Damn swine the computers. Or computer, as in the special needs child of a computer I am using. It appears that running Firefox with three tabs open and trying to download a file (all of 2Mb big) is too much to ask. Why is it that as technology gets better, faster, smaller, cheaper (that might have something to do with it), it also becomes more irritating?

That's a bit of a throw away thought at the minute, for I have no brain power for those sorts of debates. No debates. I have minimal functionality in the noggin departments at best of times and considering I'm just starting a fourth day of end of college celebrations, I wouldn't expect any deep thoughts for a while.

Right, I'm just rambling now. I'll blame it on the tennis. Too much time in the sun. People with surnames beginning with X and ending in J. No, I'm just looking for excuses now. Blogging for blogging's sake. I know. I'll put some pretty pictures up. Cheers Ol x.



There we go: something to write about. It had to happen sooner or later. I've been trying to find where I post all my stuff online, so it can be linked to on here. Windows Live Space or SkyDrive or something to that effect. Having three Hotmail accounts isn't making it any easier either. I've found folders of college files but not Tramspotting ones. Where did I put it last? I must've had it around here somewhere. Click, no. Click, no. Click... yes. Right. If that's worked properly there should be some sweet pics on here, which means my job is done and I can shower off the sweat and smell of defeat from tennis.

God damn, I shouldn't have spoke bad about computers or any product associated with Bill. Bloody computer karma has just kicked me in the balls, making me wait five minutes to upload an MP3 that doesn't even work. Arse. No music today. Haven't got time to be fucking around with this. I've got English students to be getting drunk with.

Two posts in two months. Anyone would think I've had things to do.

Turns out I have. Since Friday I've been making the most of free time. Friday was the final deadline for college, and despite consuming a large amount of alcohol/others whilst working my ass to the bone over the previous fortnight, it's quite pleasant to drink without worrying about work.

Hell, it turns out that I haven't had five minutes to drag my sorry cursor to my 'Blogger: Dashboard' button. It's been some quite consuming work. I'd better get a decent grade now.

Anyhoo, it's way too early in my day at this very moment. I've awoken on a sofa to some pretty boring talk from England players about Wednesday night's game against the USA. I suppose there isn't much exciting to talk about prior to such a big game. Can't wait for the press conference ahead of the friendly against the mighty Trinidad and Tobago.

I was gonna start putting a bit more effort into my posts. A spring clean as you would. Perhaps now I've got some time to think to myself for five minutes, five hours, five months, five years (still haven't quite got over finishing the degree)...

The point was: I'm gonna try and make an effort. Get some pics and music up here. Make it look like a decent blog (no point in writing decent copy if no one is going to read it). Make it a decent blog. So here are Today's treats, a poster I pinched off the internet which needs some slight detail editing (i.e. make it for my party) and some sexy tunes from the Sexy Party's playlist.


Alfredo Luna - Claudine 69
The Herbaliser - Sensual Woman
Malcolm McLaren - About Her
Justin Timberlake vs Metronomy - SexyBack (Tylerfedchuk Indie Edit)

The television set is looking more and more appealing. My attention is flickering between it and my computer screen. That doesn't seem to be just now, but for the last few weeks. Anything seems to grab my attention more than the reasons for being sat in front of the laptop. Not good when you've got a fuck load of college work to do.

God, I can't even be arsed to write this. My blogging and writing seems to be at an all time (well, not all time, I'm pretty sure I couldn't write this well in 1989) low.

To quote Chris from Skins once more, 'Fuck it'.

Two weeks, no writey? Not on here I'm afraid. Been way too busy last minuting my dissertation (over the past week).

Shan't be long on here neither. Got shit to do. But rest assured I'll be getting on with self doubt and cracking tunes circling my mind.

I wish I had time to write more.

Love

Three times in one night? I'm going to be sore tomorrow.

Ah fuck it. If there's a better place than their own blog for someone to brag about their skills at the poker table I haven't heard of it. Dejected and tired, and somewhat fed up of reading the same shit over and over and over again, I decided to fire up a single table sit n go. One last roll of the dice for the night. That and after the annoyance of going out ninth (top six paid) in the last game and the horrendous drunk session I had last Thursday, my bankroll seriously needed a kick in the right direction. And it got just that. Woo hoo! Back up to the major league level that is $100, I can feel a degree of pride for having a three figure bankroll again.

Notes to self for future reference: Don't play like a twat. Play the game to win it, not to try and win as many hands as possible. Don't play drunk. Don't play tired. Don't play games unless you've got time to commit to the end. Don't lose concentration at the final stages. And don't cry like a baby when you make a stupid move and luck doesn't go your way (re: last post to some extent).

Right, time to sleep. Too much to do tomorrow to be on here all night. Ah fuck, half three? I can be up and at my 'desk' for twelve. Easy.

Eye off the ball. I took my eye off the fucking ball for two seconds and just threw away an hour's work. The poker hand mentioned in the last post came from a 45 player tournament. I had just made it to the final table, mainly by playing tight and aggressive and paying more attention to my text book (and this blog of course). But final table time, time to switch on. I turned open my book and got all of thre sentences in to a new chapter. I look up. Pocket eights. Middle position I raise (blinds: 200/400) to 1800. One caller. The flop comes J-2-6 rainbow. I think about it for a minute. He wouldn't have just called with Aces/Kings/Queens. Jacks highly unlikely, that would warrent a reraise to avoid a danger flop. A-K, A-Q, A-J or a pair lower than 10s. I shove, he calls and has me covered by about 1,000 with KING FUCKING JACK. What the fuck is he calling big pre flop raises with that shit? I don't hit either of my two outs and I'm out. Incensed, enraged, but I've learned a lesson. And they're worth cash. If not a currency.

Over a week without a post? Yes, my life has got increasingly boring in these past few days. (Phew, Jacks held up against A-K all in pre flop.) Anyway, I write this post lying in bed with the window wide open to allow the smoke to drift into the cool night air. I don't want my room smelling of smoke now do I?

I'm reading the joyous subject of gender politics for my dissertation and acting out the role of the 'masculine' in one form or another (there are many forms of masculinity that negotiate with each other and blah, blah, blah) by playing poker (a very manly past time) and smoking Marlboro reds (real Cowboy killers). Plus I'm eating what is possibly my first ever cuisine creation (not that manly a thing depending on your social circles), the 'Triple Cream'. It's basically a Jacob's cream cracker with double cream smeared on top (one and two is three, get it?). Hardly a snack that the girls will be running for. Running from more like. And if anyone's asking, no I'm not stoned, there's just nothing in my kitchen. Barre some cream and some crackers.

Skipping to the point as to why I decided to get my sorry ass to Blogger: I've just come straight (via the intro blurb) from my Hotmail where I've just emailed one of my tutors. What caught my attention was the user specific advertisements that appeared on the page. Now having written to my tutor about my dissertation (on poker in a roundabout way), I wasn't surprised to see an ad for William Hill's casino website. The matter of the source of how they know I'm a sick sad gambler is another thing. Did they read my email? Did they check my cookies? Do they know that I've got Full Tilt Poker running? Either way they've got me hook, line and sinker as a target demographic. Nice one internet for invading my personal information and selling it to the highest bidder. Too bad that information on me you got (male, twenties, gambler...) also applies to the other ad you threw upon me. Too bad I've already got a fucking TV License!

Bit more light hearted today. I can't spend my time being angry, or wasting other's time with it. Oh, shit, I just realised I was going to write a rant. It's a funny one at least!

For the last week or so, the good people at Ipsos MORI, the research company, have been hounding me on the phone. At least once a day I receive a call, tell them I'm busy and hang up. Don't they get the message? Then this morning I got a survey in the post from them. Fine, I give in. I'll fill out the fucking form. I'm not letting some robot process five minutes of my good time into data. You can enjoy it too. Here's what I put for the Positive and Negative aspects I've found from my course.

Positive: The course has provided me with opportunities and contacts, but I'd probably have made the opportunities and contacts regardless [of the course]. In hindsight, the course has made me sickenally aware of the lack of employability in my field, which is a good thing to know; having shelled out £15,000 for it. I have met some very good people along the way.

Negative: I don't really see what I'm paying for. You turn education into a business and that's what you get. I feel like a customer that has been duped by a dodgy car salesman. The course I took could have been done by the Open University as is the amount of contact time I have had with my tutors. This is how stimulating the course is, I can't be bothered to fill the box to the brim with anger.


(Big empty space) Empty space where I'd rant if I could be fucked.

I wish they made the box bigger as I could've gone on for pages. Seriously, if I hadn't had made the friends I have here I wouldn't have bothered from the start. Everyone I meet who says they're interested in journalism has their image of it shattered. That's what I've learned. It's a fucking sham. And that goes for college education as well.

You know what? I can't be fucked to write a response to the deleted comment. The internet has details of too many people's personal lives. I'd rather have privacy to some extent of existence.

How do you do it? How do you stop acting like a twat?

I can concede that at this moment, my actions are somewhat influenced by a number of drinks consumed so far this evening. Don't get me wrong, I'm not using that as an excuse. But it would be foolish to ignore that factor.

My head is all over the place at the minute. As usual that comes from a combination of college worries and ex issues. The fact that I can't seem to get the latest episode of Lost doesn't help.

I was this (imagine the gap between two fingers of a Kit Kat) close to calling it a night, when I heard my house mates arrive downstairs. Not wanting to be a sad sack, I went down to see what all the fuss was about. A man contest ensued, with shots of vile super strength liquor flowing. Despite the presence of an army boy, I think I did alright for the effeminate skinny geeky lads. I'm still alive and wasting money on online poker. They ain't.

So it's one more hand and then bed. Or as close as, cos I'm in a tournament. I just don....

I just ran into Aces on a steal. Cock it. Fuck the cards and fuck the world that they inhabit. I'm going sleep where no one can beat me. Except a psycho with my house keys.

I've adjusted to getting up at around two. That's not to say that I've been getting up early on a regular basis, just when I have to. But it's something that I need to cut out. Looking at my last post I can deduce that I must have got to sleep at around four or five a.m. but that's still a decent seven/eight hours kip. I need to stick to that as a maximum, I've been sleeping way too much recently. Should my life ever pass before my eyes I'm sure the majority I see will be lucid dreams. I need to start living more. My other problem is that it takes me a good hour to wake up, get out of bed and shower. My life needs more structure I think.

The first way to tackle this I realised last night, was that I need to keep a notepad and pen on me at all times. Really, the amount of information that passes through my brain and leaves no traces or stains behind is alarming. It's only taken three years of a journalism course to realise this, but the first thing I did today was go out and buy a pocket sized pad. I had my heart set on a nice fancy moleskin one, but having little time to shop about I settled for a cheap one from Smiths.

My shopping excursion then took me to Enjoy Boogie Woogie, where to my disappointment they didn't what I wanted. I've been after a waist coat for a while (in a Russell Brand, Jack Sparrow kind of look). The only ones they had were nasty wedding suit types. Not my cup of tea. The charity shops were my next port of call, where I found a very fetching brown velvet suit jacket. There's a few in Boogie that have caught my eye, but they're like £15/£20. Luckily the one I spotted in Cancer Research was a fiver. It's been a while since I treated myself to a jacket. Five pounds? I can spend that in two minutes at the bar.

Anyway, (going off point there) despite not having notepad last night I managed to write (quite eloquently may I add) on the back of my hand to listen again to Giles Peterson. So now I'm trying to do some reading and listening to some sweet tunes from last night. Ah wait, I'm writing this and not reading ought. Christ my head is all over the place. Cam had some fucking strong green.

And I completely forgot why I started this post. I just found a word I didn't recognise in an essay, 'panoply'. I think I'm gonna start a word of the day kind of thing, it can only help my writing right?

pan·o·ply /ˈpænəpli
–noun, plural -plies.
1. a wide-ranging and impressive array or display: the dazzling panoply of the maharaja's procession; the panoply of European history.
2. a complete suit of armor.
3. a protective covering.
4. full ceremonial attire or paraphernalia; special dress and equipment.

Definition nicked from Dictionary.com

I must have spent more time writing that post than I realised. My curry has cooled down because I'm writing this tosh.

I think somewhere between the drinking and smoking, almost passing out and stumbling home; I formulated an evil plan to work all my college projects around DJing and an underground magazine. For sure, I'll have to write some bollocks for another specified market but work is work. Something I'm not too good at. Food time.

Another idea that has been hatched so far is that because I've got such an addictive personality: drinker/smoker/gambler/degenerate hedonist. I can get out of one pattern and into another (like when I started smoking to stop playing fruit machines at sixteen): get high from pulling coffee and cigarette fueled all nighters. I only seem to keep to irregular sleep patterns. Really, you spend one night up until six fooling around with someone and being up writing at gone five doesn't seem so bad.

But as I know, I need to man up, grow a pair and get on with my fucking dissertation. But hopefully in a day or so it'll be the focus off a caffeine induced bender. And I do have to remember that I'm an adrenaline junkie at heart.

For once, I'm glad that for whatever reason it is, I can't format this page to have a title. Too varied and rambling will this post be, I don't think I could tie it down to a few witty words. Please note that because I'm writing this in I.E. there might be spelling mistakes cos I haven't tried to turn it on, unlike the just as rubbish Firefox what does have a spellcheck.

That got a bit geeky, And on another geeky note (why have I started with the geeky? If this should ever be editted, put this not at the start) but, yeah, I got rid of Norton for Avast and all of a sudden Soulseek works again. Good times. I heard a track by this band at a party a few weeks ago and it sounded sweet and fresh, but yet familiar. A week later I find it, purely by coincidence on a blog. So I find the album and then about a day later realise I already had one of their tracks on a mix CD. Well done Cribs, I love it.

So there's the music ad geek news done. I've had another busy one. Despite the fact I've eaten fuck all all day, and am supremely tired after spending the night getting hammered at a gig/club/random 17 year old kid (and his mates) place/gone home with a random girl/gone to the library/drank tea/watched the disappointing England game/talked shit in the pub/Djed at a dead bar that miraculously turned into a lock-in/sat smoking pipes and playing the guitar with Cam listening to Giles Peterson. Yeah, it's been a good one.

I must eat now. Post will continue...

Too much poker for one night. It's not often I'll allow myself to say that. In fact, if I didn't have to go downstairs to get the charger for my laptop I'd probably carry on playing. That's becuase despite the appauling run of bad beats (let me rant about them in due time) I've come out on top tonight.

Now I'm not one to moan, ah fuck it, of course I am. I'm a) a man, b) British and c) a good enough poker player to make himself look like a tit by saying things like "I can't believe he hit his up and down straight/flush/over pair" (although I don't think that many bad players could comprehend that possibility). I've just been feeling the wrath of the poker lords recently with lower kickers hitting, being out drawn by river chasers and my least favourite: having the board higher two pair to give me a shit kicker. And in the last game I just played, I lost count of the number of times three handed I'd get a walk with either A-A, K-K, A-K, Q-Q in the big blind, but find the guy under the gun raise me whenever I held junk. It was like playing on Absolute Poker or something. Really, the two guys I was up against just wouldn't go out. The blinds were at 250/500 and they held on to their stacks of 1/1500 for what seemed like an eternity.

But heaven forbid, I finished the job. It's made me feel good to know that despite the shit that gets thrown at me I can still get the job done. Hell, if my battery doesn't run out before I finish writing this I can check my progress on SharkScope. And I think that's a pretty good metaphor for life considering it's gone 4.30 in the morning. Fuck, I might have to re-read this whatever time I get up tomorrow afternoon to realise it's not all that bad. And sometimes in life I can do what I set out to do. Fuck, that red wine has got me all Disney!

The lack of a recentish post tells me that I need to get my arse in gear. Even if I'm just writing to avoid writing, I know that I'm in the right frame of mind and place, even if I am slacking off. The last week has been a mess and I've got nothing done. Zero. That doesn't quite mean lying in bed and sleeping for eighteen hours a day. It means that for some stupid fucking reason I haven't been doing the work I so desperately need to. I could slap myself in the face for being such a fucktard.

Time to finish the cig and get some books out. I need to get shit done.

I'm writing at eight o'clock in the morning. Tonight is the bubble party. I haven't gone to bed tonight also. I've not written shit in days, but the plan is there. Plus I'm not too concerned about it. There's been an intense online poker session; during which I cane out about $3 up and watched Stardust and Good Night, And Good Luck. That's a good five hour session at least.

I've also done some research which involved message/chatting up some rather attractive girls from around Falmouth. Before the epic poker session I played (or DJed at least for the last half hour. And that was after the Woodlane poker final, that I made a deal in the final three (which took a good four-plus hours). I'm a bit tired now.

Yeah, no more witty lines for today/night.

I knew as I was writing last night about finding direction and being slightly productive that it would be a short term thing. It's not that I've done nothing today. I've come up with some things, just not very big things, clever things or many things and it has all been done at quite a slow pace.

There was a reason I set my alarm for 12.30 last night. I wasn't sure what it was, but I did it anyway. At 12.30 I rolled back to sleep. Twenty minutes later there was a knock on my bedroom door. 'Hello, we're here to do a viewing. Are you decent?' That was it. Having barely any clean clothes and no underwear to my disposal, I threw on a hoodie and a pair of ill fitting jeans and escaped to the living room. After fixing breakfast and showing some latecomers around the house (still dressed quite badly), I received a text as I was putting a laundry load on. 'Do you fancy a jam?' It asked. 'Only if I can bring my dis and my guitar' I replied. 'Yes and yes', was the response. Cool, I thought. It's only 2pm and I can get to work, as opposed to the usual start twelve hours later in the day.

We played guitar for about an hour or so and thoughts of writing subsided. So when the idea of going for a pub dinner came up I willingly obliged. Then the opportunity to go spinning staffs and playing a bit more arose. I took that option too. Tired from the most exercise I've had in about a month, I went round to another friend's house for a cup of tea and a cigarette or three. I got home after 11 and tried to get to work. Then it was twelve. One soon followed and I found myself watching the Late Night Poker final (which to my shock was only the first bloody half, I'll have to tune in next week!). So now it has gone three and I've done a tiny bit of reading. I need to be up at ten to show my tutor what I've done. I can explain the re-shuffle of my plans for the dissertation, but I don't think he'll care about that. He wants to see work I think. So do I.

Once again I find myself at my mate's at gone 2 o'clock in the morning. Not an uncommon occurence on a Monday night (or any other night considering my recent drinking patterns). This time however, I am working again. Or at least not right now, I need to escape from it for a few more minutes. Just tap out some words that flow easily from my head, instead of braining over every sentence, then double guessing its delivery and relevance. (Although I've just re written the last bit of that sentence to make it sound better.) I feel once again some direction in where it is going, but I thought that the other night and earlier this evening found myself at a dead end (hence the trip here).

The bloody storm is playing havoc with the internet, phonelines must be down or something. Some sites I just can't seem to connect to. The infallibility and omnipotence of the tinterweb seems somewhat diminished tonight.

Whilst changing my Facebook status (as you do when you're avoiding work) to my current situation of slowly getting work done, but being delayed by the storm (in access to websites, as opposed to leaves on the line or some shit) I had to check the spelling of the word 'blaming'. That's what happens when you spend so much time thinking too much, you forget how to spell simple words. Anyway, I clicked into my Word window and wrote the word 'blaming'. It happened to land in the sentence: 'They can profitably produce publications for quite small groups of blaming people whose shared interest may be as obscure as smoking cigars (Cigar Afficionado) or keeping carp (Koi Carp)’ . Well, it made me chuckle. God, I have been writing too long.

God damn it I'm dying. There's a constant stream of mucus dripping from my nostrils, my tonsils feel like they've been attacked by the claws of an angry kitten, my head is throbbing and my limbs ache as if I've been carrying a pie-eating champion to a county fair. I've got a cold. And I can live with it. But to my female housemates it's manflu and they're calling the funeral directors for me.

So yeah, I'm feeling a bit shit today. It's no different from most days where I feel like shit, except that this time it's not self inflicted illness. I feel cheated. The other thing is, why do you always get ill at the most inapproriate of times? I was supposed to get up and crack on with studying today, but I found it impossible to rise from my slumber. I've now got an hour until work and have achieved an hour or so of slack stuying in the library. Looks like I'll be doing homework in the office at the shop. After work I've got friends that I haven't seen for a while to catch up with for a few beers. Tomorrow I've got a repeat performance of studying then work and then partying and Sunday it's just a nine hour stint in the shop. It's hard enough when I'm feeling healthy!

Finally, a right decision. And it was made by someone else.

I arose at around half three (following last night's lateness), feeling like shit and found plenty of distractions. Showering and eating breakfast seemed to take forever. I also discovered some chores around the house that needed doing.

The plan was to go to a friend's tonight to do some college work. This is because I find it impossible to do in my own home. By the time I got myself dinner I found out that my mate couldn't help out tonight. I had previously declined a 'come drinking' text from other mates because I had work plans. Chasing up the drinking plans, I find out that they have also fallen through. Looks like I might be able to keep myself in and do some writing this evening. That'll be a first. Although Spurs v PSV is on. There's only twenty minutes left, I'll get on with work in a minute.