Ah, if only I had the same focus in revision as I do in writing rambling blog posts.
There are many problems with the exam culture that has permeated education, and the most pernicious issue we face is that they are nothing like the real world. Yes, in keeping with the idea that young people know nothing about the real world, exams are structured in a manner that has no realistic semblance of anything which occurs beyond education.
Exams are like machines. You put the Right Thing in, and Good Marks come out. You are obedient and compliant and you spend your days sat in front of books and computers instead of going out getting high on life and other noxious substances - because that is the Right Thing To Do. And we all know if you do the Right Thing, you get Good Marks.
It's not right. It is so not right. Admittedly I am writing this as a form of procrastination, but right now I'm finding it hard to visualise what use literary theories will have in the rest of my life, unless I devote myself to the pursuit of academia. Post-modernism itself is dull as dishwater: it is only useful when considered as part of a grand narrative (which it, itself, so scrupulously rejects). Is our world postmodern or post-post-modern? Can we actually tell? And, most pressingly: does it matter?
I think that's what all exam questions should boil down to. X: Does It Matter?
Examples:
The Feinmann Diagram: Does It Matter?
Freud's Theory of Dreams: Does It Matter?
What Caused World War 2: Does It Matter?
You can argue - yes or no, or maybe or somewhat - but it shouldn't matter, so long as you can back up our arguments with opinions and evidence and feeling. You can relate it to the wider world, and talk about the importance or lack thereof. Ideas that followed from it, ideas it influenced, ideas it completely destroyed. In the grand scheme of things, maybe it doesn't matter much how to do a basic titration experiment - but you could argue its technique can be applied to times when it does matter, or that it is a waste of time invented to keep children busy at GCSE.
Education should be about teaching people to think, not to fall into line with what is expected. I want university to tell me to rail against the system. Examine the questions we are asked, and ask why it's important. Ask what is important. Have passion and conviction.
A lot of the time, I feel like I have no conviction left. It has been sucked out of me. I know how to pass my English exam, but I don't particularly want to: I would rather be out agitating for fairer wages and having torrid flings with widely unsuitable people, because that's really how we learn. By making mistakes and having experiences, not writing set things within an allotted space of time.
Maybe this should all be boiled down to Exams: Do They Matter?
Yes, I suppose they do. They are why I am at university, fundamentally - to get that piece of paper which says I passed exams and know what I am doing well enough to be considered for jobs. But it seems like a terrible waste of youth, to spend it revising.
Once exams are over, my real education of dancing till dawn in strange cities will resume.
Tuesday, 13 May 2014
Tuesday, 6 May 2014
The worst case scenario.
I live a life a melodrama, of sharply contrasting emotions, which bump against each other angrily and repeatedly. I praise the things that make me joyous and make me laugh, eternally retelling stories of perfect moments until they are almost myths. They are on a pedestal: I look at them and wonder, sometimes, if they actually happened at all, or if I spoke their names too many times, and poof! They disappeared. I cry easily, complain about everything unjust, and live my life in a generally over-the-top manner. This is colour, this is texture, this is how I live.
And so, for me, this is the worst case scenario.
It is 2024 and I am thirty. Well. I am just shy of my thirtieth birthday, and have been adamantly avoiding it for so long that I have prematurely aged. My face looks thirty-three already. People have started making subtle comments that my looks will go soon. The pervasive sexism of young middle-age is yet to be perfectly eradicated.
Since graduating, I have had a couple of jobs but my itchy feet got in the way of my young ones. I spent sixth months as a magazine freelancer until they let me go, but the market was tough and I was getting desperate. In the end, I just took what I could get, grabbing with both hands for something I didn't really want. It was just a stop-gap, I told myself: something to get me by, until I could quit and go travelling and then start anew in a year.
A year passed. Then two, then three, and I still had not left my job. It is in an office in a respectable part of London and I work in marketing or publicity or as a sort-of job that crosses the two, and involves coming up with dynamic Twitter solutions. I have a 45-minute commute on the tubes every morning from my flat, but it's an okay place. It's not as shabby as my last two were. Once a week I go on dates, watching foreign language movies and strolling through the park and telling myself this isn't a bad life, really. I find myself lusting after the interns. They are so young, so full of potential. I want to devour them.
I don't write, really. Not any more. I'm too tired after working all day in things I couldn't care less about. I try to leave, sometimes, but it's so hard. Somehow I am stuck, and responsible. The last place I went on holiday was Venice, with my then-lover. We argued the whole weekend, and I came home with only a handful of photos and a brooding sense of resentment. I look at the tattoos I got while young with a sense of detachment. They feel like someone else's. That can't have been me. I would never spend £200 on ink and pain; that could get me a nice pair of shoes, or earrings.
It's not a bad life, this corporate drudgery and complete obedience to the status quo, with nothing unexpected and no adventures. There is no melodrama, and I watch as my friends from university get pregnant and married and divorced, fired and evicted and transatlantically job-shifted, and I tell myself the stability is everything I need. It's not ideal, but it's... not bad.
But it is the worst case scenario.
And so, for me, this is the worst case scenario.
It is 2024 and I am thirty. Well. I am just shy of my thirtieth birthday, and have been adamantly avoiding it for so long that I have prematurely aged. My face looks thirty-three already. People have started making subtle comments that my looks will go soon. The pervasive sexism of young middle-age is yet to be perfectly eradicated.
Since graduating, I have had a couple of jobs but my itchy feet got in the way of my young ones. I spent sixth months as a magazine freelancer until they let me go, but the market was tough and I was getting desperate. In the end, I just took what I could get, grabbing with both hands for something I didn't really want. It was just a stop-gap, I told myself: something to get me by, until I could quit and go travelling and then start anew in a year.
A year passed. Then two, then three, and I still had not left my job. It is in an office in a respectable part of London and I work in marketing or publicity or as a sort-of job that crosses the two, and involves coming up with dynamic Twitter solutions. I have a 45-minute commute on the tubes every morning from my flat, but it's an okay place. It's not as shabby as my last two were. Once a week I go on dates, watching foreign language movies and strolling through the park and telling myself this isn't a bad life, really. I find myself lusting after the interns. They are so young, so full of potential. I want to devour them.
I don't write, really. Not any more. I'm too tired after working all day in things I couldn't care less about. I try to leave, sometimes, but it's so hard. Somehow I am stuck, and responsible. The last place I went on holiday was Venice, with my then-lover. We argued the whole weekend, and I came home with only a handful of photos and a brooding sense of resentment. I look at the tattoos I got while young with a sense of detachment. They feel like someone else's. That can't have been me. I would never spend £200 on ink and pain; that could get me a nice pair of shoes, or earrings.
It's not a bad life, this corporate drudgery and complete obedience to the status quo, with nothing unexpected and no adventures. There is no melodrama, and I watch as my friends from university get pregnant and married and divorced, fired and evicted and transatlantically job-shifted, and I tell myself the stability is everything I need. It's not ideal, but it's... not bad.
But it is the worst case scenario.
Wednesday, 30 April 2014
And now for something completely different... Haiku.
If you expected my normal brand of snarky self-depreciative musings today, then you're in for a shock. Instead, I went and got creative. I was having fun with my Japanese revision, so... I decided to write some haiku!
You know what a haiku is, right? Or, at least, you know a vague approximation of what counts as a haiku. See, upon deciding to write some haiku in Japanese, I realised there was a load of practices and concepts I didn't actually know about. This only took a cursory Wikipedia search to pull up, and yet we all consider haiku to be a cool, hip poetry form while knowing nothing of its origins and original rules. There are a few main things I found out...
1. In Japanese poetry, haiku are counted in on - which are not quite the same as syllables. So, while the 5-7-5 pattern is how they operate, a Japanese 7-on line may not be a 7-syllable line. For instance:
それがかわいいです
sore ga kawaii desu
(That is cute.)
In English, you'd say that "so-ray ga ka-wa-i des", so it appears to fit as a middle line of haiku.
But in Japanese - even though you'd say it the same way - it contains 9 on. Conveniently, on seem to correspond pretty well to hiragana characters.
2. Traditionally, Japanese haiku have a kigo - a seasonal reference. There are long lists of motifs which are shorthand for various seasons in ways which may not immediately make sense to Westerners. Frogs mean spring, the moon means autumn, and these aren't used nearly as often in modern works apparently. Still, it's interesting to think about.
3. Kiru, or "cutting". This is the essence of haiku, often brought about through use of a kireji (cutting word). It sort of relies on juxtaposition with a word in between them to act as a verbal punctuation mark and indicate some sort of relation. I'll admit, I didn't manage to use many kireji in my compositions as I'm still too concerned with getting Japanese grammar passably correct, but maybe if I write more I'll work on it.
TL;DR: There are seasonal references, a cutting word, and 14 on in a 5-7-5 configuration. Here's some stuff I wrote, complete with syllable-accurate translations (that took a few liberties with my original Japanese). Knock yourself out.
-
You know what a haiku is, right? Or, at least, you know a vague approximation of what counts as a haiku. See, upon deciding to write some haiku in Japanese, I realised there was a load of practices and concepts I didn't actually know about. This only took a cursory Wikipedia search to pull up, and yet we all consider haiku to be a cool, hip poetry form while knowing nothing of its origins and original rules. There are a few main things I found out...
1. In Japanese poetry, haiku are counted in on - which are not quite the same as syllables. So, while the 5-7-5 pattern is how they operate, a Japanese 7-on line may not be a 7-syllable line. For instance:
それがかわいいです
sore ga kawaii desu
(That is cute.)
In English, you'd say that "so-ray ga ka-wa-i des", so it appears to fit as a middle line of haiku.
But in Japanese - even though you'd say it the same way - it contains 9 on. Conveniently, on seem to correspond pretty well to hiragana characters.
2. Traditionally, Japanese haiku have a kigo - a seasonal reference. There are long lists of motifs which are shorthand for various seasons in ways which may not immediately make sense to Westerners. Frogs mean spring, the moon means autumn, and these aren't used nearly as often in modern works apparently. Still, it's interesting to think about.
3. Kiru, or "cutting". This is the essence of haiku, often brought about through use of a kireji (cutting word). It sort of relies on juxtaposition with a word in between them to act as a verbal punctuation mark and indicate some sort of relation. I'll admit, I didn't manage to use many kireji in my compositions as I'm still too concerned with getting Japanese grammar passably correct, but maybe if I write more I'll work on it.
TL;DR: There are seasonal references, a cutting word, and 14 on in a 5-7-5 configuration. Here's some stuff I wrote, complete with syllable-accurate translations (that took a few liberties with my original Japanese). Knock yourself out.
-
多い 人
の 世界 です や
君 に あった 。
Ooi hito
no sekai desu ya
kimi ni atta.
There are so many
People in the world - and yet
I (somehow) met you.
の 世界 です や
君 に あった 。
Ooi hito
no sekai desu ya
kimi ni atta.
There are so many
People in the world - and yet
I (somehow) met you.
-
この 言葉
をかきます。けど
見る かしら。
kono kotoba
o kakimasu, kedo
miru kashira.
I write these words now
But I still wonder whether
You ever see them.
-
花びらを
落ちる。あなたも
失うか。
hanabira o
ochiru. anata mo
ushinau ka?
The cherry blossoms
All fall to the ground. Do I
Have to lose you too?
-
こっちと一緒
に月に多分
飛びますか。
kocchi to issho
ni tsuki ni tabun
tobimasu ka?
Eventually
Will you come and fly away
To the moon with me?
Sunday, 27 April 2014
"If things were different..."
If things were different, then...
Well. I don't know. Lots of things would have to be different - but then again, I can't be sure that the differences I imagine would result in the scenario I presume.
If things were different, maybe I would be in Japan. I would have ignored my flight home, burnt through the money on my card and be in my overdraft. I would be skipping lectures and seminars and staying in a cheap hostel in Tokyo, drinking and laughing and ignoring my degree. All semblance of caring would have disappeared. Maybe I would be thinking about coming home now, an extra two weeks after I intended. It's one way things might be different.
If things were different, and I had got on a train ten minutes earlier, I'd have been out drinking in Shinjuku with the rest of the people in the hostel.
If things were different - if I were different - then I'd be dating the person I love, and we wouldn't be ambiguously flirtatious best friends.
But things aren't different, and wishing they were otherwise is to sell my own life short. I care about my studies, even though it can be hard to motivate myself sometimes; with a degree I can get a better job, save up money and see the world, not just wish I could. I am not drinking in a park in Japan; I am in bed in England, recovering from a night of drinking in someone's house.
I didn't get the earlier train, and I missed having a wild night on my last day in Japan.
And I have accepted that I can't be with my best friend, because I would hurt him too much. I philander, I flirt, I lack empathy; I would be a terrible girlfriend, so I am saving him from heartbreak. I would get bored of dating him. I get bored of most things, sooner or later.
Things aren't different, so I have to deal with them as they are. The ramifications of any of these changes might have created an entirely different world. I can't change the past, no matter how hard I wish. The future is malleable, and I entirely support railing against injustice to change the things that suck. Though mostly, I feel like we should accept things as they are. Make the most of it. Make the most of now.
If things were different, I wouldn't be writing this blog post. Meta.
Well. I don't know. Lots of things would have to be different - but then again, I can't be sure that the differences I imagine would result in the scenario I presume.
If things were different, maybe I would be in Japan. I would have ignored my flight home, burnt through the money on my card and be in my overdraft. I would be skipping lectures and seminars and staying in a cheap hostel in Tokyo, drinking and laughing and ignoring my degree. All semblance of caring would have disappeared. Maybe I would be thinking about coming home now, an extra two weeks after I intended. It's one way things might be different.
If things were different, and I had got on a train ten minutes earlier, I'd have been out drinking in Shinjuku with the rest of the people in the hostel.
If things were different - if I were different - then I'd be dating the person I love, and we wouldn't be ambiguously flirtatious best friends.
But things aren't different, and wishing they were otherwise is to sell my own life short. I care about my studies, even though it can be hard to motivate myself sometimes; with a degree I can get a better job, save up money and see the world, not just wish I could. I am not drinking in a park in Japan; I am in bed in England, recovering from a night of drinking in someone's house.
I didn't get the earlier train, and I missed having a wild night on my last day in Japan.
And I have accepted that I can't be with my best friend, because I would hurt him too much. I philander, I flirt, I lack empathy; I would be a terrible girlfriend, so I am saving him from heartbreak. I would get bored of dating him. I get bored of most things, sooner or later.
Things aren't different, so I have to deal with them as they are. The ramifications of any of these changes might have created an entirely different world. I can't change the past, no matter how hard I wish. The future is malleable, and I entirely support railing against injustice to change the things that suck. Though mostly, I feel like we should accept things as they are. Make the most of it. Make the most of now.
If things were different, I wouldn't be writing this blog post. Meta.
Tuesday, 22 April 2014
How to not be a dick in hostels.
I'll start with a disclaimer: I am by no means an expert.
But in the last 9 months, I've spent 11 weeks in 9 countries staying in hostels, so I have at least some idea.
I've had my share of grotty experiences, from shacks in Ayuthaya with only a fan to serve as "air conditioning" in the 37-degree heat and witnessing drug deals on an adjacent bunkbed in Vienna, to Tokyo dorms that more closely resembled pigeon-holes in post rooms and a Hong Kong digs with no shower.
But I've also had the best of times. That place in Tokyo is where I've made my best travelling friends. There's been a 6-person room to myself in Seoul, a free in-house onsen in Beppu, traditional tatami-matt rooms in Nagasaki and a guest-house built by the owner's own hands in Nara.
So here's my guide on how to not be a dick in hostels.
DO: take off your shoes. Especially in Asian countries, this is a big thing. But in general, unless the floor is made of lava, taking off your shoes at the door - at at least within your dorm - stops mud getting tracked everywhere you're living.
DO: be neat and tidy. Everyone is crammed in the same living quarters. Be on your best behaviour. Play nice.
DO: pay your dues. If you borrow someone's shampoo, lend them your razor or something. Mooching is not okay. And if you're in a position to help someone, do - which is why I am now apparently the "saint" of Nishi-Kawaguchi, after patching up someone's bleeding forehead with my handy first-aid kit.
DO: talk to people. Everyone. You might not get along with everyone, and that's okay. But you'll be amazed at who you meet - students, teachers, barmen, engineers, corporate drones; everyone in a hostel is there for a reason, and it's probably insatiable wanderlust.
DO: pick up other people's slang. I came back from a six-week trip with "aye" ingrained in my daily vernacular, and I am currently touting "Oh, I wouldn't say possibly, I'd definitely say for sure," on an irritatingly regular basis.
DO: realise that "where are you from?" is likely to replace "what's your name?" as an opening line. I've hung out for hours with people only to realise I have no way to identify them other than "the really tall Swedish guy" or "that Mexican guy's girlfriend".
DO: take chances. We get taught that there is danger around every corner, but travelling teaches you strangers are mostly kind. Have a drink or two, or three or four. Make friends. Go to karaoke and play football in the park. Appease the police. Kiss strangers. Laugh as much as you can.
DON'T: be noisy. So shut up in dorms. No calling friends at noon, because people WILL still be sleeping. No laughing drunkenly on the porch, and no sex. Okay, none of these are going to hold - but you should at least try and be quiet about them.
DON'T: do anything illegal.
DON'T: expect everyone to be your new best friend. Some people are just dicks. Accept it and move on.
DON'T: spend two hours in the shower. Especially if there's a very limited number. Get in, get clean, wash your hair, bugger off.
DON'T: feel guilty about engaging in behaviour that you would otherwise frown upon. A few cigarettes and make outs won't kill you, and it turns out that sharing someone's last smoke is a surprisingly good bonding experience.
DON'T: expect it to last forever. And at the same time - don't forget about it either.
Memories are all we have, really, as humans. Don't ruin someone else's. And let other people in - they're the ones who will make your memories really precious.
Go now, and hostel like a nice human being. And not a dick.
But in the last 9 months, I've spent 11 weeks in 9 countries staying in hostels, so I have at least some idea.
I've had my share of grotty experiences, from shacks in Ayuthaya with only a fan to serve as "air conditioning" in the 37-degree heat and witnessing drug deals on an adjacent bunkbed in Vienna, to Tokyo dorms that more closely resembled pigeon-holes in post rooms and a Hong Kong digs with no shower.
But I've also had the best of times. That place in Tokyo is where I've made my best travelling friends. There's been a 6-person room to myself in Seoul, a free in-house onsen in Beppu, traditional tatami-matt rooms in Nagasaki and a guest-house built by the owner's own hands in Nara.
So here's my guide on how to not be a dick in hostels.
DO: take off your shoes. Especially in Asian countries, this is a big thing. But in general, unless the floor is made of lava, taking off your shoes at the door - at at least within your dorm - stops mud getting tracked everywhere you're living.
DO: be neat and tidy. Everyone is crammed in the same living quarters. Be on your best behaviour. Play nice.
DO: pay your dues. If you borrow someone's shampoo, lend them your razor or something. Mooching is not okay. And if you're in a position to help someone, do - which is why I am now apparently the "saint" of Nishi-Kawaguchi, after patching up someone's bleeding forehead with my handy first-aid kit.
DO: talk to people. Everyone. You might not get along with everyone, and that's okay. But you'll be amazed at who you meet - students, teachers, barmen, engineers, corporate drones; everyone in a hostel is there for a reason, and it's probably insatiable wanderlust.
DO: pick up other people's slang. I came back from a six-week trip with "aye" ingrained in my daily vernacular, and I am currently touting "Oh, I wouldn't say possibly, I'd definitely say for sure," on an irritatingly regular basis.
DO: realise that "where are you from?" is likely to replace "what's your name?" as an opening line. I've hung out for hours with people only to realise I have no way to identify them other than "the really tall Swedish guy" or "that Mexican guy's girlfriend".
DO: take chances. We get taught that there is danger around every corner, but travelling teaches you strangers are mostly kind. Have a drink or two, or three or four. Make friends. Go to karaoke and play football in the park. Appease the police. Kiss strangers. Laugh as much as you can.
DON'T: be noisy. So shut up in dorms. No calling friends at noon, because people WILL still be sleeping. No laughing drunkenly on the porch, and no sex. Okay, none of these are going to hold - but you should at least try and be quiet about them.
DON'T: do anything illegal.
DON'T: expect everyone to be your new best friend. Some people are just dicks. Accept it and move on.
DON'T: spend two hours in the shower. Especially if there's a very limited number. Get in, get clean, wash your hair, bugger off.
DON'T: feel guilty about engaging in behaviour that you would otherwise frown upon. A few cigarettes and make outs won't kill you, and it turns out that sharing someone's last smoke is a surprisingly good bonding experience.
DON'T: expect it to last forever. And at the same time - don't forget about it either.
Memories are all we have, really, as humans. Don't ruin someone else's. And let other people in - they're the ones who will make your memories really precious.
Go now, and hostel like a nice human being. And not a dick.
Saturday, 22 March 2014
The panic rising.
I always feel worst when I'm on the brink of doing something wonderful. Anticipation, nerves, fear - they all turn up like unwanted strays, scratching at the door for scraps. You open up and let one in, just for a moment, and suddenly your house is full of wild cats, yowling and making noise at all hours when you just want a bit of piece and quiet. The house being me in this case.
In round about 36 hours, I will be on a plane to South Korea. I have no idea what we're going to do in South Korea, except that we are staying in a hostel in Gangnam purely for the "Gangnam Style" jokes, two years too late to be funny (and also because it looks lovely). We are going to the De-Militarised Zone, because it looks interesting, and hopefully going to see some temples - but really, we have no idea what's going on.
That's what I'm looking forward to. The endless, non-linear nature of exploring. It's a real-life sandbox game, with all the exhilaration of having no rules to follow. At the same time, it's downright terrifying. We have no set itineraries or things to do.
My only rule is "come back with stories".
It was what my friend wrote to me. He sent me a card, bless him: he posted it to me at home, and informed me that I had to come back with stories to tell him. He said the best words came from the heart, and that was what he wanted to tell me. Funny, how people always compare our relationship to something romantic. We have a deep platonic friendship with lots of cuddling, and somehow people always assume we must be dating. Only our minds are dating.
So, I have 36 hours to my flight. I haven't packed, and right now I feel like any attempts to be witty and gracious and charming to the people I meet in hostels will inevitably end with me being laughed at. I can't wait for the new people, the new friends, the new ways to waste my nights under foreign skies, but I'm so so scared I'm going to balls it up.
What if it's not worth it?
What if I don't get any new stories?
Deep breaths, I tell myself. Breathe this world deep. Everything will be fine. The panic will pass, and soon you will be flying.
After all, you have too much to do to be worried.
In round about 36 hours, I will be on a plane to South Korea. I have no idea what we're going to do in South Korea, except that we are staying in a hostel in Gangnam purely for the "Gangnam Style" jokes, two years too late to be funny (and also because it looks lovely). We are going to the De-Militarised Zone, because it looks interesting, and hopefully going to see some temples - but really, we have no idea what's going on.
That's what I'm looking forward to. The endless, non-linear nature of exploring. It's a real-life sandbox game, with all the exhilaration of having no rules to follow. At the same time, it's downright terrifying. We have no set itineraries or things to do.
My only rule is "come back with stories".
It was what my friend wrote to me. He sent me a card, bless him: he posted it to me at home, and informed me that I had to come back with stories to tell him. He said the best words came from the heart, and that was what he wanted to tell me. Funny, how people always compare our relationship to something romantic. We have a deep platonic friendship with lots of cuddling, and somehow people always assume we must be dating. Only our minds are dating.
So, I have 36 hours to my flight. I haven't packed, and right now I feel like any attempts to be witty and gracious and charming to the people I meet in hostels will inevitably end with me being laughed at. I can't wait for the new people, the new friends, the new ways to waste my nights under foreign skies, but I'm so so scared I'm going to balls it up.
What if it's not worth it?
What if I don't get any new stories?
Deep breaths, I tell myself. Breathe this world deep. Everything will be fine. The panic will pass, and soon you will be flying.
After all, you have too much to do to be worried.
Sunday, 2 March 2014
Nerds with Nerf guns taught me stuff.
Presented without context.*
- If you find a potato on the street at 5am, you should always always pick it up.
- If you are drinking wine at 5am at your friend's house, you should probably not have anything too important planned for the next day.
- It is perfectly acceptable to send drunk Snapchats on trains at eight in the morning.
- It is also perfectly acceptable to spoon on the floor of trains. Especially if you are still drunk from the night before.
- Apparently study drugs are "fantastic but taste like balls".
- Taking no spare clothes to a field full of mud is a really bad idea.
- Trying to run around on less than five hours' sleep in the last forty-eight hours is really hard.
- Running around while sleep-deprived is easier when drunk and harder when hungover.
- Nerf gun bullets are capable of doing actual damage, judging by the bruises on my arms.
- Sheffield is a demon hill surrounded by demon hill spawn and no matter which way you walk, it will be uphill.
- TEAM SPUD.
- Trams are great.
- Sexist tram conductors are not great.
- Friends who stand up to sexism in its insidious day-to-day forms are great.
- Taking an oversized hammer on the tram is great.
- Oversized hammers are great.
- Unexpected punchlines to hammer jokes are great. "Stop! ... Collaborate, and listen!"
- Blue hair will not always help you get spotted in a crowd.
- You should bond with people over your suspiciously similar hair colour.
- Dexterity beats brute force in any fencing match.
- People actually want to be your friend and sometimes they go out of their way to help you.
- Sometimes people you have only known for twelve hours will lend you their pyjamas while they wash your jeans and socks and let you borrow shirts when you have no change of clothes. These sorts of people are to be treasured.
- Furries are not what the media want you to think they are.
- Frozen is still amazing.
- It IS possible to order £700-worth of Domino's.
- There is nothing wrong with playing Cards Against Humanity over breakfast.
- Mentioning Prince Albert piercings in a group of guys will cause much confusion and squeamishness. This is doubly so if one of the guys in the group has one. And it has a fairly large gauge ring in it.
- Twitch Plays Pokemon has made the leap from weird internet phenomenon to something that spawns intense esoteric debates about religion, community, free will, and the power of technology.
- Running around a park with fake blue and orange guns is cooler than whatever you did with your weekend.
- Everything is awesome.
*This weekend was Assassins Varsity in Sheffield, for student Assassins Guilds across the country. About eight different universities were represented. That's all you're getting.
- If you find a potato on the street at 5am, you should always always pick it up.
- If you are drinking wine at 5am at your friend's house, you should probably not have anything too important planned for the next day.
- It is perfectly acceptable to send drunk Snapchats on trains at eight in the morning.
- It is also perfectly acceptable to spoon on the floor of trains. Especially if you are still drunk from the night before.
- Apparently study drugs are "fantastic but taste like balls".
- Taking no spare clothes to a field full of mud is a really bad idea.
- Trying to run around on less than five hours' sleep in the last forty-eight hours is really hard.
- Running around while sleep-deprived is easier when drunk and harder when hungover.
- Nerf gun bullets are capable of doing actual damage, judging by the bruises on my arms.
- Sheffield is a demon hill surrounded by demon hill spawn and no matter which way you walk, it will be uphill.
- TEAM SPUD.
- Trams are great.
- Sexist tram conductors are not great.
- Friends who stand up to sexism in its insidious day-to-day forms are great.
- Taking an oversized hammer on the tram is great.
- Oversized hammers are great.
- Unexpected punchlines to hammer jokes are great. "Stop! ... Collaborate, and listen!"
- Blue hair will not always help you get spotted in a crowd.
- You should bond with people over your suspiciously similar hair colour.
- Dexterity beats brute force in any fencing match.
- People actually want to be your friend and sometimes they go out of their way to help you.
- Sometimes people you have only known for twelve hours will lend you their pyjamas while they wash your jeans and socks and let you borrow shirts when you have no change of clothes. These sorts of people are to be treasured.
- Furries are not what the media want you to think they are.
- Frozen is still amazing.
- It IS possible to order £700-worth of Domino's.
- There is nothing wrong with playing Cards Against Humanity over breakfast.
- Mentioning Prince Albert piercings in a group of guys will cause much confusion and squeamishness. This is doubly so if one of the guys in the group has one. And it has a fairly large gauge ring in it.
- Twitch Plays Pokemon has made the leap from weird internet phenomenon to something that spawns intense esoteric debates about religion, community, free will, and the power of technology.
- Running around a park with fake blue and orange guns is cooler than whatever you did with your weekend.
- Everything is awesome.
*This weekend was Assassins Varsity in Sheffield, for student Assassins Guilds across the country. About eight different universities were represented. That's all you're getting.
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