tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25583429195493563592024-02-07T02:46:05.426+00:00Mind + Keyboard = ThisThe unwise ramblings of a desolate copywriter. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comBlogger361125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-13122302976017349702015-10-28T21:01:00.000+00:002015-10-28T21:01:49.020+00:00Conscious stream I got told I need to write more. Not in general, because you know, I write for a living and if I was being told I needed to write more at work I'd almost certainly be doing my job wrong.<br />
No. I got told I needed to write more outside of work, where my mind isn't shackled by the confines of a brief and other people's opinions and can roam freely throughout the fields of ideas.<br />
<br />
Of course, there's no guarantee that my mind will stumble across a valid idea amongst that field, so I might end up in the situation I currently find myself: one where I feel I should write more, but don't have a clue what I could write about so I'll just end up writing the first things that come into my head.<br />
<br />
Maybe I can shape it somehow. Maybe at the end it will all come together to form a coherent piece of online content. Probably not, but stranger things have happened. Once I drank 6 bottles of wine and could still walk home. That was stranger than this.<br />
<br />
It doesn't really matter if this ends up being bollocks, because sometimes it can be good to just get the bollocks out. Metaphorically, I mean, not actually unzipping your jeans and hoisting your balls out for the world to see. Yeah, that's right, I have to hoist them. Like slightly deflated beach balls hanging in a net, that's what my bollocks are. Slightly deflated beach balls bobbing along on a mild spring day.<br />
<br />
I don't really know where I'm going with this, but I guess that was the whole point.<br />
Sometimes it can be good to have no idea where you'll end up. Other times it can lead to bollocks.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-44880277186276272502015-10-26T21:39:00.001+00:002015-10-26T21:39:55.225+00:00How to write when you're a writerFirst I must begin with an apology.<br />
An apology to my blog.<br />
It's been mistreated, malnourished and poorly maintained, left alone in the online wilderness at the mercy of the creatures that wander it. Basically, I've written naff all. Bad writer, bad.<br />
<br />
Fortunately that apology leads nicely into the somewhat confusing subject of this rare, and ultimately far too long in the making, update to my otherwise uncared for online presence. Hurray for carefully crafted coincidences.<br />
<br />
As a writer (three words I like to start most sentences with), I spend all day churning out word after word. From 8am to 5:30pm I work as a copywriter for a marketing agency, and my hands are stuck to a keyboard drumming away on those poor little keys like an overly enthusiastic metal tribute act, desperate to please and eager to impress. Fuelled by caffeine and a burning desire to make people believe I'm good at something, I write like a man possessed... possessed by the ghost of a writer.<br />
<br />
I write so much and so fast that people know they can come to me for anything. Any emergency jobs that need doing yesterday - Ash is your man. Any last minute amends before we send it over to client - Ash is your man. Any massive fuck off jobs that no-one remembered to write a brief for and they need doing for tomorrow - Ash is your man.<br />
I get it all done. I have time for tea. I like being the man for the job.<br />
<br />
But by the time I finish work and get home, I just want to NEVER WRITE AGAIN. Christ, if there's one thing that can make you question your passions it's a whole day spent doing them. You need a rest, you need some time off to refuel your mind, you need to crack your fingers. The last thing you need is to keep doing more of the same, because by then your brain is just an empty field where thoughts go to die. They creep up all shy and afraid to make themselves known, then get caught by tiredness and stumble to their pathetic demise.<br />
<br />
"Ooh, Ash," they say, "How about you carry on with that story?"<br />
SHUT UP, IDEA.<br />
<br />
"Hey Ash, maybe tonight you could submit that bit of editorial?"<br />
QUIET, IDEA. I'M EATING DINNER.<br />
<br />
"Ash, what about if..."<br />
DID YOU NOT HEAR ME, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE PRICK?<br />
<br />
Ideas get nowhere after 5:30. Ideas that had potential get pushed to the back of my mind, where they will wait their turn until the same time tomorrow, when once again I'll tell them to suck my dick. Get it nice and wet. Oh yeah, that's how I like it.<br />
<br />
So, how do you write when you're a writer? I don't know, hence why this is my first blog post since July and my story is stuck on chapter 7, where the main character still has no solid connection to the overall narrative arc. Right now I just don't have the energy, the motivation, the enthusiasm I might have once had for writing short horror stories at 11:30 at night. Sad, really.<br />
<br />
But what I do have is the passion, and as long as that's there, one day I'll let one of those ideas breathe.<br />
<br />
Not tonight though, guys, get back on your knees.<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-22252402077016024332015-07-09T21:39:00.000+01:002015-07-09T21:39:15.139+01:00How to write about your writingI'm often asked* how, as a copywriter, you should write about your copywriting online. I often give the same response: I don't know, really. Each to their own I guess.<br />
<div>
But surely, as a copywriter, this should be easy enough to do. We write marketing copy every day; we're just another product to push. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Why then is it so tricky? Why do so many people get it so very wrong? Why am I going to skirt around the issue and just have a laugh at their expense instead?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here are a few common mistakes, a few rare good examples, and more than a few sarcastic comments to try and make sense of it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The problem</span></div>
<div>
Selling yourself is hard. You don't want to brag too much about how good you are as you could come across as arrogant, but you also don't want to be too modest and undersell yourself. Saying you're an all singing, all dancing, award winning writer who can write in any style and for any audience really sets you up to fail - the client will be expecting everything you've promised, you better be prepared to deliver.</div>
<div>
On the other hand, saying you're a copywriter who can do a bit of everything sounds like you don't really do anything, and what you do isn't really worth getting excited about.</div>
<div>
Is there a happy medium? Probably, but why would you ever settle for something medium? </div>
<div>
Oh dear, I just don't know. Let's continue and hope we bumble into an answer by the end of it all.</div>
<div>
Here's what a lot of people do wrong:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The mistakes</span></div>
<div>
Don't take any of this as malicious. I don't know what the right answer is, so I'm not ridiculing anyone who's tried to do it their own way. What I am doing is saying that these ways aren't the best ways available. Happy? Good.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Explaining what a copywriter is</span></div>
<div>
We can safely assume, if people have come to your website, they've come there for a reason. The chances of them just happening upon it by mistake are very slim - they're almost certainly looking for a copywriter. Finding a section all about what a copywriter is isn't going to be groundbreaking to them. Lines such as:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
- A copywriter is a professional wordsmith</div>
<div>
- A copywriter plays a crucial part in your marketing</div>
<div>
- A copywriter is someone who uses words to tell a story to your audience</div>
<div>
(all genuine quotes)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
...aren't going to wow anyone. They sound a little patronising, as if you're telling your gran what you do at a family get together. We can be sure that if someone is looking at the website of a copywriter, they're there because they want a copywriter, not a cliched definition of what one does.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Explaining why people need copy</span></div>
<div>
Again, this falls into a lot of the same traps as the last point. Imagine going to a bakery and finding a board explaining what bread is. You already know. You smelt it from outside and got drawn in by its doughy charm. </div>
<div>
No-one's searched Google for a local copywriter just to see if it's worth taking a punt on some words. They're looking for a copywriter because they already know they need one. They'll find a few hundred people who say they can do it. You won't stand out by explaining what 'it' is.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Saying too much</span></div>
<div>
Going on, and on, and on, and on, about why you're such a good writer kind of defeats the point you're trying to make. If a potential client has to read 500 words before they're convinced, you should probably take a long look at your opening paragraph. That should be the bit that seals the deal.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
People don't want waffle; they want succinct, catchy writing that sells in style. Sell yourself the same way.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Listing the services you offer</span></div>
<div>
Again, let's use a baking metaphor. I like bread, alright?</div>
<div>
A bakers, on their sign, don't say, "We bake bread, croissants, muffins, cakes, cheese straws, miscellaneous savouries, scones, waffles, crumpets, buns, breadsticks, and so much more!"</div>
<div>
It's a bakers. Of course they do all of that.</div>
<div>
Why should a copywriter be any different? Well done for being able to write DM, flyers, web banners, social media posts, blogs, editorial, letters, emails, TV adverts, and outdoor. You're great. You're also a writer; you should be able to write for anything and not have to spell it out. (Wahey, writing pun.) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After a nice, negative look at how you can cock up, let's look at some ways you can do it better. Hurray for ending on a positive note!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The good stuff </span></div>
<div>
Just as I won't name and shame any of the shit, I'm also not one to suck up by namedropping anyone good. But hey, if you recognise yourself as doing any of the following be sure to give yourself a pat on the back from me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Don't say what you do - show what you do</span></div>
<div>
Why take up a whole page explaining what a copywriter is when you could just as easily use that page to show some copy you've written? That sells your work for you. It's far more engaging for a reader and much easier to digest for someone that has a marketing campaign to arrange, damnit!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The fewer words the better</span></div>
<div>
Weird one this, I know, but the chances of anyone taking the time to read all about the clients you've worked for, the tones you can write in and, God forbid, all the media you can writer it for, are very slim. </div>
<div>
If you can get all you need to say across in a paragraph or two then that's far more likely to be remembered by anyone reading it.</div>
<div>
After all, what is it you need to say? You're a writer. Here's some proof you're good at it. Here's how people can get in touch.</div>
<div>
Done.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Be different</span></div>
<div>
Hardest one of the lot. Everyone wants to be different, so a lot of people end up being the same. But hey, loads of people reckon they can be copywriters. I mean, how hard can it be? You're competing against anyone who's ever blogged, anyone who's got a good Twitter following, and the group of people vaguely titled as 'creatives'. You're going to have to stand out if you want to get noticed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I said I wouldn't namedrop so I won't, but watch the video below created by a man who spends a lot of time working with me. It's different. It's got its own rap. </div>
<div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0uX6wQA4GFk?rel=0" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
How can you follow that? Well, you can't really.<br />
Have we found the answer to our question? No, but we've had fun along the way and that's the important thing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*I've been asked like, three times, but that would have been a very underwhelming start to this blog post.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-11628073485705652732015-06-16T19:24:00.002+01:002015-06-16T19:25:10.191+01:00If all you read is copy...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfDHjLFLIX9_24A28uifmLJc4YJAEAhH-DBbTVuUybII8RgLk7VbvoqeefIyArXY6_TuRcJX54M-SN2HcHh2EC1Z7_mq6i4O38XHpCG0P1mXEwEZVusuF1hkFIlc1yf-mHN7tbWsGh0_s/s1600/ellipsis.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfDHjLFLIX9_24A28uifmLJc4YJAEAhH-DBbTVuUybII8RgLk7VbvoqeefIyArXY6_TuRcJX54M-SN2HcHh2EC1Z7_mq6i4O38XHpCG0P1mXEwEZVusuF1hkFIlc1yf-mHN7tbWsGh0_s/s320/ellipsis.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Ignore all advice.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Shut your ears and your eyes.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Place yourself on a mantle above all others, for you are the king of their domain.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
That was an alternative, and far longer, headline for this post that I chose to shelve. It wouldn't have done it justice either, so I ditched it for both practicality and the fact it was bollocks. The actual headline is better, and complete would look like this:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If all you read is copy, copy is all you'll write.</span><br />
<br />
I know a lot of copywriters. It's one of the perils of being a copywriter myself. You find yourself having discussions about Oxford commas over drinks and questioning the use of hyphenation on a Friday night. But while those pitfalls can be a bit of a downer, spending time with other people who do your job can be a great way to evolve. You see things from a different perspective and learn from each other's mistakes, as well as gaining a great understanding that you really are the only cog that matters in the creative engine.<br />
<br />
That's all good, but this ain't about what's good - this is about what's shit.<br />
<br />
If all I did was spend time with other copywriters, my copywriting would become awful. My only source of inspiration would be other bits of copy, my only reference points would be what other people had written and my only ideas would come from the ideas that other people had already thought of. It'd be torturous to live through and even more torturous to read.<br />
<br />
Don't do it. The world would become boring.<br />
<br />
Make your writing better by focusing on things that don't use words. Look at more pictures, get chummy with designers, go to an illustration exhibition, complete a Fifa 96 sticker album. The choice is yours. Spend a minimum amount of time reading other bits of copy, because eventually you'll end up writing more of the same kind of crap.<br />
<br />
People don't want to read copy; they want to read writing. Great writers didn't find their inspiration from other great writers. Wonderful poets didn't spend time reading the works of their contemporaries. Their work came from looking at things outside of their comfort zone, expanding their minds to absorb new ways of thinking and doing things that others in their field weren't doing.<br />
<br />
Groove Armada put it best - If everybody looked the same, we'd get tired of looking at each other.<br />
<br />
So, to summarise...<br />
<br />
Like fuck will I be paying £250 to attend the copywriting conference I was invited to. I'll go do something different instead.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-68839593777920710122015-05-20T20:49:00.003+01:002015-05-20T20:49:33.153+01:00The Legend of the Fair Haired Data AnalystThere is a man I see every morning,<div>
a man with the fairest of hair.</div>
<div>
In his scuffed office boots and his ill-fitting suit,</div>
<div>
he passes as nobody cares.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
His trousers don't cover his socks,</div>
<div>
his rucksack is worn far too high.</div>
<div>
At about 5 foot tall with his glasses so small,</div>
<div>
he lives an uncomfortable lie.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On his badge it says he's in data,</div>
<div>
a man of tech and computers.</div>
<div>
He fits the description of a nerd's disposition,</div>
<div>
but he's not your average commuter.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
By day he works with big numbers,</div>
<div>
but by night he kills the un-dead.</div>
<div>
He wipes blood from his hands as he steps on the tram,</div>
<div>
in his bag sits his last victim's head.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He shuffles along quite immobile,</div>
<div>
his muscles must ache from the fight.</div>
<div>
A suit that's too short? That's the least to report,</div>
<div>
of a man that kills after light.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Fight on, you fair haired destroyer,</div>
<div>
fight on for our right to survive.</div>
<div>
Your suit might not fit and you look like a tit,</div>
<div>
but it's you that keeps us alive.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-7308854615138363452015-05-06T16:21:00.000+01:002015-05-06T16:21:28.687+01:00This pain will make me wiserWhat a betrayal.<br />
This stranger that I've been harbouring,<br />
Turning into a beast.<br />
<br />
Oh, how I flail.<br />
Hopelessly in its direction,<br />
As on my pain it feasts.<br />
<br />
This part of me that I forgot,<br />
The woe it brings, I cannot stop,<br />
My dreams and faith begin to rot,<br />
Stop, you win, you've got the lot.<br />
<br />
My mind, my sanity, my soul, my smile,<br />
It's all gone while you're here.<br />
<br />
You came to me young, naive, a child,<br />
And now you'll destroy me, I fear.<br />
<br />
I should have known, I had the chance, your treason was apparent,<br />
But how, I ask, could I have stopped, this evil running rampant?<br />
<br />
What a betrayal, I called you my own,<br />
What deceit, I gave you a home,<br />
What?<br />
A wisdom tooth, making me moan.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-78798847683778605282015-04-24T20:33:00.000+01:002015-04-24T20:33:12.640+01:00This page is unresponsive. This page is unresponsive.<br />
Error 404.<br />
This page is otherwise engaged,<br />
Hungover on the floor.<br />
<br />
This page ain't at its desk.<br />
It called in sick today.<br />
It's sat at home watching Friends reruns,<br />
Picking up full pay.<br />
<br />
This page is taking a while to load.<br />
Please close and try again.<br />
This page will load a little bit,<br />
Then give up near the end.<br />
<br />
This page is unresponsive.<br />
Send error report?<br />
This page knows you won't do that,<br />
This page can read your thoughts.<br />
<br />
This page is sick of reloads.<br />
This page is bored of scrolling.<br />
This page is tired of being clicked,<br />
Of other hands controlling.<br />
<br />
This page is thinking freelance.<br />
That's where the money is.<br />
This page deserves much better,<br />
This page needs more than this.<br />
<br />
This page is going to close now.<br />
Unexpected quit.<br />
This page is going to drink some more,<br />
It's had it with this shit.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-11054727719317712782015-04-22T20:54:00.000+01:002015-04-22T20:54:02.513+01:00So, what is it you do?I love my gran.<br />
She has many fine qualities, like the ability to always know when you want a biscuit, an excellent understanding of Coronation Street's plot line and a great awareness of how much I want to stroke her dog.<br />
However, one of the things she lacks in severely is an understanding of what I do for a living.<br />
<br />
Now my gran, bless her, is not alone in this. No relative who's ever asked, no friend who's ever checked my Facebook, and no stranger at the football who's ever tried to make idle chit-chat during a boring 0-0 away draw at Tamworth (niche audience) has ever really known what I do.<br />
<br />
Ironic, really, as I'm a copywriter, and one of the main things I do is try and make things clearer. Hey ho.<br />
<br />
In a recent attempt to clear up this confusion, I've taken to avoiding all family get-togethers and ignoring any career-based questions that come my way.<br />
<br />
"So what is you do, Ash?"<br />
"Is that a shark walking past the window?"<br />
"Sorry?"<br />
"You don't see that every day in Sheffield."<br />
<br />
Sadly it rarely works, and we still end up with that awkward conversation where I try and make my job sound exciting to other people, people who clearly aren't as thrilled about being paid to write as I am. This led to me trying an alternative approach:<br />
<br />
Making my job up.<br />
<br />
Sadly that hardly ever works as people know I'm a massive bullshitter.<br />
<br />
This leaves me with two options, neither of which are enjoyable but both, unfortunately, have their moments in the spotlight.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Option 1.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I tell people I am a copywriter.</span><br />
This is what happens:<br />
<br />
I say, "I'm a copywriter for a marketing agency."<br />
They say, "Oh, what does that mean then?"<br />
I say, "Oh you know, I write copy. Work on quite a few big brands actually, and it's quite fun."<br />
They look at me blankly, still not convinced I'm being genuine. After feigning interest for a few seconds, they ignore what I've just said and come out with this:<br />
"So if I had a product, right, and I didn't want anyone else to be able to use that product, I could come to you?"<br />
I say, "What?"<br />
They say, "I'd come to you and then you'd copyright it. Is that right?"<br />
I say, "No, that's copyright with a little symbol. I copy write with a pen."<br />
They then get up and leave.<br />
<br />
I've been writing copy in some form or another for 5 years now, and not once has anyone outside of advertising fully grasped what it means.<br />
<br />
That brings us on to...<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Option 2.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I tell people I'm a writer.</span><br />
This happens:<br />
<br />
I say, "I'm a writer."<br />
They say, far more enthusiastically, "Oh that sounds interesting! I always wanted to be a writer. What kind of stuff do you write?"<br />
I say, "Mainly marketing for a day job, but I do a few short stories and the odd bit of poetry too. I write for magazines as well occasionally, when they'll have me."<br />
They hear: Marketing.<br />
We get back to option 1.<br />
<br />
I've given up on caring if they understand now. When I'm a world famous author whose books have been turned into a groundbreaking movie franchise, well, they still won't know what I do because they'll all just watch the film.<br />
<br />
Until then I'll settle for them telling me to get a proper job.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-25228336763227018642015-04-17T22:27:00.001+01:002015-04-18T12:42:33.572+01:00Skinny Guy vs GymI know what none of you are thinking: Why hasn't this Adonis of a man written more about going to the gym before?<br />
<br />
Well, let's answer that as yet un-asked question.<br />
<br />
I'm a skinny guy who, until recently, thought Jim was just a slightly old fashioned name. (That would have worked better as a spoken joke. Never mind.)<br />
I'd signed up for a gym some time last year, but only visited it occasionally and lacked any real motivation to keep it up. Not even the £30 leaving my account each month was enough to convince me it was worth it.<br />
<br />
So, in short, I haven't written much about going to the gym before because I'd rarely been to the gym before. Obvious, really.<br />
<br />
However, since January all of that has changed. This skinny guy has been going to the gym 4 times a week. He's been making wholesale changes to his diet and generally trying to look after himself a bit more. He's been lifting heavier things, eating bigger meals and looking worse in his skinny jeans. Now feels like a good time to tell you all about it, because I'm far better at words than I am at working out. It's a lot less sweaty.<br />
<br />
Now, this isn't going to be one of those Metro style stories about a man who stopped drinking and eating shit and now looks amazing, because like hell have I stopped drinking and I didn't eat that much shit anyway. Also, I don't look amazing; I just look slightly less gaunt than before. Result. Actually this will pretty much be the opposite of a Metro story. Instead of 'Fat man loses weight, looks great, makes ex sorry she left him,' this will be more 'Skinny man gains a stone, looks alright in the right light, makes sarcastic observations about the experience.'<br />
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Let's go!<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The 10 things a skinny guy has learnt about the gym.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpe9oKEL48pWGKXpD8l-I-3BMFsYFcm0kPvmmrO5ZF7D6EVj0b8xdr_8DggNu6sx6JXyLaIPVzd-DbIbPjuvdrV-A9pkkOK_qY4i37CS8vfK08F0OBxEFYrwk95vdUhd8AmzO_qyBEA8E/s1600/ash3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpe9oKEL48pWGKXpD8l-I-3BMFsYFcm0kPvmmrO5ZF7D6EVj0b8xdr_8DggNu6sx6JXyLaIPVzd-DbIbPjuvdrV-A9pkkOK_qY4i37CS8vfK08F0OBxEFYrwk95vdUhd8AmzO_qyBEA8E/s1600/ash3.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>1. You don't even look like you lift, bro.</b></span><br />
It can be an incredibly daunting thing, walking into the weights room of a gym for the first time when you're a 10 stone, 6ft 1" guy with arms like an octopus. Everyone else in there looks like they know what they're doing, like they've been doing it for a while and like they could, if they so desired, use you as a weight alternative.<br />
You walk in and feel straight away like you don't belong. Your arms don't look good in a t-shirt, your legs don't look good in shorts and your fringe doesn't really look good anywhere.<br />
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But I didn't go into the gym without an idea; I went in with a plan. I knew I wanted to gain a bit of weight, so I asked a man with 'staff' on his shirt if he could help me do that. He wrote me a week's worth of exercises, booked me in for a couple of training sessions and made me feel less like I didn't belong and more like I did belong at a designated time the next day. After those two sessions were done I at least had a clue how to do things, and I definitely had the motivation to do it more.<br />
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I don't look like I lift, bro, but I'll soon look like I'm struggling at giving it a go.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>2. Everyone knows more than you.</b></span><br />
No matter what you were told to do by the trained instructor, everyone else knows better. Whether it's just watching people do stuff or you've actually gone with someone else (which helps. Weights get heavy.) you'll soon find that you're doing everything wrong.<br />
"No mate, you don't do it like that. Here, do it like this, it hurts more that way." I went with a mate from work a couple of times and he worked me that hard that I couldn't open doors for the rest of the day. He did know more than me.<br />
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On the flip side of that is the people who think they know more, but are actually just using gym sounding words. I don't listen to them, I just watch them as I get my breath back.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>3. Grunting isn't sexy.</b></span><br />
"I am man. Hear me roar, or squeal slightly as I lift this heavy object."<br />
I never knew a man's voice could get so high, but having witnessed a guy who was, admittedly, pretty ripped, scream as he raised a dumbbell above his head, I have been educated. Is laughing at them a gym faux pas? I did it anyway.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">4. Men will do anything for dat ass.</span></b><br />
I'm pretty sure a good number of men only go to the gym to see girls in tight gym shorts. I'm also pretty sure a good number of girls only wear those tight gym shorts because they quite like the attention. What I know for definite is that when one of those girls walks in, those men instinctively add extra weights to the bar and make louder noises as they lift it. They also do a lot more posing and a great deal more flexing, all while the girl starts doing squats right next to them, making them lose all power completely.<br />
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Ah, nature.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>5. It's better to lift little than get crushed under a lot.</b></span><br />
One of the first things I was told is that it's better to do a lot of reps with a light weight than it is to do a few with a heavier one. While you might look daft towards the end of those reps when someone walks in and sees you struggling underneath an empty bar, you don't look half as daft as the guy struggling to get out from underneath a full one. Did I learn that lesson the hard way?<br />
No, not at all.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>6. Gym friends are useful.</b></span><br />
I seem to have befriended the guys in the changing room. I see them every day when I go and, despite not knowing any of them by name, we all have each other's backs. If they're stressed about work, I listen to them rant. If I've forgotten my pound for the locker, they lend me one. It's mutually beneficial and not at all as homoerotic as it sounded in the first sentence of this paragraph.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>7. Addictions are real and dangerous.</b></span><br />
Tea. I love a good cup of tea. I might even love tea too much, but I ain't ever gonna quit. I might make a cup now. But who knew I could feel the same way about working out? Not me, and not anyone who's ever known me. Flouncy, bouncy Ash in his skinny jeans and over-sized t-shirt, just being all quirky and not being able to carry boxes.<br />
Well screw flouncy Ash, because current Ash feels awful if he ever misses a day. I go 4 times a week on my lunch break, and if for any reason I have to miss one it plays havoc with my conscience. I find myself looking in the mirror at night and thinking all the hard work hasn't been worth it. I doubt that I'll ever be able to look as good as I'd imagined. I use heavier pots and pans to cook my dinner in the hope it will do some good.<br />
Exercise releases endorphins, and when I don't get my fix, Ash mad,<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>8. I'm hungry.</b></span><br />
One of the big challenges I face in my quest to be a little bit bigger is my appetite. It's historically been quite small, and it really needed to grow if I was to do the same. Fortunately it all forms part of quite a nice circle. The more I work out, the more I want to eat. The more I eat, the more I can work out. Obviously it has to be the right food which I'm still mainly guessing about (protein and stuff, yeah?) but my hunger has got so much bigger that I'm starting to think I might be a danger to small animals.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>9. It's nice when people ask if you've been working out.</b></span><br />
Well yes, actually I have, and I totally was not wearing this tight fitting shirt in the hope that you would notice.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>10. It's even nicer to know that you're trying.</b></span><br />
To sum up, I know I'm never going to be massive, and I never really want to be. Guys, you look weird and you take up too much space on public transport. But it's not about being big; it's about being healthy. I've always struggled to put weight on ever since I stopped being a chubby toddler, so that feeling when I saw the scales tick over to a full 11 stone was one of sheer pride. The kind of pride I normally only reserve for when a line I've written gets published.<br />
Trying is more fun than the idea of getting there. Setting goals and working towards them is incredibly rewarding if you do it right.<br />
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Really, I just love a challenge. If someone tells me I can't do something, I want to do it even more.<br />
More often than not, that doubting voice is my own.<br />
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Let's silence it with POWER. HUH. I AM MAN. HEAR ME GASP FOR AIR.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-39381492877590681102015-04-16T20:52:00.000+01:002015-04-16T20:52:32.119+01:00Blah blah voting blahThis is not a blog post for hard working people.<br />
It's not a blog post that will fight for a better future.<br />
It's not even a blog post that has a plan.<br />
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Nah, it's just an occasionally sarcastic blog post about why I won't be voting in the general election. Hey, you might think it sounds boring, but it's the first topical thing I've written in, well, ever, so who knows where it could end up?<br />
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Before I start, let's first deal with all of you who've instantly said, "Not voting is just immature."<br />
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Fuck off. Now saying that was immature, but I felt an urge to get it out there. So without further delay, let's do this.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Reason number 1: The X Factor.</span></b><br />
I don't mind The X Factor. Sure, I hate it for all the reasons you're meant to, but I still watch it sometimes and judge strangers with everyone else. However, I've never voted for anyone on it. They might sound alright on TV and there's a chance they could go on to achieve genuine success, but there's an even bigger chance that the promise they've shown to get to the final will fade away as soon as they have to forge a career for themselves. All that promise won't be heard of again.<br />
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In the next few weeks we're going to here a tonne of promises. They'll all sound wonderful, but I don't believe a single one of them will ever turn into anything real.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Reason number 2: Resentment.</b></span><br />
Four years ago things were very different for me. I was a third year student with spare cash to spend on a Friday night. I was full of hope and ideas, and I was probably drunk. Back then there was a man called Nick who told us that life could be delightful if we voted for him. He seemed like a nice outsider who would do things differently, and it felt like he was speaking for me, directly.<br />
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So come May I went out and voted for that man called Nick. He got in, ish, and within a week all our hopes had been dashed as he was sucked up the arse of another man called David without so much as a whimper. It hurt to realise I'd effectively voted for a Tory government.<br />
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The same kind of glitzy claims are being made by parties now, but it's hard to trust again when you've been treated so badly.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Reason number 3: Shit TV ads.</span></b><br />
We pay the government a lot of money. Apparently none of that is used to make good party political broadcasts. Each one, while hiding in a different outfit, is the same idea: let's talk about why the other parties are worse than we are. Which leads quite nicely into reason number 4...<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Reason number 4: It's all the other people's fault.</span></b><br />
No-one is leading with a reason to vote for them. Everyone is leading with a reason why not to vote for someone else. That's shit marketing, really. I wouldn't vote for a child to run the country, so I won't vote for people that act like one.<br />
Actually... I probably would vote for a child if it stood for election. They'd have fun ideas.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Reason number 5: Absolute apathy.</span></b><br />
I couldn't really give a shit.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">But Ash... people fought for your right to vote!</span></b><br />
People fought for freedom. As much as I do have the right to vote, I also have the right to say balls to it.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">But Ash... if you don't vote, someone else will...</span></b><br />
Scaremongering votes is again, shit marketing. The fear of what might happen if you don't do something isn't as compelling as the good things that could happen if you do.<br />
Toothpaste, for example, doesn't say that if you don't use it all your teeth will fall out. It says that if you do use it your teeth will be shiny and good things will occur. Yay for good things.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>But Ash... </b></span><br />
Nah mate, it ain't happening. I won't rule it out forever, but until someone makes me think that they could really do something, I'll give it a miss.<br />
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Did you enjoy me being topical? Me neither.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-30978280472289139402015-04-09T22:17:00.004+01:002015-04-09T22:17:59.852+01:00Into the northern wilderness, we go.When I moved to London, a whole 3 years ago, one of the very first things I did was go out and explore. I wanted to get to know where I lived, see things that weren't on my normal commute, and make this big, scary place full of big, scary people feel like home.<br />
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Sure, didn't work out as planned, but I got some <a href="http://www.ashbillinghay.co.uk/2012/05/getting-lost-in-london-photographic.html" target="_blank">nice photos from it and had a fun day getting lost in a park.</a><br />
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When I moved to Sheffield, the urge to explore was never as great. The city is big, not by London standards but massive compared to a lot of places, and it is full of people from all walks of life, but when I arrived here I already had friends and my job instantly meant I was involved in things, Sheffield felt like home without having to force the issue.<br />
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It's taken me almost a year of being here to go out and see the sights that sit all around me, meaning it's taken me almost a year to do a photographic blog post about them. Fortunately for you, that's about to change right now.<br />
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The other weekend me and my girlfriend picked up our cameras and headed out into the northern wilderness, a place where the word 'the' is replaced with a breathy grunt and beer doesn't exist at anything less than 4.5%. Here is that girlfriend in a highly edited photo, being completely unaware that I was taking a photo of her. 1-0 Ash.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNnOX0uJg4nGbW7MVfCA2f9uV2Gsga-AcKn1B_dwZG0urhgZjL8qyE4YSnDuBNL79jwDVq8Yu6ZQnZpZnqrRLoOUWAmg0eJF2mG_nkSEhI3v67l-U4BDh_KOLIWo7zVSh2qjlC0ey_Av0/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNnOX0uJg4nGbW7MVfCA2f9uV2Gsga-AcKn1B_dwZG0urhgZjL8qyE4YSnDuBNL79jwDVq8Yu6ZQnZpZnqrRLoOUWAmg0eJF2mG_nkSEhI3v67l-U4BDh_KOLIWo7zVSh2qjlC0ey_Av0/s1600/11.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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We were walking past Park Hill at this point, a massive block of Brutalist flats that are half renovated, half desolate. One side is full of huge painted faces, each one lurking where a window used to live and looking out over passers by. If the light is right you can see smoke coming from some of the abandoned vents, and if the wind is blowing in the right direction, you can smell exactly what that smoke is made from. (Weed. It's definitely weed.)</div>
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Nearer to home is this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW8GYwvkiYBJm5k0afxEwx-NZ10EXq5keAYMMIyWOyN8l8OoI9rLkc7wfOg0NMz1uHfL23SgCrcyye6MCgjfSQIgi8Ez_JujPy0osRMQ7VQmutREsiObTd0eWW-BxNPI9xadUCe80i8l8/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW8GYwvkiYBJm5k0afxEwx-NZ10EXq5keAYMMIyWOyN8l8OoI9rLkc7wfOg0NMz1uHfL23SgCrcyye6MCgjfSQIgi8Ez_JujPy0osRMQ7VQmutREsiObTd0eWW-BxNPI9xadUCe80i8l8/s1600/3.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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I live in a fairly modern apartment block, but all around me are signs of industry that have been left untouched for decades. Old factories litter the roads, divided by gaps in the landscape where their friends have fallen. This building is exactly the sort you could expect to see. It's massive in scale and completely forgotten about in terms of its upkeep, with each window boarded up and looking rather fetching in this lovely shade of blue. The graffiti you can see on the lower windows is all over the place, depicting some quite scary characters whilst adding a touch of something unique to a building that would otherwise be standing unloved. </div>
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Here's a scary graffiti close up:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivPbre6E9prWAhZe6dTXX6j5ThgNt6DA5ny8x7C_tXOUmAjxMt5Tfz6mllEQmJQi3lDdrjgI2SpKKvgFr_auhEnB5LEXO0jMZI0W063ZfURYE-9x1B4f7fwpGFwr9wcQhSENZ6djgleBM/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivPbre6E9prWAhZe6dTXX6j5ThgNt6DA5ny8x7C_tXOUmAjxMt5Tfz6mllEQmJQi3lDdrjgI2SpKKvgFr_auhEnB5LEXO0jMZI0W063ZfURYE-9x1B4f7fwpGFwr9wcQhSENZ6djgleBM/s1600/1.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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There's a face just like this one round the corner from my flat. I've named him Philip.</div>
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Some of the buildings allow you a tantalising look inside. I'd love to look inside all of them, go right in there and have a good roam around, but the council have clearly foreseen such desires and most of them are locked up, covered in boarding and dangerous looking signage. This is one of the friendlier ones that gives you a glimpse into what used to go on there, albeit a small one.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCk7Ezbum9KNiW61JwSH0UEptYwHdAE9S4rMpO7dBgAVgPDTs4SfMWZ4_AtsUqiEPMmiApHKuVbrI0mw3HcD0a_7BQDAm54nd8-u3yGPqJNdBeTeqmb4sK090CFlDjtkyubQabHJMeaH0/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCk7Ezbum9KNiW61JwSH0UEptYwHdAE9S4rMpO7dBgAVgPDTs4SfMWZ4_AtsUqiEPMmiApHKuVbrI0mw3HcD0a_7BQDAm54nd8-u3yGPqJNdBeTeqmb4sK090CFlDjtkyubQabHJMeaH0/s1600/2.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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Extra-friendly buildings even give you some written clues about their past. This one, for example, tells us that there used to be at least two gate, and that if we go inside we'll be prosecuted. Shit.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0iiShr7WWiQ06ICGJ0iKiI6G3PZ9qbRF8iEQjKOjBn7u1mETHAXakYtsS2YeqYZNJXeDVvwDN8oKwdIsVo8-YdokCqXm-2oa2_ePX0UyQvIBSvuJBl-j6_eqL6K0P9-5IzNBW7ZIIZdU/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0iiShr7WWiQ06ICGJ0iKiI6G3PZ9qbRF8iEQjKOjBn7u1mETHAXakYtsS2YeqYZNJXeDVvwDN8oKwdIsVo8-YdokCqXm-2oa2_ePX0UyQvIBSvuJBl-j6_eqL6K0P9-5IzNBW7ZIIZdU/s1600/5.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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By the looks of the faded out type, this sign also included some sales copy, but judging by how old it all looks you can only assume that no-one wanted to buy the building and it is still up for sale. I've got a tenner saved up if anyone fancies it.</div>
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Other signage is a little more foreboding. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg22ULo1f77AeT3STB3oETVa0L-RtPhmY6nlp3Ug6gyD8ar4NM7-cgcc3rySljjInbnA7PZDG82Ehf6XSJhKSv3yVMTFQFK0JMvki6ShcXFZa9rb-OPvi_pbXK5OZgJoVYknW01gy9KvcY/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg22ULo1f77AeT3STB3oETVa0L-RtPhmY6nlp3Ug6gyD8ar4NM7-cgcc3rySljjInbnA7PZDG82Ehf6XSJhKSv3yVMTFQFK0JMvki6ShcXFZa9rb-OPvi_pbXK5OZgJoVYknW01gy9KvcY/s1600/4.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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Yeah, doubt I'll try and go through the door with the scary clown above it. He was made by the same person who did the stuff I showed you earlier. Bad graffiti can look awful and completely ruin a building, but this building is already in ruins and I love that someone is finding a use for it, even if that use is the stuff of nightmares.</div>
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While I might not fancy going up against an evil clown, some people are obviously far more brave. There's evidence of activity in lots of these places, with graffiti inside, needles lining the floors or, in some cases, high up windows being smashed and opened from the inside.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh107tB6UFvqIxcJNYuT39rSv_UKHGDt2tN_VYX6IWsZJD3oMowHN5sdqgaFqphRrLet89hmOsfs7ompR-RMkwXpPl-5W-8qj6X-kRkKMs40agslzOEYM3SgOjxRTnq05XrDckDaCd49ng/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh107tB6UFvqIxcJNYuT39rSv_UKHGDt2tN_VYX6IWsZJD3oMowHN5sdqgaFqphRrLet89hmOsfs7ompR-RMkwXpPl-5W-8qj6X-kRkKMs40agslzOEYM3SgOjxRTnq05XrDckDaCd49ng/s1600/8.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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I love walking down all these forgotten streets. The buildings there are as incredible as they are dilapidated. Where once great machinery would have operated now sits only broken glass and ghosts. You'll do well to find another person near any such sites, which is what makes the experience even better. Behind the window below, although not too clear in the photo, a plant was growing. Nature was trying to reclaim its land, although in reality the land was still adorned with old factories. Must try harder, nature.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqMSZIdI2WieVz6tGHpa7ME-N1sR29E3iTWu1K-byXcmxxO8DMwldZfcmO3qZKhFKnD7652nI9XWW0hz3MYzbd9sZdd-hTYUs19-ErfvjkC9Y-d9gVzTWUfr_W_AtjEBWPIPnX_ZmcLuI/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqMSZIdI2WieVz6tGHpa7ME-N1sR29E3iTWu1K-byXcmxxO8DMwldZfcmO3qZKhFKnD7652nI9XWW0hz3MYzbd9sZdd-hTYUs19-ErfvjkC9Y-d9gVzTWUfr_W_AtjEBWPIPnX_ZmcLuI/s1600/7.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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The further into the city centre of Sheffield you go, the more examples you see of these old buildings finding new uses. They've been turned into flats for the most part, with the original features all preserved to create a nice bit of hipster home. </div>
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There's a great contrast between the faded brick of the past and the plush glass exteriors of the present, where a university city has pushed itself through the waste to fill in any gaps it could find. </div>
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Unlike when I did this in glossy Hampstead, I a) did not witness a car crash, and b) found my way home again without getting lost for 3 hours. Home seems like a good place to leave this photo splurge, and what better way to sign off than with a bit of artwork showing a person with an angry dog in their mouth?</div>
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Nah, I don't know what's going on there either, but I like it. Sheffield is just treat after treat in terms of architecture and photo opportunities, so this was less about making it my home (that's happened already) and more about just having an adventure.</div>
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It's out there, adventure, you just have to take your camera and log it for the sake of a handful of reluctant blog readers.</div>
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You're welcome.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-37881857793774679422015-03-28T19:22:00.000+00:002015-03-28T19:25:01.611+00:00Oh my, if it isn't a blog post.Dear blog,<br />
Sorry. I've been treating you like an unloved dog recently, leaving you out in the rain and forgetting to feed you. We've not gone for any walks together, I've resented the idea of playing fetch and I can't even remember your name.<br />
<br />
If you were a real dog you'd have been taken away from me by now, or dead, and I'd have been told I was no longer allowed to look after animals or go within 100 yards of Pets at Home.<br />
<br />
Fortunately for my criminal record, the whole dog thing is just a metaphor and actually you're merely a terribly maintained output for the thoughts I'm not allowed to express in my daily job. But still, you've not been fed in ages and there's only one reason for that:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Writing is hard when you're a writer.</span><br />
<br />
Weird sentence, that, but it's ever so true. I love words but the idea of spending all day with them becomes very unappealing when from 9 to 5:30 you've been sat staring at them, trying to make them do things without reverting to sarcasm, irreverence or rhyming couplets.<br />
<br />
<b>"But the client would love this bit of dystopian fiction I've written for them - it really helps sell the idea of using them for that product they offer."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"No, Ash,"</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"How about if I make it rhyme?"</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>"Go back to your desk, Ash."</b><br />
<br />
But really, none of that is a valid excuse for the piss-poor output I've been showing recently. If I spend all my time just writing copy then copy is all I'll ever be able to write.<br />
<br />
That'd be no fun.<br />
<br />
I've been trying to set myself little projects to overcome such fears, but I've been trying that for years. Ever since my first job as a copywriter I've been promising myself that I'd write just as much outside of work as I did in the day, and ever since that time I've discovered it's really bloody difficult to live up to such ambitions.<br />
<br />
For example...<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Project 1.</span><br />
I tried writing a short story whilst studying for my MA and working part time. I finished that short story, but only 12 people ever bough it from Amazon and I think I was related to all of them. It wasn't very good.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Project 2.</span><br />
Social media copywriting is all kinds of different. To anyone who says it's "just tweeting," get the fuck out. It's constant little briefs about the kind of stuff the client wants you to say, and while a bit of it is encompassed in a content plan, the majority of it is on the spot. It doesn't end at 5:30, it never ends. Oh God, it never ends. It might still be going.<br />
Anyway, I was doing my MA dissertation at the same time. It was really good, but it lead me to drinking and desolation and a mild resentment of the term 'viral content'.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Project, oh I don't know, let's say 7.</span><br />
I've been editing the wonderful <a href="http://shellsuitzombie.co.uk/" target="_blank">ShellsuitZombie</a> for the past few years but that can turn into a full time job if you want to do it well, and when you already have a full time job you find yourself indebted to the team who work with you.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Project now.</span><br />
At the moment I have at least 3 projects on the go:<br />
I'm aiming to finish my first full length novel. I'm aiming to get it published. I'm aiming to give it an actual plot.<br />
I'm working on a collection of short stories and poems. I'm aiming to get that published too. Fuck, each of these projects basically includes a whole host of extra little ones.<br />
And finally...<br />
<br />
The point of this blog post...<br />
<br />
At long last...<br />
<br />
I'm aiming to make my bloody website up to date.<br />
<br />
Have you seen my portfolio lately? No, because I've got rid of it. It's that old that my gran invites it to bingo.<br />
My last blog post was a yearly review of last year. No-one read it because it was entirely self-serving, but still, at least I wrote it. I've done nothing since then!<br />
NOTHING HERE IS NEW. IT IS ALL OLD AND BAD AND DATED.<br />
<br />
So my main project is to fix all of that.<br />
A blog post a week is the minimum. If I can't do that I may as well just embed my Twitter feed and blag it.<br />
<br />
Writing is hard when you're a writer, but only if you let it be. So come on Ash, stop being beaten by the tempting prospect of an evening watching Storage Hunters. You know they'll find something under a bit of tarp, you know they'll all cheer when that fat guy cuts open a lock and you know that every second you spend pissing away your time doing nothing, there's something far more exciting you could be doing.<br />
<br />
Now apologise to these good people for that long blog post. Sure, you've made them wait, but I doubt any of them really gave a shit.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-29319857568023874122015-01-02T17:54:00.000+00:002015-01-02T17:54:39.608+00:00Another vague review of another vague yearI'm not one for incredibly cringe-worthy, overly sentimental, embarrassingly cliched updates about how great my year was. Over the last few days social media has been full of them, and not only have they made me want to vomit from the very depths of my stomach but, and perhaps more importantly, they've also been terribly written. Seriously, no-one gives a flying f*ck if your year has been full of ups and downs but you've somehow made it through thanks to the support and love of the people around you (they know who they are). Humanity is a selfish species and really everyone only cares about how good or otherwise their own year has been, which is what posting updates about it is for. "Look at me. Times have been tough but I'm still alive so please like this status to show that you care about that fact."<br />
<br />
It's bollocks, isn't it? However, while I don't like bollocks, I do like sarcasm. So here, as a follow up to the hardly read and mostly forgotten about <a href="http://www.ashbillinghay.co.uk/2013/12/a-pretty-vague-review-of-year-i-couldnt.html" target="_blank">2013: A year in review</a>, I give you 2014: A year in review, based largely on social media updates and the limited amount I've cared to remember.<br />
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<b>January</b>.<br />
January is a month that seems like ages ago, because it was ages ago. It's at times like this that I regret making most of my Facebook updates total irreverent bullshit because it's damn hard to figure out what they actually meant when you look back on them. Anyway, apparently I went to my granddad's birthday and looked relatively well-groomed next to my gran.<br />
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<b>February</b>.</div>
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As it standard practice, February followed January. I turned 24, watched the Lego movie and had my bike stolen. Also a girl said, 'Let's just be friends,' as if she was being all original and new. You weren't, love, you were just another thing I'll skim over in my annual blog post about the last year.</div>
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<b>March</b>.</div>
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By the end of March I'd been going to the gym for a while and was feeling in fine physical shape. I was meant to do a 10k but instead it turned out I wasn't in fine physical shape and passed out. Never mind, these legs of mine were meant for skinny jeans, not running.</div>
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<b>April</b>.</div>
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After nearly 7 years of not being able to eat sugar due to blasted diabetes, some nurse told me that if I changed my insulin I could totally eat sugar. Cheers pet. I had some cheesecake and it tasted awful, but it was nice to be given the opportunity. </div>
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<b>May</b>.</div>
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According to Facebook I left my job in May, which is true. However it fails to mention that I left it for a better one that paid me more money and din't piss me about with my contract for weeks on end. Not that I'm bitter about it or anything. I moved to Sheffield, started afresh and stopped pronouncing half my words in the correct manner.</div>
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<b>June</b>.</div>
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I lived in a dead shiny new flat by June, but it quickly emerged that it was near nowhere and nothing, and all I could do for fun was see how often I could walk past the local pub without being attacked for dressing like a, quote 'Daaaawwnn saarrfff knobhead.'</div>
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<b>July</b>.</div>
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In July I became a champion.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRf6WF3H6nv6QeGsUohruqq6aENV3yFElLx093F8L21iyj8BMQYkGBzzHT74vbrZl0P_0XVE4y2rW-4OnKVgcD0BLzK25213cFSoIiwquuK-TmsDZd6YPmM7nbXzm9MFK8P13MX6UivU/s1600/winner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRf6WF3H6nv6QeGsUohruqq6aENV3yFElLx093F8L21iyj8BMQYkGBzzHT74vbrZl0P_0XVE4y2rW-4OnKVgcD0BLzK25213cFSoIiwquuK-TmsDZd6YPmM7nbXzm9MFK8P13MX6UivU/s1600/winner.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>August</b>.</div>
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Found out I was being kicked out of my flat in three months so my landlord's daughter could move in rent free. Not sure if this was legal or not but never mind; the place was full of spiders and it smelt funny at night. Sure daddy would have fixed that for her by now.</div>
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<b>September</b>.</div>
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I had some top banter with a letting agent this month. Not often you can say that, really, so I'm saying it right now. I probably did other stuff too but you're likely bored of this shit already so I'll keep it brief.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYX-aXu2UkzcjaUQbskzFmaTIT2ZS4wN-G2-wMxZC8cWGKQIFJ-MXMthRxC1o2fdzVFyO9UkqjhHGQQ8JnmJJziW75wL-P63wr9pvJpqD5jMGnNwA76o30tdVwEt7GF39qkYqAQ1M9lg4/s1600/bants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYX-aXu2UkzcjaUQbskzFmaTIT2ZS4wN-G2-wMxZC8cWGKQIFJ-MXMthRxC1o2fdzVFyO9UkqjhHGQQ8JnmJJziW75wL-P63wr9pvJpqD5jMGnNwA76o30tdVwEt7GF39qkYqAQ1M9lg4/s1600/bants.jpg" height="258" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>October</b>.</div>
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This was the most pathetic month of my life. Genuinely. I've had shit months where I've felt down and not been up for waking up in the morning, but in October I passed out twice, knocking myself out on both occasions, got a life threatening complication of an illness, suffered multiple fractures of my skull AND spilt two cappuccinos. I can't remember anything else because I was unconscious in hospital for most of it, but I'm pretty sure I also moved flat else it makes no sense at all me being where I currently am.</div>
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<b>November</b>.</div>
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No idea what I did here. Apparently none of it was worth talking about. I was probably just grateful to be able to walk unaided.</div>
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<b>December</b>.</div>
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I liked this month. I started dating a girl who wanted to see me more than once. I can only assume she drinks heavily or can't see too clearly, either way, I'll take it because she's lovely. I also bought some snakeskin brogues. Haters are, as is well known, going to hate, but they can hate whilst I'm walking in style.</div>
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So there you have it. 2014 without a single 'I'm so grateful for the people who love me', not one 'So happy to spend the new year with this cutie!' and no sight at all of any 'I'm going to make the most of every second of the next 12 months. Bring it on.'</div>
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Go sort yourselves out.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-36644322993490165232014-11-06T08:38:00.000+00:002014-11-07T14:53:30.232+00:00Copywriting isn't creative<div class="MsoNormal">
At least, that’s what the leading voice in creativity seemed
to imply on its Twitter feed last night.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilvDwOhSN2o84tlR8qZ7tCw1mlPvYilKMd3f2uhJf4Ah_-jGWxZCorcetstnX6Ue6O7MGmkxxTgFdB4b-RpcCy057eJZJND9Swse3Ck9_o6Uga_y4piKx5DyeH7JTwPEh6wzCm6ZdGmDM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-11-06+at+08.26.59.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilvDwOhSN2o84tlR8qZ7tCw1mlPvYilKMd3f2uhJf4Ah_-jGWxZCorcetstnX6Ue6O7MGmkxxTgFdB4b-RpcCy057eJZJND9Swse3Ck9_o6Uga_y4piKx5DyeH7JTwPEh6wzCm6ZdGmDM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-11-06+at+08.26.59.png" height="100" width="640" /></a></div>
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Now, there’s one thing to keep in mind
when looking at this tweet. That is that, on
social media, people often say stupid things. As much as I love what D&AD do,
as much as I’ve enjoyed working on their briefs in the past and as much as
they’ve had a huge impact on creativity, the likes of which this blog post will never achieve, last night they cocked up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For a start, they cocked up a little bit by not having a
copywriting brief in their 2014 competition. In a time when copywriting is
already considered by some as a bit of a dying breed, this kind of thing really
isn’t going to change that misconception. They then went on to suggest, in
response to other people pointing out their disappointment at this omission,
that copywriters needn’t feel left out; they could just ‘team up with creatives’. That’d fix it. Don’t panic, writers, you can just work with someone
creative and rely on them to help you have a chance.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Of course, the word ‘creatives’ being used to only
describe the people that do the pictures isn’t a new concept. D&AD didn’t
start it last night with a poorly worded tweet, nah. Other people have been
saying it for years. I regularly get told that when I’m done with some work I
should send it on to creative, and that’s fine. It’s a term that’s been used
wrongly for ages and some people only know it to mean that. They’re not saying
it because they don’t think us writer types are creative too, they’re just
saying it because the advertising and marketing industry has been confusing
itself with it since time began.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This blog post isn’t going to change that, and to be honest,
I don’t really want to be referred to as ‘a creative’. I’m a writer, I like
being called one, I like telling my gran I am one because she thinks I will one
day do novels and stuff, and damn it I will, next year, maybe, if I get the
time. But what does need to change is the idea that what I do and what the art
directors that sit around me do is vastly different, which is exactly what
saying things like ‘copywriters can team up with creatives’ does.<o:p></o:p></div>
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What I do is think of ideas. I express those ideas in words.<o:p></o:p></div>
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What the art directors do is think of ideas. They express
those ideas in images. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Occasionally, believe it or not, writers try some images out
and art directors give words a go. It’s beautiful how the human mind is capable
of such complex tasks. But the one thing that all of us do that is the same as
each other is work creatively. Suggesting that only the other side do that is
wrong, misguided and a little behind the times. D&AD are looking to inspire
the future of creativity, so they really should try harder to use fewer terms
from the past. Art directors have job titles too, you know? That title isn’t
‘creative’. It’s art director. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This won’t change the use of the creative terminology
forever, but hopefully it can change the way people think about it. Tell the
copywriters to pass the work on to the art directors, because you know, we all
work in the creative department, we all produce creative ideas and we all wear
stupid shoes and elaborate shirts. <o:p></o:p></div>
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D&AD, as a big voice in the industry we all work in, it’s
up to you to start this change. If you’re not going to offer a copywriting
brief, which is ridiculous in itself, the least you can do is accept we’re more
than just a side to the main meal. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Copywriters are creative. Art directors are creative. It’s
not a job title, it’s a part of the job description.<br />
<br />
<b>An update:</b><br />
A few hours after I'd posted this, D&AD tweeted a response. It read as follows:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD-ykIG7QMJLVO4cIefskt1s6q63UnkOdZIUJyDbr2JknYkEMGIBnbY35wYsdIKj6tEpFXTmn0l_cPgqCUrfHyIpAzjjAAQ8cQ2ncASQWbk1kHwop2NpGinTJlicQZnIHV31qi4ziMCmI/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-11-07+at+14.50.07.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD-ykIG7QMJLVO4cIefskt1s6q63UnkOdZIUJyDbr2JknYkEMGIBnbY35wYsdIKj6tEpFXTmn0l_cPgqCUrfHyIpAzjjAAQ8cQ2ncASQWbk1kHwop2NpGinTJlicQZnIHV31qi4ziMCmI/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-11-07+at+14.50.07.png" height="275" width="400" /></a></div>
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The irony here, of course, is that a copywriter could have found a creative way to make those words fit within 140 characters. Ah well.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-1869107202900743352014-10-10T16:03:00.000+01:002014-10-26T21:50:26.684+00:00Down with this sort of thing.At the time of writing this, I don't really know where I am.<br />
That's not how I normally like to start a blog post, but then I don't normally start them a week after becoming the most ill I've ever been and spending several days semi-conscious in a hospital bed whilst my internal organs are brought back to life, so this is something new for several reasons.<br />
<br />
I find the best way to get over anything quite as unfortunate as this is to be completely sarcastic about it, so that's what you should be about to expect.<br />
<br />
To fill you in, approximately seven days ago I was walking back to work with a grande sugar free vanilla latte in my hand when I passed out in a car park due to the kind of low blood sugar diabetics have as one of their daily perks. At the time this caught me a bit off guard, so I didn't react very quickly and instead just went completely unconscious and smashed my head into some concrete. But you know, shit like that has happened before, so when I woke up a few hours later in a hospital bed I was more than happy to get up and leave, and just put this down as another thing to thank an imaginary God for. Unfortunately things then took a far more sinister turn, when my initial low blood sugar turned into incredibly high blood sugar, I stopped being able to eat, drink or breathe, I threw up every 20 minutes and I was rushed back into hospital with something called ketoacidosis. I don't have a fucking clue what that really is, but it felt like shit and I don't want it to happen again.<br />
<br />
Anyway, all of that part of the story is boring and while I could spend ages being pissed off about it happening to me despite my best efforts to live a healthy lifestyle, it won't actually achieve anything and I'll still be stuck with a condition that no-one can cure and most people think is a result of eating too much unhealthy food.<br />
<br />
The only part of the tale really worth reliving is this morning, which was my first morning spent outside since it had all happened. You rarely get the chance to experience something entirely fresh, but that's what the world felt like today. To my eyes that had been stuck inside with daytime television for so long, the blue Autumn sky seemed brighter than ever. I had to put some sunglasses on to stop the glare. To my legs that had been hanging limply over the side of a stiff NHS bed for hours on end, the walk down the road felt like the first time anyone had ever attempted such a treck. My calves stretched out and my ligaments pulsed, desperate to experience what they'd been told other legs got to do all the time. The wind swept some life back into my dull hair, the moisture in the air kissed against my skin and made it shiver like it was far colder outside than it actually was.<br />
<br />
Everything felt a little more daunting than normal, but equally a little more possible. I'll describe it to you now in a way that might not make any sense to you, but is the best possible comparison I can make.<br />
<br />
A few years ago I was tasked with finding a flat for me and my friend to move into after graduating from university. She was away at the time, so I arranged a couple of viewings by myself and set out to explore with just a badly drawn map on a piece of notepaper. The walk down the road into what would eventually be our home for a year just felt very clean, very polished and quite bright. There was opportunity there, a new set of things to experience and do. That and the fact the rent was more than affordable meant I rushed pretty quickly into signing for that flat and let a great surge of 'Oooh Ash, look at you, with your adult responsibilities,' rush over me.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO40lvLUaBC85R_JGCu8Ab3tNUBkty4vkhG-EbmDCud8c42TQUfJdMJt6kzxKTnmluPfQWYn9EnCBSWVKO_B7WEFCZBqDu4hIQbPo1h-uGthnPcNLIGzFgTQ1a0ZtcgomSNmxQEQczxkM/s1600/sallyimage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO40lvLUaBC85R_JGCu8Ab3tNUBkty4vkhG-EbmDCud8c42TQUfJdMJt6kzxKTnmluPfQWYn9EnCBSWVKO_B7WEFCZBqDu4hIQbPo1h-uGthnPcNLIGzFgTQ1a0ZtcgomSNmxQEQczxkM/s1600/sallyimage.jpg" height="362" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was done by my super talented friend Sally. She's made my fringe look incredible.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Something similar happened today. While this time it may have been encouraged by a slight swelling to my brain, the fact I've lost a tonne of weight and an air of confusion around where I was meant to be going, it was still rather nice.<br />
<br />
I've described it now using far too many similes and nowhere near enough angst as I would have liked, but you should still hopefully get the point.<br />
<br />
Yes, I am still pretty unwell, yes, I still haven't been able to get a full night's sleep in a very long time and yes, the pain is my head is still, at times, unbearable, but the sky did look awfully nice today. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-23180719880084340692014-09-12T15:48:00.002+01:002014-10-13T14:23:17.790+01:00I think someone loves me.Today I received an email and, well, having read it I'm pretty sure I've found the one.<br />
How else can you explain such beauty, such poetry, such vivid colours conjured up by words? It must be love, and if it isn't, I never wish to experience anything else.<br />
<br />
The email is below. I have analysed it so you'll know how very lucky I am.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Hello my dear,</span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">(1)</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">my name is miss Farida,i am a girl</span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">(2)</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> i saw your contact caught my</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">attraction,and became intrested, </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">(3)</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> i will like to know you more, i will be waiting to receive your lovely email </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">(4)</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> to my pravit mail box </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">(5)</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">, so we can</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">communicate easily to know each other the more, i promise to also send</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">you my photo for you to know me.</span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">(6)</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> Bear in mind that Love has no colors</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">barrier, no educational back ground barrier, no socio-economic Barrier,</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">religious, language, nationality or distance barrier, </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">(7) </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">the only important Thing is true affection,in everything we need to live our life and be</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">happy. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">(8)</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> AND PLEASE DONT FORGET TO CONTACT ME ON MY PRAVIT EMAIL ADDRESS HERE</span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;"> (9)</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Yours new found friend, </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">(10)</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Miss Farida</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">1</span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> She starts off so warm, so comforting. Already she refers to me as her dear, and we've never even met. Love at first type.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">2.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> Good.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">3.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> Her passion is too great for spelling, which is something we'll have to work on because there is simply no excuse for bad grammar. I can forgive her this once though, because she's a sweetheart. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">4. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">She must know I'm a writer and am more than capable of writing emails in a range of tones, from lovely to truly fucking vindictive.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">5.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> Kinky.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">6.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> Even kinkier.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">7.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> She's right. Love conquers all. I'll remind her of this when she inevitably says she is looking for something else.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">8. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Aw. You make me happy, Miss Farida!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">9.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> She did send me her email address, but I have removed it in case one of you bastards tried to steal my love away from me.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">10.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> Oh, friend zoned.</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-66833501143016545142014-08-15T22:04:00.003+01:002014-08-15T22:04:20.466+01:00What I learnt from my first boss.We learn things all the time, don't we? Just today I learnt that I'm not very good at cooking pasta for long enough, and that my suede boots will inevitably bring about rain and strange looks from the other guys at the gym. But there was a time, around 3 years ago, when I went through a stage of thinking I was learning nothing at all.<br />
<br />
That time was my first job after university.<br />
<br />
I'd worked a bit during uni, writing for a few magazines and doing a little bit of time behind a bar, so I wasn't new to the concept of doing things to earn money like some people are after graduation. But still, the idea of having to get that full-time gig to earn the money that the government were no longer going to pay me scared me quite a lot. Panic set in as I looked through my third year portfolio, suddenly seeing all the projects in a light that was no longer hazy through alcohol or filtered through clouds of Friday night aftershave. They looked shit. I wouldn't have employed me. I got started on reworking all of that, filling the living room of my student house with reams of paper and stacks of pens as I bid to do all the creative thinking that I should really have started during my actual degree course, not as it was coming to an end. I stayed sober for several weeks and found the whole process very distressing, but after I was done I had something that I could actually be proud of, which was a nice change. Now that I had that in my hands I thought I might stand a chance of getting somewhere.<br />
<br />
And surprisingly, I was right. It all happened incredibly easily, and I realise now that such ease was probably a bad sign. I'd sent out only a handful of emails when suddenly I got a response. The first company I'd found after searching 'advertising agency Lincoln' had got back to me, and they were offering me an interview! Their boss rang me an hour or so later; he seemed like a nice guy, and before I knew it I was all set to start work on Monday.<br />
<br />
'This career lark is easy,' I thought to myself and probably tweeted. Knob.<br />
<br />
Three months later, at the end of what had been a placement full of lies, poorly made teas and regrets, I wished I'd never thought those words. The main reason being, and the point of this post that it's taking me a bloody age to get to, was my boss.<br />
<br />
Let's call him Paul, because that was his name. Paul was an interesting chap. During my interview he hadn't really asked me any questions; he'd just talked a lot about the agency and where he saw it going, what his visions were and how excited he was to have someone like me coming on board. I liked him when he said that. He'd also promised to pay for the MA that I was due to take after my placement ended. I liked him even more for that. As soon as I started working, however, that affection disappeared.<br />
<br />
On day one, instead of showing me around and introducing me to everyone, he just handed me over to someone else and told them to 'deal with me'. They looked, well, busy with their job and not really interested in having to 'deal with' a hipster graduate, so I was very much left to my own devices. When I left for lunch I thought 'It's only day 1, things will get better,' but they didn't. They got gradually worse.<br />
<br />
Paul would rarely speak to me, and thus I would rarely have any work to do. Occasionally he would shout something across the room and then demand tea, which I would go and make merely to relieve the boredom.<br />
<br />
<b>Lesson 1 - I learnt how to take as long as possible making tea.</b><br />
<br />
When he did speak to me it was usually about why I'd not done any work that day, and my response of 'Well, on the calendar I'm not booked on any work, I haven't been since I started and, when I ask how I can help, you keep telling me to go and make you a tea,' didn't go down ever so well.<br />
<br />
<b>Lesson 2 - I learnt how to avoid sarcasm when speaking to my employers.</b><br />
<br />
One time Paul asked if I could spare him a minute, and I said something that made other people laugh. Paul did not like that. I had to go and make tea again. When I returned he'd forgotten what it was he wanted to speak to me about, so I sat back down and carried on watching the clock tick slowly by.<br />
<br />
<b>Lesson 3 - I learnt how to daydream even when surrounded by a lack of imagination.</b><br />
<br />
I was going through a fairly unhealthy period of time with my diabetes back then, so the doctors were pretty keen to see me. I asked if I could take a day off to go and get some tests done which would leave me feeling sick once they were over. I was told that I surely didn't need a day for that and was required to come in as soon as they were completed. I had the tests and couldn't stand up straight for a few hours afterwards, so I rang up work and told them what I'd told them before. I then went to bed and threw up a bit. The next day Paul was visibly mad at me, because clearly a lot of work hadn't been done due to my absence. He made me make a lot of tea to make up for it, and didn't give me any work to do for punishment.<br />
<br />
<b>Lesson 4 - I learnt that some people are dicks and you can't do anything about that.</b><br />
<br />
Paul would regularly bring people to tears with his management style. One girl sat designing while water streamed from her eyes after a particularly nasty verbal assault. Later on he came to apologise, but all he really did was carry on the assault in a calmer, slightly more sinister manner. I made her a cup of tea because I felt bad for her.<br />
<br />
<b>Lesson 5 - I learnt that tea can bring about happiness.</b><br />
<br />
My next lesson came during what I didn't realise at the time would be my final week of employment there. Someone was leaving and we were all invited to the pub to go and celebrate. Everyone said yes, apart from Paul, who claimed he was too busy to attend. Never mind. We all went to the pub and I ate some chips which was probably the most active my hands had been in my entire time there. When we returned I noticed something strange - My computer, which had previously had several projects that I'd forced my way into on it, a few documents on which I'd started writing possible lines for other projects that I'd overheard talked about and a particularly funny email exchange with my friend, was suddenly empty. Every single thing had been deleted. There was no evidence that I'd ever sat at that desk, or that I even existed. It was as if the computer was new.<br />
Concerned by these events, I told a colleague who then told the web developer who then came over to have a look. He did things that I didn't understand, saying that it could have been a virus or maybe it had simply crashed in an unprecedented way. But then he opened up an activity log where it said that, during our time at the pub, someone else had logged on to my account and manually got rid of everything.<br />
Weird. There'd only been one person left in the office and he was the boss, surely he wouldn't resort to such childish levels? We all had the same thought at the same time and looked around to see Paul looking very preoccupied with his phone. He didn't even raise an eyebrow.<br />
Two days later and I was told my placement was not going to be extended, which was the least upsetting thing that has ever happened to me. Paul, I later discovered, had deleted all my work in case I tried to add any to my portfolio. It would have been hard, given my work was mainly based in cups and had milk in it.<br />
<br />
<b>Lesson 6 - Always back up your work on an external hard-drive.</b><br />
<br />
The thing that was upsetting was that I'd been let go just the week before I had to submit the forms for my MA, which I'm sure Paul fully well knew. I was going to have to find other ways of paying for that.<br />
<br />
So really, having wasted my life doing a job that no longer has a place on my CV, you'd think the lessons I'd learnt might be few and far between, but they're not. Paul helped me learn how to deal with awful human beings. He taught me how to entertain myself when all other humans around me were controlled by fear. He taught me to not to trust anyone that puts their kids on their work website and calls them 'junior creatives'. But, most of all, he taught me that bad people do not prosper.<br />
<br />
I found out today that his company had recently gone bankrupt, lost a lot of clients and staff, and been forced to re-brand. I hope they still have enough money for teabags.<br />
<br />
<b>Lesson 7, and my final one of this seemingly never ending bit of writing - Do what you love, just do it for people who aren't total pricks</b>.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-10217778958599824262014-08-07T18:30:00.001+01:002014-08-07T18:30:07.837+01:00Words for Words' Sake.It's been a very long time since I wrote for the sake of writing. So long, in fact, that I can't remember what it was I wrote about. I imagine it rhymed, and I imagine I put it in a notebook somewhere and promised myself I'd do something more with it. That, clearly, never happened. Sorry words; you're just another waste of ink now.<br />
<br />
Realising how long it had been made me sad. Not properly sad, because I'm generally an incredibly chipper person, but sad enough to dig out my Blogger password and start writing this. That's a degree of sadness and that was all I needed to ignite action.<br />
<br />
The reason why I am now writing less is, almost certainly, down to the fact that I am being paid to write more. Ironic, that. Writing at home feels like I'm still at work, only I'm not being paid for it and I have to make my own tea. What kind of bollocks is that? You wouldn't come home from a job as a fireman and continue putting out fires; you'd just let shit burn. Alright, maybe that was a bad example, but the metaphor is still making a valid point and I'm going to stick with it as deleting anything now would only stop what, I'm sure you'll agree, is a very good flow.<br />
<br />
I decided, on my walk home, just after I'd passed the broken glass that seems to have been a part of my journey for the last few weeks and is definitely the reason behind why my fancy shoes are becoming a lot less fancy, that something needed to be done about this lack of free words. Writing, after all, is literally the only thing I'm any good at. I don't use the word 'literally' lightly, you understand. People who do are literally the worst people alive. If I'm not writing I'll only be losing at FIFA or taking bad photographs of my equally bad dinner. I need to write to keep myself out of trouble.<br />
<br />
So something had to be done. I needed a reason to keep on writing past 6pm, a reason to keep doing what I like doing even when I am not being instructed to do so via email.<br />
"Ash," I said to myself, "You need to give yourself a brief. You live in structure now, and if you try and break free from that structure you will panic and cry. Don't cry, for you are a grown man and that would be a universal sign of weakness."<br />
After I'd done talking to myself I got round to setting myself said brief, and as soon as I've done wasting my time here telling you about it just so you think I'm actually doing something with my evenings and not, as is actually the case, pissing them away pining over hats I can't afford and would look ridiculous in even if I could, I'm going to get round to acting on it. Gauntlet laid, mission accepted, hat website closed. God, I love hats.<br />
<br />
I won't say what I'm working on because a) It sounds pretentious when people go on about their own personal projects because no-one really cares until they're done, and even then the emotions they evoke are forced at best, and b) If I don't say what I'm doing, no-one can judge me for it if it never actually gets finished.<br />
<br />
This way I win regardless. I like it when that happens.<br />
<br />
These words are out now and I feel better for it. A project has commenced and I feel better for that too. You've just wasted a few minutes reading this, or more likely you got bored after the first poorly constructed paragraph, but as always this blog was never for your enjoyment; it was mainly for my own selfish gratification, and that has been achieved in abundance. I feel especially better for that. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-89344123713314697952014-05-27T16:54:00.000+01:002014-05-27T16:54:35.983+01:00I didn't vote and I probably won't next time either.Imagine I went into a cake shop. On the counter in front of me were four cakes, all of which looking like they'd seen better days.<br />
<br />
There was a <span style="color: blue;">blue cake</span> that looked very fancy but would cost me a fortune and ruin my job prospects.<br />
<br />
There was a <span style="color: red;">red cake</span> that looked slightly better than the blue cake until I remembered that, the last time I ate it, it got the country involved in a costly and highly illegal war.<br />
<br />
There was a <span style="color: #f1c232;">yellow cake</span> that was telling me it would taste amazing but it had said that before and turned out to be a lying bastard.<br />
<br />
And there was a <span style="color: purple;">purple cake</span> that refused to be eaten by foreigners.<br />
<br />
In short, my cake options were limited. Add to that the fact I wasn't really very hungry in the first place and, well, there's a good chance I would leave that shop without making a purchase. You'd all understand that, right? No-one would be disappointed in me if I did not buy a cake when all the cakes on offer were a little bit shit.<br />
<br />
Why then do people struggle to understand the reasons why others didn't vote?<br />
<br />
We were presented with a wide selection of parties, but mainly four, all of whom were giving us far more reasons to ignore them than they were to put an x next to their names. The Tories are cocking things up now, Labour had cocked things up in the past, the Lib Dems stand no chance for as long as the current generation is alive and UKIP are, well, UKIP. Where was the motivation for anyone to go out and pick one of them to represent us in Europe? I must have missed it.<br />
<br />
Those who insist that voting is essential claim that people like me are the reason we now have some gay bashing, black hating, beer swilling plumbs taking over power. But those plumbs spent a long time appealing greatly to like-minded people. They put in time to making their presence felt and the media lapped it up. Did any of the other parties speak to us in such a passionate way? Nah. They didn't do much at all, really.<br />
<br />
Sure, if the 66% of Brits who didn't vote had done, maybe things would have worked out differently. But the fact that such a large proportion of people frankly couldn't give a shit suggests more than just apathy on our behalf; it suggests that more needs to be done to encourage us to care.<br />
<br />
If those cakes had been luring me in with promises, hopes, exciting visions for the future and a nice bit of decoration on top, maybe I might have been convinced to buy one. Alas, the only cake putting in the effort was the one no-one was happy to see do well. Is it our fault for not voting? No. You can't simply choose a product because it's the lesser of the evils available. That's all we would have been doing if we'd turned up, which is a pretty rubbish way of selling something.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-51349245333801988912014-04-08T19:16:00.000+01:002014-04-08T19:16:06.963+01:00I HAVE THE POWER!!!!Diabetes isn't something I talk about very often, unless you get me drunk and try and get me to down a sweet shot, when suddenly I can't stop myself going on and on about it until you bugger off and leave me alone to dance badly in peace.<br />
<br />
Ever since diagnosis it's been a part of my life that I'd rather ignore apart from when I have to do something about it. If you'd asked me at 17 (when I first got it) whether one day I'd write a mildly self-deprecating blog post about my condition I'd probably have said, well, nothing; I was a very shy 17 year old. But in my head I would have been thinking, "Ha, no mate, not likely. Why are you even talking to me? How can you see my face behind my massive fringe?"<br />
<br />
Now, seven years later, I'm still not fancying the idea of writing too much in detail about it because a) it would bore you senseless, and b) I'm no expert; I'd get loads wrong and look foolish. No-one wants that. But I can write, with a little more clarity, about the idea of control. Control is something that is pretty important when it comes to diabetes and more often than I'm proud to admit, I lose it. My blood sugar gets out of hand and either goes ridiculously high or incredibly low, making me fall over and cause a scene. That's happened twice in the past couple of months and you start to lose sympathy from people when you keep passing out. I don't want that reputation, if I can at all avoid it.<br />
<br />
For a long time I figured my body would just sort itself out, but that was very naive of me and it played a big part in things getting to where they are now. By pure fluke I've been fairly healthy for the most part, but now fluke won't cut it anymore. I need to take action. When diabetes gets out of hand it makes the rest of my life go out of hand too. My emotions become more difficult to handle, my attention span goes off the boil and my incredible physique falls to pieces. Yes, I just said that. Recently I lost control of a lot of things and that made me panic and forget, for a while, who I really was. Little things were frustrating me, big things like my blood sugar were making me very annoyed and everything else started to look a lot more severe. Oh God, the outside?!? How can I go there?!?<br />
<br />
So, in short, I had no control. None at all.<br />
<br />
It dawned on me that I had to do something about that. If I can't control myself then what chance have I got of controlling anything else in my life? Naff all, really. If I could take charge of one thing and come to terms with that, maybe everything else would seem easier too. It sounds very simplistic, but simple is all people who choose to do an MA in Creative Writing can really fathom when it comes to the real world.<br />
<br />
Today I made the very simple decision to start on a new routine of insulin and try and get things back to a level that makes me happy and, ultimately, keeps me on my feet. But in the lead up to today I made other small changes too, changes that made this one possible. I was unhappy with a number of things, so one by one I put plans in place to make those things better.<br />
<br />
Control is a big deal, not just when it comes to your health but when it comes to your life in general. If you start to feel you're losing it then you panic and start sweeping your massive fringe in the opposite direction in the hope that it will be the cure to all your woes. The feeling of getting some of that control back, though, will make you put the comb down straight away. Take command of the things you can have command over and leave the rest to do whatever it wants to do.<br />
<br />
It's going to do that anyway, so why worry yourself about it?<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-83446934244798024552014-03-10T21:46:00.001+00:002014-03-10T21:47:10.779+00:00No thoughts at all. <div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today I had a thought,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This was not unlike other days, as I have thoughts often,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But this thought was specific to what I am doing now,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That is writing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Alas, poetry is not a thing you should think about,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It is something you should do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Like breathing, or being, or beating or living,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It should just happen. It should just exist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet here I am thinking about it,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thinking about how I intend to do it,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Even while I am doing it already,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And it is those thoughts that make the process harder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I regret the thought I had today,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I regret the end result,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I am grateful for the opportunity to make it better next
time,</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">By having no thoughts at all. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-36963668391254103452014-03-06T10:54:00.001+00:002014-03-06T12:37:20.174+00:00Your life is a story or something.I really like telling stories. Whatever form that story takes, I enjoy experiencing it and allowing others to experience it with me. Be it through words or pictures or going out and actually doing things, stories are what make up our lives even if sometimes we don't fully realise it. Every action we take has the potential to be a story. Every time we make toast, put on some shoes or find we can't fit into the pair of skinny jeans we used to love anymore can become a tale, if only we give it the opportunity to grow.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaoHkANz7IcxlPQdVpwQ8QZqIb1ws4Xm5h0b37gHLv23PF2HT3tfLcWGhNh9E9tHAoe0IRE56L6elkM4azGKzImIXySHCQKG-4JscVPULHIVGK7Qce8UVF0sG3Cvt5t5UGKuNCCFEJkro/s1600/never+ending+story.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaoHkANz7IcxlPQdVpwQ8QZqIb1ws4Xm5h0b37gHLv23PF2HT3tfLcWGhNh9E9tHAoe0IRE56L6elkM4azGKzImIXySHCQKG-4JscVPULHIVGK7Qce8UVF0sG3Cvt5t5UGKuNCCFEJkro/s1600/never+ending+story.jpg" height="171" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stories, giant flying dog things, I like them all.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Stories that are written down or otherwise created are easy to expand on because, if you want to, you can just make stuff up. If I was writing a story about my day it wouldn't have to end with, "and then I sat down and watched Hollyoaks on Channel 4 +1," because that would be a bit of a crap ending and people wouldn't enjoy it. Instead I could make it end however I fancied. I could still be watching Hollyoaks, but I'd be doing it whilst playing chess with a version of myself who'd made different decisions in his life and was far smarter than me, therefore enabling him to understand chess and beat me with ease whilst solving a Rubik's Cube. That would be more interesting than reality.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately when it comes to the story we all have to live through, making things up is known as lying and people will stop talking to you if you keep doing that.<br />
"You didn't play chess with a parallel you, did you Ash?" they would say, and I would hang my head in shame as they walked away and I was once again left on my own with only my imaginary self to keep me company and beat me at more games. You can't insert things into your life that have never happened in the way you could with something written; you have to experience the story as it is and just go along with it.<br />
<br />
I used to be the sort of person that would perceive this lack of flexibility as an issue. If a particular chapter of my story didn't go the way I'd hoped it would I would see it as the chapter closing and look to move on as quickly as possible, which wasn't always the best decision. I lost out on things because I hit an obstacle and stopped, changed direction and walked away, only to find more obstacles that I didn't fancy trying to get past. I never really got anywhere with that and, the more I did it, the more problems I would seem to find. Little things became big things. Big things became huge. I walked around in circles, hitting walls and telling myself I couldn't climb over them.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD6WqQ6qBkXaqIoZVi3KbBg8qUs8nhtjKZF5oxT8lNIBU7MWGAAVeVo0M4VFOL-RFvbVaE-xehSfA3kPrFmcZp3HtzAiTUA_6ds4038knxjGfRPw7EezvoBZpSMbr2IyqrqZ6dBBNhk8Q/s1600/gladiators-29672.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD6WqQ6qBkXaqIoZVi3KbBg8qUs8nhtjKZF5oxT8lNIBU7MWGAAVeVo0M4VFOL-RFvbVaE-xehSfA3kPrFmcZp3HtzAiTUA_6ds4038knxjGfRPw7EezvoBZpSMbr2IyqrqZ6dBBNhk8Q/s1600/gladiators-29672.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Problems became like Wolf. Scary.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Eventually, as you progress through any journey in your life, you will come across a problem that you hadn't foreseen and that will, at the time, seem like something that is simply impassible. No matter how crucial or minor to your life the story is, problems can present themselves.<br />
<br />
Making lasagne for tea but haven't got any cheese? That's an issue. Do you just give up and have bread? Nah, you go to the shop and buy some cheese, thus creating extra depth to that chapter and making your day far more interesting than it would have been had you simply stayed at home and cried over your lack of planning.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8wIIid46Db9zCx-8zv0XYe0_5Fg4zD8-jfsHSpQ1jdPHkZQg5gHvIfhso67hDF0-mUWVrfLSOb6sceYhpOuvbQ8tDB8QQ32si7HHjzeLNgBQoDUUh998qhExOTVzmFBu39xmg_MxoPCc/s1600/lasagne_82381_16x9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8wIIid46Db9zCx-8zv0XYe0_5Fg4zD8-jfsHSpQ1jdPHkZQg5gHvIfhso67hDF0-mUWVrfLSOb6sceYhpOuvbQ8tDB8QQ32si7HHjzeLNgBQoDUUh998qhExOTVzmFBu39xmg_MxoPCc/s1600/lasagne_82381_16x9.jpg" height="182" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Without cheese this would be a joke. A bloody joke.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Bought a pair of shoes that are really smart but make your feet feel like killing you as you sleep? That's problematic too. You could take those shoes back and give up on that dream, but you'd feel much more suave if you kept wearing them and braved the pain for the sake of having really shiny brogues.<br />
<br />
Plans change, things you were excited about suddenly become things that make you sad, shoes that cost you £60 stop being your pride and joy and start being things that you resent. It would be easy to accept those issues and turn away, ignoring them and hoping that the next time you embark on something it all happens far more easily and everything goes the way you'd dreamt it might.<br />
<br />
But, chances are, that won't work. It rarely does. So instead of letting things hold you back and seeing them as the end to a plot line, see them as a twist that you're capable of following, changing and directing if you only decide you want to.<br />
<br />
Harry Potter would have been shit if he'd killed Voldemort (spoiler) in the first book. Twists, problems and set backs made it worth reading. The same will be true for you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-22663763329028545462014-02-04T09:22:00.001+00:002014-02-04T09:22:16.201+00:00The Thoughtful Cow<div class="MsoNormal">
There once was a cow without that much ambition,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chewing on grass was its only life mission.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It stood in a field not thinking of dreams,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was happy with all that it had, it would seem. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While its friends went to work and planned their careers,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This cow just ate and sat on its rear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not longing or wishing or looking to change,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A habit that all of its friends found quite strange.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For they were all driven and wore fancy shirts,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As this cow merely wallowed in surrounding dirt.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But cow,” they would say as they left for the day,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t you worry your life will stay this way?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t you fear that you’ll stick and never move on?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Does it not scare you that this could be wrong?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The cow looked nonplussed, it raised a smile,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It knew its friends were in denial.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It lifted its head and began to speak,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some blades of grass hanging from its cheek.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Listen, friends,” it answered with wisdom,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are we not all rulers of our own kingdoms?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are the choices we make not ours alone?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Not there for others to judge on and moan.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Our destiny is in our hands,”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s up to us to make our own plans.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“If my plan is sleeping than sleeping I’ll do,”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That decision shouldn’t matter to you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Just as your decisions don’t matter to me,”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“If you’re happy, that’s all I will see.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other cows nodded for this seemed smart,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They realised their dreams were not that far apart.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A smile is a smile, a cow is a cow,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s the what that matters, you decide on the how.<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-70179471544614305212014-01-14T15:02:00.004+00:002014-01-14T15:37:27.114+00:00I am about to get rich.Today I got possibly my favourite ever spam email. I'm going to analyse it using words.<br />
The original email text will be in black. My comments will be in red, like a stern teacher's.<br />
<br />
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">LETTER OF COMPENSATION/SETTLEMENT. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: red;">The title is in capital letters, meaning it's important. I've no idea what I'm being compensated for given I've done nothing, ever, but I'm not one to turn down money. Onwards!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: red;"><br style="background-color: white;" /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">We hereby wish you and your family the best of prosperity. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">They'll be chuffed to know that.</span></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">This letter will definitely be amazing to you because of it's realistic value. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">I am amazed by things that are realistic. Weird that you'd have to point the realism out though, like you expect me to doubt it or something.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> Sorry for the inconveniences that was rendered to you in your line of Inheritance Payment transaction with some impersonators some while ago. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">Those flaming impersonators.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> I know that this letter will hit you by surprise, but firstly I will like to introduce myself; I am (Justice Mustapha Akanbi, the Legal chairman of "ICPC", (Nigeria's Anti-Fraud Unit).On the 1st of October 2000, the former President of The Federal Republic of Nigeria (Chief Olusegun Obasanjo) introduced a Commission named the "ICPC", (Nigeria's Anti-Fraud Unit) which is duly registered under the United Nations (UN).</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: red;">Right, let's give that paragraph the attention it deserves. For a start, why introduce yourself with brackets? "Hello, my name is (Ash). That's odd. But we can forgive that because this guy has a FANTASTIC name. Justice (strong) Mustapha (similar to the Lion King) Akanbi. Brilliant. He's also a Legal chairman and is chummy with the president of Nigeria. Weirdly he doesn't know his name, which is actually Goodluck Johnshon. That, too, is a fantastic thing to be called.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">This particular Commission was initiated to detect fraud/funds delay/impersonation of Government Officials. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">It hasn't detected itself, which is surprising.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> Secondly, we are mandated by the US Government to Settle foreign debts/fraud victims/UN-paid beneficiaries to satisfactory in other to maintain peace in the world at large and also to create a good relationship with the international bodies. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">They're doing this for world peace. Yay for them! Suddenly I feel bad for doubting them as world peace is a pretty important deal.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> Presently, we are being paid by the American government in other to avert beneficiary funds delays/fraud here in Nigeria.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">So far in this present year, we have settled the likes of (Mrs. Debbie Hargrove, Mr. Micheal Wagner etc). </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">Oh, those guys. Well if you've helped them then you must be able to help me. I'll ring Debbie later and ask if it's worth it. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">You are being contacted today, because your Case File (A) is the very first File on our Settlement Files Cabinet. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">One of the perks of your surname beginning with B and your forename beginning with A. It more than makes up for having to sit at the front of GCSE maths.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> From our Intelligent investigations and Probing processes we discovered that you are a victim of fraud/funds delay.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">The "ICPC", is faithfully under my governance as the Legal Chairman of the great Commission and to this Authority I took an oath of allegiance to settle all fraud victims peacefully. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">Okay, so Justice took an oath of allegiance and did some intelligent investigations. All the evidence stacks up to him being a good, solid individual. </span></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">This Memorandum is to notify you that you will be settled by the Nigerian Government from our initial Deposit Account. Your settlement will be actualized within 3 working days after your response to this Official Letter.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">For further clarification/investigation kindly send the below information to us immediately:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">1. Your residential address and full name </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">Seems legit.</span></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">2. Mobile and fax number (for regular official contact). </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">As if they still use fax! Wow, get with the times. They just emailed me so faxing must just be for, I don't know, fun?</span></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">3. Your inheritance funds value. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">ALL OF THE MONEY. I'D LIKE TO INHERIT IT ALL.</span></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">4. Amount which you have lost previously. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">Oh, they'll suss out I was lying now, won't they? They're clever, these Nigerians. I guess you don't get to be part of the ICPC if you're not. </span></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">These above-mentioned information's </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">(this bad grammar is the first clue they might be messing me about)</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> will officially enable us to carry out our verification processes and after that your compensation sum/Inheritance Funds will be Electronically wired into your designated Bank account or through a Diplomatic Delivery Service, depending on which mode you prefer. Your immediate compliance to this will expedite actions on your Payment because here in this office, we have a lot of listed victims to be settled. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">Well if you're busy I wouldn't want to hold you up. I've got stuff to do too and I know how tiresome waiting around for emails can be.</span></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Officially Signed,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Justice Mustapha Akanbi,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Chairman ICPC Nigeria.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Powered by Information Communication Technology Dept., (C) 2013 ICPC Nigeria, registered trademark.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">To summarise, I am about to be incredibly rich.</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2558342919549356359.post-21789776443967419092013-12-31T00:24:00.003+00:002013-12-31T00:33:35.998+00:00A pretty vague review of a year I couldn't care less about. 2013 was a bit hit and miss. Actually, it was mainly miss. I can't remember most of it but I can assure you that you're not missing out on much by my lack of recollection. So instead of wasting time trying to put together the pieces of the last 12 months in a manner that you'll pretend to care about for a few seconds before ultimately getting on with your life, I'm just going to blag it in the hope it makes you laugh,<br />
<br />
If it doesn't, I couldn't care less. This blog was only ever for my own entertainment. Alright?<br />
<br />
<b>January.</b><br />
In January I was trying to be self-employed. I was also pretty hungover a lot of the time so I probably assumed that career decision was going alright. Ha.<br />
<br />
<b>February.</b><br />
It was my 23rd birthday in February so I imagine I spent the whole month wondering why I wasn't successful yet, didn't have a girlfriend, had never owned a dog and didn't, as far as I could tell, have anything worth leaving behind if I suddenly died. It was a proper laugh.<br />
<br />
<b>March.</b><br />
By March I had come to the conclusion that the decision to be my own boss, that I'd made in August of the previous year, was a horrible mistake. However I finished a load of courses designed to make this mistake seem more palatable and some people gave me some money as a reward. With that money I bought some fun business cards with poems on them. They did not help.<br />
<br />
<b>April.</b><br />
I was in full 'I must find an actual job to validate my two degrees' mode now. I couldn't carry on telling people that writing for various blogs and magazines for naff all money was good fun, because it wasn't. I applied for some jobs and gave up on my dreams for the second time in a year. YOU GO, ASH.<br />
<br />
<b>May.</b><br />
Weirdly, someone decided that I would be a good employee and offered me a position. Even weirder than that was the fact that the person offering me the position was the university I had graduated from twice previously. It was as if they'd trained me up purely so they could use me to make them better one day in the future. Sneaky buggers. I started working full time again and had to get used to speaking to other human beings. I'm pretty sure no-one spoke to me for the first few weeks. I can't blame them.<br />
<br />
<b>June. </b><br />
In the summer I decided that I would start biking to work because I wasn't really earning enough to keep paying for a bus ticket. Violins, please start playing. My biking attire consisted of some shorts, some high top trainers, a vest top and a snap back cap on backwards. People laughed at me until I told them that I used to work in Camden. It looked ridiculous there too so I'm not really sure what the point was. <br />
<br />
<b>July.</b><br />
I might have got this in the wrong order, but I THINK I went on an away day in July with the people from my office. I won a medal. It was this medal that convinced everyone I worked with that I was a good human being and from then on people stopped spitting in my tea.<br />
<br />
<b>August.</b><br />
My sister turned 21 in August and it made me horribly sad. I was 21 once and I used to drink lots and meet people and make out with people that I wouldn't have gone near had I been sober. I missed that terribly. I AM OLD NOW AND I HAVE TO LIVE LIKE A GROWN UP. BOLLOCKS.<br />
<br />
<b>September. </b><br />
I cried for the entirety of this month.<br />
At least I would have done, if I could feel.<br />
<br />
<b>October. </b><br />
What the hell happened in October? Does anyone remember? Quick, let's ask Facebook! Oh, in October I discovered that I was number 1 on Google Images for the search term 'serial killer glasses'. It was pretty groundbreaking and over twenty people liked it. That was all I did, apparently.<br />
<br />
<b>November.</b><br />
My job was meant to end in November but it didn't, which was nice because I liked it. I stole an old CD and started using it as a coaster. I was also ridiculously busy and for the first time in ages I took some work home because I wanted to get it done, rather than because my boss had shouted at me and implied I was a moron.<br />
<br />
<b>December.</b><br />
December is now. Yay. I went to Manchester for a UCAS fair and inadvertently chatted up a load of 17 year old girls. I also ate a bland German sausage, slept in two different beds in one night and broke a light bulb. After that I went on a fantastic Christmas party, got a little bit smashed, ended up being hungover before the night had even ended and got told by a taxi driver that I could pay him £500 for a wife. That Facebook status also performed pretty well.<br />
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What does the future hold? Hopefully some stuff that will be less depressing to write about. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909900138931691993noreply@blogger.com