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Guess what?! I'm not a robot!

Ommmfffgggg

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Sometimes I amaze myself. How have I made it so far in life without really understanding how buses work? Why are my eyebrows so oddly shaped? And how could I have forgotten - despite twelve months of episode rewatching, boxset buying and heated flat discussion - that not so long ago I ACTUALLY* MET BUFFY!!?!



* Well, not quite. Sort of, in a waxy way. But still, I had completely forgotten. This picture is going on my wall.

SERIOUSLY

It's not often that an entertainment news headline appears which looks more exciting than both the ongoing Michael Jackson funeral circus and Rupert Grint's brush with swine flu-induced death, but I thought for a glorious minute that tonight would be the night.



Alas, just as I'd fished out my parents' copy of ABBA Gold, the whole article loaded and I realised that once again the idiots at BBC News had just been having some fun with another ridiculously misleading headline. How foolish of me not to realise that what the BBC News team meant by 'Abba concert' was 'Some sort of half-arsed gig by the two bearded former members of ABBA which won't be much good and certainly isn't an ABBA concert by any stretch of the imagination'.



GET BACK TO JOURNALISM SCHOOL

Drunk With Gavin

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Second year was a difficult time in Rossworld. My hair was going through a particularly unruly phase, the OC teetered around and eventually tumbled into the great chasm of cancellation, and thanks to my growing aversion to lectures and work generally, I only just managed to scrape passes in subjects I neither cared nor knew anything about. No doubt Gavin was probably a little bored himself and just had nothing better to do at the time, but nevertheless he acquiesced to my shrill text demands and accompanied me on a series of increasingly ridiculous drunken misadventures, including the harassment of Fame Academy alumni, abject flunkage of pub quizzes and accidental release of several satsumas on the 2330 Scotrail service from Glasgow Queen Street to Edinburgh Waverley. Eventually things culminated in an estate agent's off Great Western Road and we found ourselves living together in a small flat with a broken lock and study full of boxes - an interesting experience to say the least, especially once we'd sobered up enough to follow the convulted storylines of One Tree Hill and master the 2 player cooperative mode in Timesplitters 3.

Other than the time we almost came to blows outside Burger King over a bag of chips, he's been a pretty good friend to me, and has grown to at least tolerate - if not fully understand - my unpredictable and explosive mood swings, which is all I can ask of other people really. To commemorate our drunken time together, here is another previously unreleased video clip from my now beer-soaked Motorola Razr. I have absolutely no idea why we're trying to get money out of the phonebox, nor why we put some in it in the first place.



THANKS GAV! (The white cable though? That was fucked up)

PREVIOUSLY:
4. Cheese, Pool and Other Such Fun at the QMU
5. Classes With Sarah
6. Hogmanay/New Year 2007/8
7. (Hydro) Connect
8. The Politics Society
9. Tea
10. First Year Murano Street Adventures

There Are Worse Ways to Spend Four Years

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Getting this done before graduation was a tad optimistic, huh.


Cheese, Pool and Other Such Fun at the QMU

Within the first thirty seconds of my Freshers' Address I knew for certain which union I would choose to join and frequent for the next four years. Both Glasgow University unions had delegations present, loudly competing for our attention over the top of whatever the rector was rambling about - on the left, a motley selection of colourfully dressed individuals in varying states of unfitness. To my right, a baying mob of preppy looking cheerleaders and rugby players, muscles flexing ominously beneath their gym gear. The Queen Margaret Lefties it was then.

Though games of pool and debauched photography in Jim's Bar shall always hold a special - if carefully concealed - place in my heart, the true gem in the QMU's crown is the Friday night extravaganza known as Cheesy Pop. It may be to blame for that most infamous of my countless drunken misdeeds - CHRISTMAS TREE NIGHT - and towards the end of my time in Glasgow it was during a particularly first-year-filled Cheesy I had the devastating realisation that I was perhaps getting a little too old for the Tragedy dance, but it also turned out to be the venue for many of my key life-affirming moments. Well, I say many. It's probably closer to one in all honesty, not counting the time I threw my wallet at Gavin's face. I am of course talking about March 27th this year, when Keavy and Edele from B*Witched graced the Qudos stage and I finally fulfilled my long-held ambition to sing Blame it on the Weatherman along with the Lynch twins and two hundred drunk students. Oh QMU. What will I do without you?



Classes With Sarah

After taking on primary school, the mountain slopes of Glenshee, Mr Shinwell's Advanced Higher History class and the road to Muiravonside, it made sense that we should really go the whole way and do a law degree together as well. Though the moot, various pieces of groupwork and the disgustingly underrated property law assignment were technically collaborative efforts, I'm not sure I brought all that much to the operation, voluminous hair aside - that I passed first and second year at all is probably down to her efforts. Sarah's key role in keeping me informed about exactly what was going on at any given point during my degree was particularly appreciated, but more importantly, I can't think of anyone else who would be willing to spend the most part of every lecture mocking the crazy-eyed, bird-resembling or over-eager members of class in a series of illustrative notes, or join me in peals of inappropriate laughter at a pen lid I'd just accidentally pinged across the room mid-seminar. It's going to be weird not having her around next year, but I'm sure she'll get lots more work done at LSE without me drawing poodles in her note margins and pestering her with questions about my own timetable. THANKS SARAH!

PREVIOUSLY:
6. Hogmanay/New Year 2007/8
7. (Hydro) Connect
8. The Politics Society
9. Tea
10. First Year Murano Street Adventures

You Know, I Think I Laughed a Few Times

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I had high hopes for this Best Bits of My University Career Countdown thing. I had it all worked out in my head you see - an update every few days, vibrant imagery, hilarious memories, a fun-filled and engaging recurring feature, with the final installment coming around the time of my graduation. "It will be brilliant," I thought to myself back in May. "A permanent blog record of some of the most eventful years of my life. I shall throw myself into this project with all my trademark commitment and zeal." A month or so later, my graduation is tomorrow, and I've not made it past number 8 yet. Things have quite literally not gone to plan. The time has come for a 24 hour BLOGBLITZ.



Hogmanay/New Year 2007/8

When I was younger, Hogmanay was very much the uglier and less interesting cousin of Christmas Eve. Though being allowed to stay up until midnight had its charms, the TV shows favoured by my father were terrible, Jackie Bird’s skeletal frame still gives me occasional nightmares, and for most of the evening I would lurk upstairs reviewing what exactly had gone wrong with my life over the previous 12 months – all in all, rather depressing. This changed when Hannah persuaded me to join her and some others at the ABC to see in 2008, and I had such a good time I did it again for 2009 – wasn't quite the same though, New Year 2008/9 ultimately derailed by the serious injuries I sustained by tumbling down a flight of stairs just after the bells.

But still! New Year 2007/8 was magical. Well, it probably wasn’t, but I was so drunk it certainly seemed that way, and even as the crowds started to disperse towards 3am we stubbornly remained on the dance floor, Hannah bravely battling on despite falling over several times during every song. When we left I’m sure there were chips involved, and waking up the next morning I had neither mental images of Jackie Bird’s bony frame seared into my retinas NOR A HANGOVER, which was miraculous. In tribute to this amazing night, here is previously unreleased footage of Hannah falling over, which I feel I can now safely upload since she’s in Tanzania and can’t hurt me.



(If anyone can work out what I'm shrieking in the final moments there might be a prize involved)



(Hydro) Connect

Ah, my two festival experiences. "Wait, hold on," I hear you cry. "Weren’t both your Connect weekends wet, miserable, filthy and expensive?" Yes, perhaps, but as time has passed, all memories of scary drunk neighbours and relentless driving rain have faded, leaving in their place fuzzy impressions of something that was properly amazing. 2007 was possibly slightly better since just about everyone I know was there, but even when it was just myself and the Galvinator we kept ourselves amused – be it with impromptu games of Battleships or napping through a number of dull Manchurian electro-bands whose names I have since forgotten. Connect is on hiatus this year, but I do hope it returns in 2010 - the last weekend of August will be ever so dull without knee-high mud and a pleasing selection of musical talent to wade through.



The Politics Society

When I first arrived at Glasgow, memories of the bitter school magazine schism still fresh in my mind, I made a solemn oath to myself - that under no circumstances would I get in any way involved with the thousands of university societies thrusting flyers into my hands and pick 'n' mix sweets into my eyes. As my barren CV attested, I managed this very well for quite some time, until one fateful morning when I woke up with my shoes still on, a stolen pint glass in my coat pocket, wine-matted hair and a vague suspicion that I'd just been elected Treasurer of the Politics Society.

In my defence, it didn't originally seem like a society, more a gathering of mostly familiar faces where a number of my old school tales could be relentlessly barked across the table until anyone interested in discussing politics left. As time wore on though, the stories became so familiar to the more persistent attendees that they became honourary Linlithgow Academy alumni themselves, and as they have seen me embarass myself so regularly and in so many different ways I had little choice but to call them friends and regularly invite them places so as to prevent them from telling anyone else about my disgraceful antics. I will miss the allegedly political society and all the games of pool, chips, dancing and inappropriate conversation that went with it ever so much. (Increasingly painful Wednesday mornings less so)

PREVIOUSLY:
9. Tea
10. First Year Murano Street Adventures

Shoddy journalism

Something caught my eye on the BBC's website earlier this evening. I've been a bit bored today, so I was mildly thrilled. "Excellent," I thought to myself. "The up-and-coming execution of the pet of one of my least favourite human beings of all time? This should keep me entertained, at least until the kettle's boiled."



Alas, I don't think I've ever been so let down by a headline before in my entire life. There I was expecting a tragic but gripping tale of stolen nuts and capital punishment, possibly involving Heather Mills, but instead I get a load of rubbish about things that aren't interesting at all.



MISLEADING OR WHAT

Success has never sounded so bad

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Wait! Come back! I know you might not believe it, but I don't have anything to moan about today! Observe: my current mood were it to be extracted and converted to .gif form!



Several weeks of sleepless nights and unprovoked, irascible outbursts against family members and pets finally came to an end yesterday when I found out that I hadn't failed everything and actually managed to get the upper second class degree I wanted. This is very good news for me as I can now go on to do the postgraduate course of my dreams and hopefully not end up in a Glaswegian gutter before I'm 30. It was, however, very bad news for the people upstairs, as I chose to celebrate my glittering new 2:1 with some of the best worst music Spotify has to offer. If you have just received some exciting news, or just fancy prancing around in your bedroom looking like an unshaven former member of 5ive auditioning as a backing dancer for the Spice Girls comeback tour then this is the playlist for you. DO IT.

Deep breath

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You may have noticed the distinct lack of my usual post-examination crowing about all the fun things I'm looking forward to not getting round to doing over the summer months. This is because every time I wake up from my ever-lengthening naps or arrive home after another brutal overtime shift on the checkouts I am filled with an overwhelming and incapacitating sense of dread as my mind wanders to the subject of my soon-to-be-revealed exam results and accompanying overall degree classification. I would very much like a 2:1, but given the 10,000 word suicide note that was my dissertation, there is a real possibility that I might not make it to the dizzying heights of upper second-class honours. I am this close to drowning out the persistent nightmares about exams I've already sat and frantic mental calculations about how many Bs I would need to cancel out a D-ssertation with several glasses of wine for breakfast each day and liberal helpings of my emergency vodka, but for the sake of my liver I thought I'd try something else first.

Reasons why my life will not be over if I don't get a 2:1

1. Even if the D-word does take a wrecking ball to my GPA and leads to the utterly humiliating disaster that would be a third, no one is going to take me round the back of the law school and shoot me. Yes, there will be looks of disappointment fired my way by the parents, but I will simply remind them of their unconditional love for me, and possibly cry if that’s what it takes to turn their anger into pity.

2. If I do fail everything I can take it as a sign from the glorious Flying Spaghetti Monster that I was right all along - law is not for me, it was absolutely wise of me to spend so much of the degree doodling poodles in the margins of my notes, and that I should focus my energies on writing nonsense and working out how to make money from it in future.

3. Law graduates have horrendously low rates of employment, so even the ones that do well and spend much of graduation day looking terribly pleased with themselves won't be making any money for quite some time.

4. My dogs didn't even realise I was doing a degree in the first place, and so will continue to love me regardless of how it pans out.

5. The things I truly enjoy in life probably aren't going to spontaneously combust should I login and see two twos winking back at me. Harry Potter, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, doughnuts and tortoises will all endure, even if my mother's dreams of me becoming a celebrated barrister do not.

6. As long as I keep reading the Independent on Sunday and bringing in strawberry punnets for lunch, my work collegues will still think I am both smart and posh, which is all I’ve ever wanted.

7. I'll be miserable for quite some time, I can't deny it – the B-in-higher-history debacle continues to haunt me to this day. However, I can't see the 2:2 blues lasting past August, when I will have both two weeks in France and the new Imogen Heap album to finally dispell the gloom.

8. Gerard Butler didn't do very well when he did law at Glasgow Uni either, AND he then went on to star in the second Tomb Raider film, yet he still seems okay with it all and hasn’t killed himself. What an inspiration. He used to live with my auntie, don't you know.

9. Flunking a law degree sounds like a potentially fun dinner party anecdote, at least once the shame and overwhelming sense of failure's worn off.

10. In ten years time will I really still care? In the grand scheme of things, what is a 2:2, or a 2:1 for that matter? Life goes on, I've coped okay so far, and what the piece of paper I'm given on my graduation day says won't matter a jot come autumn when birdswine flu goes pandemic and kills us all.

Don't know about you, but I feel lots better.

This Uni Lark Could Have Been a Lot Worse

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Like almost everything other than revision, my top ten rundown of the best bits of my university degree seemed like a much better idea when I had exams approaching. But HAH - I have not forgotten about it, nor have I given up. It shall continue, starting right now. Here is number 9. I think you'll agree that I'm making admirably steady progress.


Tea

That I am now finished university with four limbs and most of my hair still intact is primarily down to the subject of number 9 - my collaborator-in-chief, principal giver of support and all-round best friend, TEA. There is nothing that tea cannot solve. It is a warm mug of support come rain or shine - it cheers me up when I'm feeling down, wakes me up when I'm feeling tired, and gives me an excuse to potter about with kettles and cosies for hours when I'm bored of whatever it is I'm meant to be doing. Tea has been a central part of life for the last four years, as the numerous stains I leave in my wake can attest. Tea is amazing. Tea is everything. I LOVE TEA.

PREVIOUSLY:
10. First Year Murano Street Adventures

This is better than the new Patrick Wolf video



I like the glittery depiction of evisceration by werewolf.
July 2009
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