I'm using this as a half an hour essay procrastination, please don't judge me.
Until about 2 months ago I didn't really who Zoella was, I'd heard her name and knew that she was on YouTube, but that was about it. That is, until I paid a visit to LUSH in Norwich.
It's quite a small store, and it was so packed that there was barely room to move, but I'd promised myself a bath on my weekend trip home, so I persevered. I asked the woman at the till 'Wow. Is this your Christmas rush already?', to which she replied, 'No. Zoella posted a LUSH Haul video a couple of days ago, our sales have doubled over the past 24 hours'.
What?
That was the first time I really realised the 'Zoella effect'.
If you didn't already know, her book released less than a fortnight ago has already broken the annual hardback sales record and has become the fastest selling debut ever. Once again, a celebrity book is at the top of the charts for Christmas.
As with most celebrity publications, unsurprisingly it has come to light that this novel was in fact ghost written, and as happens with everything nowadays, Twitter has gone mental.
Being a Lit student, there is a certain level of heartache that comes with a bestselling novel turning out to be ghost written. I want to write, not necessarily fiction, but I want to make my money by people reading what I have to say. Now, I'm never going to be famous. The same is true for most writers/journalists/authors and creative types in all of their forms. Whenever I get published, it will have been through solid hard work and chances are I'll be paid a tuppence and by the next day it will be used to wrap people's chips. It's just something that you have to accept. But Zoe Sugg or Zoella or whatever you want to call her has got all of this, the recognition that writers work years for, seemingly in seconds. I'm not saying that she's not a worker, her blog has been around for years and I'm sure she works very hard on her YouTube channel, but where's the recognition for the person that actually wrote it? As an aspiring writer there's a certain pain in knowing that celebrity can catapult you to the top of the charts literally in hours, whereas the decades of work go unrecognised. Maybe a little more recognition, or a co-writing credit would have lessened the recent media storm and lessened the resentment a little. I don't know, maybe.
Having said that, well done to you girl. Well done to having a book published by the age of 24 and well done to you for getting teenage girls interested in reading again.
What's happened in the past couple of days surrounding this 'scandal' as it has been labelled. (Really? A scandal? Are you really surprised that a celebrity didn't write their own book?) has really shocked me; and in some ways dissuaded me from journalistic writing. This young woman has quite literally been bullied off the internet. She's left, and probably for the first time in her 'career' has signed off.
Why? Why must the media hate successful people so much?
God forbid, god forbid the Daily Mail, or the Telegraph, or the Independent or anybody like that should be praising of a young, successful person who has got there of their own accord, and found their own unique way of making money in times when 'real' jobs are few and far between. God forbid that somebody should be able to be successful and influential without having been handed the 'Silver Spoon'.
I probably won't read her book, and I certainly will never be an internet fangirl, but give this woman her respect where it is due. The media have turned on their own and are eating her alive. No one deserves to be bullied in their line of work, especially by the people who are supposed to understand the most. I'm not sure if I ever want to be part of an industry that doesn't look after its own.
Tuesday, 9 December 2014
Monday, 24 November 2014
Why I'm not ashamed to be a 'Polesworth Kid'.
Heading back down to Earth for a bit with this post. Away from all the shiny, glittery bits of university and back to my hometown:
I had a pretty good childhood and my hometown had quite a lot to do with that; I went to a good school, I got good grades, I was never really in any danger and the vast expanse of countryside in one direction and Birmingham city centre just 15 miles in the other direction meant that gigs on one hand or places to just run and get lost for a while on the other were never far away.
My hometown is not very big, some people even still call it a village; it's overshadowed by it's much larger neighbour and nothing ever happens. It is possibly and probably the most insignificant, uninteresting and uninspiring place in the whole of Great Britain.
I consider myself a 'kid' of my hometown, until I moved this September I had never lived anywhere else in my whole 18 years. I am a 'Polesworth Kid' through and through.
This seems to have turned into a bit of a bad title over these past few weeks. Parents don't want their kids to be 'Polesworth Kids' anymore.
Polesworth Kids fight and swear.
Polesworth Kids get into trouble with the police.
Polesworth Kids are dangerous.
It is easy to see why people may draw these conclusions, a fight involving 100 teenagers, 7 arrests, multiple police cars and several weapons certainly does give a place a shining reputation.
But people need to start looking further than the end of their noses when it comes to forming their opinions on young people; not just the young people of Polesworth, but the young people of 21st Century Britain.
In no way, shape, or form would I ever advocate violence, I'm a pacifist through and through but how can you not expect kids of 2014 to be angry and frustrated. It almost seems that everybody wants us to fail and be unsuccessful in whatever life throws at us. Anger is now a given in youth society, which means that any problem, be it over a job, a friendship or anything in between van get completely blown out of proportion.
The vast majority of kids involved in this mass brawl were between the ages of 14 and 16. They were of school age, most of them dong their GCSEs.
We go to school. We go to school to sit exams. We go to school to have immense pressure placed upon us to succeed and pass as many exams as our tiny, tired brains can take. Yet now we go to school to sit exams with results not based on our merit and achievement, but instead based upon the whims of exam boards and government heads of education. Oh? You do history? The Education Secretary doesn't like history this week so you won't get any more than a C in that exam. What's the point trying to do well in that exam anyway? The grades are fixed so going to university is seemingly impossible and even if you do pass then there isn't a job waiting for you at the other end because there aren't any jobs left.
There is an immense amount of pressure upon young people to do well in school, to get a job or to go to university, tasks which understandably seem insurmountable as well as trying to earn a disposable income and maintain social relationships.
As I've tried to make clear, in now way am I excusing of violence, I am simply trying to offer a potential explanation as to its cause. However, the reaction of local people to this incident, in my view was absolutely abhorrent and a thousand times worse than any punches thrown by a fifteen year old.
There is a certain community Facebook group within my hometown, one which is normally filled with photos of missing pets, invites to village fetes and just general village gossip. However, in regard to this particular incident the reactions of the members of this group were absolutely disgusting. As I've said, in no way, shape or form am I a supporter of violence, but surely adults; grown, responsible citizens of society should be able to step back and suggest some alternative solution to the problem of youth violence other than community service and the death penalty, surely there should be some sort of analytical process implemented here? People aren't just angry for no reason whatsoever, and by criticising and widening the gap between 'us' and 'them' surely the problem can only be made worse? The more tensions there are and the more that young people feel isolated by their elders in society then displays of violence and revolution against the 'system', the 'system' controlled by adults, adults who seem to criticise their every action and jeopardise their future, become increasingly likely.
Don't get me wrong, if you're violent then you should be punished, and I would never be one to criticise an arrest, but surely part of the rehabilitation process should be trying to find out why the crime took place and trying to prevent similar events in the future?
I grew up in a suburb. There are hundreds, if not thousands of places similar to Polesworth across Britain. This fight in my hometown has been blamed upon an argument between friends and cross-town rivalries, but it could have been anything. It could have been a fight over a girl, a fight over lunch money, a fight over who got the last seat on the bus.
People need to start looking at teenagers not as the enemy, but as a miniature version of themselves; capable of being questioned and the vast majority of us as deserving of a certain level of respect.
I am in no way ashamed to be a Polesworth Kid. Yes, there are probably places in which it is a little more pleasant to grow up, but there is nothing wrong with the place and it is certainly not the breeding ground of violent, ASBO branded, yobs that some people would like you to believe it to be at the minute.
My hometown is not very big, some people even still call it a village; it's overshadowed by it's much larger neighbour and nothing ever happens. It is possibly and probably the most insignificant, uninteresting and uninspiring place in the whole of Great Britain.
I consider myself a 'kid' of my hometown, until I moved this September I had never lived anywhere else in my whole 18 years. I am a 'Polesworth Kid' through and through.
This seems to have turned into a bit of a bad title over these past few weeks. Parents don't want their kids to be 'Polesworth Kids' anymore.
Polesworth Kids fight and swear.
Polesworth Kids get into trouble with the police.
Polesworth Kids are dangerous.
It is easy to see why people may draw these conclusions, a fight involving 100 teenagers, 7 arrests, multiple police cars and several weapons certainly does give a place a shining reputation.
But people need to start looking further than the end of their noses when it comes to forming their opinions on young people; not just the young people of Polesworth, but the young people of 21st Century Britain.
In no way, shape, or form would I ever advocate violence, I'm a pacifist through and through but how can you not expect kids of 2014 to be angry and frustrated. It almost seems that everybody wants us to fail and be unsuccessful in whatever life throws at us. Anger is now a given in youth society, which means that any problem, be it over a job, a friendship or anything in between van get completely blown out of proportion.
The vast majority of kids involved in this mass brawl were between the ages of 14 and 16. They were of school age, most of them dong their GCSEs.
We go to school. We go to school to sit exams. We go to school to have immense pressure placed upon us to succeed and pass as many exams as our tiny, tired brains can take. Yet now we go to school to sit exams with results not based on our merit and achievement, but instead based upon the whims of exam boards and government heads of education. Oh? You do history? The Education Secretary doesn't like history this week so you won't get any more than a C in that exam. What's the point trying to do well in that exam anyway? The grades are fixed so going to university is seemingly impossible and even if you do pass then there isn't a job waiting for you at the other end because there aren't any jobs left.
There is an immense amount of pressure upon young people to do well in school, to get a job or to go to university, tasks which understandably seem insurmountable as well as trying to earn a disposable income and maintain social relationships.
As I've tried to make clear, in now way am I excusing of violence, I am simply trying to offer a potential explanation as to its cause. However, the reaction of local people to this incident, in my view was absolutely abhorrent and a thousand times worse than any punches thrown by a fifteen year old.
There is a certain community Facebook group within my hometown, one which is normally filled with photos of missing pets, invites to village fetes and just general village gossip. However, in regard to this particular incident the reactions of the members of this group were absolutely disgusting. As I've said, in no way, shape or form am I a supporter of violence, but surely adults; grown, responsible citizens of society should be able to step back and suggest some alternative solution to the problem of youth violence other than community service and the death penalty, surely there should be some sort of analytical process implemented here? People aren't just angry for no reason whatsoever, and by criticising and widening the gap between 'us' and 'them' surely the problem can only be made worse? The more tensions there are and the more that young people feel isolated by their elders in society then displays of violence and revolution against the 'system', the 'system' controlled by adults, adults who seem to criticise their every action and jeopardise their future, become increasingly likely.
Don't get me wrong, if you're violent then you should be punished, and I would never be one to criticise an arrest, but surely part of the rehabilitation process should be trying to find out why the crime took place and trying to prevent similar events in the future?
I grew up in a suburb. There are hundreds, if not thousands of places similar to Polesworth across Britain. This fight in my hometown has been blamed upon an argument between friends and cross-town rivalries, but it could have been anything. It could have been a fight over a girl, a fight over lunch money, a fight over who got the last seat on the bus.
People need to start looking at teenagers not as the enemy, but as a miniature version of themselves; capable of being questioned and the vast majority of us as deserving of a certain level of respect.
I am in no way ashamed to be a Polesworth Kid. Yes, there are probably places in which it is a little more pleasant to grow up, but there is nothing wrong with the place and it is certainly not the breeding ground of violent, ASBO branded, yobs that some people would like you to believe it to be at the minute.
Thursday, 23 October 2014
A letter to British Sixth Formers
It's that time of year again, the time of year that fills the heart of every Year 13 with dread. Who knew that four little letters could cause so much pain?
UCAS.
If you're currently dealing with personal statements, predicted grades, incessant 'pick me' emails from universities and endless six hour road trips to open days then you truly have my greatest sympathies. Don't worry, it's perfectly acceptable to be drowning your sorrows in Ben and Jerry's or Carling. Or both.
On a daily basis my Twitter feed and Facebook homepage are filled with the complaints, stresses and uncertainties of A Level students; it's quite easy to see why some people are put off the idea of going to university altogether.
I come from a town where going to university isn't necessarily the 'cool' thing to do. The vast majority of older people finished their education at 16 or 18 and walked straight into employment. Certainly not among everybody, but among some people the opinion 'There's no need, you can get a job without it, it's a waste of money' is vocalised fairly loudly. I'm lucky in that my parents have always been 100% supportive but I know that there are plenty of people out there who wouldn't necessarily do the same. Equally, you wouldn't be blamed for thinking that going to university is completely unaffordable; £27,000 plus living expenses is a very daunting number, enough to make grown men run crying to their mummies.
All I say to Sixth Formers is this: please don't say no to university for the wrong reasons.
University isn't for everybody: If you want to work in retail and a management apprenticeship at a major supermarket comes your way then of course, it would be stupid not to take it. If you want to work in theatre and you're offered the opportunity to audition for a West End production then take it. Do what makes you happy. If that presents itself as a job opportunity at 18 years old then grab it with both hands and run with it.
But if you're sat in a Sixth Form or College common room wanting to learn more about your subject, wanting to move to a new city and wanting to meet people who are just as obsessed with volcanoes, or trigonometry, or Shakespeare as you are then apply to university! I can't stress this enough. Don't let money or an unconvinced parent put you off. Even before your 18th birthday you have complete power over your university application and student finance, as awkward as their website is, are more than willing to give money as well as your University Student Services and several charities. There is help available.
I know UCAS is horrible, it is not a pleasant experience. Student Finance isn't exactly a walk in the park either and don't even get me started on A Levels but
in 12 months time you will be convinced, wherever you end up, that your university and city is wonderful, brilliant, fantastic and a hundred times better than anybody else's university ever. End of story. This is exactly what happened to me and I will now proceed to tell you why UEA is wonderful, brilliant, fantastic and a hundred times better than anybody else's university ever:
1) UEA Bunnies: Campus wildlife is kind of a given when you look at how much green space there is on campus. Every night there are hundreds of bunnies running around some of whom will come up and sit right next to the steps to your flat! Apparently if you catch one and take it to the SU Bar you get free drinks for life. (Not too sure on that one myself; I think you're more likely to get wee'd on and not a nice visit from campus security)
2) Last week my lecture on the Black Death was given in Middle English by a puppet rat. Best lesson that I've ever had.
3) Pimp my Barrow: An event held every June. Get a group of people together. Get a wheelbarrow. Dress the wheelbarrow and team members in accordance with your chosen theme. Sit in the wheelbarrow with a bucket. Wheel yourself around Norwich trying to collect as much money for charity as possible in said bucket. Finish by going to the pub.
4) Hot Chip: Best chips I've ever tasted. The chips and gravy are to die for and only £2 a pop.
5) The lake is probably the most overly Instgram-ed place in existence; a crime of which I am guilty. But come on! A lake! On campus! A lake! On an inner city campus! (Insert cliche lake picture here)
6) Last but not least, my love letter to the LCR. Nick Rayns LCR, University of East Anglia, Norwich. It was a cold day in September when you first welcomed me with open arms. With your £1.65 drinks and Rudimental's 'Feel the Love' on repeat I always find it difficult to pull myself away from you.(Although that may be because my feet have been stuck to the floor with spilled Stella and sweat) I love you LCR. I love your fancy dress Tuesdays. I love your comfy sofas outside when your shoes are starting to hurt. I love your cheap drinks. I love your gigs.
I love your student rate gig tickets! LCR, if you were a human, I'd marry you.
Thursday, 2 October 2014
'I LEFT ALL OF YOU ANNOYING, SLOW PEOPLE BEHIND! WHY ARE YOU STILL INCONVENIENCING ME!?': Freshers Surprises
There are certain things that everybody tells you to expect before you go to university. You can't seriously tell me that you're surprised by the 5am fire alarm, there not being enough room in the fridge and the fact that everybody screams 'BIIIIIIRRRRMINGHUMMM' every time that you open your mouth? (That second one may have been slightly more appropriate for those friends from home. WOO! MIDLANDS FOREVER! YEAH!)
Despite the screaming stereotypes surrounding me there have actually been several surprises:
I HAVE VOUCHERS FOR EVERYTHING AND IT IS FANTASTIC! Everybody wants your money. Literally everybody. They don't even want all of your money, they want a small amount of your money and want to give you everything in return for it! Dominos become your best friend, they've already been to the uni twice giving out free pizza and are doing the same again on Saturday. There's buy one get one free on everything, I've got a haircut for a tenner, the shopping centre are having a 40% off night. It's almost like they think that you've come into some money recently..oh, wait a minute...
Everybody does it at least once, just man up and accept the fact that you are going to make a complete and utter gnome-head of yourself. My idiot moment? Hand washing my red velvet shorts and then leaving them to dry in my bathroom for an hour and a half while I went to my lecture. I came back and quite innocently went to go for a wee in my own bathroom. Oh my god. It looked like somebody had been murdered in there. The floor was red. The sink was red. The shower floor was red. The wall underneath the shorts was red. My toilet rolls were red. My pants that I was also hanging out to dry were red. Everything was dyed bright red in a shiny, white bathroom suite.
At the beginning of my second week I was tasked with quite a normal activity: in order to register at the Norwich GP Surgery I had to have the dates of the vaccinations I received as a baby. This should be pretty simple information to retrieve, right? WRONG! I called up my doctor's surgery from home and they were closed for lunch. CLOSED FOR LUNCH! People still get ill over lunch time! People don't think, 'Ooh, the nurses will still be eating their sandwiches, I'll hold off on my heart attack for 20 minutes'. The rage that I felt as a result of this one answer machine message was probably unjustified but it was just a reminder of the slow, nothing to do and all day to do it in attitude from home that had made me so desperate to leave. I should probably point out that I've never had a problem with my doctors surgery, I've always been seen when I've needed to be seen and the doctors are really good. If anything, I wish that this had been a phone call to the post office instead, that place always leaves me in a murderous state of mind. I'm sorry doctors, it's not you, it's me, please forgive me.
I'm not proud of what happened next; I screamed down the phone 'I LEFT ALL OF YOU ANNOYING, SLOW PEOPLE BEHIND! I'M LIVING ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COUNTRY, WE MAY AS WELL BE ON A DIFFERENT LAND MASS WHY ARE YOU STILL INCONVENIENCING ME?!' Little did I realise that this was all being recorded on the answer phone...All I can say is thank god for the little voice at the end: 'Are you sure you want to leave this as your voicemail? Press 1 for yes or 2 for no.' Never have I ever pressed 2 so quickly in my whole life.
You may have never considered a career in business or invention in your whole life however university may be the time when you come to reconsider those life choices. Okay, the window laundry drying system may not have been a complete success but the blu-tac door stop has worked pretty well and you'd be amazed at the fancy dress looks that you can create with an eyeliner and a white t shirt. My business skills have reached another level! Yesterday I paid a guy a with a packet of custard creams so that I could borrow his USB to set up my printer. (Yeah, I can set up printers now. Just call me a technological genius.) Who needs money when you have biscuits and baked beans? Everybody is really bad at something that somebody else, somewhere on campus, is really good at, all that you need to do is ask them their favourite food stuff and BAM! You've got yourself a trade off!
Despite the screaming stereotypes surrounding me there have actually been several surprises:
Not all ovens are created equal
Nothing will work in the same way that it does at home. Absolutely nothing. Zero. Zilch. The worst 'how in the name of Benedict Cumberbatch does this work?!' appliance seems to universally at UEA be the ovens. Or as they're more commonly called 'the don't talk to me about the oven' ovens. Ovens is probably a bit of an overstatement actually, they're just glorified microwaves, the only thing that they make perfectly is crispy chips. (I think I said 'ovens' far too much and it's started to sound weird. Ovens? Ovens)
Whether it's the washing machines, the ovens, the irons or the printers absolutely nothing works in the way that you want it to and flats are just full of people taking frustrated shortcuts: washing laundry in the sink, ironing their t-shirt with their hair straighteners or letting out a communal scream of kitchen frustration and giving in and ordering a ridiculous amount of half price Dominos pizza. Pizza brings me quite nicely on to my next point (ooh, very writer-ish, links and everything!)
Everybody loves you now that you're a Fresher
I HAVE VOUCHERS FOR EVERYTHING AND IT IS FANTASTIC! Everybody wants your money. Literally everybody. They don't even want all of your money, they want a small amount of your money and want to give you everything in return for it! Dominos become your best friend, they've already been to the uni twice giving out free pizza and are doing the same again on Saturday. There's buy one get one free on everything, I've got a haircut for a tenner, the shopping centre are having a 40% off night. It's almost like they think that you've come into some money recently..oh, wait a minute...
(Tip for any future freshers: Don't do what the guy in the next door building did and go and spend your entire student loan on a Mac on the very same day that you get the money through. You will be living on beans and bread for the rest of the year. End of. No questions asked.)
No matter how hard you try you will definitely be a complete idiot
Everybody does it at least once, just man up and accept the fact that you are going to make a complete and utter gnome-head of yourself. My idiot moment? Hand washing my red velvet shorts and then leaving them to dry in my bathroom for an hour and a half while I went to my lecture. I came back and quite innocently went to go for a wee in my own bathroom. Oh my god. It looked like somebody had been murdered in there. The floor was red. The sink was red. The shower floor was red. The wall underneath the shorts was red. My toilet rolls were red. My pants that I was also hanging out to dry were red. Everything was dyed bright red in a shiny, white bathroom suite.
I'd now like to take this opportunity to refer you back to the pants. Yeah, the pants that I was drying next to the red shorts. My panicked brain thought that a good alternative to bathroom drying would be to hang my damp undergarments from the handle of my closed window. *Big red buzzer sound* Nope! Zero points for you! The window wasn't completely shut and flung open as soon as I'd turned around sending my pants tumbling two storeys to the ground. Luckily the only person outside was a slightly bemused looking Chinese student. Think that I recovered that one pretty well. Class and dignity at all times.
What did I learn from this incident? Just suck it up and pay the £4 for the laundry room.
Getting unjustifiably annoyed at tiny things from home
This probably isn't true of people who have moved from one city environment into another but it has really surprised me how quickly I've adapted to a more urban way of life: 24 hour buses, 3 supermarkets all within walking distance, taxis for less than a fiver and a hospital just down the road is massively different from the place in which I grew up. I was so happy to leave BoringMcSlowsVille behind and move to a place where the average age is lower than 87 and people have more to talk about than Mrs Jeffrey's cat and how marvellous Nigel Farrage is.At the beginning of my second week I was tasked with quite a normal activity: in order to register at the Norwich GP Surgery I had to have the dates of the vaccinations I received as a baby. This should be pretty simple information to retrieve, right? WRONG! I called up my doctor's surgery from home and they were closed for lunch. CLOSED FOR LUNCH! People still get ill over lunch time! People don't think, 'Ooh, the nurses will still be eating their sandwiches, I'll hold off on my heart attack for 20 minutes'. The rage that I felt as a result of this one answer machine message was probably unjustified but it was just a reminder of the slow, nothing to do and all day to do it in attitude from home that had made me so desperate to leave. I should probably point out that I've never had a problem with my doctors surgery, I've always been seen when I've needed to be seen and the doctors are really good. If anything, I wish that this had been a phone call to the post office instead, that place always leaves me in a murderous state of mind. I'm sorry doctors, it's not you, it's me, please forgive me.
I'm not proud of what happened next; I screamed down the phone 'I LEFT ALL OF YOU ANNOYING, SLOW PEOPLE BEHIND! I'M LIVING ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COUNTRY, WE MAY AS WELL BE ON A DIFFERENT LAND MASS WHY ARE YOU STILL INCONVENIENCING ME?!' Little did I realise that this was all being recorded on the answer phone...All I can say is thank god for the little voice at the end: 'Are you sure you want to leave this as your voicemail? Press 1 for yes or 2 for no.' Never have I ever pressed 2 so quickly in my whole life.
University is the ideal time to perfect your business and invention skills
You may have never considered a career in business or invention in your whole life however university may be the time when you come to reconsider those life choices. Okay, the window laundry drying system may not have been a complete success but the blu-tac door stop has worked pretty well and you'd be amazed at the fancy dress looks that you can create with an eyeliner and a white t shirt. My business skills have reached another level! Yesterday I paid a guy a with a packet of custard creams so that I could borrow his USB to set up my printer. (Yeah, I can set up printers now. Just call me a technological genius.) Who needs money when you have biscuits and baked beans? Everybody is really bad at something that somebody else, somewhere on campus, is really good at, all that you need to do is ask them their favourite food stuff and BAM! You've got yourself a trade off! Freshers hype is just really unnecessary...
Don't come to university with Freshers expectations of sex every night and drinking shots out of a girl's belly button. It just won't happen.
It will just be a really fun time. You meet loads of new people all of whom are as scared witless as you are and it's just a good time! Just try and make friends! If you meet somebody then fair enough, but the worst thing that you can do is be that creepy person hitting on everything at the SU with a pulse. Oh, wait, no, the worst thing is the weird second years hanging around fresher's parties looking for 'fresh meat'. Really? Come on? Did everybody in your year hate you so much that you've had to find new people to freak out?
Admittedly there has been some stupid stuff, some annoying stuff and some downright ridiculous stuff happen to me in my first couple of weeks at uni, but I can't really deny it....Freshers was really good fun.
Wednesday, 24 September 2014
Sam Pepper; Internet Bully
When I logged onto Twitter this week I was greeted by a tonne of angry tweets/retweets/newspaper articles posted by members of the public, news organisations and celebrities, all of which seemed to have one factor in common. Sam Pepper. Intrigued, I decided to do a quick Twitter and news search; I hadn't heard of this guy since he came sixth or something in Big Brother a million billion years ago. What I discovered genuinely shocked me. He has sexually harassed people. End of story.
This isn't some attempt to be a rampant, raging feminist on my part; if you touch a guy inappropriately without consent it is just as wrong as touching a girl inappropriately without consent.
However, the way he went about making his case was wrong. Plain wrong. Touching somebody inappropriately in public and then posting it online is wrong.
Harassment and assault are everywhere. Literally everywhere. The internet and news media, quite rightly, are completely and utterly outraged at his actions because, even with all of the fake apology crap, Sam Pepper was saying that going up to people in public and touching them without permission is okay.
This isn't some attempt to be a rampant, raging feminist on my part; if you touch a guy inappropriately without consent it is just as wrong as touching a girl inappropriately without consent.
If Sam Pepper wished to address the issue of young girls touching him inappropriately at meet ups, VidCon or some other sort of hormone-charged YouTube event then fine! He is completely within his right to do that. If he doesn't want to be touched, the he should be free to tell people as such, and the girls who have done it in the past should be feeling equally as ashamed today as Mr Pepper.
However, the way he went about making his case was wrong. Plain wrong. Touching somebody inappropriately in public and then posting it online is wrong.
Harassment and assault are everywhere. Literally everywhere. The internet and news media, quite rightly, are completely and utterly outraged at his actions because, even with all of the fake apology crap, Sam Pepper was saying that going up to people in public and touching them without permission is okay.
On a daily basis millions of people including young women (i.e the demographic which composes 90 - 95% of Sam Pepper's fan base) and young men, feel uncomfortable and weary of the people around them. Particularly when walking alone, being out at night, or being involved in some sort of 'going out' situation such as a gig or going to a club. They are scared because they don't feel safe. They recognise that they are vulnerable and potential targets for a person who may hold malicious intent.
These are perfectly reasonable fears! I mean, this week alone during Freshers I've met a person who on Monday was dragged around the club by the arm and forcibly held around the waist because, and I quote the person in question: 'I want to fuck a fresher and I'm determined for it to be you'. I myself have had somebody try to touch me in a club, it took a very strongly worded 'back off' and my 6 foot, ridiculously pierced, heavy metal playing friend to stand next to the guy for the message to get through. People need to realise that stuff like this happens. All of the time. Although for many people it isn't a life traumatising experience, it just leads to anger and puts a bit of a downer on a night out, for some people it is a much more serious affair and can really have an effect on the rest of their lives. People feel emasculated and ashamed, nervous to go out alone, and some never trust a person enough again to experience a sexual relationship.
People are already unnerved at the prospect of becoming a victim of sexual harassment or assault and Sam Pepper, a man who is admired by hundreds of thousands of young people, stood in broad daylight and played upon those fears. He glamourised sexual assault and turned it into some sort of game.
So fuck you Sam Pepper. Fuck you for playing on people's insecurities. Fuck you for abusing your position of influence. Fuck you for trying to hide from what you have done wrong and passing off crime as some sort of joke.
These are perfectly reasonable fears! I mean, this week alone during Freshers I've met a person who on Monday was dragged around the club by the arm and forcibly held around the waist because, and I quote the person in question: 'I want to fuck a fresher and I'm determined for it to be you'. I myself have had somebody try to touch me in a club, it took a very strongly worded 'back off' and my 6 foot, ridiculously pierced, heavy metal playing friend to stand next to the guy for the message to get through. People need to realise that stuff like this happens. All of the time. Although for many people it isn't a life traumatising experience, it just leads to anger and puts a bit of a downer on a night out, for some people it is a much more serious affair and can really have an effect on the rest of their lives. People feel emasculated and ashamed, nervous to go out alone, and some never trust a person enough again to experience a sexual relationship.
People are already unnerved at the prospect of becoming a victim of sexual harassment or assault and Sam Pepper, a man who is admired by hundreds of thousands of young people, stood in broad daylight and played upon those fears. He glamourised sexual assault and turned it into some sort of game.
So fuck you Sam Pepper. Fuck you for playing on people's insecurities. Fuck you for abusing your position of influence. Fuck you for trying to hide from what you have done wrong and passing off crime as some sort of joke.
Wednesday, 10 September 2014
Coffee, curry and candles don't make goodbyes any easier
Nothing quite prepares you for what comes after the opening of 'that envelope' in August. Your life shifts completely and everything becomes focussed upon the place in which you're going to be living in a few weeks: you find yourself looking at accommodation floor plans, googling dates at the city gig venues and trying to find out how much of your overdraft will be needed to buy an extortionately priced train ticket home. It's almost as if, as of results day, your head leaves home.
Your head may have left, but your body is still well and truly in your home town, and has a hell of a lot of goodbyes to get through, as I have recently discovered.
I honestly had no idea how many friends I had made in the last 18 years,
If you're ever having a day when you feel really shit about yourself just stop for 5 minutes and count how many people you've spoken to in the past week, anything from a chat in the corridor to a quick 6 message natter on Twitter. You will be amazed at the number of contacts and relationships that you've built. I had this realisation on the evening of results day, sat in a bar 3 miles from the house in which I'd grown up with the people I'd spent two wonderful years of sixth form with; 5 years of high school, 2 years of sixth form, 15 years of dancing and trips to India and Africa have resulted in quite a few pals.
I've since made it my mission to spend time with as many people as I possibly can before I leave home. The last few weeks have been wonderful: 5 days in a muddy field at V Festival, spontaneous trips to Costa Coffee with hours of chit-chat, drunken nights out, a reminiscent curry with the people I travelled across the planet with, candle lit dinners with my better (debatable use of the adjective better) half.I have had the most brilliant (and rather expensive) summer spending lots of quality time with the people that I love.
Of course, since results day it has always been in the back of my head that these aren't just meetings anymore, instead they're goodbyes. For a long time I kept thinking to myself how remarkably easy it was all proving to be, I was having a great time, although I will admit that could have been the alcohol thinking.
But now people have started leaving. Really. For real, and I've started doing things for 'the last time': I've had my last shift at work, my last guitar lesson after 11 years, my last dance class after 15 years! For the first time I'm really getting a sense of the fact that people are moving on, there are now people who used to live across the road living in some far flung corner of the country. That's weird, it's really strange and kind of horrible to think about. The people that I've spoken to on a daily basis for years and years aren't just down the road anymore. Despite all of the shiny, exciting and new bits about leaving home, leaving your friends sucks. I mean, it really sucks. At the minute it feels almost as if it's the big, fat, horrible spot on the otherwise beautiful face of going to university. The coffee, curry and the candles aren't making the goodbyes any easier. They still suck.
But I feel like I'm ready, I'm ready to do the whole moving on thing and have friends in two different parts of the country. I'm excited for there to be new people I'll go and get coffee with, watch films with and ask 'do my boobs look too slutty in this dress?'. I'm excited to have 2 lives, a Norwich life, and a nice, comfortable, known Midlands life.
Your head may have left, but your body is still well and truly in your home town, and has a hell of a lot of goodbyes to get through, as I have recently discovered.
I honestly had no idea how many friends I had made in the last 18 years,
If you're ever having a day when you feel really shit about yourself just stop for 5 minutes and count how many people you've spoken to in the past week, anything from a chat in the corridor to a quick 6 message natter on Twitter. You will be amazed at the number of contacts and relationships that you've built. I had this realisation on the evening of results day, sat in a bar 3 miles from the house in which I'd grown up with the people I'd spent two wonderful years of sixth form with; 5 years of high school, 2 years of sixth form, 15 years of dancing and trips to India and Africa have resulted in quite a few pals.I've since made it my mission to spend time with as many people as I possibly can before I leave home. The last few weeks have been wonderful: 5 days in a muddy field at V Festival, spontaneous trips to Costa Coffee with hours of chit-chat, drunken nights out, a reminiscent curry with the people I travelled across the planet with, candle lit dinners with my better (debatable use of the adjective better) half.I have had the most brilliant (and rather expensive) summer spending lots of quality time with the people that I love.
Of course, since results day it has always been in the back of my head that these aren't just meetings anymore, instead they're goodbyes. For a long time I kept thinking to myself how remarkably easy it was all proving to be, I was having a great time, although I will admit that could have been the alcohol thinking.
But now people have started leaving. Really. For real, and I've started doing things for 'the last time': I've had my last shift at work, my last guitar lesson after 11 years, my last dance class after 15 years! For the first time I'm really getting a sense of the fact that people are moving on, there are now people who used to live across the road living in some far flung corner of the country. That's weird, it's really strange and kind of horrible to think about. The people that I've spoken to on a daily basis for years and years aren't just down the road anymore. Despite all of the shiny, exciting and new bits about leaving home, leaving your friends sucks. I mean, it really sucks. At the minute it feels almost as if it's the big, fat, horrible spot on the otherwise beautiful face of going to university. The coffee, curry and the candles aren't making the goodbyes any easier. They still suck.
But I feel like I'm ready, I'm ready to do the whole moving on thing and have friends in two different parts of the country. I'm excited for there to be new people I'll go and get coffee with, watch films with and ask 'do my boobs look too slutty in this dress?'. I'm excited to have 2 lives, a Norwich life, and a nice, comfortable, known Midlands life.
Monday, 25 August 2014
Growing up is just an excuse to go to IKEA
This post, I suppose isn't totally about university, but it's still about growing up and moving out and stuff, so it's still relevant I guess...
I had no idea how much 'stuff' one person required to be able to function as an independent human being. My bedroom has been transformed from a regular, comfortable sleeping area into what looks like the arse end of an Argos warehouse on Boxing Day; full of inventions that up until now you had no idea existed, but 'hey! That actually sounds like it could be useful!' However, point is, I see why houses have so many cupboards, THERE'S JUST SO MUCH CRAP TO FILL THEM WITH!
Before I'd even found out that I'd got into university, my parents went a little homeware bonkers, (at this point I thesaurus.com'ed 'crazy' because I had a complete brain fart, 'nutty as a fruitcake' and 'out of one's tree' were definitely my favourite suggestions.) My parents went a little homeware wacky earlier in the summer; they magically appeared one day with a massive ass plastic box filled with plates, mugs, cutlery, pots, pans and a potato peeler, all purchased from a certain, famous, Sweedish home accessories store. It was like Ikea had had an orgasm, the result of which had landed in this one foot by two foot box.
Now, lets be honest, we all know what Ikea really means. It does not mean 'good quality, value furniture' it means meatballs, getting lost, free pencils and trying to still fit down the little slide that leads into the children's department because the person who erected the 'for ages 3-9' sign obviously wasn't trying hard enough.
Ikea, for all of it's useful bits, is basically just a massive playground. It's a massive playground with a pit stop in the centre of it so that you can stop halfway round to refuel with meatballs and chips and cake and Coke. When you're walking around Ikea you can be pretty certain that at least 70% of the people there have ideas and agendas other than 'oh yes darling, we really do need to get ourselves a new JurgenBlurben bookcase'.
Basically, what I'm suggesting, as I'm sure is a truth also being realised by many people about to go to university, is that a trip to Ikea, much like the one that my parents took (without me might I add! Thanks for the invite guys! I was slaving away waitressing whilst you went to a playground!) is simply an excuse to go and mess around for a bit, under the facade of doing something really important and grown up. Your mum won't shout at you if you say you're going to Ikea, however, if you said, 'yes, I'm going to a large shopping complex to run my face along the soft fluffy towels and fling paper rulers and 50p cuddly toys at my partner', as well as all of the other societal rule breakages that are perfectly acceptable within the four walls of Ikea, I'm pretty sure your mum would bite your head off. Maybe we never really, actually grow up, maybe we just come up with better excuses for misbehaving?
Thursday, 21 August 2014
The Diary of a Frank Fresher
As the title somewhat describes, this is a sort of diary, not daily, dear God, I'm not that efficient, I can't even keep a cactus alive, you know, the things that don't need any water, food, or any type of looking after whatsoever.
However, it is a record, a record of my first year at university, the University of East Anglia to be exact, studying English Lit. Yeah, I'm an English student, expect this thing to be full of flamboyant and show-y off-y vocabulary. (Sorry, I can't help it.)
It will be frank, and more than likely uncensored, full of the good bits, the shit bits, and all of the stuff in between: the supermarket trips, the vodka shots, the 2am essays and annoyance at the broken washing machines.
Of course, I say it will be full of stuff like that, but I haven't actually got to uni yet, for all I know it could be a wonderfully flowery experience, full of sobriety and perfectly functioning household appliances.
I will post whenever I feel it's appropriate really, I move in on September 20th, so more regularly from then, take a peek if you feel like it. Whether you're a fellow petrified first year, or somebody who just fancies a giggle at what will probably be the misfortune of a teenager living independently for the first time, I hope that you will find some sort of entertainment from it.
Cheers.
However, it is a record, a record of my first year at university, the University of East Anglia to be exact, studying English Lit. Yeah, I'm an English student, expect this thing to be full of flamboyant and show-y off-y vocabulary. (Sorry, I can't help it.)
It will be frank, and more than likely uncensored, full of the good bits, the shit bits, and all of the stuff in between: the supermarket trips, the vodka shots, the 2am essays and annoyance at the broken washing machines.
Of course, I say it will be full of stuff like that, but I haven't actually got to uni yet, for all I know it could be a wonderfully flowery experience, full of sobriety and perfectly functioning household appliances.
I will post whenever I feel it's appropriate really, I move in on September 20th, so more regularly from then, take a peek if you feel like it. Whether you're a fellow petrified first year, or somebody who just fancies a giggle at what will probably be the misfortune of a teenager living independently for the first time, I hope that you will find some sort of entertainment from it.
Cheers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)