Tales of daily life from a 20-something Student from London.

Monday, 26 September 2011

She's Fresh. Exciting (doodoodoodoodoo)

One thing I was not looking forward to on my return to sunny Hatfield was having to get a new student I.D. card. Unlike most student cards, our's are pointless. They have no expiry date therefore most places will not take them. They have practically no use unless you go to the gym, where it acts as an entry card. However, unless you touch it on a small plastic pad at the start of term, your student loan ain't comin' at ya'. So I had to make the trip to get a new one. 

It started ok. I walked into the I.D. office and began queuing. Apparently we get charged £20 for a replacement, but if we say it was stolen, it is free. Therefore, I decided I would simply lie. Fantastic. 

"Yeah, my I.D. card got stolen over the summer" I whimpered (in a manly way)
"Have you got the crime identification number?"


"Erm...no...because...it happened when I was in Belize"

Quite why I chose the small Central American country previously known as British Honduras as my fake holiday destination escapes me. I mean, I couldn't even make up a reason. In fact, the more I think about it, Belize? Really, Jack?

"You were in Belize? And they stole your student card?"
"And my wallet!" I said, holding my wallet. 
"Well, I should charge you, as there isn't any proof..."

Now, as she began to weigh up her options, I should have kept quiet. Maybe she'd just give in and say yes, here's a fresh card. But no. I had to make things worse. I looked at her, dead in the eyes, with a look of pure honesty and said:

"Please, Belize me!"

They say a picture can say 1000 words. The picture of her face said one thing. Pay up.

Over and out.

Tuesday, 20 September 2011

Oooooh, something to talk about.

The Only Thing To Fear Is Fear Itself

Whoever said that is totally wrong. This time of year, with someone who has my fear, is petrifying. Everywhere you go, the ground is scattered with potential frights. As you walk the most mundane walk possible, the world becomes a battleground. Your head darts between objects on the ground ensuring there are none of them about. Hugely worrying.

I, like many others, am ranidaphobic. This means I have a fear like no other of frogs and toads. So, let's get all the laughs out now. Yeah, they're nothing to be scared of, but hell, it is what it is. I think that my fear comes from when my Grandad was clearing a bush from our garden that had a frogs nest (yes, frogs nests exist), and he put them all in a bucket. I toddler waddled over and tipped the bucket, causing a torrent of beasts to throw themselves at me, clearly trying to harm me. I can only expect this is what scarred me for life. 

But yeah, the reason this time of year is so bad for it is because wet leaves look a hell of a lot like frogs. Like, a lot. You've probably never realised, but they do. In fact, everything could be a frog in theory. But I'll stop now. I'm making myself paranoid and there's an odd looking candle in the kitchen that I'm not ruling out...

Going Back To My Roots

I have never shyed away from the fact I am a huge geek. If anything, I'd argue I'm proud of it. For geeks, today could be seen as a hugely important day. Gears of War, the series of games that redifined third person shooters and helped launch the Xbox 360 to stardom, is getting its third and final installment today. A game that I played religiously is concluding it's epic story and we finally get to find out what happens to Marcus Fenix and the gang. It's a monumental event.

Honestly? I don't think I give a shit. I woke up this morning, knowing I couldn't afford it, but it really doesn't bother me. What has happened to me?!?!? I couldn't possibly be losing my inner geek, surely? A worrying thought, definitely. I think at some point today, the Super Nintendo or Sega Saturn will have to come out, to try and inject some geek into me. I will keep you posted on the success rates.

Oh and, yeah, for anyone who doesn't know, I'm rolling back to uni on Saturday. I've had a pretty amazing summer, and met some very, very amazing people. I still have like, 3 full days here, so if you wanna hang out, whoever you are, let me know! 

Over and out.

Saturday, 17 September 2011


So, I'm going to be boring again, and try and write something really profound (or at least as profound as possible after a few beers over dinner). I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't have much reason to be profound at the moment, at all, but I read a pretty interesting quote today and it really made me think. Before I tell you what it is though, you need to know that, suprisingly, it came from The Sun.

Apparently, a London Cabbie asked his passengers to write their little nuggets of advice on a clipboard in the back of his cab, that he would later write down in a little book. Celebrities wrote in there, drunks wrote in there (before you start, no, I was not one of said drunks), even children. But sift through all the ramblings and the typos and you may just find one special, profound sequence of words that mean something. 

"Don't mistake existing for living." So, there it is. May not be the bombshell you were expecting, but just think about it for a moment. How many days do you let go by where nothing exciting happens, and you sit around, watching repeats of Come Dine With Me and and drinking low strength orange squash? Not only that but how many of those days, where you simply 'exist', go by where you get the opportunity to do something. Even if it's to go to the pub, sit over the park, or join someone on a little excursion. Whatever it is, it's a whole lot better than sitting around and doing, excuse my French, fuck all. Well, it's living. If you take that opportunity to live, a thousand choices could arise that could lead to a million fun and amazing times. I know it sounds soppy, but maybe whoever wrote that message is right. We all need to live a little. Go out, see someone you haven't seen in a long while, drink one more drink and let the night go on a little longer, whatever else may approach you.

So, I've bored you with that for 5 minutes, but hey, you chose to read it! But can I ask you a favour? After reading all that, just take it in for a minute. When you've done that, practice what that person preached. Live a little. Right now, right this moment, do something you may not otherwise do. For example, tell someone something you'd never otherwise tell them. Text some buddies and find out if they fancy hanging. If it goes wrong, then who cares (I'll personally apologise if that goes wrong though). But if it goes right? That moment, everything might have changed for you. And that's pretty wild. 

Hey, at least it'll give your Saturday evening a bit of excitement!

Over and out.

Friday, 16 September 2011

TGI Friday


As you all know all too well, London attracts a LOT of nutcases, drunkards, and general oddbods. Maybe it's something I do, or say, or they can smell my fear, but I tend to have a lot of them gravitate toward me. Last night was no different. After a perfect evening in London, I got on the tube at Embankment, and curiously, there was just me and another guy in my carriage. He looked a bit haggard and generally shit and was reading a small book. Headphones in blaring some Two Door Cinema Club, I was blissfully unaware that he was talking at me. Emphasis on 'at'. 

When I did eventually realise, I took my headphones out to find the guy performing some sort of religious chant on me. I say that, it was probably just a bible passage, but it was pretty fucking crazy.

"Hey, buddy, come on, not really my thing"
"Open your mind, listen to my tellings"
"Ok, so, thanks for the offer, but really, I'm good"

I would normally have half accepted it, but I'd already seen a guy juggle three lemons and catch one on his neck less than an hour before, so I could not really have seen anything that even got nearly as enthralling. But what was coming next, I could not have expected. 

The man got up at his stop, but, before getting off, touched the book to my head and shouted, and I mean shouted, "CHILD" at the top of his voice. I was incredibly freaked out, but not enough to withstrain me from raising my hand in a masturbatory manner as the train pulled away. I'm open to the concept of religion, but maybe not in the same way as this guy.

e.g. nutter.



Ok, so, that's a fucking anthem. I absolutely adore The Hoosiers, but maybe they have a good point. Sometimes, we all wish things were simple and everything was spelt out right in front of us. And I don't just mean choosing between like, yes and no things. I mean having to choose what to do or say, when to do it, and to do it in the first place. If things were just spelt out, alright, it would be pretty lame, but at least we could just accept that that's what needs to be done, right? 

Whenever I make a decision to man up and say something for example, like everyone else, I'm sure, part of me wishes I'd never said it, and I could carry on blissfully unaware. Sometimes I wish that I chose not to have one more drink, that led me to do or say something I might regret. But I've learnt to accept that choosing a certain decision is exactly that. A decision. Not a mistake. Just a decision. At the time, it may not seem right, but a little bit down the line, it'll all come together, and you'll forget all about it. 

Over and out.

Sunday, 11 September 2011

Sunday Sunday Happy Days.


Ok, can you work out what that's supposed to say? Anyone? Big Issue. The particular spelling above is made famous by the Big Issue seller in Shipley, Leeds, where a friend of mine from uni lives, who swears the seller pronounces it like that, and only says that (at first I questioned whether the seller was in fact a Pokemon, but realised that is doubtful, mainly due to few Pokemon having opposable thumbs, and partly due to their non-existence). 

Yeah, so this is all about the famous Charity Magazine, The Big Issue. Ok, so to start with, I'm quite the fan of the Big Issue. It's worth a flick through, has some ok interviews, and nine times out of ten the sellers are real nice guys and gals. But it only dawned on me today (/thought long and hard as I had nothing else to write about) how I've had some odd experiences with sellers. I mean, a seller in Cambridge once took me all the way to a McDonald's after I bought a magazine off of him. Which on paper seems lovely, but then he guilt tripped me into buying him a burger, which I couldn't really pass up, but also meant I could only afford a Happy Meal, which I was not happy about. 

Last month, when a tad tipsy, I gave the Embankment seller a fiver, and told him to keep the change. Apparently he wasn't a fan of this, so duly gave me two copies of the magazine to subsidise the £2 price point. I don't know what he expected me to do with two, apart from maybe me a crude, pop-up version of the magazine, but I had not the time, nor skill to perform such a task. 

I can also remember a time when I saw a guy body-popping using the magazines as props. It gets even more amazing when I tell you he was white, so the guy obviously had talent. In short though, it's a top magazine, with a top cause. The sellers are exactly that, sellers. It is their job, and not all of them are homeless. It's often used as a way to get hard-up people back on their feet. If you're out and about and you have a spare couple of Queens in your pocket, grab one, as you're doing both the seller, and yourself, a favour (yeah, I know that turned into a bit of a 'force you to buy' thing, but hey, it's a great thing to do!)

Over and out.

Thursday, 8 September 2011

Soppy Joe's

Ok, so this week I had my very first request, which naturally I was very happy about as it meant I didn't have as much work to do. My requestee wanted me to write a blog on the vague topic of 'love'. These are the results.

She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah.

To begin, I'm going to clarify that when I say love, I don't always mean:


Although I am a bit of a romantic, so that's nice, I sometimes mean:


E.g. when you're absolutely smitten by someone. Love can be a funny thing, although that is pointing out the obvious I'm sure. We've all had that moment where, as soon as you see someone, you are smitten. Their smile, the way they fiddle with their hair, they way they playfully joke around with you, there can be any number of reasons that you want to spend more and more time with them. I don't personally believe in 'love' at first sight, but I do believe, as I mentioned, you can be smitten.

Now don't get me wrong, being smitten, or in love for that matter, with someone and spending times with them is a wonderful thing, but just as it can give you an amazing high, it can throw you back down again, something we've all experienced in our lives. For any number of reasons this can occur. Realisation you aren't as close as you thought, problems from somewhere else, someone meets someone else, or even the dreaded 'friend zone', which worries me even talking about it, in a Voldemort-esque way. 

For me, the film 500 Days of Summer is my personal outlook on the situation. It's great when it's happening, and everything seems rosy, but it can all fall apart. 

But clearly, this negative outlook on love is not exactly one I share. Personally, I'm a bit of a hopeless romantic, who would go to Neath and back if it meant making that special someone happy. I have always shared the outlook that, if someone means a lot to you, you should do whatever means a lot to them. Look at me though, I'm rambling, I'll close this up. Basically, what I'm trying to say is, although love can grab you, spin you around, and throw you in a candy shop, it can just as easy pull you out of that candy shop and throw you straight into a puddle outside.

What you're really looking for, is that special candy shop. The one that locks from the inside, and wants to keep you there, too. And leave you feeling like this, all the time:


Deaf Leppard

I was in Camden yesterday, sitting in Starbucks. In the queue, I accidentally bumped into the guy in front of me, and apologised, to which he didn't turn around. I muttered a bit under my breath, which caused the woman in front of him to turn around. "Sorry", she said, "he's deaf". I immediately felt awful and went and sat down with my coffee, at the table next to the aforementioned couple. I wouldn't say eavesdropping is the right word, but I did have a cheeky listen, and watch in terms of the deaf guy, and it was clear how amazingly in love and close they were. This story may seem pointless, but I thought it really showed the whole 'love has no boundaries thing'.

Anyway, that's enough from me, I'll be back to mildly comical stuff next time.

Over and out.

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

University 'Characters' Part 2

Bit of a bumper student edition coming up. More characters as well as the agony that being on hold to Student Finance creates. Let's start with some characters.

University Characters

The Bookworm

It's your 21st birthday. You've organised a night out that would put the cast of The Hangover to shame. Bar tab, new shirt, private booth, cabs booked. It's going to be wild. 
"Oh, I can't make it, I got an assignment today and I want to get it out of the way."
No matter what the occasion, study comes first, without doubt. Fun is an unneeded part of the uni experience, and will rarely be suffered for the next three years. 

The Casanova/Casanovette

Like a Wolf in the night, the Casanova hunts his prey. The pub. The SU bar. The late night trip to Asda. He is always on the pull. When he finally lures them into his trap, he takes them back to his room, with it's awkwardly thin walls, so that you are ensured to hear every awkward noise, that does not sound unlike an actual wolf. And you are forced to look the pair of them in the eye as they leave the room the next morning. Again... and again.


Student Finance 

At some point in your uni career, you will have called these monsters up for advice or help, only to have them throw it back in your face after you've been on hold for the past 30 minutes, going from 7th in the queue, to 8th, to 5th, then to 19th. You've tried pleading with them, only to have them send you a form that requires you tick one box, sign it, and send it back. I'm ecstatic to say I have one year left of the demons, but what a horrendous year I'm sure it will be. Vodafone should consider adding 'student finance' to their price plans. And for all you non-students, here's what being on hold to them is like: 


Oh and c'moooooooooooon Engerland!!!!

Over and out.

Monday, 5 September 2011

University 'Characters' Part 1

Ok, so being as people are going to be starting uni/returning to it this month, I thought I'll write something about some of the total douches you're bound to meet during your time away from home...

The Phantom Flatmate

There are 6 rooms in your flat. It's two weeks into your first term and you've met 4 of your flatmates. You know someone is in room 6. You hear them stirring, late at night, rooting through the cupboards, listening to their tunes in the early hours when you have a 9am lecture. They never bring buddies back, never seem to cook at sensible times, never leave that room. But you have never seen them. And you never will.

The Borderline Alcoholic 

"Don't be a pussy, come on, let's go!"
It's a Tuesday evening. You have an assignment in for 9am Wednesday. It's drum and bass night, and neither of you enjoy drum and bass. But he is persistent. You both have to go out and get absolutely destroyed, or you will be forever mocked. Forever destined to suffer a night of taking care of your buddy and being his wingman, you swear never to commit to this again as you drag him in at 4am. Wednesday evening comes. 
"I owe you a drink from last night, pal!"

The 'tries real hard to be different' guy

We're not talking indie kids. Or goths. Or even those douchebag chino-wearers who wear snap-backs emblazoned with a basketball team they've never heard of. I mean that guy who wears something or does something that makes him so desperate to be different. The guy who wears a trilby WHEREVER he goes. The guy who eats the weirdest combinations of food just to get a response from flat mates. The fat guy that awkwardly mentions how fat he is, whilst reading through the Domino's menu. You will encounter him and instantly know you never want to be friends with him. 

Over and out.

Sunday, 4 September 2011

A Little Bit of This, A Little Bit of That.

So I haven't got much to talk about, but I fancied writing anyway. So I decided I'd form a mish-mash entry about lots of things that have happened to me this past week, as well as other past weeks. So, just stuff that's happened to me. Here we go.


If you've seen me recently, you'll know I bloody love using the word torrid. It means 'really shit' so naturally it gets a lot of use from me. I was thinking though, it's common knowledge that the word 'ginormous' isn't a real word, and is in fact a combination of gigantic and enormous, but is torrid similar? Is torrid a combo of terrible and horrid? Or is horrid a combo of horrible and torrid?!?!? The drama is unparamount. 

Reading that back, I would blame none of you if you closed this tab right now and never came back to this blog, as holy shit, that was a bore. Apologies. I'll try something a bit more interesting to discuss next.

The perfect condiment for fresh fish

....that wasn't very funny, was it?

Going Hobo, down in Acapulco 

So, today was my last day at good ol' Superdry Romford. Sad times indeed. I'll miss out on some amusing banter, trying to get the two Friendly Fires tracks on the work computer into a dance playlist made up mainly of artists with 'van' or 'le' in their names, the awkward customer moments like when you walk in on them having a domestic in the changing rooms, the money to be able to do things....

why did I quit?

Over and out.

P.s. little bit of a beg and grovel here. If theres any chance you guys could click 'follow' or 'subscribe' or whatever it is on the right of this text to follow this blog, that'd be top notch. Further, if you could share it on facebook or twitter, I'd love you more than I loved you post clicking of the button. What a prize. 

Friday, 2 September 2011


When you're drunk, a lot of things seem like absolutely amazing ideas. Stripping and pretending to be a Nazgul from Lord of The Rings atop a transit van (looking at you, Bean), going to Romford when you have work in the morning and getting absolutely dump-trucked, and the king of them all, buying drunk food. As far as drunk food goes, my pals and I are bastions of Subway, with its warm, crispy bread, and lashings of Southwest sauce. 

Coming out of Opium (Buddha Lounge to the youngens...wow, I feel old), Sam Ham and myself decided Subway was the way forward. We traversed the length of Romford ready to get our hands on some sweet, sweet, sandwich. Only....

Closed....what the fuck. Our lives crashed down around us like a fat kid being told McDonalds was closed. No worries, we thought. We'll go McDonalds. But, lowe and behold, also closed. We had become the proverbial fat kid. 

"How about the MaccyD on the a127?" Sam Ham suggested. What a fantastic plan, bang in a cab, through the drive thru, and we're at home, with 20 Nuggets each. We found ourselves a black cab, and hopped in. Nothing could go wrong here, perfect plan.

By the time we had reached the McDonalds, about half way home, the meter had risen to roughly £16, and we were told we had to wait 4 minutes for our nuggets. Crisis. At this point Sam Ham was still suggesting we bail, which, although good for our wallets, did leave us hungry and half way down a motorway. Persevering, we waited, and arrived back at Upminster station with our nuggets in hand. The final total was £30, and we had somehow paid £7 each for the food. Fuck it, got my nuggets.

"I'm not even that hungry" said Sam Ham.