2012: an overly sentimental review.

Let me set the scene of this post: it's Christmas Eve, there's 45 minutes to Christmas Day, I'm in a bright green dinosaur onesie and I've spent the day preparing food, baking and hunting for reduced goods at Waitrose. Overall, it's not been a bad one.

As I sit here with a gin and tonic, a cat and a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies - yeah, I'm treating myself, okay? - I realise that I'm getting ridiculously sentimental in my old age, and the fairy lights aren't helping. You can't be bitter when you're surrounded by strings of tiny lights that make you look more attractive than normal, it's just rude.

So as I've been too broke to buy presents this year, I bring you all some happiness and sentimentality in the form of my words. After all, you're all very hard to buy for, and some of you I just didn't want to make the effort for at all.

2012 has been the year that has made me. I've found what I love doing most and managed to bag myself a place on one of the top courses to do it properly - and if I ever end up working for News Corp or the Daily Mail/Express, I want one of you to kill me, okay? - and I've had some amazing experiences while I've discovered it. Yes, student journalism might not be the top flight of fancy that you expect from the media world, but it's some of the most fun I've ever had. Despite the stress, the hard work and the frustration of trying to get a newspaper out every fortnight that doesn't have too many errors or legitimate grounds for civil action, joining The Waterfront has been the best, most rewarding thing I've ever done and I'm incredibly sad that I'm going to be leaving next year. I've been plotting my leaving speech for quite some time now, and I think I've now managed to get it down to 20 minutes with only two offensive jokes.

Technically, this has also been the year where I've had the chance to make a fresh start in terms of dysfunctional relationships. Instead, I chose to develop more of them, so here's a big shout out to every boy who has been a part of it: you've taught me the true value of cats, gin and watching Bridget Jones' Diary on repeat until I can recite it word for word. However, there's a lot to be said for but not having to shave my legs for a month and wearing my comfortable, boring knickers because no one will be seeing them. This is of course before I see a romantic couple and I remember that love is a sham sold to you by card companies. Oh boy, I do hope that 2013 is the year where I'm whisked off my feet by an incredibly strong, short sighted man who doesn't mind cats and my disgustingly black humour! (I like biscuits and being sent flowers. Preferably lilies).

It's also been the year where I've had to deal with losing someone incredibly close to me who I miss constantly and I wish was still here every day. It's been a shock to the system, but I've gotten through it with the support of a lot of other people around me and I can't really thank you all enough for that.

Essentially, this has been the year where I've learnt who my true friends are; some of which has been another surprise. There are people who I thought would be here for years to come, yet have seemingly disappeared. I could be sad about it, but in a way, it's just taught me the lesson that sometimes things change despite you not wanting them to. It's also taught me that one or two people are owed some bad karma very soon :)

This may have been the strangest year I've ever had. It's been punctuated with good bits like meeting people I'm going to cling to forever, formulating my escape plan back to England, and meeting Derek the weatherman from BBC1. It's also had the occasional bad bit, highlights being people being sucky, basically being bankrupt, and one day on the walk to uni my tights fell off, which meant I probably flashed about six people, I'm glad that I've actually gotten through it without going too crazy.

So in short, this is a big thank you to a lot of people for helping and supporting me, whether it be through the medium of listening, getting me drunk or just telling me to shut up at the appropriate moment. I can only hope that 2013 is going to be as bizarre as 2012; although preferably with less death and shitty people :)

It's been a long time...

I know, the gaps between my posts are getting bigger and bigger, and it's all thanks to my dissertation. However, I'm cutting down on my extra-curricular activities, so I might actually get around to writing more often.

It's just as well, really, seeing as this week I got offered a place on my dream NCTJ diploma course in Manchester. Not only is it one of the best in the country, but it's only three minutes walk away from a Gregg's. It's the DREAM. Not only am I finally going to be able to fulfill this journalism dream of mine, I'm going to be able to do it with the aid of steak bakes and toffee apple slices. Paradise.

Anyway, here's a brief mention of everything I've found interesting lately. I'll be writing one of my usual posts soon enough, probably whinging on like the lefty tree hugger I am about the nasty Tories or the price of bread or unemployment figures or something.

Do your research and stop hating on the poor:
Did you know that the vast majority of those who claim Housing Benefit are actually employed? These people are part of the 'working poor': people who are in low-paid employment, struggling to make ends meet, usually entitled to in-work benefits, and most probably reliant upon them to exist.

I'm getting incredibly tired of hearing people go on about those living in homes 'that they would never be able to afford myself'. Moving people from more affluent areas to others due to the housing benefit caps is not a wise tactic, it is tantamount to cleansing our cities of poor people. Those in favour are incredibly short sighted, and I can't wait to see how they cope when there are no longer people able to make the commute to their low paid, menial jobs in the places that they used to live.

Regulating the press is not a good idea:
Let's me try and get it into your heads: everything that has been investigated by the Leveson enquiry was illegal, and those involved within it will be brought to justice, if they haven't already. No press watchdog is going to make it more illegal, it's just going to make it incredibly difficult for a free press to exist in Britain.
As it stands, it can actually be quite difficult to make sure a piece of work is legal and fit for press. Even within student media, there are hoops and rings of fire to jump through before we can go to press on even the most banal of stories.

What we actually need is a stronger union, and a conscience clause within it that will allow journalists to whistle blow any editor who demands we do something we don't want to do. Currently, doing that will just about land you on a 1940s-esque McCarthy list.

Forgetting the fact that victims are not the people to be making the regulations in the first place, further press regulation will only suffocate us. People fought for the right to a free press and free speech, don't let 2013 be the year that it dissolved.

It is not Christmas just because the Coca-Cola advert is on television:
Come on, people. Think with your heads, not with your wallet. Christmas is a time for being disappointed with the lack of snow and eating until you think you might be sick, but eating a little bit more anyway. Also, if I see the ASDA 'there's a mum behind Christmas' advert one more time, I'm going to write them an angry letter about the diversity of the modern family unit.

A normal service will resume just as soon as I've enough time to stop worrying about my essays and the fact that I need to find somewhere to live in Manchester.

Until then, go forth, question everything you see, and remember this fact: bumblebees refuse to go out in the rain because if they get wet, they're too heavy to fly. Poor little soggy bumblebees.

Housing: the Tories shoot themselves in the foot.

I'd like to start this blog with an apology for having not written in so long. The start back at university has been harder than I thought it would be, and the newspaper is slowly taking over my entire life, although I'm absolutely loving it. I'm going to be easing myself back into it now between my dissertation and sleeping, so you'll hopefully be hearing a lot more of my opinionated rants.

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I don't know if I've ever made it quite clear in my previous posts, but I'm really not the biggest fan of the present government. I don't enjoy the cuts in spending affecting our frontline services to the extent that now even the Police wouldn't recommend themselves (you can read the story here), the removal of benefits from those who need them most (link here) and the withdrawal of housing benefit for those aged under 25, and overall, their pig-headed attitude. It's hurting, but it's not necessarily working - yes, I admit that we are technically out of recession, but remember, dead cats bounce, too. I wouldn't be surprised if we slip back into negative growth while we don't have the Olympics to help us.

The proposed capping of housing benefit also begs to be believed (links here and here). Yes, I understand the main argument that benefit claimants living in houses far more expensive than others in work could ever dream to afford is unfair, but there are several points that should be addressed.

Firstly, the majority of those on housing benefit are employed, but on low incomes that make them eligible for the benefit (a guide to housing benefit entitlement). Under the new rules, 70% of rented accommodation will cost more than the housing benefit payments people receive. If you're working 40 hours a week on the national minimum wage, finding the extra money that you need to pay the rent may mean the difference between surviving and going under. With the dearth of good quality, affordable housing in this country, moving somewhere smaller isn't necessarily an option, especially if you need to be in a certain area for working, education, or family committments.

 Whilst we're here, I'd like to try and clear something up. Benefits are not an opportunity to live in luxury. Yes, there are some people who abuse the system. There are people who appear to be living the good life while doing absolutely bugger all for it, but the vast majority of the time, it isn't like that.

People don't seem to understand that many people are only entitled to Job Seeker's Allowance - which gives you the sum of up to £71 per person, per week. (Proof is here)If you're one of the victims of the recession who became redundant then chances are that's a massive drop in income for you, and you probably won't be eligible for any other assistance. So please, before you complain about benefits, please consider what people are actually entitled to, and don't just look at the media hype.

Getting back on topic... It is with great interest today that I read some local authorities in London will be sending their homeless families away from the capital, despite rules stating that they should aim to house them locally. (The Guardian) (Wales Online).

Why are they doing this? Essentially, there are not enough homes that are suitable for families, and that fall within the housing benefit cap within the capital. With how unpopular this policy is bound to be, and with Boris Johnson already having likened it to ethnic cleansing, it would appear that the Tories are about to have a gaping bullet wound in their foot.

Forgetting for a moment the impact that this policy will have upon those families forced to move, the areas that they will be moved to will also suffer. One of the places mentioned in the plans is Merthyr Tydfil, a place already reknowned for its economic disadvantage and high rates of long-term unemployment. Housing may be cheaper, but there are no advantages to moving people here, especially as Wales struggles with meeting its own housing needs at present.

So what can be done about this problem? Well, perhaps we should look back to the time in the  when Britain had an extensive policy of rent controls in the 1940s and 50s, meaning that housing was affordable for all. We need to reinvest in building social housing, creating jobs and homes, as well as boosting the economy. The national mindset of owning our homes needs to change, too, although I accept that this won't be possible until there are viable alternatives to mortgaging yourself to the eyeballs for your entire working life in order to have a secure tenure.

I know that creating extensive housing policy has never been one the strong point of any Conservative government, but I think it's about time they woke up and realised the amount of flak they're about to come in for.

Families are not homeless through fault of their own, it is often poorly thought out policy that's to blame, so why make them suffer even more?

Surviving Your First Year: 8 Golden Rules I Learned The Hard Way

OH, you freshers, with your shiny new student accounts and enthusiasm, eager to experience all that university can throw at you.


For many of you, this is the first time away from home. You’re anxious to assert your independence, and mostly this will come in the form of consuming far too much exotic-looking alcohol and being in pictures that you definitely won’t want your parents to see.

Now, I’ve been a fresher twice – yes, I made a Poor Life Choice (hereby known as a PLC) when I first applied to Portsmouth University, but I made up for it tenfold by switching to Swansea as soon as I could. So it is with my wisdom and experience of making some serious PLCs that I am here to guide you through the next year. I want you all to make a point of learning from my mistakes. Alternatively, you could make some even bigger ones so that mine look good in comparison.

1. Firstly, do not attach yourself to someone within the first week of university. You’re here for three years, and they won’t seem half as attractive within six months. Don’t rush; you’ve plenty of time to find someone your parents will hate.

2. Secondly, your student loan is finite. I know, it’s a horrible realisation. You also have to be aware of your priorities: first comes your rent and bills, second to that is food, and then it’s important things like books and shoes that will see you through the winter. Only when you have managed to negotiate these hurdles is it appropriate to spend the rest of your loan on new clothes and alcohol. You will soon learn to budget and shop around – for example, buy fresh food in the market where you only buy as much as you need for cheaper, and then go to JC’s for a pint rather than one of Wind Street’s fine establishments. If you can, try and save yourself some money for over the holidays – right now, it is the end of August, and I am sat here with precisely £9.86 to my name, with three weeks to go until pay day. Remember what I said – learn from my mistakes.

3. Pace yourself. In small to medium doses, alcohol is not necessarily that bad for you – although what is said for your body is not necessarily true for your wallet. However, getting completely obliterated four times a week is bad for you, and you will do well to avoid doing so, else you will be making a PLC. I conducted a personal study this year by getting drunk very regularly for a fortnight. My body held a small demonstration, and I was unable to eat properly for a month. I felt disgusting, looked awful, and my mum was furious, but my housemates were overjoyed by how much food I gave to them – every cloud has a silver lining, I guess.

4. Fourth, eat properly. Please don’t make a point of eating only potato smileys and turkey dinosaurs for every meal just because you can. Eventually, you are going to get sick of beige-coloured food, and you will want some vegetables. Beat your body shutting down on you by learning how to cook. Waterstones in the Taliesin sell some basic student cook books that are brilliant for learning the staples of home cooking, and if you can’t be bothered to buy them, you can just take pictures of the recipes on your iPhone.

5. For this one, make sure your parents are out of the room… Gone? Excellent. Boys and girls, you may have heard of sex. You may have heard that university is a brilliant place to obtain it. Let me tell you, Swansea may have gone up in the University Sex League (up to 12th place, from last year’s 60, woo!), but university is not one massive orgy. Or at least, if it is, I’ve not been invited. Anyway, if you are going to do it, your Students’ Union provides thousands of free condoms per year. Make use of them – and not for balloon animals. Also, make sure that you have enough money the next morning for the taxi of disgrace, rather than having to humiliate yourself with the walk of shame. Alternatively, if you’ve awoken being able to remember their name, you are entitled to take the stride of pride. Congratulations.

6. Join a society. I really, really wish I’d done this in my first year. Since joining The Waterfront – not technically a society, but you know what I mean – I have had the best time at university. I’ve met friends for life, learnt new skills, discovered what I want to be when I grow up, and had some awesome experiences. No matter what you’re interested in, you’ll find a society for it, and if you can’t, don’t be afraid to form your own.

7. Do some work – everyone knows the freshers’ mantra of ‘f**k it, 40 percent’, but organising yourself to do some work from the off is a really good habit to form, and it looks a lot better on your transcript. Learn to organise yourself so that you’re not working right up until the deadline, too. There’s nothing worse than sleeping through the hand-in deadline and waking up to your face in your keyboard, smothered in drool.

8. Perhaps the best and most useful piece of advice I can give you is to enjoy yourself. Don’t forget that you’re here to work, but university is also about a whole new lifestyle and learning about yourself and the world around you. Forget school being the best days of your life – your time at Swansea will definitely beat it.

Nothing to see here: the baby boomers and unemployment.

There is no escaping the fact that as a country we are going through one of the worst recessions in history and it is the general population who are paying for it, whether it be through increased food and petrol prices or unemployment. 

It is practically impossible to get through the day recently without a new statistic on the latest unemployment figures in Britain. The majority of these statistics relate to the working-age population as a whole, but there is also a large focus put onto those aged 16-25.

Unemployed persons of the 16-25 age range are now fashionably referred to as NEETS – not in education, employment or training. This is also the group of people who are said to be most affected by being unemployed for long periods of time – with the lack of opportunities available presently, this could be a ‘lost generation’, a whole group of people who won’t be able to access the education and training their parents did. This isn’t due to their incompetence or their lack of will, it is purely because they have had the opportunities that previous generations have had taken away from them. Whether it’s the cutting of EMA, the trebling of university fees, or the cuts in the numbers of apprenticeships on offer, young people are feeling the effects of recession and will continue to do so for much longer than many other groups in society.

The plight of Britain’s young people is one that deserves to be recognised, but I do feel that there is another section of society that is being ignored. This group is made up of those people who are towards the older end of the working age scale, but who still have a few years to go until they are able to be officially recognised as retired. Generally, they are 50 or older; part of the baby boom generation.

When searching for the breakdown of Britain’s unemployment statistics, they tend to be split into two groups – those aged 16-25, and those aged 25 to retirement, sometimes classed as ‘older workers’. Although it is fairly difficult to find more specific figures, there are some available for those who look hard enough. This is particularly galling when you realise that the USA keeps fantastic statistics on this area - breaking down the figures into much smaller age ranges - which are much easier to find.

What is clear from the figures that I have been able to find, is that it is those aged over 50 who are being hit hard and finding it far harder to recover. 

On average, those from this age range who find themselves unemployed are the least likely to find work again; even during good economic times. For example, in the third quartile of 2004, 50.1% of those aged 50 and over found employment again within three months. Within the first half of this year, this figure had been halved to 25.6%. It is also this group which is the second most likely to be made redundant, after the 16-25s.

Clearly, some of these figures will not be completely accurate – there are always some that fall between the cracks, and as a larger percentage of the population this group is always going to be slightly more affected than others – but these are still alarming.

So what does this mean in reality for those people who are caught in this trap? 

The majority of these will have been working for the past 30-40 years. Many will own their own homes or be coming to the end of their mortgage. For those who have still not finished their payments, they may lose their homes, just as they thought they would be reclaiming them from the banks and building societies.

Although some will be lucky enough for their children to be independent at this stage, there will be some whom still have them living at home and dependent upon them. For the latter group, this will have an impact on their children, too, who will soon learn the uncomfortable truths of recession.

Losing employment at any stage of life is a difficult thing to overcome but after potentially decades in the same industry which may have gone into decline it can be even more difficult. Although there are schemes available to help people retrain to find jobs in alternative areas, these are often difficult to obtain help from.

As a society, we are obsessed with youth. Everyone wants to look younger, feel younger, do everything that young people do. Despite so many new laws implemented to address the issues of age discrimination, we tend to shun the positive aspects of being more experienced in life. These people often have a wealth of knowledge that can be shared with the rest of their organisations to enhance both them, and society as a whole.

As our population ages, this problem will only become more acute. Not only will we lose more of our older workers, there will be less of them available to train and support the next generation.  

It is important that we do not lose sight of this group of people, when so many people seem to be turning their attention elsewhere.We need to stop prioritising youth over experience and knowledge.

What a difference a year makes, and why the internet is not full of perverts.

Let me start off today by telling you that I'm very sorry I haven't updated for a while. Whilst I've been living in my new house, which is all lovely and shiny, I haven't quite gotten around to actually having the internet yet. This creates lots of problems, like not being able to blog, but the biggest problem by far is that I'm not able to look at rabbit videos on Youtube whenever I want. Sad face.

So as I sit at my desk in work - I'm absolutely snowed under, honestly - I had a think, and realised that my life has changed entirely within the last year. So for some reason, I've decided to blog about it, because you all deserve to know the ins and outs of my life for being such loyal readers; we're now at over 2000 hits. Pretty good for a blog I only set up to showcase my articles and complain about stuff that I felt deserved more than a Facebook status.

So lets take a trip back down memory lane...

This time last year, I was in a long term relationship. A very long term relationship. There were plans of trips to Paris where I would eat as much baguette as I could get into my face and be vaguely romantic on the Eiffel Tower. We discussed marriage and babies, and came up with rough timescales for each - I was going to be one of those lucky cows who had their life mapped out early. I was ready to be a grown up; or at least, I thought as much.

It turns out that sometimes, not everything works out as you thought it would. After a few months, we were over, the plans were scrapped, and I cried continuously for three days and all but stopped eating, existing purely on a diet of tea and whatever junk my wonderful housemates brought back in some kind of sacrifice to the 'Oh Just Please Stop Crying' God. It worked, because after a week or two, I stopped sniffling, and stopped getting angry at every happy couple I saw in the street. After another couple of months, I realised that I was ready to go about trying to find someone else who might be good at bringing me biscuits, finding me new baby rabbit videos on Youtube and generally being the nice boy that my mother so desperately wants me to find. However, there’s a small issue with this.

I’m crap with small talk.

I am not one of these people that flourish in a new social situation. I tend to stick with the people that I know, afraid of looking like an idiot. This presents the problem of not being able to just go up to people that look interesting, as I tend to forget how to use my mouth and just run away. Obviously, this means that I am never going to be one of those people who can spend a night in a bar chatting to someone and go home with them, I’m just incapable of doing so. The fact that all of my friends are all wonderfully social butterflies just makes it worse.

I’d like to establish that it’s not that I can’t talk to people at all. I’ve been told enough times I’m pretty confident, it’s just that I have to have some kind of established platform to start off on, which I just don’t have with strangers.

So, in order to make the transition from Bridget Jones-esque spinster, I decided I would do something radical. So I joined a dating website.
This wasn’t necessarily something new for me. I had met said long term ex-boyfriend on one, and it had gone swimmingly, even if he did go between the mental ages of 5 and 75 with no warning.

Now, I know that these websites get a lot of bad stick. They’re portrayed as some kind of portal of perverts; the kind of place that your mother wants to try and block on the home computer but doesn’t know how to. However, these websites aren’t all doom and gloom. For one, I’m on there, so it can’t be all bad. Secondly, not everyone you speak to on the internet is a paedophile or a cannibal. Trust me.

As soon as I signed up, there was a barrage of messages from illiterate men. I soon made the promise that unless it was a frighteningly good message, all grammar and spelling mistakes would mean that I wouldn’t reply. There were also messages from those who assumed ‘hey hunny, u ok?’ would count as a good first message. It does not, and no, I did not reply.

Essentially, the website that I use is what my good friend terms, a ‘sausagefest’. This refers to the fact that there are far more men than women on there. Think of it as a post-apocalyptic world, where men are scrambling for those last women with whom to repopulate the world. Not a chance, mate. Even in that situation, I’ve got standards.

What I think this post is trying to get across is that not everyone on a dating website is there because they’re secret perverts, watching you in the shower. Some of us are just crap at talking to attractive strangers. I’ve met some perfectly decent people – and one or two knobs – and the fact that I’ve been able to talk to them before meeting them makes it so much easier. I’ve got a plethora of information on them that I can discuss in more depth. It’s like having an info card for people you meet in the street. It’s useful.

So please don’t hate on those who have met each other on the internet. Yes, it might be a little unorthodox, but the internet is a wonderful place – where else are you able to buy shoes and meet men from the comfort of your own chair?

Look at me, I'm a proper columnist now!

For those of you who have the luck to be my friend on Facebook - and why wouldn't you want to be, my statuses are hilarious - you'll know that I became a proper writer today. Yes, I got published in the local paper with my own, weekly column. Largely, I'll be focusing on what students go through whilst living in Swansea. We get quite a bad rap, and I thought it was about time that I helped to redress the balance.

So for those of you unable to obtain today's copy of The South Wales Evening Post but who want to read it, I've written it up here, too. Don't say I don't ever treat you.

Look at it my way...

SWANSEA, we need to talk. I know that us students and the residents have had problems - we need to clean up after ourselves more, sometimes we get a bit noisy, occasionally we bring home the odd traffic cone in a cat-like act of affection - but honestly, I think we're good together.

Think of all the good times we've had together, don't you think they outweigh the bad?

We bring so much to the local economy and support jobs, we perform volunteer work within our communities, and through the university we provide sporting facilities, produce some of the best graduates in the country, and some of us are representing you at ward level on the local council. We're here for the long haul.

Please, let me explain. we love you, from the concrete jungle of the city to the outstanding natural beauty of the Gower, from the debauchery of Wind Street to the peace of the library. We love everything about you, but the way that you speak to us sometimes... It's like you forget that we're part of this city, too.
We aren't here to be difficult presences in your lives, we just want to be loved.

So please, let's try to work this out. The Union are working hard to help us be better residents. All we ask is a little more respect - take the time to meet us and talk to us when we move in. In turn, we'll be more conscious of you and be better neighbours.

If we do something wrong, take the time to explain and help us understand; we'll appreciate it much more.
Slip ups and accidents will always happen, but we can try our best to help reduce them.

I believe in this relationship, Swansea. I think we can make it work.

Fifty Shades of Dismay

If you've been to a supermarket or a book shop in the last month, you'll have noticed many middle-aged women acting strangely. They may have been clasping books to their chests, giggling with their friends or hiding something under their slightly less embarassing purchases of Tena Lady and concentrated prune juice. These ladies have been bewitched. Bewitched by a dreadful piece of 'literature' - or as I now refer to it, shiterature - that supposedly awakens the mind to all that they have been missing out in their boring, everyday lives.

Originally, Fifty Shades of Grey started life as Twilight fan fiction. You hear that? Twilight. Sparkly vampires who like to assert their dominance over girls a couple of hundred years younger than them. One of the worst series of books and films in the world has influenced yet another series. The circle of life is strong in this one.

The author sets out the tale of Anastasia Steele, a seemingly-feeble, gentle minded student, who is sent to interview the infamous Christian Grey after her friend falls ill and is unable to do it herself. How convenient. As Ana conducts the interview, she becomes of some kind of 'spark' between them. Oh how I wish it had been the kind of spark that they warn you about when you use your mobile phone at a petrol station - at least the story would have finished there. Mr Grey then decides to stalk the poor girl for all she is worth just to see her again. Conveniently, Ana works at a hardware store where Christian decides to pick up some rope and cable ties for some 'DIY'. How delightfully obvious. Despite the fact that cable ties are not appropriate for any type of sexual intercourse, I would have been far more impressed had he also picked up some caustic soda and perhaps a new broom at the same time. Domesticity is sexy. Nothing makes me happier than a man with a plunger.

As the story progresses, we see how Ana starts to fall for the man who describes himself as 'fifty shades of fucked up'. Lovely. However, there is a problem! Ana, lovely, gentle, sweet Ana who likes British literature and English tea is a virgin! Now, aside from the fact that the author seems to be linking Britishness to how much of a prude Ana is at this point of the tale, I was also slightly annoyed at how she makes Christian react to her admission. A 21 year old virgin is not the end of the world, and it's certainly not something to be shocked at. I know it probably shouldn't have irked me as much, but it just astounds me that more people haven't raised this point.

Later, the writing takes yet another turn for the worse. Mr Grey seems to forget to go to work, seemingly chasing his interest around the entire country and flashing the cash wherever he goes. Ana is bought a Mac, an Audi, a Blackberry... Is there any high profile company that hasn't been discussed in this book? The author is one step away from describing a party full of high profile officials with a waiter clutching a golden plate of foil-wrapped nut-based chocolates. Although she declares her anger at seemingly being paid for sex, Ana decides to hang onto her presents; hasn't she heard of ebay?

Unsurprisingly, Ana decides that she wants more from Christian, despite the fact that he is an emotionally destructive, aggressive and seemingly slightly psychotic specimen .Even when he has beaten fifty shades of dignity out of our protagonist with his apparently 'exotic' range of items - all of which can be obtained from Ann Summers, so nothing that exciting - and she has been confronted with a contract, whereby she must agree never to tell anyone about their activities or about him. Not that keeping away is possible, what with the fact that he turns up wherever she may be thanks to his collection of fast cars, his private jet, a helicopter and, what's that? Oh yeah, his mobile phone tracking software. How romantic. Is this yet another half-arsed attempt at that old argument that girls are unable to keep a check on their emotions and can't be trusted where men are involved? Oh tell me another one, I'm bored of this old tale.

Perhaps what riles me most (and oh God I hope my mother isn't reading this. If so, hi mum! Tea, two sugars, two PROPER sugars, none of this hoping I won't notice if you leave half of it out) is the unrealistic way in which their sexual adventures are mapped out. I don't know teenagers who couldn't even manage it as much as they could, and the vast majority of teenage boys are more unstoppable than the Duracell bunny. The writing suggests that they have absolutely perfect sex, every single time. That doesn't happen. In reality there's always a funny noise or a face that makes you giggle, and no one has as good a time as Ana seems to. At least, I hope not, or I'm doing it totally wrong.

I know that writing a scathing review of this book is the 'in' thing to do, but I honestly have problems with this book. It is sexist, seemingly ignoring the last fifty years of feminism's growth in society, and it is just bizarre. Much could be said for the overwhelming number of commas that E L James feels is appropriate for a sentence, too.

Essentially, Fifty Shades of Grey is just sex with supplies from B&Q, with an airy fairy female protagonist who is seemingly out of her depth with a man more suited to Broadmoor than... Well, anywhere.

Give me Pride and Prejudice any day. I don't think Mr Darcy's the whips and paddles type..

How to survive a festival.

I have always loathed camping. I have never seen the point in paying to sit in a miniature house made of nylon in a muddy field while it chucks it down outside. I enjoy having built in plumbing and central heating that make it unnecessary to have to go outside when you want a wee.
So for some ridiculous reason, I decided to go to a festival this year – Beach Break. I was excited to try slumming it for the first time in my life whilst getting to see some of my favourite musical acts. I wanted to see what it was like to be with a group of like-minded individuals, all there to enjoy themselves and soak up the atmosphere. 

I first knew something was going to go wrong about a fortnight before. The weather forecasts were dire. My best friend had pulled out weeks before, and usually optimistic, even she was laughing at the misfortune that was about to occur: “lol, it’s gonna piss down and you’re gonna be wet and cold and you won’t be able to dry off and you’ll be miserable.” Thanks, babes.

Then I realised the sheer amount of stuff I was going to need, which meant the others would need just as much. After this, I remembered the size of the tent, and I was worried. However, I was totally optimistic and looking forward to it until I saw the state of the portaloos after only one afternoon. Good God, some of you creatures are revolting. That said, it could have been worse. I could have gone to the Isle of Wight festival. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh, sorry. I mean, I hope you had a lovely time, regardless.

So it is with my experience that I realise I must bring to the masses a survival guide of sorts - a list of hints and tips that will make your life more enjoyable whilst you’re sat in a pool of mud, crying for your mummy to come and bring you home.

1. Get a good tent. A very good tent. The best you can afford. You’re going to be spending a lot of time in that when you’re unwilling to go out in the torrential rain. Make sure that you’re able to put it together properly before you get there, too. A practice run or two will help wonderfully. Make sure you always get a tent that has room for one more person than you actually have in your party – you never know, you may meet someone. Or you might just want some room for your bags as well.
   
2. Do not pack your entire life into your suitcases. You aren’t at home, nobody cares how crap you look and that you haven’t washed your hair in three days. Embrace looking terrible and wearing the same clothes for four days!
   
3. On this point, baby wipes. Buy ALL the baby wipes you can find. You’ll need them. Oh, and earplugs, because nobody needs to be kept awake by the next tent constantly shouting "ain't nobody got time for that!". Ain't nobody got time for that.
   
4. With the space that you save in your bag by not having clean pants in there, you can take extra alcohol and bacon based products. These are the two things that you’ll miss most, I promise you.
   
5. Leave your good standards at home. Once you’ve seen the state of the toilets you’ll have forgotten what being toilet trained and having a sense of decorum is like. I’ve seen some terrible sights – if you’re the girl who decided to just go for a wee in the middle of the queue for the toilets, or the girl who decided she needed to remove her tampon right outside one of the tents, well, hello to you!
   
6. Eat something strange every day. The most exciting thing I had was a pulled pork sandwich with coleslaw and barbecue sauce. I dream about that thing. Best life choice ever. Thanks be to Becca Taylor for having introduced me to that school bus eatery of dreams.
   
7. Make sure that all of your clothes are waterproof. Do not wear jeans. Do not wear hoodies. If they get wet, they will never get dry again. Remember, you are waterproof, so maybe being perpetually naked is the best way forward.
   
8. Also, don't take a onesie. Everyone takes them, and do you really want to turn up in the same outfit as everyone else? No.
   
9. Don't listen to your friend who comes over for drinks the night before who shares the exact same view of camping as you. It won't make you feel any better about it, no matter how much of someone else's vodka you drink.
   
10. I can only hope that some of you will take my advice. Remember, the second you get home, you are going to fall onto your bed, and you are going to immediately pass out for the next three days. You will be exhausted and you will reek. It will however, be completely worth it.

I’ve signed up for Glastonbury next year. I've already sourced myself a dry suit and a snorkel for the occasion.

Get on yer bike!

I have previously written on the joys of being a valleys girl. However, I feel that it is time to draw attention to the major drawback of living in this environment.

It is no secret that South Wales has an issue with unemployment. Ever since the closure of the mines and associated factories, the valleys have been in a steady rate of decline, which has only been aided in part by public sector jobs moving here, and special measures brought in by the government to persuade businesses here. However, these measures have always fallen short of how much work really needs to be done in these areas – something akin to putting a plaster on the wound that you’ve just received from a hungry tiger who’s taken your leg off.

                               I am unemployment tiger, hear me roar!

For the people that live here, this means one of three things. You either grow up here, realise that you need to find something better, and you move away – starving the local community of the talent and ingenuity that it needs to get itself out of this black hole. Scenario two is that you get lucky, you find yourself a reasonable secure job, and you stay here. Alternatively, you stay where you are, but you don’t get that lucky break, and you are condemned to a life of being called a scrounge and scum because you have no other way to survive other than being on benefits. This in turn creates a vicious cycle of entire families who don’t work, and depend on the state to survive. I know that I paint a picture of people who are victims of circumstance, but for the majority of those on benefits, I do truly believe this to be the case, despite also knowing that there are some people who readily accept this lifestyle. However, this then brings about the argument that if you knew you were better off on benefits, with the freedom and security of having your housing paid for, being able to bring up your children yourself without having to depend on maybe getting a childcare place paid for whilst you go to work at all hours… Well, you can argue that it’s not morally right until you’re blue in the face, but you can see why it appeals to many. 

So with this in mind, you must also realise the difficulties for many in the valleys to just get on their metaphorical employment seeking bicycles and get a job.

Firstly, there is the issue of transportation. I’m lucky – my mother and I scraped up enough money for me to take driving lessons, get through the dreaded test of terror, and be on the car insurance, thus allowing me to drive around whenever I like. For many, this isn’t the case. The prohibitive costs of lessons, never mind insurance, a car, tax, and petrol stop many people from being able to do this. Remember also that many of us do not have the luxury of a choice of petrol stations that will fight over each other to be the cheapest – some of us only have access to one that will charge more as a result. In turn, this leads to the problem of distance, which in turn, leads to costs, again.

        Generic petrol pumps. Just in case you really didn't know.

Public transport isn’t even a haven from this. From here to the next town (around 5 miles away), it costs £7 or so for an adult return ticket. The issue of transportation is not specific to the valleys, but it does make life significantly harder, and in turn, makes it more difficult to be able to accept jobs – and that’s even if you can get to the interview.

 Secondly, there really is a lack of jobs here. There have been multiple factory closures here as businesses move abroad to find a cheaper workforce. Public sector job cuts have hit hard. Spending power has decreased as more people are made unemployed, in an area where people are more likely to be out of work anyway.  In turn, yet more businesses collapse, and the circle goes round again. Companies who used to offer full time contracts are now offering part-time, and ‘flexible’ contracts, making life for those who depend on the wages of full time work, or those with responsibilities more difficult. Incidentally, many companies will no longer accept people on contracts more than 16 hours per week, as those who work this amount of time are eligible for government provided tax credits, boosting the employees’ income. If the state will pay, why should the company?

I’m lucky. I get to go back to university in a few months, but it is my final year, and finding a job afterwards is of huge concern. I don’t want to have to leave my family and friends behind, but if I want to survive, that’s what I’m going to have to do. This post isn’t about lecturing people, but it is about informing you. I can’t bear to stand back and have people say “well can’t you find a job?” It’s not that easy, and there are a lot of people around here who can tell you exactly the same thing as I just have.

  

Fat is not a bad word.

Let me first establish that the irony that I am writing this post just after putting up a review of Man v Food is not lost on me.

I think that it has been established to all of those who have read my posts and articles that I am frequently annoyed by many different things. I once tried to compile a list of things (aside from food and anything schadenfreude-related) that make me happy; I got to small fluffy animals, sleep, and showers before I gave up.

However, one of the things that offends me the most is when people judge others for the choices that they make in life, especially when it comes to the matter of weight. Being even slightly overweight, and the things that lead to it is something that is constantly being discussed nowadays, and it comes from all angles - the media, the government, people themselves passing judgement... I'm sick of it.

Personally, I've always been bigger than the majority of others, and my God did people let me know about it. I got so much stick at school I considered a variety of stupid things, and was generally a grumpy bitch until I realised that if I was going to be fat I should at least have the good manners to be jolly. However, since coming to university, I've had a bit of a confidence boost. I know what suits me, I know what things a girl of my design should not be wearing - for example, leggings are not trousers, and you should always check how many of your rolls you can see before leaving the house in that t-shirt - and I have also learnt that fat is not a bad word. If it comes up in conversation, I don't say "I'm fat" in the pursuit of compliments, I say it because it's true. I'm fed up of hearing girls exclaiming how fat and disgusting they are - you know what? I'm fat and brilliant. I don't need you trying to sully my frame by having you insult yourself. I'm not necessarily an advocate of "it's what's on the inside that counts", because you only tell people that when they're hideous, but if you're ugly inside, it's definitely obvious. Just saying.

What is astounding is that in many places, the fatter you are, the richer you are presumed to be; this means that in several places, I'm incredibly desirable as I look to be minted. Yet in Britain, the fatter you are, the poorer, less intelligent, and lazy you are presumed to be. It's automatically assumed here that if you are fat, you do nothing but sit on your enlarged backside all day, eating crisps in between occasionally picking up the remote control to flick between daytime television programmes. Whilst I know that there are many people who fulfill this stereotype beautifully, there are far more of us that don't. I work hard, I walk everywhere, I know what is and isn't good for me to eat. I'm not going to make excuses - I occasionally eat rubbish, and I eat too much of it, but I'm also built like the proverbial brick WC, and given the chance I'd make a fine rugby player. I am not built to be small, the same as a lot of the rest of us fatties.

So with all of this in mind, what is it that fuels peoples' distaste? Simply put: the media. It comes in all varieties - but it's especially the television companies that seem to take great delight in persecution a collection of people who look a little different to the 'norm' that's all slender hips and tiny waists - oh, and who promotes that more than anyone? The media. Isn't that funny. We are constantly bombarded with programmes like 'You Are What You Eat' with Gillian McKeith examining poo in tupperware boxes, giving us rubbish about how eating green food is better for you as you'll have more photosynthesis going on in your body (I may only have a GCSE in double award science, but even I can smell that someone is giving off an air of idiocy), Supersize vs Superskinny, The Biggest Loser... These programmes are constantly telling us that we need to be skinnier to be happier, better people, more attractive; and remember, if you're not stereotypically attractive, you are worthless, no matter what other qualities you may have to offer.

Meanwhile, the newest addition to these programmes 'Secret Eaters' on Channel 4, offers you a Big Brother eye view of a group of overweight individuals who claim to eat little, yet be piling on the pounds for no good reason. So now, not only are fat people lazy, feckless and stupid, they're also liars incapable of making a rational decision about what they stick into their gobs, seemingly so excited to be near a pack of open biscuits that they don't even realise how many they've managed to swallow.

My vitriol also extends to those people, and those campaigns that state 'real women have curves'. No, real women have vaginas, and come in all different shapes and sizes. Stop dictating what we should look like, and stop shaping our opinions. Eventually, there's going to be a backlash.

People, do not listen to it. Pay no heed to the rubbish that comes out of the media hole. It's small-minded, it's prejudiced, and it serves only to sell you more empty promises. Embrace what you are, no matter how many pounds and ounces that may be. Okay, so we might not all be individual, special snowflakes - we are just degenerating mounds of flesh - but it is important that we stop going along with the crowd all the time, and take notice of what we really are, regardless of how fat, thin, curvy (or not) we may be.

Gluttony: the best of the sins.

If you have ever met me or read my articles of late, you'll know that I am a person of simple tastes. I am BBC3 rather than BBC4, Cosmopolitan magazine rather than War and Peace, tinned ravioli with chedar over gourmet cuisine. I am cheap, I am easy to please, and I am proud of it.

However, I do occasionally like to pretend that I'm far more refined than I really am, so I make an attempt to watch something that can improve my life. This generally falls in the realm of the television cooking show; trying to impress upon you that you too can cook like this without the team of home economists that are present on every episode.

My favourite television chef was always Nigella Lawson, unapologetically pouring butter and double cream into the most mundane of recipes. Nigella would stand there slobbering all over herself, making the most delicious looking food which you knew was totally out of your price range, and yet you knew that you would sell your own kidneys and mother if you had the chance to have her larder and look like her. As much as I know I should hate her, I just can't do it.

However, food shows have gotten far more bizarre since Nigella first sashayed onto our screens in 2000.

Perhaps the best example of this is the legendary Man v Food, which has been shown on the Good Food and Dave channels. In every episode, the dashing Adam Richman takes it upon himself to travel around America, eating everything that comes across his path. The second part of every episode has Richman undertaking a food challenge, whereby he must either consume something particularly spicy, or something incredibly big that has usually been deep fried, and then smothered in low quality cheese, in its entirety.

By completing each task, he usually racks up a new picture of himself hung up on the wall of the establishment in which he succeeds at getting closer to the verge of type 2 disabetes. Previous challenges have included burgers the size of full-term babies and chicken wings so spicy that his entire face resembled a puffer fish having an asthma attack after only one bite.

Man v Food is everything that is wrong with the world - it is selfish, self-serving gluttony. It attemps to be funny when it really isn't, and it glorifies binge eating as though it's perfectly natural to regularly shove a lorry load of beef down your intestines. Man v Food is to the food world what transporting pandas to Scotland and expecting them to mate in front of everyone watching is to nature - theoretically sweet, but in reality, hideously disgusting and just plain wrong. Yet for some reason, I still love it. I'm ashamed of myself.

Blind Date

A few weeks ago, I was approached by one of my colleagues at The Waterfront, asked if I could help her out by going on a blind date. Normally, I would never, ever consider doing such a thing. I'm socially awkward at the best of times, and strangers bring me out in a rash, but this time, I had a feeling in my waters that this could go well. So, reader, I did it, and here is the finished piece from the glorious vessel of journalistic greatness that is The Waterfront.

When Catrin met Matt

Catrin Lewis, a 21-year-old Social Policy student and Matt Edwards, a 22-year-old English Literature student, meet for the Waterfront blind date.

Catrin on Matt

What were your first impressions?
When I fisrt met Matt, my first thought was how I wished blind date was a literal term, as a lack of vision would have made being in this man's general vicinity bearable. I was vaguely impressed by his choice of extra hot sauce, though, just because I could use it as a reason as to why I wouldn't be going anywhere near him.

Any striking conversation points?
I was absolutely fascinated by his love of dystopian novels and feminist literature, as well as his devotion to separating the recycling in his house perfectly, every single week. Did you know that Swansea council aren't supposed to take 'tetrapak', but they will if you hide it at the bottom of the bag? Yeah, me neither, but I do now. Great.

Any awkward moments or silences?
I cannot tell you how much happiness I took from the silence that ensued when he went to the toilet; probably to throw up from over indulging in too much extra-hot sauce, or just to cry. Either way, I wish he'd stayed in there a little longer so that I could have escaped like I wanted. He also said how much he loves Big Bang Thory. At that point, I could have easily rested my knife in his eyeball.

If you were to have babies, what would you want your baby to inherit?
What wouldn't I want our baby to inherit? The hat that was permanently glued to his head? The girlish hands? Or maybe the receding hairline that is simply remarkable in a 22 year old. He did have nice eyelashes though.


Any potential for a kiss?
I'm still scrubbing as we speak after our post-Sin City coitus. I'm sure we kissed somewhere along the way, but all I remember is waing up to him calling his mother to tell her he'd finally done it, in a dirty bedroom with a sense of shame and a hangover that can only have been induced by Sambuca.


Would you like to meet again?
Let's just say that I'm rather looking forward to the fact that he'll soon be leaving Swansea, meaning I can finally take off this head scarf and ridiculous pair of glasses.



Matt on Catrin


What were your first impressions?
We met outside Nandos. At first I thought Catrin was looking at me with a hungering lust, but I quickly realised that I was in the way of the door and she wanted chicken. She only had lemon and herb. What's the point of that? That's like going to the graduation ball and deciding 'Actually, I'm just going to stick this panda onesie on and ask people to enter my Love Tunnel.' Poor effort.

Any striking conversation points?
We discovered that true heroes have the highest spice in Nandos. We went to Sin City and we played the fun game of 'Whose Boobs Could Kill The Most Men?' with points given to size and how ill-fitting the dress was.


Any awkward moments or silences?
She said that she dislikes Big Bang Theory. She should've just said that she was Nick Griffin with a big of a paedo side, and I would've been more relieved. I swear to God if I hear her Nessa impression one more time, I may have to jump into a pit of razors.


If you were to have babies what would you want your baby to inherit?
Opposable thumbs, an even number of digits and preferably no webbed feet. I'd like two eyes, hair, ears, and maybe some arms and legs. A superpower or two wouldn't go amiss, but I do not think Catrin has been bitten by any manner of radioactive animal lately (I am not totally sure on this, so don't take my word for it, potential suitors).


Any potential for a kiss?
Waterfront, it's quite bold of you to ask me when this is a profile about how my date went with Catrin! I like it. I like it a lot.


Would you like to meet again?
Put it like this: if she had turned into a zombie at Nandos, I really wouldn't have wasted much time.


Matt is an Editor at the blog Huttstuff, which can be found at huttstuff.net