Anonymous

‘The worst loneliness is not to be comfortable with yourself’ – Mark Twain

 Theres nothing more revealing about one’s self than the moment you sit alone in Victoria Station, eyes full of tears, a ticket to nowhere. You wonder whether you have the will and strength to take that long journey back to a place you no longer care for or whether you should hold onto the comfort of home for a moment more, which won’t see you fulfilling any potential.

So there you are staring into a cup of coffee, which months back used to bring you respite and bought happiness, now only representing the empty hours before a decision is demanded. It’s not revealing any truths just merely passing the seconds. You turn your music up in an attempt to drown out your own lonely thoughts for a while. No decisions or plans just stillness. Peace.

In this modern society of competition, careers and hardwork it becomes a process of burying yourself under pressures so we don’t face the demands placed upon us by ourselves. You’re so busy that you forget that your miserable and it becomes normal to feel empty and slightly lost all of the time. As the demands become more significant so does that feeling of loneliness. You could be stood in a room full of interesting and charismatic people yet you feel as though there is no-one around to listen to you. It’s the vicious circle of responsibilities and emptiness, you wonder when the cycle is going to break.

You question all the decisions you’ve ever made, the songs are still on repeat ringing through your ears. I should be happy, I have everything most people would dream about. If so many people want this then why do I feel so lost? Why are my tears neverending? Stop crying. I used to be believe tears made you vulnerable, took away the mask we show the world everyday, I now think they are the first sign of courage and acceptance.

You’re going to be brave, solve this problem one day at a time. Happiness isn’t placed upon someone it’s manufactured, you are in control of it all.

As somebody once told me, ‘do something everyday to make you smile, just one thing and it makes the days brighter’.

Don’t suffer in silence, articulate, the days get brighter.

Death, Marriage and Bank Holiday.

‘Bank Holiday celebrations for marriage, death and snooker’

As the British celebrated the royal union with old-fashioned street parties, Pimms at 10am and numerous Pippa Middleton Facebook groups. The USA were in jubilation over the assassination and apparent ‘sea burial’ of the once untraceable terror leader, Osama Bin Laden. Whether or not the latter is a reason to celebrate or repeat inappropriate banter all over Twitter, this May bank holiday has proved much more than the usual May day riots and Essex’s annual Marbella trip.

Friday brought the prospect of only having Harry to marry should one wish to become a princess. Wills tied the knot with Kate, a nun was caught wearing rebook classics in church, a vicar did a cart-wheel and Huw Edwards slowly ran out of things to say in the marathon broadcast of the Royal Wedding. The nation quickly returned to their post war celebration states with community street parties, distasteful memorbeilia and the permission to begin getting drunk at 10am. Everyone loves a wedding especially when you get an additional day off, thanks Wills and Kate.

As every paper in the country dragged out the souvenir supplements and analysis of that stunning Mcqueen gown, Bin Laden remained in a permanent game of hide and seek with the US security services until early Monday morning.

A 4am announcement confirms the death and burial of the most wanted man Osama Bin Laden. America rejoices as the British did over the wedding, despite his apparent leadership in terror attacks across the world, he was simply allowed to die trial less and buried in the sea before questions could be asked. The carnival scenes of celebration appear in vain and hypocritical of the entire operation. I’m sure The Sun and The Times will have differing opinions.

However this celebration filled May bank holiday whether it be right or wrong will forever resemble the ‘Disney’ story line one Facebook group compared it to. Let’s see what August Bank holiday brings…

Ordinary Hero – Dad.

‘Everyday needs to be fathers day’

As another Mothering Sunday passes those lucky ones, hopefully a day full of lavish meals, pretty bouquets and chocolates. However a Hallmark card can’t ever express the gratitude we have for all of those maternal comforts we take for granted, simply the washing being done, a home cooked meal on the table or simply a supporting phone call. A mother by definition is “ A woman who has raised a child in the role of a parent”, in our modern era the ambiguity of parental roles leaves many challenging the role of both mother and father alone and doing a heroic job of it. I cannot be more thankful for their persistence..

Many men would shy away from bringing up two teenage daughters, becoming a beginner in the kitchen, sewing ballet shoes and ironing on a Sunday night. Not my dad he’s one of the brave ones, struggling with the High street when we want clothes or sitting through 3 hour dance shows to keep us happy. I understand he’s not a fan of dyeing hair or discussing boys but I do know even though I’m 250 miles away he’s at the other end of the phone even if I just want to moan about the BBC moving to Salford.

I’m sure he didn’t expect to convert his role from chief bike riding instructor, diving coach, piggy back rider or driving instructor to laudrette lady in the space of 2 years. No major failings or much Pink washing, so he must be brilliant at this typical ‘mum’ stuff.

This is a declaration of thanks for pushing me to where I am, for just moving the sofa in front of the TV so we can watch football, for spending hours throwing a Softball with me, talking with the cat and all the rest of it. You are incredible and my hero.

From Fathers Day a couple of years ago, a poor attempt at a sonnet;

Your all I’ll ever need in this world

as cliché as it may seem to say,

Our lives may be completely twisted and curled,

But I’ll stick with you come what may.

Your the both parties in my younger life,

admiration is the word I would use,

Feels as though we’re standing on the edge of a knife,

Its not as though we have much to lose.

When we finally part in later years,

Your Lessons and your bonding moments with me,

with compensate a thousand tears.

My father, my best friend, My hero.

A love like this will never reach zero.

To an incredible man on Mothers day.

 

 

 

Relationships For Dummies.

‘When getting past casual is more difficult than getting a degree’

Relationships. Some of us have them, others of us bury ourselves in work in the hope that one day you’ll label an average individual your ‘other half’ and live happily ever after. Even those who tick every obscure statement required for the perfect guy will fall into a comfortable relationship existence. Goodbye surprises and excitement. Hello Volvo, cats and suburban house complete with kids.

One wise soul once claimed ‘Love is a state of tolerance’ (Oldham 2010), as cynical it may appear how does one withstand their ‘soulmate’ picking their feet in front of the TV or the constant battle for the duvet every night without turfing them out? Golden wedding anniversaries aren’t reached through sheer lust and passion, well I should hope not the NHS may have to deal with more hip replacements should that be the case. Surely comfort and acceptance is the key?

Comfortable to me suggests a reason to pile on the weight and contemplate weightwatchers every January, join a coffee morning and plan life around the mortgage. Idyllic for the ones blinded by love, but for the ambitious, comfortable remains a hinderance that won’t land them their dreams, especially if they are stuffing their face with victoria sponge at coffee mornings.

The loved up and partnered will sneer at such an opinion. Feel free it’s not going to revolutionise the worlds ideology on relationships. Wll it best not otherwise this is the earths last generation. Apologies in advance if that is the case. This is merely stating challenge is a much more attractive prospect. Should that come from life’s opportunities or a single individual who knows.

The prospect of making it past casual with someone who can’t challenge everything about me as a person is not someone worth becoming tolerable for I guess. I shan’t be accepting toe nail picking and burping from an average individual, I can tell you that now.

If you can learn anything from this, don’t accept relationship advice from the single girl as she’s remaining all Carrie Bradshaw on you..

Your On My ‘To Do’ List Or Not.

‘Ticking life’s ambition boxes one hyperventilation at a time’

I’m convinced most future employers will be keen to see an appreciation for the lifestyle that is ‘Fifa 11′. One’s ability as a student to construct good tactical formations and portray world-class thumb movement on-screen are skills in which the future business structure of our society will one day rely on. Let’s not forget the outstanding tekkers required to remove a ready meal from the cardboard sleeve and place it in the microwave. This here shows ingenuity and dedication to the cause. Stuff getting involved in University and becoming more employable, I will make my fortunes sleeping until 4pm, taking Doncaster United to the Champions League final whilst watching re-runs of a strange cartoon baby who speaks like a posh man (The most ridiculous programme ever made).

This remains a dream of the involved who should learn to say ‘no’ instead of being permanently attached to their little pink filofax. The promotion of idolness and unsociable existence is not one which we should inforce though (the live mode does not count, the kid playing half way across the world won’t be finding the cure for AIDs and nor will you lying in bed pretending to be Lampard, wake up and do something productive).

Many may mock the ‘to do’ lists and the new electronic calendar system which acts as the diaries right hand man, but at least those hours are being filled with ‘enriching’ activities which will aid my quest of taking over the world. As much as the prospect of stewing in my own bed everyday until dinner is appealing and something every world leader has taken part in (Not), success does not lie in my bed and I don’t believe it’s in yours either. (Unless you plan on becoming part of the sex industry, something which won’t necessarily wash down well with most parents).

So as I spend my summer partaking in career building work experience and travelling our globe in search of humbling and culture, those who let life drift them by can count down the days until Fifa 12 and live in hope of Alan Sugars fortunes being imparted on them from the comfort of their own sofas. Until that miracle occurs good luck with the Champions League, I have some networking to do.

you boys know who you are..

Unconditional Phone Love.

‘You are my life. You’re the only thing it would hurt to lose. – Stephenie Meyer’

Together 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. We travel together, eat together and sleep together. If your out of sight I feel naked and a useless shell of a woman. Even after dropping you on Oceanas dance floor I will always rescue you and utilise you for a session of drunk texting that will be seen as a regret at some point in my life. You keep me attached to my Twitter, point me in the right direction if I’m lost in Nottingham and keep my schedule locked inside your alarms. Without you I’d truly be a mess, no gossip, no love, no anger after every time you ring and I’m stressed. Nokia you are practically a third limb, thankyou for your continuing support.

This ridiculous display of love is not sarcasm, I literally could no live without my phone and should it ever leave me in a drunken misplacement or toilet dropping incident I will be inconsolable. It’s not as flash as a Blackberry or an Iphone but then again should I have the power of BBM in my hands there will be more room for anger directed at those who find it impossible not to contact me regarding issues I really have no interest in. Thank god 3 refused to give me such an upgrade, I don’t mind this pikey version, should I ever need to create a powerpoint presentation on the go, I have that power.

There are days when your little screen continues to flash and that ‘people need/want to talk to you, answer their question otherwise I’ll continue to make that really infuriating noise at you until you do’ persistence sends me to tears. Theres moments when pressing ‘Switch Off!’ would be the best option but I know at some point you’ll need to wake me up or remind me that I need to carry on filling my life with opportunity. There is unconditional love in there somewhere, I can’t be angry with you for long, it’s like having a puppy.

The best thing about you is the relationships you hold in my phonebook. I start, continue and end relationships with your sim card. I laugh at cute messages like ‘Haha I bathed Man’ that only I would find funny and understand. I smile like an idiot over those messages you won’t be showing anyone, organise my life through questions and simply remind people I’m still around with a ‘I miss you Xo’ text. As much as I will be ridiculed for this, I love my phone. People may deny their own unconditional love for theirs but in all honesty where would you be without it?

Nokia E series, I don’t need a man in my life. I have you.

For those who are palm to phone at all times.

 

 

ShitLAD.

‘The Birth of UniLAD, BanterLAD, WhoreLAD and any other noun you can put in front of LAD’

As a woman it is pretty obvious that my role in life should be on a lead attached to the kitchen sink, making LAD sandwiches and respecting the glaring fact that FIFA 11 takes priority over everything, no matter how life threatening. I shall always be refered to as a number out of 10 with bonus points available depending on the size of my boobs. I shall only speak once spoken to and refrain from trying to explain the offside rule, because I am not a LAD and should not disgrace football by attempting to understand the complexity of such a game. Behind every TopLAD there is a fully trained woman, equipped with beer, Xbox controllers and half time favours.

If you unaware that was evident sarcasm. LAD woman training probably finished in the 1950s and was abolished during the feminism movement. That sentence probably infringed my LAD women rights, I used technical terms as if I was reading for a degree and condemned the birth of LAD culture. I sincerely apologise.

Despite my ability to finish a pint, discuss rugby and pull on a night out I’ve been informed by these ‘TrueLADs’ that there is no such thing as a LADette and I should simply get back in the kitchen because that’s my home. Well I can’t really cook, washing up gives me bad nails and cleaning, well it’s not my mess do it yourself. If woman LAD training was compulsory I would fail, probably the reason I’ve not made the grade as someone’s ‘missus, wench or sandwich maker’.

Through the introduction to ‘Truelad.com’, the home of LAD banter, my eyes have been opened. Eating LAD food like curry for breakfast it’s truly acceptable, if the fire alarm goes off during MOTD you should no move and shagging two 5/10s in a night is perfectly acceptable if they don’t find out. I may waste my time ShitLADding numerous attempts to pretend these wannabe LADs are pimps or funny because they drink each others piss, but the one that has won over my heart is this;

“A mate, on 99 birds shagged, takes back a girl he’d been for drinks with. We (his housemates) all hide behind furniture in the living room when he came back. He starts his foreplay and asks her if she’d mind if he wore cricket gloves whilst they had sex, since it was a bit of a fetish thing for him. She looked confused but said fine, he goes into bag and puts them on. Then asks if he can wear pads, then finally a helmet. Fully padded up, proceeds to enter her and after about 3 minutes (LAD) comes, flicks on the main light switch. We all pop up from behind the sofa with rousing applause and cries of ‘THATS THE CENTURY!!’, he grabs his cricket bat, removes his helmet and acknowledges the crowd. She bursts into tears, dresses quickly and runs out of the front door. She left her pants. LAD”

The level of intelligence to produce a plan like that is impressing. Let’s make this clear though my thoughts go out to the poor girl, how mortifying, as a true ‘female LAD’ I respect this. It’s been good LADed.

I’m sure the LAD culture won’t cease anytime soon and the women of the world will have to endure the phrase ‘LAD’ after every action no matter how mundane. I shall just continue to campaign for the inclusion of LADettes, I do know the offside rule and I could probably out sport you anyway…

 

Valentines Day From The Single Girl.

‘I refuse to go all Carrie Bradshaw on you all, although I wouldn’t mind her wardrobe in consolation’

February 14th may be two weeks away but the shelves of the local supermarket are stocked with cardboard declarations of love for a small fortune or how about the oversized boxes of chocolate, Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a recipe for obesity. This being the  ideology of a cynical single girl who would rather spend Valentines day buried in her colour coded diary or preparing her lone attempt to take over the world. For those of us who aren’t guaranteed a bunch of extravagant flowers we may choose to ridicule this holiday as a consumerist paradise rather than accept its message of undying love and hope.

Rather than dwell on such a matter and reminisce about past valentines which have ended in my kindly bought carnations head being bitten off I have decided to see it in this manner. A lactose intolerant is hardly going to enjoy easter because they can’t eat chocolate, an Englishman isn’t going to joyfully celebrate St.Davids day and Scrooge isn’t going to take kindly to the prolonged gorge that is Christmas, so those singletons amongst us are aren’t going to cry about a lack of a Valentine. Unless your Bridget Jones of course, apologies if you do resemble such a figure of British society.

How about we just avoid the ‘cosy’ confines of the local brassiere, I say cosy because you may have to share your lap with the couple next to you who are also gazing longingly into each others eyes naive to the triple priced menu. Remain about our daily lives, how about we just watch Glee like we normally do on a Monday night or play netball for your University halls, because your sports sec would really appreciate such an action. As not to appear like a raging feminist as I’m not, unless we’re discussing the Andy Grey matter, let us single girls not fall into the misery of ‘nobody loves us’, man up! You have got this far why do you require the wrong size underwear and a tacky teddy bear, you don’t that’s right.

In all honesty I’m just trying to hide my disappointment in this months ‘Love’ Cosmo issue and detract from the thought of Valentines day running up and down a netball court. If my future husband is out there reading this someday, I apologise for my cynical approach it’s done in the hope that one day I may bring hope to the less composed of us who fear that a valentine’s day without a valentine is the end of the world. It’s not. February 15th does exist and so does the rest of your adult life.

The day will come and go as quickly as any others and should I somewhere have a secret admirer I would like to thank them in advance… Thankyou.

For the three Carnations that did survive last years mouth attack, thankyou Damen.

Distracting Even The Lonely.

‘Revision, always taken too far by some individuals resulting in desperate calls for social interaction’

Loneliness, not a feeling any individual wishes upon themselves even if they have the best intentions to use the time productively or not in my case. This expression of pure desperation comes after three days alone in University halls pretending to be doing essays and revision when in fact I have used the time to ‘Grow my own boyfriend’, dance like Cheryl Cole and catch up with Glee, Oh and moan about the social recluse I have become.

We are at that point again when revision takes over many lives and turns poor innocent brains into mental patients. That may be a slight over reaction but exam season is upon us but this time its combined with a month-long Christmas holiday and the excessive need to hit Oceana at every opportunity. One word for this concoction then, Fail. Even those brave enough to start their work have to contend with the addictive need to be on Facbook, avoid BBC Iplayer and googling popstars from your past (Claire Richards from Steps being my prime example, I’ve spent two hours youtubing her and even found her fan site, time well spent many would say). I took the challenge to begin my work head on, being the organised soul I am thought it would be a brilliant to return to Loughborough two weeks early, no distractions, nobody around, just me and my laptop. For the first time in my life I may be wrong and that is never easily admitted.

Within the space of the last month I believe procrastination has been taken to a new level, I’m quite convinced my new-found ability to do handstands in the hallway of our flat won’t help me pass an essay about language acquisition no matter how long I do them for. Filling my time doing leg sessions, pondering why I find certain individuals attract and reorganising my folders for the millionth time probably cannot be used as an excuse either. The most potent thing about this blog, is that it’s taken me a good two weeks to finish it through a series of distractions, namely my need to watch pointless TV that I’ve never been interested in before.

I need someone to give me some serious motivation, please..

For those who have spent the last month dancing like Rihanna.

 

As Of Midnight.

‘As of 12.01am on January 1st I will be a completely different person – Interesting concept’

Your probably aware that after the festive period comes the greatly anticipated start of a new year. On reflection of past years, definitely my favourite time of year due to the hype of partying in pubs and clubs that charge three times more than on a normal night, but to be fair you will get to stand in a queue for the bar for a couple of hours and get groped by complete drunk strangers, I take it back I love new years. Please sense the sarcasm.

This blog isn’t going to reflect on the inability for New Years to be the best night out of the entire year instead maybe begin to understand the strange concept of New Years resolutions. A promise people feel the need to make each year and share with people, even though it’s a certain fact that most resolutions are broken within the first two weeks. Take losing weight for example, well done for establishing that eating good food and exercising is the way forward in life but don’t expect a diet of celery and the solemn promise you’ve made to yourself to attend the gym 7 times a week to remain your lifestyle. I’m sure you intentions are good but the fat person inside does need chocolate and an excessive cake binge, it’s not going to last cut your loses now and take it slowly you’re not going to drop 2 dress sizes in period of 31st December to January 1st are you!?

Not to accuse those that do make resolutions as I’m an offender of the resolution relapse as shown through the chocolate ban of 2006. All in aid of trying to show my father that I do in fact have the will power to refrain from the chocolate cupboard for two weeks for a fiver. Well let me tell you the horrendous task of peeling chocolate icing from an eclair was a good twenty minutes of my life wasted, which could have been spend doing something more productive like improving my general knowledge or finding the cure for world AIDS. The latter probably wouldn’t have happened then as I was only 15.

If your going to make a resolution please keep it to yourself, I’m not going to scream at you if you fail on your size 0 slog or missed a couple of marathon training sessions, it’s your mission not mine. One thing I do know about 2011 already is that it’s going to have a rather tough time living up to the last 12 months, whether I complete my wheat free change or not..