Seven Years and Not Counting

It’s with sadness that I announce that this blog post, the one which you have just started reading, is the final addition to The Blog of Stuart.

D'you want to know a secret?

A few weeks into this website’s life, I was already regretting the name and URL I had gifted it. But I was already too invested in it to give up. Plus, it formed part of my BTEC in IT, so I had to keep it going. It’s safe to say, I’m the only one in my class who even kept it up this long. Most barely made it past their first short upload.

I’ve looked after it for 7 years now, and, as a result, has formed a massive part of my life. I would honestly not be where I am now without it. I’m not even sure I would have noted how much I like to write without it.

Courtesy of Chris Parsons
(Click to enlarge)

I’ve documented a large portion of my life on here. Everything from the years I spent as a desperate single to a learner driver, university student and an unemployed graduate. I’ve covered it all, and you’ve shared it all with me; whether you liked it or not.

I’ve received all different types of feedback too. It’s included my head teacher discussing it at a presentation evening in front of my cohort. And everything else from lovely and sincere comments to people who have taken the time to email so I know how much they hate me. It’s all pretty incredible really.

And although my blog hasn’t gone viral, I still think it’s been quite successful. Much more so than it probably ever deserved. I've been averaging about 1,000 hits a month, for years. A lot of which are from irrelevant Google searches from a huge array of countries across the world, which amount to zero engagement… But still.

So I should have probably worked on the marketing of it slightly better, and actually offered them something other than throwing my extraneous opinion at them. There’s enough of them on the Internet after all.

I worked out what my voice should be in my second year of University. What I should have to make me different to all the other bleating on the Internet. That sparked the creation of the blog, and dissertation project, The Misanthrope’s Guide to London. Even though it had little success on the Internet, I got brilliant feedback from people who took the time to read it. People were enjoying it.

So it is that vein where my next project will go.

I’m not a fan of change, so that’s why it has taken me this long to bring The Blog of Stuart to a close.

I’ve been saying for a few years that I wanted to shake off the shackles of Blogspot and begin my own website and start afresh.

However, over the past few months, I’ve begun formulating what my next move will be. I’ve just been too scared to buy the webspace. This has meant I’ve been stuck in a circle I’m finally attempting to break. I didn’t want to produce more content for a website I would soon be closing but didn’t want to move from its comforting embrace.

That’s why I have written this. It’s my resignation letter, so to speak. I’ve informed you of my intention, and now I can’t go back for fear of embarrassment.

I now own a plot web space, and I've begun constructing the site. This is how it's coming along...

My new website is called The Misanthrope. It should feel like a news website, in terms of its look and content. However, don’t expect it be serious. The Misanthrope voice will prevail.

I will be venturing into multi-media blogging as well. I have some video editing software, and I have a number of ideas, so we shall see. I may not even make it past the first video for fear of hating myself just a little bit more.

Although I am excited to be starting my new project soon, I am very sad that I am finally saying goodbye. This blog has been a good friend to me and helped me out a lot.

I gave this website as an example of writing when I applied to Universities. I got multiple offers, so it can’t have put them off that much. It’s interesting to read blogs I’ve written before and after University to see my progression.

Anyway, I then used this blog as an example of writing when applying for jobs. Numerous times I’ve sat and watched a prospective boss reading my website on the other side of a desk and seen a wry smirk appear, and it's flattering. It was particularly interesting when one, from London, read my Misanthrope’s Guide to London blog. And okay, it did take me a while to get a job…

But I had two jobs for a period of time. One was working in a shop, where I had to interact with people. I didn't really like it because you’re not allowed to argue back with them, you have to be nice and smile. I can feel my throat tightening every time. Regardless, I very recently left this job thanks to getting more hours at my other, better, job...

The other job involves writing. And I’m allowed to be funny, so long as I also engage the reader in such a way, they want to stay on the website, and hopefully spend their money.

I’m getting paid to write blogs; how awesome is that? And I can’t see how else that would have happened without this blog.

But as I start a new chapter in my life, which involves the increase of my bank balance, it seems right to move to pastures new. After all, I can call myself a professional writer now, so I need to put this aside and start producing content one might expect from a professional…

Yeah, the thought of that is pretty funny.

But I can try, right?

So that’s it. These are my final words.

I don’t want to draw this out any longer.

Courtesy of Chris Parsons
(Click to enlarge)

Consider this blog closed. Out of service. Bereft of life. An ex-blog. Gone off to meet the big server in the sky and pushing up the virtual daisies.

Toodles m’deary’s.

I'm the Cockney Chameleon without a Job

Over three years ago I wrote a blog announcing that I would soon be moving to London, where I would be attending the University of East London to study Journalism and Creative and Professional Writing. I spoke mostly about how worried I was about having to endure the local language, and how I was fearful of catching Cockney, and becaming alll Landan like. I now write this blog post, having completed my degree and moved out of our outrageously-priced South London flat that overlooked the Thames.

I confidently stipulated that I was 'not worried about picking up the accent and the slang however, because I'm very hard to influence.' Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to have been the case. Many people have been noting that I have a slight Landan twang. Luckily, I don't think it's critical, and I should be able to recover; in time at least.

However, I have become somewhat of a chameleon, being able to assume a persona which is similar to those around me. Back home in Kent, I am a bumbling, slightly posh-sounding lad. Should a Cockney gas engineer enter our flat, my language and personality change; partly in a foolish attempt to sound more manly and in a desperate attempt to be accepted. "Alright mate? How's traffic get'in 'ere? Bin busy? You still got your motors?" And so on.

A drawing for A Misanthrope's Guide to London, by Chris Parsons.
(Click to enlarge)

Our flat was very nice; apart from the constant presence of gas engineers having to resuscitate our boiler back into life. Oh, and apart from the numerous water leaks; all those magical evenings spent mopping up water from under the now bowed laminate flooring. Mind you, that's made up for by the evenings I spent watching the woman across the road get naked with her blinds still open; until she noticed. Those memories will remain with me for a long time. However, not as long as the dent left in my savings by paying nearly £1,000 a month for a flat. We could have never afforded that place if it wasn't for our generous student loans.

It's a cliché I've heard an innumerable amount of times, but those three years at University really did fly past. It doesn't seem that long ago since myself, my other half and a box of half-eaten pizza, were abandoned in Landon by my parents and left to endure the next chapter of our lives. Well, that chapter is finished, and it ended with us getting 2:1s, so yes, thank you for your congratulation. However, my grade is still a sore point. I was less than 1% away from a 1st. 0.4% more would have given me a 1st. And you know what? I can pinpoint the exact mistake in my dissertation that lost me that higher grade. If I had just italicised the words A Misanthrope's Guide to London, in the handful of times I wrote them together, I think I would have gotten a 1st. FOR FU...

Anyway, it was a mixed three years. I met lots of, as everyone says, awesome and amazing people who were mostly all far more talented than I. Some modules I loved and excelled at, and others I hated and just about scraped through. There is something about Sociology that makes me look and feel like I've just had a lobotomy. The next time someone talks me about the similarity between Adorno's theory of the Culture Industry and Marxism, I think I'll go into a coma from which I'll never awaken.

The Creative and Professional Writing side of my degree has proved invaluable, and despite feeling trepidation about what it would entail, I absolutely loved almost every minute. It made me read books I never would have, and yet enjoyed. It pushed me to constantly improve my writing, which having read some of my old stuff, is glaringly obvious. It has even made me look at my own writing very differently, and I have produced pieces I could not be prouder of. My dissertation project A Misanthrope's Guide to London, is one such example where I have really honed my style of writing. That is in no little part thanks to the teaching on the course.

At the start, I was most looking forward to the Journalism side of my studies, and I did very well and learnt a great deal. However, towards the end I dreaded Journalism modules. That was, in the most part, because I felt a great deal of resentment towards the fact that no matter how well I did, I would still not be qualified to be a Journalist, and would still find it immensely hard to get into a profession where experienced journalists are being culled, rather than new ones being hired. By the end, I had lost my desire to be a journalist; for now at least. Unfortunately, that in part also falls on the below-par teaching for journalism my University offers.

So, the bit of paper has now finally arrived confirming my attainment of a 2:1, and three months after finishing University, I am the stereotypical graduate who is failing to get any sort of job. Currently, the past few years look to have all been a delaying tactic for going on Job Seeker's Allowance. There are various reasons for this, such the little experience I hold, and trying to get a career in a specific sector. However, a large reason for this is because there has been a major push in apprenticeships by the Government. It means jobs that might have once gone to the likes of people like me, are now going to younger people who can be hired for a criminally low wage for a couple of years, whilst getting on-the-job training. If I was 18 years old now, and looking at what to do, I think I would be looking at being an apprentice too.

However, I keep sending out CVs in all directions (probably approaching a figure of around 40), and only getting responses from a few. Two job interviews in three months. The sad and depressing life of a graduate. Maybe it's because of my accent which has become tapestrised. Or the fact my University is at the bottom of the league tables; despite being a great place. It could be because of the economy, or that fact I am part of, what the media keeps calling 'the lost generation'. Possibly it is due to so many hundreds of thousands of young adults having a degree, it has become a worthless piece of paper. It could be because I have about as much professional experience as a foetus, and being stuck in the paradox of needing experience to get a job, but not being able to get the necessary experience. Who knows?

Regardless, if you're an employer looking for a marketing assistant/junior (or something not too dissimilar) somewhere in Kent, who's ideal candidate is a misanthropic, yet slightly amusing and committed individual, then I'm your guy!

P.S. I know prospective employers are reading this blog, because I put it on my CV, so why not beg? If you don't ask, you don't get… I am highly skilled after all.

P.P.S. I am aware that I'm applying for jobs that are not marketing related, and that plea might be off putting to other jobs; but I'm versatile and not as picky as perhaps I might have sounded. I'll do anything... apart from telesales anyway.

Quarter Of A Life Blogging

Today, 5 years ago, I made my first post to this blog when I was a spotty-faced sixteen year old. I am an almost spotless twenty-one year old, which means I have spent nearly a quarter of my life sharing my ranting through the medium of writing. It was a bit depressing when I realised that fact, and makes me feel old.

However, I am glad I started and glad to have carried on. It has shaped me into the type of writer I am. I feel I now do reasonably well at taking a sly look at the news stories and general things that happen or exist. My particular favourite this year has to be Major Congestion Reported Getting Into SimCity from March. One of a number of blogs that I posted this year for dual purpose: University and this blog.

Let's Reminisce Into My 2012

This blog is an example of how neglectful I have become of my little bit of Internet space. 2012 has been and gone for nearly a month now, and yet I am only just about to write my usual blog on the subject. Anyway, it was another year to remember, which involved a lot mature stuff by me. It has changed me; for example I now own a washing up bowl.

So, the first four months of the year were fairly uneventful, what with it mainly consisting of writing essays and creating a student film. The film involved lots of trekking across London packed with a multitude of different equipment, and then hours of painstaking editing. Luckily, I enjoyed being with the people I done.

Let's Hack Into My 2011

Charlie Brooker said that '2011 has been like one big end-of-season finale; a climactic episode in which multiple story arcs come to a head.' This being because of numerous uprisings, a few deaths of bad people, a riot or two, another financial collapse and the death of a national paper after the revelation that it hacked over 5,000 phones. In comparison, my life has been normal for someone of a similar age to me, and has been uneventful. However, as an individual, it has been quite a year.

As year's go, for me, it has been a bag of mixed fortunes. I spent the first six months of 2011 in complete agony. Let me explain how bad this agony was: Most people sleep at night. I used to sleep at night, and thankfully, I do now. However, for those six months of my life, I think I only had an entire night of sleep once a week, and that would usually be because I was so knackered that my brain struggled to comprehend the concept of pain, or maybe just an overdose of extra strong pain killers, I don't remember.

I had toothache. In fact, no: toothache doesn't fully explain the agony I had. I call it 'Toothtorture'. I might as well have thumped a nine inch metal nail into my jaws every 30 seconds for the relief it would have brought me. I went to the Dentist, then the Dentist, then the Doctor, and then the Dentist a few more times before he finally discovered my tooth was dead. Six weeks, over two hours in the Dentist's chair, and a root canal later, I was relieved of the pain and allowed to sleep, every single night, without my synapses interrupting with pain signals.

Mind you, a few weeks later, I didn't get much sleep after I spent five days awake and watching BBC News and Sky News and watching the swarm of rioters smash their way through London. There were two reasons for this: 1. I was only a month away from moving there to spend the next three years of my life, and 2. I was going to London a few days later to be a tourist with my girlfriend. Oh, yeah, in case you were not yet aware (but I'm sure you are), I got a girlfriend in 2011.

To most, this doesn't seem like much of an achievement, but this is for me. People previously knew me as 'Stuart; that guy who is so cynical and angry about the World and people, who hardly ever has anyone to love'. Well, now, I'm not that guy. I have a girl whose hand I can hold, without the police being called and being arrested for attempted sexual assault. She is mine. Not officially, but I have claimed her as my property, and she has claimed me as hers.

A long-term relationship is new ground for me. I have had more Sea Monkies than I have girlfriends. In fact, I think I have had Sea Monkies which have survived longer than some of my past relationships. Mind you, that could be identified to the fact I spent my time growing Sea Monkies and becoming emotionally attached to the said Sea Monkies.

Anyway, with the change of our relationship going from 'friends' to 'being in a relationship with', happening in July, this year can surely be said to be a year of two halves for me: The first half being painful and lonely, and the second have not quite as much so, with added happiness and kissing…

This all means that I lose the bet I made in my blog about my 2010, when making assumptions for the upcoming year: "...I bet I'm still single though." I usually hate being wrong, but not this time. I'm just thankful I didn't put any money on it...

This year also saw me finish my A-level's and attend a University with a history dating back to the 19th Century: The University of East London. The change wasn't smooth, or even enjoyable, with my results being messed up resulting in me franticly trying to get hold of the University who declined me because of this cock up. I mean, how can an examiner forget to mark two years worth of Photography work? That eludes me. Anyway, all was resolved, and after a larger deposit of money exiting my bank accounts, and a large, expensive shop at Dunelm Mill, I went to University to study Journalism with Creative Writing.

So far, it is going quite well. I have only finished the first semester of the first year, but the first few grades I have gotten have been superb. I quite literally jumped for joy. Hopefully the end results are just as good. I'll have to get choreographing a celebration dance. Actually, why bother, just learn one of the dances on Just Dance 3 and perform that, but maybe a shortened, less sweaty version.

What else happened for me in 2011? I'm not sure. This year has had so many big events happen, that I forget all the silly, insignificant things I have done. Well, I saw a couple of comedians live (Milton Jones and Mark Watson) who were both very good. I nearly got to see Jimmy Carr live, but I thought I would rather get my car clamped and pay £120 fine. My laptop died while watching Stewart Lee on YouTube. I have seen my first musical: We Will Rock. I have been to a Guardian event for Journalists. I have joined the National Union of Journalist. I have stepped foot into a newsroom. I have spent many happy hours in London sightseeing. I have been up in a helicopter. I have been to The Doctor Who Experience in London, flown the TARDIS and been threatened by Daleks. I have read a few books. I have worked out how to use Skype. I have got a Teco Clubcard. I have done other things too...

Let me just elaborate on a few of the above: We Will Rock You is a fantastic bit of theatre, which I recommend to anyone who likes music and comedy. It was one of the most enjoyable evenings of my life. All of the journalism events of my year, such as attending the Guardian event and being in a newsroom, have concreted my aspiration to be a journalist. I loved the atmosphere! I also recommend The Doctor Who Experience to everyone who has watched the show (whether you're a virgin or not).  I recommend the book Sh*t My Dad Says if you have a week free and like a giggle. I recommend the Tesco Clubcard if you regularly shop from there. However, I do not recommend getting your car clamped; too much hassle and too much money for what is a rubbish service.

Right, so that about sums up my 2011. I hope you also had a great year, and I hope that 2012 is either as good, or better than the previous year’s you have had. I'm sure you are deserving of it.

My predictions for 2012 are quite simple really. I will still be a University next year, and I'll be in even more debt. I will hopefully be living in a London apartment with my girlfriend, with a nice view of the Thames. I expect to spend much more time in London, seeing shows and visiting places. Also, I am pretty sure that this year is going to be pretty baby orientated, what with the girlfriend’s sister about to pop one out, and friends in the last few months of baking theirs in the oven. Also, I bet this time next year, I won't be single! I'll bet a charity donation on that one.

P.S. Happy New Year

P.P.S. How late is too late to keep wishing people a 'Happy New Year'.

An Hour In The Life Of Me

You’re probably wondering why I think anyone would care about an uneventful hour of my life two weeks ago. You’re probably right; no-one does. That doesn’t stop me though. The following words are a stream of consciousness: Stuff my brain ordered my fingers to type with any direct input from me, as part of an assignment for the ‘Creative Writing’ side of my University degree. Make sense? No. Oh. Well essentially I sat outside my University accommodation for an hour, and wrote down what I saw, heard, smelt and felt. Anyway, I found it quite interesting to type, and it is relatively humorous, so I thought I would share it with you good people. I hope you do enjoy it.

“I’m sat on a bench, with my shower fresh hair, underneath the forever watching CCTV camera. I decided seeing as I was outside, in public, with people, with my laptop, I would sit somewhere that I would consider safe. Well, not safe, but at least should someone walk past and casually steal my laptop from underneath my finger tips, I would at least have more chance if catching the bastard. Should I drop the laptop and begin crying, the people watching the CCTV images would at least get a laugh too.

I’m sat in intense sunlight, with half my keyboard shadowed by the screen, as a result of having the sun increasing in height behind it. This has now shown to me how dusty and dirty my laptop actually is. It is terrible, and should my Mum see the state of it, she would moan and immediately fetch a cloth and some cleaning liquid to achieve the task of cleanliness. I am hopeful that seeing as there is a rather strong breeze, the dust will be blown away. Maybe this little assignment will help in my cleanliness…

So, as I sit back on the uncomfortable bench, and look over the laptop screen, I can see water, glistening, and full of movement as it flows in the direction of sea. On the other side of this water, I can see a runway, in which a plane is noisily manoeuvring itself on. Now pausing, the engines are increasing in speed and volume as I imagine the pilot asking for permission to fly. He clearly has it, as the sounds are increasing. The plane is taking a run up, forever increasing in speed, and as it moves away, the sound goes with it. And UP it goes, rather confidentially too. The plane is now en route to its destination, and all I can see now as I glance back up to the sky after my running commentary is a faint white shape which I imagine to be the plane.

Now it is quiet again, I can return to admiring the natural beauty of the water as the sun makes my black laptop rather hot and also making my jean laden legs becoming increasingly hotter. I spoke of silence too soon, as behind me I can hear the screeching brakes of a train and the far away sounds of another plane about to manoeuvre itself to the end of the runway so that it too can make a confident leap into the sky to get to a destination far away from the rudeness of London. The said plane is a CityJet, with its propellers spinning. Again he positions himself. Again he speeds up, and again he speeds off into the distance taking the loud sounds with it.

However, here comes a plane falling from the sky in the nervous, wobbly fashion they seem to always do. It shakes upon near contact with the runway. He puts his nose up and bum down. He has landed bum first with a little puff of smoke from the wheels as it lands. Now he chucks his nose down and as he now exists the runway to a designated area, here comes another plane; and he seems just as nervous as he flies in front of the sun and casts a shadow over me, if only for a split second, and he lands.  Now, all I can smell as the wind blows into my direction, is burning rubber and aeroplane fuel. Not exactly the smell of flowers and noise of birds singing that I get back at home in a lovely Kentish village.

Now it is quite again. The water looks filled with crystals. It is almost like God, if he existed, had dropped a pot of glitter onto the water. It hurts to look up, not only into the sun, but also into the pool of intense light that is sitting on the water in front of me. Birds are flying too. A seagull is floating in the sky, pointlessly and effortlessly, thanks to the help of the wind. I think he is lazy. Other seagulls sit on the water, and look at him, either in awe of their floating friend, or bitching about how lazy that other seagull is. It is hard to tell from the wooden bench I am perched on, which one it is.

There are other birds here too, but seeing as I am not Twitcher, I cannot reveal their names. I can only really, safely, tell the names of five types of bird: Seagulls, Pigeons, Ducks, Swans and Robbins. The other birds in front of me in the water are not one of those five. I would make a guess at it being some type of goose. There are few, baby ones sitting on the water and bobbing up and then down again, before bobbing up and down again, repeatedly. An adult, (what I am calling a) goose, is standing proudly on the edge of a bank and is constantly ruffling his feathers; I think he must have an itch which is bugging him.

I can see a reflection of myself in the laptop screen, and I can tell that my hair is almost dry from the sun and the wind. However, this may not be the style that I intended on. I look like a child who has just discovered the power of electricity and the importance of not putting metal objects into turned on plug sockets. It looks positively static…

I keep just looking at the water, and thinking. I am thinking many deep things which I will not divulge into, but I am also thinking about the water that I am starring into. Some waves look like they are part of some rolling mountains, which stretch as far as the eye can see, in miniature. Other waves are bigger, and I think they look slightly reminiscent of circus tents. I doubt anyone would agree with that observation however, and that is why I took it out twice, before becoming adamant that I was going to keep it in, no matter what.

I have just spotted the moon, well, half a moon. It is nearly eleven in the morning, and the moon is out. This phenomenon always intrigues me, and as I think about it, I feel sorry for Australia. It is night there, and they haven’t got a moon. We have it instead. The sounds ‘ha ha’ go through my mind now, actually.

People keep walking past me, with their haircuts and bags and purpose. Look, that boy is wearing a pink top. It so doesn’t go with those jeans! The people that walk past often stare at me, sat on a bench, alone, and typing. They probably think I am sat here writing some essay, but what they don’t realise is that the thousand or so words I have typed, are in fact just drivel.

I am looking out into the distance now, and I can see buildings. Old buildings, but not old enough to warrant paying £10 to walk about and look at the furniture and portraits. They are just old tower blocks that were built after the war. They look rather lovely, with the sun lighting one half, the shade covering another half, another plane flying in front of them and the soundtrack of sirens ringing around. London: It seems to be the only place where sirens try and harmonise with each other.

I am now just looking around, letting my brain wonder off, and there are now clouds in a sky which 10 minutes ago was absent of any. I would love to be able to tell you what types of clouds they are. If only I had brought the book I saw in WHSmiths yesterday! Instead, you’ll have to make do with my amateur, and cliché description of them being white and fluffy. It creates such a lovely and peaceful image in your head. However, in reality, I’m in East London, looking out onto an airport, with workmen drilling and trains clattering and screeching behind me. A million miles away from the peaceful lifestyle I once lived not two months ago. Well, in reality, it’s only 52 miles away.

My bum is beginning to hurt, so I shall end it here, with the clouds relieving me from the sun, if only for a few seconds, after an observation that I have just had whilst looking in the direction of Canary Wharf: Doesn’t the Millennium Dome just look like a dollop of ice cream with several biscuit wafers stuck in around the edge?”

Three Years Blogging; Now I'm A Sell-Out

I wrote my very first blog post on 27th September 2009. Now, 152 blogs, 166,214 words (including this blog), and three years (and a day) later, things are very different. In that space of time I've started driving lessons and passed my tests. I have begun and completed my A-levels. I have had many adventures which I shared with this blog, such as my car's first breakdown, my car's first clamp, my laptops demise, me getting chicken pox and my attendances to great comedians such as Lee Mack, Sean Lock and Milton Jones. I have shared my thoughts about some of my favourite albums, films and television series, as well as sharing my thoughts on my least favourite ones too. I have also blogged throughout the slow, public death of a tabloid sweetheart: Jade Goody. Me, and my blog, have been through a lot, which I have shared with you; a random Internet user who comes across my blog through random Google searches and, sometimes, the odd loyal reader comes and goes.

Now, at the end of a third year of average blogging success, everything changes. One of the two big, recent, changes in my life, which will undoubtedly make an impact on my blogs from here onwards, is moving to London and being in attendance at a University. The University of East London, for the next few years, will be attempting to make me into a successful Writer/Journalist, thanks to the pompously named course 'Journalism Studies with Creative and Professional Writing'. This is going to give me many opportunities in both the short and long term. One would assume that you should be able to track my improvement in lexis choice and combination, throughout the next three years. However, with me spending all my time writing thousands and thousands of words in an attempt to get some sort of degree at the end of the three years, so I can wave it in the faces of potential bosses; chances are the frequency of writings for this blog will be heavily impacted. Mind you, I am a University student now, so chances are I'll use this blog as a way of procrastination instead of work.

Lucky for me, some modules of work are not a million miles away from what I have been doing for this blogs. I have a module at some point, in which I have to critic the media for its celebrity obsession and thinking us all mindless lap dogs, and its impact upon society. I've been doing blogs like that for years! Take any blog about Jade Goody or Katie Price, or the blog about Jan Moir and her slur on homosexuals. Take my recent News of The World blog, or a blog about a large, life changing event, such as the Japanese Earthquake/Tsunami, or the blog about the Cumbrian Shootings. They all comment on how the media sexes up the news, to make it grabbing and interesting in order to get the readership, and therefore the money, they want. They comment on how Journalists all want that prime front-page story, so they can make a name, and therefore money, for themselves. Some also, metaphorically, spit on the grave of Jade Goody, but I'm not sure if that will feature quite so heavily in my University work.

The content of my blog might change slightly too, with some posts being more topic-based on the World of Journalism. Assuming my application was successful, I will soon have a press card. I can walk up to a police cordon, present my card to them, and then get the low down. I'm almost one step away from saying "The names Collyer; Stuart Collyer". I could, should I get the break, start writing for small, mundane publications about uninteresting topics, which I will inevitably be proud of, due to the fact they will be my first, printed words for the public domain. I will also be able to attend press events, such as the one I am attending soon, hosted by The Guardian newspaper, in which people will debate about the recent hacking scandal and how the press can restore trust. These might seem boring to you, but to me, they are interesting. They are exciting. They are my life now.

For the second big change in my life, which will have a large impact upon the subject of blogs, is what makes me a sell-out. Throughout my blogging career, I have been single (over three years I think you will find). This has, therefore, made a large impact upon the subjects I occasionally choose to write about. I have had numerous blogs bemoaning the fact that I am single. Bemoaning other people in relationships and how open they are about the fact they have another pair of lips to passionately kiss all the time. I just generally bemoan other people who seem to be generally happy in front of me. However, due to recent events (well, events that happened a little while ago now), I suspect that I will no longer be moaning about the abstract noun of love, and its effects. Yes, if you haven't already guessed, or don't already know; my Facebook relationship status no longer says 'Single'. It doesn't even say 'It's Complicated'. My Facebook relationship status now states that I am in fact in a relationship.

The tale of our love is a lovely little fairy story; but minus the dragons, castles, suits of armour and any real sense of romance. We have known each other years, with the odd spark of chemistry here and there. People told us we should be together. Feeling grew. People told us we should be together. Circumstances brought us closer together. People told us we should be together. We got depressed and lonely because we convinced ourselves it couldn't happen. People told us we should be together. I wrote a blog about Unrequited Love and even made a playlist of songs which made me think about her. People told us we should be together. We made plans to make sure we went to the same University together. People told us we should be together. We spent all our time with each other. People thought we were together. In my car, on a wet evening, I told her my feelings, with not much response. I organised an evening out for us, which I messed up and also got a parking fine. Then we got together, and yeah, now we're no longer 'Single Pringles'.

Just a note to anyone reading this and thinking 'I knew it' or 'I told you so'… Shut up! You may think you're some sort of 'Cupid', but you're not. I knew you were right. Even you knew you were probably right at the time, but you didn't actually help push the 'true course of love', so you have no high ground in this debate. I don't think anyone actually believed me when I said I didn't like her…

I have now become the person I hated as a result of this changing relationship status, but I love it. In fact, I love her. I used to take it as a personal insult when people held hands walking towards me. I hated strangers locking lips next to me. I disliked friends who were all over their partner in my presence. Due to my cynical disposition, I could not see why people couldn't just be all loved up in private. However, circumstances have changed my view because I walk towards lots of people holding the hand of the other half. I kiss her in view of many people. To save it for when we're in private, now seems impossible. I know, you're allowed to puke if you want; I would have if I was reading this in my single state.

I'm somewhat of a different person now. Most would say for the better, but I'm sure others would not agree. I don't hate hearing abstract nouns. In fact, I use them very frequently these days: 'I love you'. I am not as much of a cynical misanthrope as I used to be. Depression has been at a bare minimum, and happiness has been the dominate emotion I have been feeling, since we became fully affiliated with each other. I think I am also a nicer person since we created a stronger bond between us, in that I am more tolerant and less angry than I used to be. These have, unfortunately, led to a decrease in the amount of blogs I produce. If I am angry about nothing, then how can I write an angry, extravagant blog bemoaning the topic? That is a question I am yet to answer; but I'm sure when the time comes, normal blogging service will resume. And if not? Well, you'll have to put up with blogs about flowers, sunshine and bunny rabbits.

Who knows when I might blog next. I might blog soon about the Guardian debate I'm attending. I might blog about the finale of Doctor Who. Or, I might not blog again for weeks. I don't know, but all I know that I am now starting my fourth year of blogging. Who would have thought that a small project for ICT would turn into something which defines me and gave me the drive to pursue a career in Journalism?

In one of my first lectures, we were asked if any of us blog. A few put their hands up. I was asked what I blog about, after a girl who was asked responded with "My gap-year experiences". It made me realise just how insignificant and pointless my blogs can be. But hey, who cares! I'm going to keep writing them regardless, AND I'm at University in London with my beautiful girlfriend. Screw you!

"D'yew Ge' Me, Like? D'yew Know Wot I'm Sayin'?" No.

I'm going to University. Yeah, hark at me aye, all grown up and going into the big world of paying extortionate amounts in pounds sterling for an education and living away from Mummy and Daddy. I'll be in the mature World of paying for a TV license, gas bills, rent and buying Milk from Asda after shuffling around looking for food. All this while attempting to successfully pass a three-year joint-honours degree. And where am I going to University I hear you forgetting to care about? The University of East London. Yeah, not exactly one of the great classics such as Oxford or Cambridge, but you know, a degree is a degree.

My degree and my place of study don't seem to really match each other. When people ask (and they're asking a lot, repeatedly) 'Where you going and what you doing?' I have to tell them that a) I'm going to 'The University of East London', which, let's be honest, isn't the grandest and most inspirational of names; and I then have to tell them that b) I'm studying 'Journalism Studies with Creative and Professional Writing', which, let's be honest, is a pompous name and I feel guilty every single time I say the name of my course. I love it and I'm so excited and I'm itching and scratching wanting to start it now, but I always feel like I'm saying it like a statement that implies 'I'm better than you'. Why I feel that, I have absolutely no idea. I just feel that where ever I spread the knowledge of my degree, I'm leaving a trail of resentment, annoyance and snobbishness. But hey, at least I'm not Philosophy!

I've now made two trips to the area now, and, well, let's just say it doesn't resemble the cast of Oliver!, but the Olympics haven't brought a higher class of people to the area. I am yet to hear someone speak the native tongue of East London: Cockney. I am yet to hear someone say: "Awright geeezzaa! Hello an' welcome. Nice tit for tat yew got there! Sorted mate!"; which in plain English would mean "Hello and welcome. Nice hat you have there!" The language now is still sort of Cockney, but, like English, the young generation have played about with it.  Every sentence will, undoubtedly, contain the words "D'yew ge' me?", "Like" and "D'yew know wot I'm sayin'?" It has the elements of cockney, but I don't recognise it as cockney. You feel like turning around and saying 'YES, I do understand you! Gaaaaawd blimey; yer 'avin' a giraffe!"

My last journey into East London consisted of me parking in a Morrisons. I was sat by my car when a group of teenagers walked past and then hung around near me and my car. Unfortunately, I could hear their conversation, which consisted a lot of "D'yew ge' me?", "Like" and "D'yew know wot I'm sayin'?", with nouns chucked in to form something as reminiscent as a sentence. Surprisingly, it hasn't deterred me from attending there local University. I mean, it just gives me something to moan about, and God knows I love a good rant about society. Anyway, I am now going to share a rough transcript of the conversation. You can imagine it being performed as a sketch. You know, a Catherine Tate-like figure who repeatedly answers "D'yew know wot I'm sayin'?" to every question. If it helps.

Girl One: (whilst sobbing) I don' wanna talk to 'im, yew know? 'e really upset me like. 'e was like, really mean.

Girl Two: Awww, why you cryin'? Don' cry, 'e ain't worth it. 'e was really nasty dough!

Girl One: (While finishing sobbing) I know, like. 'e was really out of order, yew know what I'm sayin'?

Girl Three: Ar' yer, tot'lly.

Girl One: (With conviction) Yew two, like, gonna 'ave to choose between me an' 'im.

Girl Three: We choose yew 'course

Girl Two: Yer, we gotta stick together.

Girl One: 'e really upset me dough, I like, like this scarf an' I can't believe 'e wood dis it like dat. It cost me like two nin'y nine from Primark, D'yew get me, like?

Girl Two: Yer, tot'lly. I really like dat scarf.

Boy: Wot yew chattin'?

Girl Two: We ain't talking to yew!

Boy: (Huffs) I like, di'n't say dat I di'n't like it, d'yew ge' me? I jus' said she shuldn' wear it in summer. Yew know, it's hot like, d'yew know what I'm sayin'?

Girl One: Nar, yew said yew hated it. It cost me like two nin'y nine from Primark.

Boy: What!? D'yew ge' me? It nice scarf yer, but like, yew don' wear it in summer, yer? D'yew know what I'm sayin'?

It's just a load fickle rubbish they kept spewing out. They carried on late into mid-afternoon like that, but I didn't hear the rest of it because the long, open road home was awaiting me.

Anyway, I'll be going to live there in a few months, and I don't think I will be able to properly understand a single word which anyone says to me. I was hoping that maybe there was a Rosetta Stone CD that would teach me modern cockney, but there isn't. Anyway, so maybe Rosetta stone should consider making one. I mean, I'd buy one, and I'm sure I can't be the only one. My current languages consist of English, Sarcasm, a few little hints of French, and I would love to add fluent Cockney to that list. Not this new fangled Cockney because it’s just solely "D'yew ge' me?", "Like" and "D'yew know wot I'm sayin'?", but I want to be able to successfully use Cockney Rhyming Slang. A lot of people know 'Apples and pears' means 'stairs', ‘phone’ is ‘dog and bone’, and everyone knows 'Giraffe' is 'laugh'. Anyway, so I'll have three years to learn the lingo, then, I will write a blog consisted of only Rhyming slang for my East London hommies! (Don't hold me to that though)

Two of the best-known Cockney's: Chas and Dave

I'm not worried about picking up the accent and the slang however, because I'm very hard to influence. I'm quite an outcast from the 'Teenage Stereotype' from my local area. Every Friday and Monday, for example, a lot of people flock to one of the clubs in the local city, Canterbury. I don't. I'm 19, and I'm proud to say, I still not set foot in one. I have legally been able to enter one for 13 months now; I'm yet to do so. I have no plans to do so either. I have no problems with pubs; pubs are great. Some of my favourite conversations have occurred in pubs over a pint of larger and a shot, but, I don't like people enough for the clubbing scene. I don't like being with large groups of people, so why would I want to spend a few hours with drunk, sweaty and horny people with loud, banging music which I very much doubt is my type of music. I've listened to club remixes; they ruin perfectly good songs! Plus, a lot of 'Canterburians' use slang, and I've not picked them up. Well, I only use it to mock. Anyway, if I can survive that with little influence, I'm sure a few years in London's East End will be doddle.

And if not? Well, like I said, I’ll just have to moan and blog about it. However, you do have permission to either slap me incredibly hard or shoot me in the liver should I start using the lingo regularly and finish every sentence with 'D'yew get me, like?" It's what I would have wanted before the disease overpowered my immune system…

Now, you're in for a treat! Remember that transcript above? I've performed it as a skit. I know; lucky right! Anyway, I've joined the YouTube generation of 'vlogging' now. And here, is the, video! Enjoy!

http://youtu.be/eNKVHaOGKC4

The Peasants Are Revolting!

Unless you hadn’t noticed, the lower classes have discovered their voice, even if it is in a slightly more violent way, and they are protesting about the rise in tuition fees. As a future University student myself, I am obviously opposed to this raise. In the space of my lifetime, University has gone from being completely free to being capped at £9,000 a year.

Proving that students can spell...

Everyone over the age of 25 doesn’t particularly care about this raise. Most people over that age have already gone and completed University if they had plans to ever do so. Most people over the age of 39 would have gone to University for free.

I want to put this into perspective to everyone who doesn’t see what the fuss is about. The average age of politicians is way over 40. This means they would have got their degrees for free. Now, I don’t see them offering to pay for it, and they will be earning well over the repayment threshold. To me, this seems just a touch hypocritical, but then of course that is the stereotypical politician.

This new system which will be introduced also makes no sense. Raising the fees to the magic number of £9,000 only means that the Government have to loan each student three times as much, each year. This in a time when money is tight and only recently £80 Billion was cut from the country’s budget. This financial climate we currently find ourselves in began through banks loaning money to people who could not afford to repay the money. Why is this different when the Government do it?

Then the other problem is that the earning threshold when a student has to repay their loan increases to £21,000 a year, when it is currently £15,000. This means that less people will be able to repay the money in the first place, and therefore fewer loans are repaid. Obviously, I’m not Chancellor of the Exchequer so I have not seen the figures, but that would surely put the Government into more debt?

Now, I hear all of you adults who are over a certain age asking: “Well, if the students will apparently have it so good, why are they protesting and why in such a violent way?” I cannot answer the latter question, but how would you like an average debt of about £35,000 hanging over you for the rest of your life, just to get an education which former generations got for free? This is then money that the HM Revenue and Customs will take from every single paycheque that is over a certain amount. I don’t call that particularly fair considering the free education the people in power got.

Of course, I appreciate that times have changed. Education is of course a better quality. We are producing a generation of children which are smarter and regularly slandered by the media. I understand that people are earning more money. I understand that University is no longer necessarily for the smartest people, but for the children of higher income families. Oh wait, that last point doesn’t seem fair, does it? Hmm.

A selection of newspaper headlines from the last Student Protests...

Now, let us discuss the protests.

I wasn’t in the group of people protesting, and in fact I was no where near it. I was busy getting an education and what have you. It seems to me that this is possibly another example of the media slandering the younger generation. This is often the way. Judging by the media, my generation are out getting drunk every night on cheap booze they brought at Tesco’s, and drinking it at bus stops and recreation grounds across the country. Young female teenagers are ‘giving it away’ at the first chance they get and before they reach 20, have a family of three children from different fathers barely old enough to buy a lottery ticket. We are also all out in high streets wearing hoodies and proudly holding our mobile phones to capture the moment when a friend violently attacks a stranger so we can upload it straight to YouTube. Then, when it comes to examination time, our one time to prove that we aren’t all like that stereotype, we get fantastic grades, and of course this ends up being further proof that we’re just idiots. The only reason we could possibly get good grades is because the exams are easier. It couldn’t possibly be because we all study hard.

I’m guessing that on the most part, the student protests of the past few weeks have been largely quiet and calm, and there are only a few actually causing trouble. Of course, the media swarm to these events like flies to cow poo, just to get video footage of a man being violently beaten off his horse. This is one person out of a crowd of thousands. Numerous monuments around the capital vandalised with graffiti. This is a handful of people from a crowd of thousands. The royal limo was attacked with paint and bullet-proof windows smashed. This is a few people from a crowd of thousands. I agree these people should be arrested and the full force of the law slapping sense into them. However, I don’t agree that their out-of-control actions should taint the reputation of an entire generation. It’s always a few people that ruin it for the rest of us law abiding, lovely folk.

People are making a huge fuss over a number of police being hurt. 114 students were injured in Thursday’s protests; and the sad thing is, a majority of those were probably peacefully protesting. You can complain about the violence of students all you like, but the police were quick to retaliate. The police are well train and equipped for this sort of event and they seemed very prepared. To me, it seems like the police caused as much trouble as the students.

I imagine people like him only went to London for a day out. I highly doubt he has the mental capacity to even spell 'University'...

I would never be able to do what the police do; I’m not knocking them down in the slightest bit. They are very brave to go out there and do what it is they do on a daily bases. However, I think they need to review how they act in those situations. Charging at protestors in huge numbers with weapons and horses is not calming the situation.

I don’t understand why people even bother protesting anymore though. Yes, it is to voice our freedom of speech. However, the people in charge don’t listen to our chanting and sign holding. Take the war demonstrations through London opposing the Iraq war. Tony Blair still went to war despite the voice of almost an entire country; the stubborn bastard. Why should David Cameron and his puppy dog Nick Clegg listen to us when we say that we don’t want huge debts?

Maybe the politicians cannot understand our peasant, yobbish voices. Who knows, but the Government never listen to us, the general public, despite what they might say during their election campaigns to win the hearts and minds of us idiots. They just say what they think we want them to say.

One might point out it was worth it just to see Camilla pull this face.

So, let me just say this to all of you who have gone to University and don’t see what all the fuss is about: How would you have felt if you had to have a massive debt of that size? Would you have even considered going to University? And to those who got free University education; before you start judging our generation, why don’t you consider paying a contribution to the Government for your University education? No, I didn’t think so because you’re too busy being some semi-important ‘guy’ at some office, driving a Mercedes Benz and living in a town house with your 2.5 kids and glass conservatory. Well I want a life like that too, but of course if I do, I will have a debt to pay. You don’t realise how lucky you were and how well you had it.

We need more teachers. Do you think that people are going to want to go to University and get the proper training to teach your grandchildren, what with this increasing debt? Everyone will suffer as a result of this; including you.

This ConDem Government could be one of the worse things to happen to our country in some time. These cuts in spending are nothing short of disastrous.