Half Term

It's that time again, chaps and chapettes! Half Term is upon us and I can guarantee a good majority of students like myself have found themselves at a loss of things to do at certain times in the day.

"Hark!" I hear you cry, "You posted a very similar entry telling people how to enjoy themselves when they're alone, surely you're not going to simply repeat this?" - A terrible accusation. No, I will instead be giving you the DOs and DON'Ts of half term life, which isn't the same, because last time it was a 'Top of the Pops' style list.

So just sit back, put your reading glasses on and bathe in the following 'wisdom':

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DO remember the day of the week. All too soon the weekend will approach and your pants will have all the wrong days on them.

DON'T wake up too late. Yes, I know it's very tempting to have a nice long lie in, but long lie ins have been proven to lead to back pain, high cholesterol, and unexplained loss of teeth.

DO help out your dear old parents. It's hard for them, they have to pretend to work every day of the week, and seeing you watching Tom and Jerry naked in a puddle of urine is only going to make them jealous.

DON'T let any other siblings control you. Stand tall, stand firm, and let them know that you're in charge. Fail to do so and the atomic structure of the calcium in your teeth could completely collapse, resulting in the Helvetica Scenario.

DO use public transport. I know it's inconvenient and a health hazard, but public transport is the sole source of power for Boris Johnson. Travel by bus enough and Boris will be able to overthrow every other country in the world with his superhuman powers*.

DON'T become a hermit. Your friends are just as lonely, bad at spelling and sexually unfulfilled as you are. Don't leave you or them out, organise yourselves a lovely orgy.

DO count your blessings. You don't know what you've got until it's gone, so remember to remind yourself how lucky you are. Unless you don't have many, in which case it's probably just going to depress you. Bring on the ice cream and razorblades, or better still, razorblade flavoured ice cream.

And finally,
DON'T for the love of God leave your 'specialist' magazines around your friend's house. It's more trouble than its worth. Worse still, they might not tell you and keep it for themselves.

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With this, all your troubles will be gone, and Britain will be great once more.

*It has begun...

More Juicy Literature

I learned an interesting technique today. In English we read a short extract from Atonement, a novel by Ian McEwan*, and a very interesting literary device rose to the surface, and I'm amazed I haven't seen it before.

Two third-person narratives from different perspectives about exactly the same event.

I had to have a go, so here's a short little story about two old friends who have arranged to meet up in a pub after eight years of no contact:

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Tony sat down at the bar and ordered two pints. Clide would be here soon, he thought, as his head raced with all the good news he had about how he had turned his life around. No more did he have to scrounge an illicit living through petty (and some organised) criminal activities, he had his own home, new prospects, but most importantly of all, he had hi own job. Becoming self employed had been the best decision of his life, throwing off the shackles and debts of gang life had given him a new lease of life, a fresh verve and positive attitude. He had even playing with the idea of offering Clide a position in his new firm, which was rapidly becoming larger and more successful with every day that passed.
He looked around the pub he had chosen. Perhaps it wasn’t the best choice, but it was certainly convenient. This was the only place in the area that allowed tabs, and he certainly wasn’t expecting his old school friend to be buying drinks after such a successful turnover of his lifestyle.
Tony heard the sound of a hand slipping on the pub’s door handle, and as he recognised the face that emerged, his eyes widened and he grinned as he saw his old school friend for the first time in eight years. He wasn’t quite as he remembered him, he walked into the room looking very on edge. Tony noticed his palms were moist from sweat, and his eyes were darting all around the room with a tense suspicion. He beckoned his friend over and pointed to the pint he had bought him and winked cheerfully as he used to at school all those years ago. Clide sat down beside him and stared with reluctance at his drink, mopping his brow in apparent discomfort.
“How have you been you old bastard?” Tony cried merrily.
“Errm, good, yeah, you wanted to speak to me about something?” Clide answered nervously.
“Yeah, I’ve got a bit of business happening and I was wondering if you could give me a hand-” Clide didn’t let him finish.
“No, Tony, I’m really not interested, you know I’ve never wanted to get involved with your work, and I’ve absolutely no interest in starting.” He gathered his coat in his arms and straightened his hat, “It was good to see you again, but I’ve got things I have to do. Sorry about the drink.” and he stormed off in a manner Tony could only describe as of loathing and disgust.
Tony stared at the door as his friend exited the pub without so much as a fleeting glance in his direction. He watched his pint solemnly at a complete loss for words.
~
Clide peered in through the window of the ramshackle pile of bricks some would call a pub. He wished he didn’t have to meet him today. Why today of all days? He’d much rather have stayed at work, eaten a sandwich and smoked. The thought of this made his nerves tense up even more; it had been three days since his last cigarette, and he had come to the conclusion that quitting simply wasn’t for him. He reached into his jacket pocket for a nicotine patch, but found nothing but the remnants of five he had already used that day. He had also forgotten to put in his eye drops, so frustrated, he pulled the little glass bottle from his pocket and applied the liquid that would apparently save his vision. He went to open the door, but his hand slipped on the moisture from some rain they had had earlier that day. He tried again and caught a better grip with both hands simultaneously, causing the door to swing open.
As he entered the pub, he rotated his eyes to allow the drops to work effectively. As he looked around, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Tony was staring directly at him, with a cold-hearted grin on his face. As he wandered slowly over, wiping his rain-soaked hand on his trousers, he suddenly realised why he had asked to see him, and his heart sank. Tony was always up to something, even when he was a boy he was shoplifting and stealing from his parents, and not too long ago he’d read that he had been accused of organised crime, and pleaded guilty. Clide had never wanted anything to do with his criminal tendencies ever since they were caught by their parents and Clide had had to go and work as a volunteer in the local church for three months. Tony always got away with it though, his parents weren’t exactly the caring kind to say the least. Against his better judgement, Clide sat down.
“How have you been you old bastard?” Tony asked with a cold and manipulative smile.
“Errm, good, yeah, you wanted to speak to me about something?” Clide responded with impatience. He prayed it wasn’t what he feared.
“Yeah, I’ve got a bit of business happening and I was wondering if you could give me a hand-” Clide cut him short, he had heard enough and knew exactly what he was after.
“No, Tony, I’m really not interested, you know I’ve never wanted to get involved with your work, and I’ve absolutely no interest in starting,” he said as he hastily picked up his jacket and re-positioned his hat into a more respectable angle, “It was good to see you again, but I’ve got things I have to do. Sorry about the drink.” Without looking back, he raced off in the direction of the door and didn’t look back.
“Some people never change” he thought to himself.

-

If you have any pointers or opinions about this short story, don't hesitate to use the comments box below.

If you don't have any pointers or opinions, use the comments box anyway, it took me long enough to code you ungrateful bastards.


*It's also a film, which is essentially Kiera Knightly's wet dream

Zip Zap Zoop Zib Zippity Zap

In the modern times we live in, I simply can't be doing with Google connect. I'm sure it's a very good system and I know I can't match it on any level, however my lovely sexy audience* usually use Facebook, so I've decided to integrate a comment system that allows you charming lot to use your Facebook profiles to express your feelings towards my postings. It's faster and far more efficient. So much so it makes me want to speak like Bill Cosby (see post title).

It's a little disjointed at the moment, and practically impossible to see, but despair not, I shall use my astounding technological know-how to remedy the situation.

Bear with me, and with any luck things will be running swimmingly before we know it.

*I'm looking at you, James