’.

 All in all, it was ever so slightly surreal.

But the fun didn’t stop there. We had to do an introductory video about ourselves after the shoot where we suddenly transformed into ‘part-time models’ and got spoken to like we were professionals, rather than two 20 year old English Undergrads who thought it sounded like something fun to do on a Saturday afternoon…

Our egos were boosted even more that day by the lovely young man who served us in the chip shop on the way to the station, as we guiltily gave in to temptation and bought some chips to share on our way home. He said:  ‘I’ve given you some extra chips because you’re both so pretty, is that ok?’

We beamed, we blushed, we left.

But now I’m home, the excitement has died down a bit and these niggling thoughts keep entering my head. Regarding the chips – yes of course free fast food is a lovely gesture, and a true student would never dream of saying no! But another part of me, deep in the depths of my conscience is saying, ‘Of course it’s ok! But when I get fat because of all those extra chips would anyone think the same then?!’

I’ve also just seen my video. My first thoughts were ‘OH.MY.WORD.’

 My hair is flat, I have an annoying strand covering my eyelid and I ‘um’ and look down at the script we got given way too much. Is this the start? Am I becoming too vain and self-criticising? Am I becoming a REAL model?

I know. I need to swat the thought away like I would one of those annoying flies that delight in buzzing around your ear for hours.

Besides, I’ve finally seen some of the photos from the shoot and I actually quite like them. Maybe a little embarrassing, but truly they’re not that bad at all...(I hope)

 Plus, it gave me another subject for one of these blogs – maybe experiences really do create words…

Perseverance & Planning

Plans. They make you feel more organised - more focused, don’t they? Maybe I’m slightly OCD about things like this but when I’ve got a checklist of things to do, or things to achieve with little check boxes to happily tick away, I swear my productivity soars.

There ain’t no stopping a girl with a plan…

Let me explain. Last week after researching my next steps after graduation - my baby steps into journalism if you like - I reacted somewhat melodramatically upon my discoveries. Postgraduate study is nowhere near as easily funded as Undergraduate study, studying in London is impossible unless I find a stash of money hidden in that hole Bailey’s been digging in the garden, and living back home whilst I study might be necessary if I actually want to still be able to eat for a year… This might not seem so bad, I’m still left with options after all, but to me it seemed like yet another mountain of obstacles in my path. Without a safety rope to climb over it, I did what any individual in despair did. I sulked for about an hour. Then I got upset for a further half hour. Then I gave Bailey a cuddle and thought about it all again. I spoke to a few people, did a bit of digging, a bit of writing and HEY PRESTO! With the help of my unbelievably supportive parents, I realised it’s not so bad after all. So what did I do?

I came up with a plan.

So now you’re wondering what this magnificent plan I keep banging on about entails right? Well, the first step is experience. Despite spending two weeks on a blogging internship this summer which I loved, I still need to get some media experience, so for ages I’ve been trying to get a contact or even get in contact with someone at a local paper to apply to spend a week there. But without success. For the Postgraduate Diploma in Journalism I want to do next year, you need some physical experience at a local/regional newspaper or magazine to even get looked at seriously when you apply. It’s a basic necessity. Yet, for an awful lot of local papers and magazines, you need to already be on this course to even get looked at for the experience. As a local journalist quite rightly pointed out to me, it’s a vicious circle. I took numerous rejections but in true journalist style I persevered. I phoned and emailed my CV everywhere I could think of and…I might have to wait until Easter but I’ve only gone and nabbed a week at a local paper! That’s a tick in box number one I think!

Secondly, whilst doing this I also sent some theatre reviews in to some local publications. I’ve hence transformed from dreaming of getting my name in print within a local paper to actually achieving it. I am on the website for one local paper (http://www.worthingherald.co.uk/lifestyle/entertainment/arundel-festival-s-shakespeare-season-the-taming-of-the-shrew-1-4205184) and in print for another local paper  (The Littlehampton Gazette)- published this week! Tick in box two, perhaps?

So that leaves me to my next step -locating where I want to study journalism once I’ve graduated from Nottingham. Ambitiously my first thoughts were of the bustling centre of London or the familiar yet lively city of Nottingham, but once I looked into the details I realised I might have to become a home girl once again….But to be honest, Brighton’s really not that bad is it?! Especially when the sun is shining!

So as I sit, awaiting numerous prospectuses to be delivered through the door, it feels like now I’ve identified what qualification I need to get and managed to book some experience in, I finally am moving on again in my progress. I can still apply for graduate schemes and internships etc, but for the time being my mindless floundering through the murky depths of journalism is at an end. I have joined the throng of dedicated writers, armed with nothing but a mind, perseverance, curiosity and a pen. I suppose it is true, if you want something hard enough you just need to keep trying until you get there.

So, after spending a minute doing a well-deserved victory dance in the style of Zingy – that little orange blob on the EDF adverts – I say bring it on. 

For I am a determined girl with an ambitious plan.
Watch out world.  

Twitter Grammar

So I’ve returned to Nottingham for a few days which has proven to be quite a nice change of scenery, despite the rain that has just attacked the world outside. So, sitting in my room with the rain hammering against the window I have decided to update you lovely readers with the amusing evening I had last night. It came in the style of a Twitter feud…

Remember when you were at school and your teacher used to correct spelling or grammar mistakes with the boldest red biro she could possibly find, scrawling over your work for everyone to see and placing a big red circle around any missed apostrophes and capital letters?

Well, the comment and reply features on social media have, for me, turned into something pretty similar to this. I’ll admit that when I first started texting and using the website Bebo before Facebook became popular, I ashamedly wrote in text-speak. That illiterate and indecipherable-to-adults language all teenagers at some point in their lives rejoice in using, spammed up my profile, my emails, my texts…everything except my everyday speech and thankfully, my academic work. Then you seem to hit a wall. You realise you actually have a Querty keyboard with all the letters readily available to you…you don’t need to shorten words when you can type just as quickly the full morpheme as you can the abbreviation. Text-speak died when that realisation struck. That and the one that made me think I just looked like an idiot typing ‘C U l8r bbz, luv ya’. Really?!

So, when I began writing properly again on Facebook and joined Twitter, I thought that any little grammar slip would easily go unnoticed because at least I wasn’t writing like a complete pleb anymore.

Oh how wrong could I be…

As an English student it seems that my friends delight in pointing out when something I’ve written in a hurry on my phone and speedily uploaded without proof-reading is wrong. When I’ve missed an apostrophe because I’ve been too tired to notice, or when, in my eagerness to upload my message I put two dots in the aposiopesis instead of three…

Last night was such an example. Laughing at my childish excitement at the return of The Great British Bake Off, I was called ‘cute’ and quickly made into a tweet… a tweet which I for once, could say was grammatically incorrect as my friend wrote ‘exited’ instead of ‘excited’. To my shame though, she was quicker to notice and promptly deleted her faulty tweet making my sly dig look rather stupid. But she still retaliated. And before I knew it we were firing amusing tweets at each other about grammar errors, which ironically led to more being made. In between our fits of laughter as we thought up the most annoying comebacks, I thought I’d be clever and explain that as Twitter was social media, my lack of compliance with standard grammar and punctuation rules was acceptable as it created a more casual, informal atmosphere with the friend I was speaking to.

‘I sEE wot u meen! Good point!’ she quipped.  Text speak was back.

And so continued an evening of petty remarks amidst more laughter as we set about publicly shaming each other on our Twitter profiles. Thank God we found it funny, because the amount of people who normally delight in picking up on my grammar mistakes is ridiculous to the point of annoying. Am I not allowed to slip up occasionally?!

I suppose not. Twitter is a grown-up’s version of social media. You have 140 characters in which you have to be as witty and amusing as you possibly can…it’s no child’s play. They’ll be no Bebo gifts to send to your friends here.

I should have learnt my lesson . An aspiring journalist can afford no personal slip-ups when it comes to their own writing – especially when it gets published worldwide. Back to proof-reading everything I go.

But despite all that, it’s still tempting to create one tweet in the style of the good ol’ days…

TxtSpk FTW ! Lol. 

Ralph Meets Rust

Meet Ralph, my nice little red Ford Ka. 

Around this time of year I get, what I have less than affectionately termed, my ‘motor month’. Around now, everything from car insurance to the M.O.T expires. Taking a deep breath and a noticeable chunk out of my bank account, I keep my fingers crossed that nothing goes wrong. Ignoring jibes from male friends that this is such a girl’s car, and dismissing suggestions that I look for a newer vehicle or try to sell Ralph, I still vainly hope that all goes well so I can keep him for yet another year.

I have a history with Ralph you see. He’s ferried me to and from both college and work, as well as making it easier for me to get to my Dad’s house not to mention all my friends, who cleverly decided to live at least twenty minutes away.  He’s pretty much what you’d call a run-around car, which means he doesn’t have many miles on the clock, but nevertheless I still insist that Ralph is much needed and - strangely for an inanimate object - much loved.

So this week, I optimistically drove him to the garage for his yearly M.O.T, fully believing that all would be well. I waved away any doubts and fears that were expressed over his brakes, his clutch, his windscreen wipers and any kind of obscure mechanical fault that I wouldn’t fully understand. “He’ll pass” I insisted, giving him a confident pat before I zoomed off.

He failed. Ralph had rust.

Disappointed, we forked out just over £100 to cover the test and the welding Ralph ended up needing, whilst I silently cursed myself for being so confident and jinxing his fate. He’s back now, parked for the time being in the lay-by outside where I can see him. But I just can’t get something out of my head.

When I told a friend about my car’s failure, he grinned at me and slyly asked, “You know what they call rust for cars, don’t you?”
I shook my head.

“Cancer.”

I blinked. I laughed it off. But I faintly remember hearing this before…

So that’s it. Despite being reassured that he won’t need any more attention for at least 18months regarding his rusty underside, I can’t help feeling that I’m dealing with a case of impending car cancer.

Poor Ralph.
(...I wonder how much a Fiesta would cost...)

Money in the Boot

Car boot sales: a land of cowboy-hat wearing, banter loving traders of junk right? Wrong. 

This summer, cleverly missing all the seasonal job vacancies after my internship, I returned home, opened my wardrobe and decided I would make my millions like Del Boy; selling my childhood miscellany. I decided, sentimentally, that I couldn’t quite bring myself to part with my box of Barbie’s just yet, so I packed up the rest of my unwanted belongings and packed them snugly into Ralph, my little red Ka.

Yes I had to rise at an abominably early hour on the day, driving bleary eyed to the market. 

Okay I also had to sit in a queue for over an hour because, even at 6AM, it seems to be a universally known fact that no matter how early you arrive at a boot sale, there will always be a queue of cars waiting before you.

Nonetheless, I managed to grab a pretty decent spot next to a man who seemed to trade in hardware tools attending an impressive 3-4 markets a week! I’d like to think we became friends after he offered me some of the raspberries he’d just bought… Later a lady from the stall opposite rushed over, buying a pair of sunglasses from my display. She was so immensely grateful that I had these –on a hot day she’d tragically left hers at home. As I explained to my pitch neighbours that this was my money making scheme for the summer, they quipped that they expected to see me the following week. It seems my dear readers, that I have been welcomed into this dusty community… Trotter’s Independent Traders watch out!

Asides from breaking into this exclusive circle, I spied some other interesting characters. An elderly man wandered past my pitch with multi-coloured hair – I’m not even joking. If anyone does a remake of that McFly song about the girl with 5 colours in her hair, they should look to this guy for inspiration. Old and rocking it…

Or there was the little old lady who stopped by my table to rummage through her handbag looking for a small packet of Extra mints…once she finally found them, she kindly offered me one. Okay so she didn’t buy anything from me, but that’s rather sweet right? Or there was the kid, early teens, who flicked through every game I had repeating “got it…got it…got it”. Needless to say he didn’t find any he didn’t already own.

But some odd personalities did actually buy something. There was the father who bought his little girl a soft toy; a cuddly dog. This was her second choice though. She had originally reached for the fluffy purple unicorn provoking her Dad to say, “That’s a Unicorn – they’re not real.” Her face crumpled; I’m pretty sure her childhood dreams were crushed that day. She settled for the dog.

So asides from the people-watching that would make the likes of J.K.Rowling proud, did I actually make a cash profit, making the early morning worth it? Did I heck. £60 later and I found myself gleefully jingling my money bag home thinking to myself…I wonder how much I could get for those Barbies… 

An Ice-Rink, A Swimming Pool and Africa.

Although the title might suggest otherwise, I haven’t actually spent the last week travelling across the sahara on skates before jumping into the red sea. But I have been busy.

~ "Get your skates on..." ~
I conquered my fear and went ice-skating. Let me explain.
When I was about 12, I went ice-skating. I'd been before but I had never fallen over so I began confidently venturing nearer the middle of the rink. Then?
BAM!
A bulky ice hockey guy collided into me and i was knocked off my feet. Not in a romantic way either. I awkwardly got up, laughed nervously and attempted to skate off with a numb bum and a bright red face. I decided to get out of the middle of the rink (AKA the danger zone!) Then?
BAM!
Another guy, this time showing off, knocked me off my feet. I haven't quite mastered falling over gracefully, so I clumsily landed on my wrist....which fractured. (On the plus side, I got some pretty funky colours on that plaster cast...)

Since that, I’ve only been skating twice. Once was a fleeting experience with school - when I realised that my partner felt more fragile than me I decided this probably weren’t going to help my confidence levels much. The second time was somewhat better but I’m slightly hazy on the whole experience because it was back in high school and that seems like so long ago! Unless pure fear just blanked the memory out...

But last weekend I went ice-skating and I loved it. Genuinely. Even better? I’m still in one piece and avoided spending an afternoon in A&E! Happy face! :-) Perhaps it’s because this time I went with an ice hockey player rather than colliding with them. Yes I had a few wobbles, but I did it and it was fun! Maybe I will go again... or maybe that will be tempting fate..?


~ "No bombing..." ~ Either side of this skating adventure, I went swimming. My aim was to do this in replacement of the gym - gentle exercise considering I was ill last week and my stomach was angry. However, I have slowly become something of a fitness fanatic and I don’t think I can still term my swimming sessions as gentle, relaxing exercise. 40 lengths per swim resulted in some aching legs and a much needed rest-day - this gives me all the evidence I need for that statement. But what’s a bit of aching in the grand scheme of toning hey? No pain, no gain y’know...



~ "The pen is mightier..." ~

I have had an explosion of writing.
Someone told me once that if I wanted to get on in journalism I should use my student years to write for free, getting my name everywhere and anywhere. So, I’ve submitted another Huffington Post blog, finished my columnist application and managed to nab a news article for The National Student by responding to an email from the editor.  
Ok, I’ll admit, I didn’t know that much about Sudan when I replied. In fact, \all I really knew was that there was a humanitarian crisis in Darfur, courtesy of a volunteering stint at Oxfam. Now?
Now I know all there is to know about it. I know why the civil wars started, when South Sudan became independent, why so many refugees have fled and from where, and, crucially, who the president is. It looks like not only did i manage to grab another article to write which is now online (http://www.thenationalstudent.com/News/2012-07-18/the_situation_in_sudan.html) , but I also managed to get up to date with current affairs. Sometimes, I impress myself.



Now, I must love you and leave you as I'm staying up to do some more writing. I popped off to watch a play this evening, being the cultural critter that I am, and I have a very important review to write.
Watch this space.

Reflections From A Blogging Intern...

I know I've been a bit quiet on here recently, but I do have some excuses...

I got my results and, in high spirits, I scuppered off home for a week of R&R back home on the south coast; spending days with my Mum and our teddy-bear-like dog Bailey.
Except he'd had a haircut and looked more like a goat this time...

At the start of July, I returned to Nottingham and spent a lovely weekend with my Dad and his girlfriend. We checked in at a hotel in Eastwood & oh did I make full use of the leisure facilities! Think a gym, swimming pool, steam room, sauna...jealous yet?

Finally on Monday 3rd, I started my blogging internship at Skeleton Productions; a video production company in Nottingham. My main task was to contribute copy for their blog at Video Worth Sharing. But occasionally I managed to get some content on their official Skeleton Productions Website. Every blog had to be focused on video, acting as a marketing tool for the company.

It definitely opened up my eyes as to how writing can benefit businesses. I learnt about RSS feeds, how best to research content and I'm pretty sure I have now mastered GoogleDocs!

Now for the drama. My two weeks were rudely interrupted when, at the start of my second week, illness struck. I tried to plough on through but ended up going home early for two days before I agreed that a day off was needed. But fear not dear readers! I returned to full health for the remainder of my internship and I've travelled far down that road to recovery.

So my summary of the last two weeks? 

It's been incredibly beneficial. Skeleton Productions appear top on Google Search Results and I've gone and got my name all over their blog pages! I've done a bit of networking, gained some good contacts, learnt a lot and hopefully, after some team participation in a bar quiz, an office move and an office party, managed to gain some friends for life.

So what now?

My latest challenge is to apply for a columnist position at my University magazine...I won't say too much - I'm keeping my ideas tip-top-secret until I've applied...

But something has occured to me over the past few weeks. If I don't go into journalism, marketing most certainly is an option now. But being a columnist is still my dream.

However, I've always said I wanted to write something meaningful - something with a purpose. But doesn't all writing have a purpose? Isn't writing that makes you smile just as important as writing that informs you? Just because a piece is light-hearted doesn't make it irrelevant.
Sometimes people just want a break. 
A bit of a laugh. 
So why shouldn't I just try to focus on writing that shares the smiles?

Watch This Space. 

There's more to Cadbury's than chocolate...

I'm going to warn you in advance that if you currently don't have a cup of tea and a slab of Cadbury chocolate in your hand, at the end of this post you might well want one...

...because I'm going to write all about Cadbury World! 

Oh yes. I visited my best friend Hannah in Birmingham last weekend; we had a girly reunion with another friend, Clare from back home, mainly because our summers are all over the place and we'd started having break downs over how long we potentially wouldn't see each other for...

Anyway, on the last day following the all too quick departure of Clare the night before, Hannah & I decided to explore nearby Bournville & it's main attraction; Cadbury World.

To say we were excited is an understatement. We ended up following a few groups of school children & I'm pretty certain we looked more excited & giggly than they did...

Of course we got freebies, scoured the chocolate shop for some bargains & ate as much chocolate as we physically could...it truly was like something from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. They even had a ride! But, we also learnt something. It seems there's more to Cadbury's than mere chocolate.

The Cadbury story began in 1824 when John Cadbury began selling tea, coffee and drinking chocolate. Gradually over time, he experimented with chocolate manufacture until in the 1840s he managed to open a factory in Bridge Street. The success of his chocolate increased so that it became available to the masses, & in the 1860s when John retired, his sons took over, continuing his business success. With such demand & productivity, they were able to move out of their small factory & set up Bournville; named due to the nearby Bournbrook and replacing 'brook' for the in-trend French word ville. Their business expanded still, and today Cadbury is known by almost everyone whilst Bournville is a beautiful, quaint little village surrounding the chocolate factory.

Ok so that was a history of Cadbury in a nutshell; leaving out how they put a glass & a half of milk in their chocolate, merged with Fry's chocolate company etc... but you get the jist. What was most interesting though was the social consideration the Cadbury family had. Bournville was created to be an aesthetically pleasing, green village so that their workers could live in the houses it offered & enjoy their surroundings. They believed happy workers could be more productive workers. They created the Bournville Village Trust, printed lists about how to live a healthy and happy life, gave their workers benefits & bonuses that were well ahead of their time & ensured every worker was treated fairly; like one of the family. Perhaps it's through maintaining the feel of a family-run business that Cadbury have done so well. Perhaps they really do just seem like a genuine, friendly company. Plus, we found that Bournville really was a lovely little village; we both said we'd love to live there!

Not just taking Cadbury World's word for it, Hannah & I explored the local village & found the Visitor Centre.

Inside is a stone inscription claiming that the building was dedicated to one of the Cadbury sons when he married. It seems that the villagers & workers had a respect for the chocolatiers, which was returned by good working conditions & benefits.

The Village Trust still exists today, but is now just one of the many things Cadbury attempt to do to help their society; think of their recent involvement with Fairtrade...they even have a water project in less developed countries (unfortunately asides from a poster, this wasn't even mentioned during the exhibition...)

So there you have it. Asides from making mouth-watering, delicious, milky chocolate (I don't care what some of you say...it IS the best!) they also have a certain respect for their workers & society...

It's official. Chocolate really is amazing. Now where's my stash of freebies gone... 

http://www.cadburyworld.co.uk/CADBURYWORLD/Pages/Welcome.aspx

A very Royal Morning...

This morning was rather special.

This morning, the Queen came to Nottingham.

Being proud fans of the British monarchy, my housemates & I were in Market Square, forming part of the swarm of people gathered eagerly, awaiting the Queen's arrival. The clouds were looming overhead ominously but even the rain behaved whilst she was here. Flags were waving, cameras were rolling & kids were being held on their parents shoulders excitedly. It's safe to say the atmosphere was...for want of a better word...tingly. There was a buzz among the crowd - even more so after a few false alarms of a royal sighting. People were so keen to get a good view that three people were spotted on the roof of a rather tall building, hoping to get a better view!

Eventually, an hour & a quarter later she arrived, accompanied by Will & Kate. The crowds began manically cheering, flags were waving extremely fast &, all i can say is, thank GOD for the big screen next to the town hall, otherwise we wouldn't have been able to see anything. 


The balcony wave was well worth it though. Unfortunately, from where we were standing, we couldn't quite see Prince William, courtesy of an unfortunately placed pillar. But this was what we could see...

Kate was respectfully singing along to God Save the Queen, as her Majesty herself occasionally waved and smiled to the crowd. What's more, is that she genuinely looked pleased to be there. There was no falseness in her expression whatsoever; perhaps that's why so many people like her. 

After the song, the screen once more became vitally important; this time we caught a glimpse of the trio... (excuse the camera poking up from the bottom!)

And that was it. 

After a few minutes, they turned back around & headed inside the town hall. 

And we left. 

Despite waiting over an hour, & despite the cold, & despite the threatening dark clouds, I still think it was worth going. How many times do you get to see the Queen in one lifetime...& how many times do you get to see not one but three members of the Royal family all at once?

Needless to say, everyone became rather supportive & patriotic this morning but the inevitable debate about the Royals arose as expected. I would like to settle this.

Whilst unlike some (I could mention Sara on Big Brother; ashamedly admitting that I now watch it) I wouldn't burst into tears if someone didn't like the Queen, I do think the Royal family is something we should keep and be proud of. It's a part of our heritage; it's tradition; it's England. Although the attention on more distant family members can seem slightly crazy to me, (it gets to a point where I'm not sure how they're related to her Majesty) I still believe they are a worthy figurehead for our nation. If it's old fashioned then fine, but I'd rather term it tradition!

Plus... just look at her smile - she looks friendly & caring & although I hate to use the adjective; genuine. Let's just face it, the Queen is rather quaint, isn't she? 

My vision for the Eurovision...

It's an exciting time in England at the moment; the Queen's Jubilee, the impending Olympics AND... we didn't come last in Eurovision. That's right folks. We were NOT left with 'nil points'. Mr Humperdink deserves an almighty round of applause.

Or does he?

With some of the world's greatest music acts shouldn't England perform slightly better in what is meant to be a music competition? Shouldn't we put our impressive up-and-coming young talent on the world stage, without the attempts at humour and without the stench of fame's has-beens? Shouldn't we bring the serious chance back to the game?

Sitting listening to my friend detailing to me the highlights of this year's show, I let my mind wander and came up with an ingenious idea (even if I do say so myself!) I suggest a brand new approach to the selection of our Eurovision representatives. Who actually decides who represents us anyway?!

What if the public had more of a say...
What if there was a pre-Eurovision talent competition...

Yes, I know, our TV's are inundated with reality shows; The X Factor, The Voice, Britain's Got Talent...It gets a bit tedious. But this, (like Britain's Got Talent) offers contestants the chance to represent their nation. Who knows what gem we might stumble across...to think we could have had someone like Olly Murs represent us...After all, Ireland had Jedward... (You can't help but feel a slight twang of pity really...)

Or, why not rummage through the talent on offer at our Brit school? If we raised the profile of Eurovision and actually made it something to be proud of, or to even care about, getting the English nation involved in picking an act then who knows...we could actually look at our singer in Eurovision without a sense of embarrassment...one day we might actually stand a chance of winning!

Until then, I suppose we can stretch out the pride we felt in Buck's Fizz for a few years longer...

Carpe Diem...

I’m so EXCITED!

I feel like filling this page with lots of nonsensical words that will amuse and annoy people, frustrating anyone trying to pronounce them and possibly giving others who have never read this before the image of myself as a complete and utter idiot. Instead, I’m going to fill a line like this:

Auhgpuawnhwvuyhguidmvhtrgpv urehtvhweikjvgt egruivfjh4uteos;idlkjhrgiwo 4wyurpughifujk !!!

Yes I realise they’re technically not words as I accidentally pressed some number and punctuation keys but it conveyed my excitement well did it not?!

I’ll explain why I’m so (for want of a better word) ‘buzzy’…

As you may have noticed, or guessed, my last blog was written in a slightly lower mood…maybe a new label needs to be invented like ‘pre-term blues’ or something…

But nonetheless, today everything seemed to brighten! The writing workshop I so briefly mentioned before emailed me: I have a confirmed place and the first workshop is next week! It’s titled ‘Writing Reviews for Publication’ and runs for 5 weeks at a professional studio in the city.
A studio, may I add, that is extremely difficult for two exploring students to find in the pouring rain…perhaps made harder because they overlooked the building name and focused instead on the number. Maybe I won’t be doing that again – I think my shoes are still drying out…

Anyway, this lovely-jubbly workshop will focus on theatre, book, film and product reviews with tips on approaching publishers and become a professional (!). Hopefully I’ll gain some useful skills, maybe possibly some contacts whilst giving me some good old fashioned writing experience.

Why reviews I hear you ask? Well, with the help of some lovely friends of mine, I’ve noticed that newspaper journalism, which I’ve been focusing on so strongly, doesn’t allow for much creative expression nor for an individual writing style to develop, both of which I enjoy experimenting with in my blogs… so perhaps the newspaper format isn’t quite for me. I also sometimes can be quite sporadic with my ‘news-curiosity’…some days I know EVERY headline, some days I don’t have the foggiest clue about who’s at war with whom…

Which led me to consider magazine journalism and, after various suggestions from friends and parents, I’m considering swaying towards those culture magazines that you sometimes get in the Sunday papers. (As a starting point) I’ve done reviews in the past for Impact at my university so why not start there? (Before slowly but surely progressing to a columnist position... *wishes*)  I’m aiming to review some plays over summer and try to get them printed by a local paper or something…

So, there you go – that’s the first exciting thing! Now for the next, which I am STILL beaming about! J

I, on a spare of the moment thing, applied for the (paid) job of campus tour video presenter for the University of Nottingham. This basically means presenting a video for prospective students highlighting our campus and why Uni. is JUST SO GOOD! To be perfectly honest, I thought nothing would come of it and actually forgot about it, until the email came through yesterday. I seriously thought about bailing. And then I had a rethink.

Today I had the actual casting session!! Yes yes, ‘casting’…

*pause for effect*

 I had to learn a short script and present it in front of a camera and three other official people – members of the project and marketing team I think. (In the excitement I think I’ve forgotten their names…) Anyway, after that I had to walk slowly across the room whilst being filmed explaining, off the top of my head and totally unprepared, why I’d recommend my university and explain a bit about my experience.

Well, I started with the English committee and being part of the netball team before I had a little brainwave. I mentioned writing reviews for Impact magazine, creating my own blog and managing to write for The Huffington Post. I finished in style with a cliché about University allowing you to chase your dreams and do what you’ve always wanted to do.

They seemed to like this. Mr Camera-guy smiled at me and said, and I quote, ‘That was brilliant’, whilst the boss of the ‘film-crew’ and part of the marketing team smiled and nodded to the lady sat next to him. Mr boss-man then questioned me a little about my blogs, especially Huffington Post and before I knew it he asked; "So, are you looking for writing opportunities?"

A little stunned I nodded eagerly.

"Great. Expect a separate email from me soon then."

I’m sorry, what? Run that by me again, I thought. Was this a writing opportunity landing at my feet? Could it be….?!

I thanked them all for their time and left the room feeling the happiest I’ve felt for ages. I got escorted downstairs by the nice young man who initially escorted me upstairs, and he asked me how it went. I genuinely got good vibes, I told him. I also thought to myself, and am still thinking now, how impressed I am that I didn’t clam up in front of the camera – I managed to actually look straight at it - I didn’t feel my heart getting overworked and beating a million times a minute AND I didn’t feel my face burning up. All in all, I’d say that’s pretty good right?!

I then decided to tell him about the writing thing. He looked at me, and it was as if something seemed to dawn on him. "Of course!" he said. Turns out, the marketing department, for whom he and Mr boss-man work for, are looking for a writer (originally full time but they realised students hadn’t finished yet) to work for them. It’s a paid position. A PAID WRITING POSITION.

OK, so I’m not sure the finite details; I don’t know what I’d be writing and I could very well be forgotten about by Mr boss-man. *sob! L *

But I really really hope he doesn’t forget.

I left with a wave from the nice young man as he called, "who knows you might end up with a nice little writing number, that is, if you don’t get the presenting job and end up getting scouted from YouTube!"

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Just IMAGINE!

So yes, my lovely readers. Not only could I gain a nice little writing job (pray for me that he emails), but I could be presenting a video for bright-eyed young potential Freshers. Maybe presenting is the way to go…

                                                                                ***

P.S – Did I also mention I got voted in on the Yoga Committee at University? I am now the new Communications officer and their website, email account, Twitter and Facebook account is MINE.

Oh, it’s been a good day… 

Just a little scribble...

So I’m back in Nottingham! My Mum and brother have just left after spending a few days in my ‘student digs’ as she called it, enjoying the shops and sights of the city. Back alone again in my student house. Me, myself and I.  (OK, that’s a lie… another housemate is actually here too so I’m not crying into my pillow out of loneliness just yet…)

It’s been an emotional few days though, and I can’t really place why. The most obvious reasons spring to mind; leaving home again, not seeing family for over a month whilst facing a promising and exciting term of essays and exams…

But I suspect there’s more than that. I feel like a little scribble on here will clear things up a bit and as two things keep popping into my head lately I’m going to subject you to reading about them:

1) Writing
This is, as you all know, what I want to do with my life. This is also what I am (apparently) rather good at. However this is also rather hard to earn a living from and with time moving fast and more experience needed, I’m getting increasingly worried about how I’ll break into the writing scene and actually manage to make some money from it… I know people who, this time last year, spent their summer between second and final year at University undertaking numerous work experience placements and internships, making contacts and lining up that perfect job. I am currently awaiting a response from one place I have applied, trying to think of another article to write and frantically skimming through contact pages for every newspaper and magazine I can think of. My thoughts flit between journalism, review writing, and fictional writing; each equally as hard to break into!

Yet, all is not lost. A faint glimmer of hope appeared when I stumbled across a writing workshop in Nottingham in the next few weeks… I’m going to apply for said workshop and see where it takes me. It focuses on reviews like book, theatre and travel…which could be ideal and leads me onto the next occupying thought in my mind…

2) Kenya.

I don’t think I’ve written about this yet, which is actually quite surprising. If you ask any of my friends I’ll have mentioned Kenya to them at least 5 times. In the summer of 2010, I spent a month on expedition in Nanyuki in Kenya, helping out at an orphanage in Timau, meeting the Masai tribe, going on safari and climbing Mount Kenya. (Yes…I CLIMBED A MOUNTAIN!!!)

I came back with what felt like a brand new focus. Things that worried me before suddenly felt petty compared to the worries of the people I met. I stopped caring as much about material possessions and unwittingly caught the travelling bug, catching myself occasionally staring longingly at my huge rucksack and walking boots. Yet it was lovely to come back home, and when I first sank into our sofa with a nice cup of traditional English tea, it felt like perfection.

 To be honest, I felt like I came back refreshed with my eyes that little bit more open and clear, ready to take on anything (I mean, I climbed a mountain!!). I had a clear view on what really mattered to me; the people in Africa were inspirational in the way that, they might not have had much, but they still had an unbelievable spirit and an ability to laugh and smile so much that it became contagious! I’m proud to be able to say that I’m still in contact with the orphanage and frequently send letters and gifts over. They reply in emails, calling me ‘sister’ and hoping that I’ll return soon. One reply even said they’d love it if I came back and lived there! They might think twice if they had me there all the time… ! 

I also still talk to some of the guides that took care of us around Kenya, who asks how things are in England and also occasionally drops in a question as to when I’ll be back…

I know it’s a cliché, but Africa really gets under your skin.  At first, travelling from Nairobi into the country, we were a bit unsure, thinking we were facing a bleak and dusty landscape. But the wildlife, the scenery, the people….they all just get to you. We were practically in the middle of nowhere and looking back, that probably was what made it so appealing. At night, sitting around a campfire, we’d look up and see stars flecked in the night sky – so clear and only the sounds of the bush to disturb our thoughts.

 When people say they want to go travelling, of course all the big cities and sights spring to mind; New York, Rome, Paris… but there’s also a craving for a bit of adventure. A bit of wilderness. A bit of road that no one’s been down yet… But this road less travelled is somewhat costly.  When I went to Kenya it took a year and a half and one extra job to fundraise £3,500 for the trip… and that’s not including the equipment.

Yet I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m itching to go back and I’m envious of the girl who went there two years ago. Sometimes, amidst all the stresses of life and the to-ing and fro-ing between university and home, I feel like I’ve dimmed a little. You get used to moving between places and try to make the days count in each place, but sometimes it’s not quite enough and sometimes amongst all the humdrum of daily life, you forget what’s really important and who really counts to you. This, I think, is the bottom line of my emotional moments when my Mum left. I’m normally ok, ‘take it all in my stride’ as she says. But sometimes, it all just piles up and that little unexplored place inside your mind; that little bit of wilderness that beckons to you just needs a little visit. You need a little break.

And I need some chocolate… 

Artificial Futures

So, I’ve just embarked on my usual morning peruse of the BBC News headlines. I skimmed over the best April Fools pranks, news of the economy recovering (sure we’ve heard that already) and pictures of snow in Scotland (sure we’ve seen that already) to stumble across a story that could have been out of a sci-fi story. It was titled ‘Man VS Machine’.

Now I can reassure you that this was not a story similar to the plots of The Terminator or I, Robot but it certainly reminded me of them. I scrolled down to the link and two eyes stared back at me; one human, one robotic. I clicked.

What loaded was an article about the scientific progression in developing artificial intelligence. This is basically the theory and development of computer systems to perform tasks that would usually require human intelligence, like visual perception.

The first thing on this article was a video, so I clicked play and allowed myself to be impressed. The video showed a reporter meeting Professor Owen Holland from the University of Sussex, and the world’s first anthropomimetic robot. (Don’t worry, I didn’t know what that meant either…)

For all the non-scientists reading this, anthropomimetic means simply that this robot mimics the human body. Professor Owen Holland believes that without a body, artificial intelligence cannot exist because the human form helps shape the way the brain works.

The reporter, somewhat apprehensive looking, attempted to squeeze and shake hands with this robot…which squeezed and shook hands back. Yes. The robot responded to the human contact. Ok, it only mimicked it, but it’s a massive progression from things like Poo-chi or Furby that responded to human words because it had been programmed to. (I remember getting annoyed that my robotic dog could only bark so many songs…) 

Is this an impressive development?

Well, yes. But it’s not the only impressive robot we’ve seen….remember the Honda robot? I’m sure you know what I’m talking about; that little thing must be famous now. Well in 2008, I went to the British Motor Show with my Dad and brother and remember this little robot walking on stage at the end of a stunt show. It walked on and shook hands with the guy with the microphone. And unless I’m very much mistaken, it did a little dance before walking off.

Is that not amazing?!

So…if science progresses at the current rate and the world doesn’t end this year, will the future see robots being a commonality amongst our society? Will we have personal robots, one for each household? Admit it…having your own personal robot would shift that ironing pile a hell of a lot quicker! 

Maybe I’ll have my own robot and call it Sonny…

What’s that you say? Beware of what you wish for?

Quite right too. As much as I admired Will Smith in I, Robot I don’t know how well I’d cope if robots turned around on the human race. And if every household had a personal robot that could do everything humans can do, what would be the point in us? Except for producing more robots? We’d be robot-producing humans churning this technology out like cogs in a factory...we’d be like robots.

Yes, I’m getting very H.G.Wells here, predicting a devastating future of technology…but is there not an old saying, something like ‘curiosity killed the cat’?

Of course, we have more intelligence (supposedly) than our feline friends to be able to better handle our curiosity, but I’m just saying…what if our future became artificial?

Real progress...

I have a rather important announcement just to make …

I’M WRITING FOR THE HUFFINGTON POST!!

(I think you’ll agree that this is news that is worthy of the capitals and the two exclamation marks…)

This is a MAJOR step forward. The Huffington Post is a very well-known news site in America, and they’ve started a website in England to try and mimic the same success. In the journo-world, to be able to say you write for this site is a pretty good thing. It’s voluntary blogging much like this (although I’ll try and make it a bit more serious each time!) which is ideal experience for my columnist career dreams.  

Yet when I excitedly blurted the news out to my friends, I was (9 out of 10 times) answered with ‘The WHAT post?!’ So, it seems that whilst I’ve made one little toddler step towards writing professionally with a big, renowned site to my mind & those in the writing profession, to the rest of the world (i.e. my lovely friends) it’s still a bit of an unknown…

But you just wait, The Huffington Post & I will rise to the forefront of your minds until every time you hear that name, your eyes will light up & your minds will frantically race to conjure up the latest exciting story you read on there the night before.

We WILL succeed.

(I’d better hope so, because if I don’t know I’ll look incredibly stupid after that determined almost heroic-like statement…)

[http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/stephanie-allen}