The Hallé.

Life's tough.

Went to Manchester to visit the sister and her beloved this weekend. Went to the Christmas markets; ate too much cheese and drank too much alcohol. It's a hard life. What was hard, was sleeping on the sofa, which was about half the size of me (making it pretty much a miniature sofa), it was either that or the broken air bed. I was spoilt for choice.

In between stuffing my face and sleeping in uncomfortable positions, we went to watch The Hallé perform Handel's Messiah at Bridgewater Hall. For those of who are uncultured as me; we went to watch an orchestra play some awesome music, whilst an even more awesome choir sang with them.

Now, I'm like most people, I like some classical music - as in the really famous songs that are always in films and things like that. I'm definitely not a fanatic when it comes to this sort of music.

However, it was AMAZING. Actually amazing. 

Going to things like that don't half make you feel shit about yourself though. These people are so talented it was unreal. One of the male solos was an absolute legend. Reading through the programme made me feel even shitter; these people aren't half 'well-rounded'.

So, to make ourselves feel better afterwards we went and had a massive Chinese in China Town. A good way to end the night.

Would definitely recommend going to something like that, especially near Christmas, definitely puts you in the mood.

Speaking of Christmas; 3 WEEKS AND A DAY. I have bought all of two presents, to say I'm not prepared is an understatement. 

Also kacking my pants about my future; what the hell am I going to do with my life? I'm definitely leaning towards further education again, but possibly in something I'll actually enjoy this time. Just an idea. Either way, I need to sort out something, not having something to work towards at the minute is driving me crazy. And the real world's really tiring me out. 

Also, from now on, I won't be posting links on my facebook/twitter so if you want to keep on reading then you'll have to keep checking; effort, I know. But when you're bored, or fancy a little stalk; read away. I'll be aiming to post a new one every couple of days of so.

The Solution.

I've worked out what I'm going to do with my life.

It's pretty simple really; according to BBC news, there's a positive correlation between eating cocoa and winning Noble prizes. Hence I'm going to start eating lots of cocoa and win a Nobel prize. 

Sorted.

I haven't decided what I'm going to win my Nobel prize for yet, but I'm sure I'll think of something. Can't be too hard.

When I was younger I used to think I'd be sorted for life if I invented something, however, I was naiive enough to think that I'd just have a spark of inspiration and voila; mission accomplished. Not realising how much work and effort goes into these things. Maybe I should've just eaten more chocolate.

Clearly, the cocoa/Nobel prize idea isn't very realistic. Be great if it was though. If it was that simple all you had to do was eat more chocolate (probably get a bit fat) and then you'd be given this award, along with a diploma, a gold medal and some money. Would definitely defeat the point though, and make Nobel prizes slightly less prestigious. Not much recognition in eating lots of chocolate. Unless you're like Adam Richman.

So back to the drawing board; no Nobel prizes for me. Possibly need to aim a bit lower; getting a degree first - that might be useful. Then I can think about Nobel prizes....

The Cinema.

What's happened to cinema etiquette?

I was stupidly under the impression that you go the cinema to watch a film. Apparently, that's not the case. 

I thought it'd be a nice idea for me and my parents to go to the cinema. I was very, very wrong.

Cinema owners are clearly not very business-minded. More and more people are watching pirated DVDs and illegally downloading films on the internet. You'd think that the people who run/own the cinemas would come up with some clever way to entice more people to want to go to the cinema. Raising your prices and lowering the standard of service is not what I'd call enticing. Might want to work on that one guys.

Now, not only do you have to pay an extortionate amount of money to actually see a film, you then get to share the cinema with some absolute cretins. There are the following types of people who should just NOT be allowed to go to the cinema:

• The coughers/sniffers/sneezers - these are the people who are always, always sat right behind you. Not only do they sneeze with such force that you can feel your hair move, they don't even bother covering their mouths. Delightful. Or better yet, they have a phlegmy cough, or as I like to call it, 'the old man cough', where they literally sound like they're coughing their guts up. You're clearly ill. Go to bed. Don't come to a public place where the same air is circulated in the same room for a number of hours. 
• The flirters - these people think it's a really good idea to go on a date. To the cinema. The one place where it's not socially acceptable to talk. Bad move. Not only this, but they also seem to think it's alright to show massive amounts of PDA. It's not alright.
• The young'uns -  here we come to the spritely, young children who are taking a break from misbehaving 'in the streets' and doing something a bit less 'yobbo-like'. I'd rather they just stay on the streets and misbehave to their hearts content, that way they can't disturb my cinema viewing by running up and down stairs and throwing popcorn at each other.
• The talkers - in my opinion, these are the worst sort of cinema-goers. YOU DON'T GO TO THE CINEMA TO HAVE A CHAT. The thing is, they don't even try and whisper, oh no, they carry on with their conversation at normal volume. The mind boggles.
• The stinkers - I really feel for anyone who's come across a stinker. This person will sit down next to/near you and absolutely reek. Suddenly, it dawns on you; there are no other seats, you have to stay there and breathe in that smell for the WHOLE FILM. You can't get away from it. The film's ruined.
• The kickers - you get these delights on airplanes too. They should have their legs cut-off. Now I'm not a very big person, therefore, when some eejit kicks my chair, the chair and I tend to move. Why do people, I say people, it's generally children (another sweeping statement, I'm full of them today), think it's acceptable to kick the back of a complete strangers chair? Repetitively. How would they like it if I started kicking them in the back? Repetitively. 

If you recognise any of these characteristics in yourself, please, do us all a favour: don't go to the cinema. Just stay at home. Wait until it comes out on DVD. Don't ruin the experience for everyone else just because you have awful cinema-etiquette, either that, or stop being a massive tool and learn how to behave at the cinema. Simple really.

As you can probably tell, I encountered all of the above at my recent trip to the cinema. However, I did a very un-British thing. I said something. That's right; I spoke up.

The adverts were on, there was a couple behind my parents who were flirting away to their hearts content; measuring the size of their hands, snuggling up to each other and generally talking shit. Not only this, but they'd brought along their single, male friend. Poor, poor guy. My heart went out to him. How he wasn't dying inside, I don't know. 

Anyway, they were flirting away, quite loudly. I could tell my parents were getting more and more worked up. But, it was only the adverts, you can't really complain; the film hadn't even started - unfortunately, they were entitled to act like love-sick puppies.

But then the film started; a couple of minutes in and I could feel the anger radiating from my parents. They're like me: we don't stand for any of this chatting/coughing/flirting nonsense - we watch the film, we may make the odd comment (whispering it, obviously) but we don't disturb anyone else, we keep ourselves to ourselves and expect everyone else to do the same. And being very British, the idea of complaining is alien to them.

So I did it. I took it upon myself to man up. I turned around. I told them to shut the hell up. Well, not quite; I very politely asked them to keep it down. After all, I am a Brit.

The effect was immense.They shrank away from each other, heads down, eyes to the floor and nodded. I felt invincible. If that's what it feels like to be a teacher, I'm there. It made my cinema experience that little bit more awesome. I could feel the gratitude, not just from my parents and their gooseberry friend, but all the other cinema-goers in the nearby vicinity. You're welcome. 

The actual film was good (Taken 2, if you're interested), obviously not as good as the first, but still enjoyable. However, I learnt, as I do every time I go to the cinema, unless it's pretty much empty - and even then you'll get someone who sits next to you, what's that about? - I will not enjoy it. I'll be too busy waiting for someone near me to reveal their awful cinema etiquette.

The Shit.

So I had quite an eventful weekend.

The boyfriend was on leave so went to visit him. Met at the station, he treated me to a Maccy's. I've got a keeper.

We were going to a neighbours 50th surprise party on the Friday night so we came back, got ready. I was all dressed and ready to go, went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Mooched on back to the bedroom and that was when the brown stains where spotted, on the cream-coloured carpet. It's always cream-coloured when things like this happen isn't it?

Now, before I go any further, I'd like to point out that these sort of things always happen to me. You know all those embarrassing stories you have about that one friend? I am that one friend. My duty on earth is to do embarrassing things so that my friends have lots of funny stories to tell at parties. You're welcome.

So anyway, the brown stains. They were spotted by his sister - obviously brown stains can only mean two things; poo or chocolate. I was hoping for chocolate. Neither of us were willing to find out; so the boyfriend gets to kneel down and have a good whiff of them. Poo, definitely poo. 

Now, who's just come out of the bathroom? Moi. To brush my teeth. No shit had been shat while I'd been in there. Bearing in mind, it's a well know fact that girls don't defecate. And yes, I am trying to use as many synonyms as possible.

So how did it end up on the floor? We all checked our feet. Guess who had a nice brown stain on the heel of her tights? That would be me. My first thought: how the actual hell have I managed to get shit on my tights. The sister's first sentence to her brother: Have you pooed on the bathroom floor? Now that should have worried me slightly, but the fact that she wasn't pinpointing it on me made me feel slightly relieved.

But as my boyfriend hadn't pooed on the floor (thankfully), why the hell was there crap on my tights? 

Then I realised, I'd stayed at my Dad's the night before, and no he hadn't shat on my tights. No one had. His cat however, had sicked up on my tights. Apparently, she does it on occasion. Thanks for the warning father. But hey, at least it wasn't poo. Not that it makes much of a difference. I'd still trodden the equivalent of cat shit through the house. Not a great impression. Especially after the vomitting incident a few weeks back involving my vomit and his carpet.

I don't have a good relationship with this carpet.

Thankfully I have a better one with his parents; they still let me stay there, despite the fact I'm apparently on some mission to ruin their house.

Was I embarrassed? Horrendously so. Did I want to curl up into a ball and die? A little bit.

Instead, I powered on through; telling strangers the whole story at the party that evening. One story from me and they automatically felt better about their lives. It's what I'm here for. 

Good thing I have a sense of humour and very little shame, or I'd be one unhappy bunny.

There were a few more eventful happenings that weekend, involving a mis-directed firework but it didn't embarrass me, just made me fear for my life.

Either way, I think the next time I visit (if I'm allowed in the house), that I should stick to the non-carpeted areas. Like the kitchen. Or the shed. Just to be safe. 

And apologies for this being very shit - excuse the pun - has taken me two days to write this and I'm still not feeling it.

The Car Crash.

Had a car crash the other day.

Slightly inconvenient. Majorly shit. I say my car, it's my Mum's. Makes it that bit more shit.

Apparently it's all the rage at the minute; crashing cars. It's the done thing. Probably down to the shit weather. And people's shit driving.

I was all for slagging off public transport last time but now I'm slightly more in favour of it, it's useful when you're car-less. Only slightly though. Going down to London at the weekend on the train; highly doubt I'll be lucky enough to have a conversation with another legend, but here's hoping. Definitely going to have a crazy sat next to me. Can't wait.

Speaking of crazy; my friend suggested doing a sky dive for charity the other day. My reaction: 'pah, it'll be piss easy compared to the GNR, why the hell not'. I now realise this is not the case, and said friend will probably have to push me out the door - pretty sure she'll jump at the chance. So as soon as the friend in question has sorted out the details (get on it dude, it's written in here now - we have to do it) we'll be jumping out of a plane. Of our own accord.

Although, I'm not great with heights/planes/moving fast towards the ground/moving fast generally. Didn't really think this through. Ah I'm sure it'll be fine, it's not like I could die or anything....oh, wait.

Maybe I'm having a mid-life crisis. Only it's 20 years too early. Would explain a lot though.

Oh well, all I need to do is buy a motorbike and be done with it. 

Ironically, I want to buy a motorbike. Only a few minor points from stopping me; I can't drive one, I'm smaller than most children, and I'm pretty much broke. Minor, minor details.

I do get my first proper pay cheque on Wednesday though. Excited is an understatement. The saddest thing is I'm excited to be able to pay for petrol and not have to borrow money off my parents.

You would have thought that being a student would have prepared me for the life of a pauper, apparently not. It did however, teach me to appreciate heating and home-cooked food. Being at home is amazing.

One of my friends asked me the other day if I missed the uni lifestyle, but I could honestly answer no. I'm actually loving life at the minute; even in spite of the fact that I've had a car crash, have no money and am completely clueless about what I want to do with my life. God I'm an inspirational person. 

And on that modest note, I'm going to do some coursework (which is going well if you're wondering).

Public Transport.

Boring stuff first, apologies.

I've got a job. Loving it. But I'm not a massive mong and realise I can't write about it on here, unless I want to get myself fired. So this' is going to go in a different direction for now; general ramblings about my life. Only the interesting ones though. Nothing too personal (again, not a massive mong, don't want to ruin my life etc.), but relevant to me. At this moment in time, English/writing/editing/media is looking like the way forward for me (very broad spectrum I realise) so ideally, I need to keep this up.

So here goes; went to Manchester at the weekend to visit my sister. Amazing city; I think it's impossible not to love it, there's something there for everyone. Literally, everyone. The problem was actually getting there. I was going to have to train it, and I'm not a fan.  

I'm a massive hater of trains, and public transport generally. Especially trains though. Yes there's the obvious fact that they're rarely on time (railway companies are doing a top notch job...) and cost a bomb considering the awful service, but it's also the people you get on trains. I think I must have a sign on my face that says 'weirdos please, sit next to me, and chat away to your heart's content'. It's like they gravitate towards to me. I think this' mainly due to the fact that I look like a child; a teenager on a good day. Add this to the fact that I have a nice, friendly face (looks can be deceiving) and it's like people feel the need to talk to me. Ignore that need. Please. 

So my usual train etiquette is as follows; head down, avoid all eye contact, put in headphones and ignore everyone. Works like a charm. So imagine my surprise when I begin to have a conversation, on a train, with a normal person, and actually find myself interested and forthcoming with questions. Two weeks at work and apparently I'm a social butterfly. To be fair, this guy was amazing; plastic surgeon (disapproving looks all round), who, wait for it, works on skin cancer patients. Bet you feel bad for judging him now (I know I did). Not only this, but he's in the process of helping develop some medical app for the army. What. A. Legend. And here he is, talking about his work and his family (who are all as amazing as him), and he keeps asking questions about me, as if he's genuinely interested. What a guy. 

So maybe being sociable isn't such a bad thing after all? Or I found the only exception to the rule. Probably the latter. Either way, I think I've got my new job to thank for my new found social skills; cheers. 

Add to the fact that the train was actually on time, and I was pretty much ecstatic. Don't get me wrong, I still hate public transport and will avoid it all costs, but it was nice having a positive experience. After about 10 years of using it, about time really.

Saying this, on my journey back I saw a man wearing Uggs; man Uggs = Muggs - pretty apt name if you ask me. Uggs are a controversial item of clothing as it is; I still can't work out if I hate them or not. And that's just on women, on men it's a completely different matter. It's just wrong. Grow a pair of balls and buy some real shoes. But that's just my opinion. Good thing he didn't try talk to me; could have been a very awkward conversation. Me trying not to laugh in his face, and him getting quite offended.

So there you have it, the pros and cons of public transport. Pros; the train may be on time and you might have a decent conversation with a normal person. Cons; the train will almost definitely be delayed after you've spent far too much on a ticket, and you'll be sitting next to an absolute cretin who feels the need to cough on you/talk to you/radiate BO. I'll stick to driving thanks.

The Interview Part II.

Only went and got myself a job today.

So I had my interview this afternoon. Turned up horrendously early due to my paranoid nature and the fact that I needed to make sure I stretched my legs before I went in (literally). To be fair, who doesn't turn up early to an interview? Probably not half an hour early like I did, but still. As I turned up to the wrong building at first, probably a good idea that I did get there so early. What can I say, I'm female; it's only natural that I'm useless with directions.

That's a blatant lie, I'm usually pretty good with directions (I'm sure some would disagree; you're wrong) even though I am a woman. Anyway, everyone knows it's always the guys' fault; they're incapable of listening.

Oh, and I should probably point out that this interview was a follow up to the one I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, which means I can't be a complete tool and obviously passed the test I did. Get in.

Again, felt very over-dressed. Was much more relaxed this time. Although, walking in, I had no idea what sort of job I was being interviewed for, which was a tad nerve-wrecking. They gave me the job spec. at the beginning and I had a quick flick through; looked pretty standard, not too monotonous and they had two positions going; one permanent, one temporary - I was open to either. No time to be fussy these days. It went alright. I don't think I answered the questions amazingly well but I didn't say anything particularly stupid either so came out feeling alright about it. 

Five minutes later. Going over things in my head thinking 'why the hell did I say that', clearly the time to stop being a woman and over-thinking things. They told me they'd get back to me by Friday. Time to wait it out. Joy. 

Two hours later; back at home writing a letter (yes, people still write letters - who knew), when my phone rang - they were offering me the job. Chuffed is an under-statement. 

Talking to my Dad about it later, when he basically called me a lucky git. Offended? Definitely. I've probably applied to about 70 jobs so far, so I'd hardly call it luck. Determined, that's the word I'd use. Admittedly this was my first proper interview and I got the job, but that's after about 69 other people turning me down. Good thing they didn't notice my poo-walk. Could've have been a whole different story.

So that's one thing done. Get a job; check. Still don't feel very relieved; don't think I will until I've actually started (next Monday - no rest for the wicked). Now I've just got to keep on top of everything else as well. Bring it on.