After an agonising battle with my personal statement and the UCAS website, the thought that kept me sane earlier was of munching on some sugary goodies whilst watching an episode of 'The Inbetweeners' recorded from last night. So, I took a trip into my local corner shop on the way home from school. To be precise, I should say my 'next-door-but-two-to-the-corner-but-the-actual-corner-is-a-building-site' shop. But who needs that amount of detail? I would dearly love to say that the shop in question is one of those quintessentially English village shops and post offices, with artistic displays of organic vegetables and local jams...but it isn't. No, unfortunately it is but a mini-market on a busy road, but I can dream.
Whilst in the queue, I indulged my favourite pass-time of them all, people-watching. The person responsible for the wait in the first place was an unfortunate teenage boy, fresh off The Train, who wanted to buy some goods totalling about £1.75, but was 50p short and the shop do not accept credit cards for purchases under £5. I, being a regular customer, knew this and felt very smug as I stood holding my chocolate in one hand and my exact change in the other :)
The elderly lady behind him, who had very neatly pencilled-on eyebrows, bought four bottles of wine (at 4.30 in the afternoon?) and enquired about the whereabouts of 'The Daily Mail'. Now, it is not for me to judge people based on their newspaper of choice...but I would have taken her for more of a 'Guardian' reader myself!
Then, I turned round and saw possibly the most disturbing sight of the day: A middle aged man, on tip-toes, rummaging through the ADULT MAGAZINES. Being young and naive, I never thought that anyone actually bought these top-shelf horrors, but today I was proven wrong. I was treated to a quick snatch of a girl with the words 'RED HOT!!!!' plastered over her boobs before I quickly turned away.
On other visits to the shop, I have noticed what a strange variety of products they sell. There is literally room for half a person per aisle, yet the shelves continue to be piled high with various random goods. Synthetic woolly hats stand shoulder to shoulder with Beef Jerky (who even buys that?!) and cut-price chocolate coins from Christmas. They have row upon row of dog food, various suspicious own-brand ready meals and of course, the valuable confectionary section. I never see anyone buying anything other than sweets or newspapers in there (except the time I had to buy an onion for my mum ), so I wonder why they stock it all?
A survey by SPAR revealed that "in 2002 the local shop was voted the number one essential part of the community by 96% of the UK population, putting it way ahead of the pub, school and Post Office. In addition, 98% of the population felt they would be inconvenienced if their local shop disappeared, and 57% said they would be willing to fight back against any threat to its survival."
I agree with this. They may not be the most attractive places in the world, and mine are certainly lacking artistic interiors and organic/fairtrade/vegetarian/vegan/frutarian options, but who cares? Let's all go and splash out on meat pies, cat litter and Haribo and support our local shops!
Tuesday 28 September 2010
Thursday 23 September 2010
Autumn Days
It's official. Well, by my estimations anyway. Autumn is officially upon us. Yes, the lazy, hazy days of summer are past, and October and the darkness of winter is beckoning. There are several things that have brought me to this conclusion. Of course, the gazillions of leaves forming a slightly crunchy orange carpet underfoot. Then, the sudden appearance of conkers. I don't know about you, but this was a major highlight of my childhood, so good it almost made going back to school bearable. I loved how shiny and soft they were, yet if you ever tried to crack them open, it was impossible. The other day, I was caught in a flash of nostalgia as I saw a little girl filling whole carrier bags with the things. I don't think I ever played a game of conkers with them though, that would have spoiled them. I just accumulated a little collection :)
Lastly, a more personal observation. My legs have already become engulfed in the black tights which will swallow them up until about mid-May, when they will appear again, pasty white and chicken-like. I actually quite like this part of Autumn, the wearing lots of layers part. Recently I've found myself browsing the Internet and being strangely attracted to cable-knit dresses and big bobbly granny jumpers. I am secretly looking forward in investing in a new pair of boots, some cosy (yet practical!) knitwear, and a wooly beret. Who needs summer, with its constant faff of hair removal and fake tanning? I am naturally about as white as a milk bottle, and any attempt to tan, be it naturally or un-naturally, results in sunburn or attractive orange streaks on the backs of my legs where I've neglected to rub the stuff in tiny tiny circles, or exfoliate properly. Gah! I usually try for about a month and then just give up and embrace my natural ghost skin!So, I am looking forward to autumn, when I can be as pale as ever, and no one will ever know! Genius, thank you Mother Nature.
I think I should make a resolution for the coming season. I promise not to moan (too much) when I can't feel my toes on the way to school, when conkers hit me on the head falling from trees or when I get caught in the autumn showers and my hair becomes even more frizzy than it already is. I resolve to embrace the season in all its colour and to wrap up warm in a nice new coat.
Lastly, a more personal observation. My legs have already become engulfed in the black tights which will swallow them up until about mid-May, when they will appear again, pasty white and chicken-like. I actually quite like this part of Autumn, the wearing lots of layers part. Recently I've found myself browsing the Internet and being strangely attracted to cable-knit dresses and big bobbly granny jumpers. I am secretly looking forward in investing in a new pair of boots, some cosy (yet practical!) knitwear, and a wooly beret. Who needs summer, with its constant faff of hair removal and fake tanning? I am naturally about as white as a milk bottle, and any attempt to tan, be it naturally or un-naturally, results in sunburn or attractive orange streaks on the backs of my legs where I've neglected to rub the stuff in tiny tiny circles, or exfoliate properly. Gah! I usually try for about a month and then just give up and embrace my natural ghost skin!So, I am looking forward to autumn, when I can be as pale as ever, and no one will ever know! Genius, thank you Mother Nature.
I think I should make a resolution for the coming season. I promise not to moan (too much) when I can't feel my toes on the way to school, when conkers hit me on the head falling from trees or when I get caught in the autumn showers and my hair becomes even more frizzy than it already is. I resolve to embrace the season in all its colour and to wrap up warm in a nice new coat.
Tuesday 21 September 2010
The Train.
Aaah the train. A convenient way to get to work, a fast way to visit friends...aaaaand a hell-hole at 16.01 on weekday afternoons.
The school train is something which every angry commuter should experience. Marvel at the creative use of hair gel! Inhale the sweet, sweet perfume of feet and Lynx! Enjoy an exciting journey in a carriage packed with pubescent boys throwing things! Pity the small child tricked into getting on a train which bypasses his station! Still think the bleary-eyed businessmen on the 7.30 to Charing Cross are bad, hmmm?
It always seems to happen that I'm on my own on the way home from school. Whilst some may say this is social suicide, I prefer to think of it as an opportunity to people-watch. Perhaps my favourite quote of ALL TIME comes from the train home. Picture the scene: You're about 14, you haven't got a girlfriend, who are you going to blame? Your inability to string a sentence together without grunting? Neglecting to use deodorant? Do be serious, it's Him Upstairs who's at fault here. The conversation went a bit like this:
Boy: "Mate, I fink God wants me to be gay."
His Mate: "Mate, why?"
Boy: "Coz dere's no one buff my age maaaan!"
Now, in my opinion anyone using the word 'buff' seriously, indeed, anyone using the word 'buff' at all should be publicly ridiculed (think, the stocks), but this is just one every day example of the horrors, and hilarity, of the train.
Another thing which I have observed is the inner beast inside every small boy. A ten minute journey home frequently resembles a re-enactment of 'Lord of the Flies'. There are several potential Jacks disguised in blazers and ties, and many an unfortunate Piggy, ready to be trapped in the doors, shoved out at the station or simply be sat on all the way home. I am often genuinely scared for the future of the world.
Still, here's hoping they grow out of it!
The school train is something which every angry commuter should experience. Marvel at the creative use of hair gel! Inhale the sweet, sweet perfume of feet and Lynx! Enjoy an exciting journey in a carriage packed with pubescent boys throwing things! Pity the small child tricked into getting on a train which bypasses his station! Still think the bleary-eyed businessmen on the 7.30 to Charing Cross are bad, hmmm?
It always seems to happen that I'm on my own on the way home from school. Whilst some may say this is social suicide, I prefer to think of it as an opportunity to people-watch. Perhaps my favourite quote of ALL TIME comes from the train home. Picture the scene: You're about 14, you haven't got a girlfriend, who are you going to blame? Your inability to string a sentence together without grunting? Neglecting to use deodorant? Do be serious, it's Him Upstairs who's at fault here. The conversation went a bit like this:
Boy: "Mate, I fink God wants me to be gay."
His Mate: "Mate, why?"
Boy: "Coz dere's no one buff my age maaaan!"
Now, in my opinion anyone using the word 'buff' seriously, indeed, anyone using the word 'buff' at all should be publicly ridiculed (think, the stocks), but this is just one every day example of the horrors, and hilarity, of the train.
Another thing which I have observed is the inner beast inside every small boy. A ten minute journey home frequently resembles a re-enactment of 'Lord of the Flies'. There are several potential Jacks disguised in blazers and ties, and many an unfortunate Piggy, ready to be trapped in the doors, shoved out at the station or simply be sat on all the way home. I am often genuinely scared for the future of the world.
Still, here's hoping they grow out of it!
Monday 20 September 2010
University open days, aka the middle class on the move
Like all students in their final year of school, the word 'UNIVERSITY' fills me with a mixture of horror, dread and excitement. And, as part of the horrific process that is UCAS, I have dragged my parents on tour of the British Isles, taking in such centres of academia as Warwick, York, Exeter, Southampton and Oxford. Whilst all these universities have their own character and individual plus-points, there is one thing I have noticed that their open days all have in common: their ability to attract a certain type of visitor. Yes, I'm talking about the middle-class teenager and their parents, determined to find out as much as is humanly possible about their university of choice in the limited time available. On my travels, I, like the many others around me, have travelled far and wide by train, munched down numerous M&S sandwiches and perused many a copy of 'The Times.' I have collected whole rainforests' worth of prospectuses and spotted enough Jack Wills to clothe a small army.
Luckily, apart from these obvious stereotypes, I have not come across too many of that terrifying middle class breed: the pushy parent. Granted, I have overheard a few conversations between frazzled mums and their grunting sons: "For goodness' sake Johnny/Timmy/Algernon, why didn't you check the typical offer/see if the rooms are ensuite/find out about the rugby team?" In fact, on the whole, it's the students themselves whom I've found the most intimidating. First off, the girl who described herself as a "political historian"-aged 17? Wow, her self confidence was overwhelming. Then there were the two boys meeting each other for the first time at Durham. Before even introducing himself, one asked the other "So, how were your A.S. results?" The other replied, "Oh, I got 6 As." How he ever managed to study for 6 AS levels and appear to be semi-sane amazes me. Cr-aaazy.
Of course, the very fact that I have been to so many open days stamps me with the label of middle class. Add to this my grammar school education, my subject (History), and my address, and voila! Ready-made middle class student! I was relieved to discover so many people just like me who have an almost irrational need to find out absolutely EVERYTHING they can about all of the options out there. I also find it funny how people can be so different, yet be united by the fact that they're not quite posh enough to be friends with the Queen or trace their family back 20 generations, but still have enough money to splash out on extortionate train tickets and overpriced coffee.
So, at the end of my university tour, what have I learnt? Well, that train companies must be raking it in each summer, that universities are really quite similar...and of course, that M&S is THE only place worth buying your lunch from, if you want to appear a serious university-visiter.
Now, where's my Times University Guide? I need to look up the league tables...
Luckily, apart from these obvious stereotypes, I have not come across too many of that terrifying middle class breed: the pushy parent. Granted, I have overheard a few conversations between frazzled mums and their grunting sons: "For goodness' sake Johnny/Timmy/Algernon, why didn't you check the typical offer/see if the rooms are ensuite/find out about the rugby team?" In fact, on the whole, it's the students themselves whom I've found the most intimidating. First off, the girl who described herself as a "political historian"-aged 17? Wow, her self confidence was overwhelming. Then there were the two boys meeting each other for the first time at Durham. Before even introducing himself, one asked the other "So, how were your A.S. results?" The other replied, "Oh, I got 6 As." How he ever managed to study for 6 AS levels and appear to be semi-sane amazes me. Cr-aaazy.
Of course, the very fact that I have been to so many open days stamps me with the label of middle class. Add to this my grammar school education, my subject (History), and my address, and voila! Ready-made middle class student! I was relieved to discover so many people just like me who have an almost irrational need to find out absolutely EVERYTHING they can about all of the options out there. I also find it funny how people can be so different, yet be united by the fact that they're not quite posh enough to be friends with the Queen or trace their family back 20 generations, but still have enough money to splash out on extortionate train tickets and overpriced coffee.
So, at the end of my university tour, what have I learnt? Well, that train companies must be raking it in each summer, that universities are really quite similar...and of course, that M&S is THE only place worth buying your lunch from, if you want to appear a serious university-visiter.
Now, where's my Times University Guide? I need to look up the league tables...
Sunday 19 September 2010
Hello there...
Hello everyone, and welcome to my first ever blog:) After saying that I didn't see the point of all this blogging business and that it was all a waste of time, I have finally seen the light! I've always wanted to experiment with writing-when I was younger I used to write newspapers for imaginary towns. I know, I know, I was a strange little thing :) Ten years on, this is my new way of airing my inner journalist to the world...or more accurately, the select few who might stumble upon this.
Thank you for reading, and come back soon for more!
Hasta la vista,
Katie xx
Oh, and I must say thank you to my little sister for the name, great thinking!
Thank you for reading, and come back soon for more!
Hasta la vista,
Katie xx
Oh, and I must say thank you to my little sister for the name, great thinking!
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