Dead Happy.

Well, it's been several decades since I last posted, but with Hills Road finally winding down, I felt obliged to remove myself from the engrossing drama of everyday life to update my online diary o' joy.

I'm glad the holidays are here. It's something I've never said before - St Bedes was always enjoyable and (relatively) relaxed, so the holidays didn't really have the same captivating allure that they hold over most people. Now that I'm at Hills however, where the lessons are intense and fun-free, and homework time now ranks in hours as opposed to hours, but not as many, the upcoming holidays have finally become the fantastic occurance that everyone else finds them.

Thursday is our last day, but by no means an empty day. It's off to the cinema to watch Changeling, followed by a few hours of stressful (and undoubtedly hilarious) Gears of War 2 playing with Andy, before the Christmas Ball caps it all off at 7.30. Or, as Bigs might say, 1900 roger bravo.

And during the holidays? I plan for rest, relaxation, movies, reading, games, fun days out, cinema, town, and impulse buys to waste my Christmas money. I've vowed to appreciate these holidays - something I failed to do with the epic summer break - and I'm sure the reduced timeframe will actually help me do that.

But in far more urgent news, I went on Facebook today and saw a new group had sprung up: the Cambridge Zombie Defense Plan. "Haha, fools!" I scoffed as I perused its detail-free page. Why the uncharacteristic contempt towards the possible perambulations of the somnambulists? After all, a zombie apocalypse is no small matter.

Four words, gentlemen (and lady, if Bernie happens to read this):

Christmas present from Matt.

Or, alternatively, "The Zombie Survival Guide". Yes, Matt bought me a book that could be key to my survival should the dead arise (or, more accurately, reanimate) thanks to the dastardly effects of the Solanum virus. I have only just begun reading its 250 odd pages of zombie-zapping fun, but I already know the key rule to survival:

Don't let them catch you.

Making Musiks.

Playing in a band is fun. Regardless of band quality, instrument quality, sound quality, people quality or acoustics quality, it's awesome to just bash out some music in a vague rhythm at the same time as some others.

And half the fun is just talking about your band when you're not playing. I'm going to stop doing the former and start doing the latter...

...now.

Public Transport.

Following Bigs, Andy and Bernie all ranting grumpily about public transport, I would just like to take a moment to add to the discussion:

I think public transport is alright. Being cramped for 15 minutes isn't really all that bad; if passengers are rude to you, just be rude back; ignore the bus driver - it's understandable that a man whose life consists of making the same journey every single day would be quite annoyed with a deaf girl who just repeats "What?" over and over, or a boy who looks like Harry Potter minus the magic; sure, they're late, but so are taxis and you're paying a hell of a lot more for them.

And you can't exactly complain about a retarded person touching you. You'll be fine in a day (or less if you weren't such a freakin' hypochondriac), while he'll be looked down upon by society for his entire life.

God, why does everyone moan so much about everything?

Having said that, being ill sucks. Really sucks. A hell of a lot more than public transport. And you can't even post stories about it afterwards.

Sowing the Seeds.

It's been a week, and Ookbridge Farm is already looking...rough. Times are desperate - Jethro has been living off corn he picked up off the floor for the past two days. Every day he rakes in a bit of cash through fishing a couple o' paltry salmon, but money is thin on the ground. The puppy has disappeared, presumed devoured.

The sole hope lies with nine cabbages which Jethro planted at the start of the week. Luckily, water doesn't cost anything, so the seeds are slowly starting to grow. Not quickly enough to save Jethro from a diet of floor-corn for the next three or four days though. Also transpires that some seeds were actually in his house all along, so he wasted his money on the packet he bought from the friendly Asian man who - perhaps dubiously - shares a house with the muscly guy who Jethro met on his first day.

Jethro tried to buy some chickens. They're really expensive. He tried to steal some chickens. They're really vicious.

Stupid chickens.

Feelin' Fresh.

Ahhhh, Freshers was cool. There was music, and lights, and people jumping up and down.

Seeing Andy dance was worth the price of admission alone, although I'm sure he'd say the same about my galavantious groovin'. However stupid we both undoubtedly looked, it was nevertheless a pretty good night. The ringing in my ears didn't fade until well into the following day though - I blame Bernie for insisting on going right up to the front.

Typical Bernie. What a plonker.

Harvest Mooning.

It's a wonderful life down at the farm, or so they say. I decided to give the old adage a little testing; however, I'm in the middle of my education, and the idea of waking up at 5am to muck out pigs, goats and Andy doesn't really appeal to me. How then to accomplish my goal?

Video games, once again, to the rescue.

I just got a GameBoy Micro, and with it the game Harvest Moon - a farming sim. No sniggering, please. The Harvest Moon series is one that has the odd distinction of featuring no action or thrills whatsoever, yet still managing to captivate and grip players. I'd never played any of the games before, and so today was the start of a brand new adventure. With chickens.

And thus begins my Harvest Moon diary. With cows.

I'm Jethro, a young farmer who has taken over Ookbridge farm, a run-down mess in dire need of shrubby refurbishment. As I leaves my cosy shack, a weird bearded guy with a top hat apprehends me and demands that I listen to a tutorial on how to run a farm. Scoffing, I reject his pathetic advances - I'm a master of the soil! He slinks away, and I confidently take one step forward...

...And am immediately apprehended by a weird muscly guy with a cheesy grin. He's the shipment man, who I need to give my crops to in order to get some profit. Useful info - I imagine I'll have a harvest of several million turnips in a week or so. Like I said, master of the soil.

It's time to start. I survey a small patch of barren, rock swathed earth: there doesn't seem to be much space for the several million turnips. I probably need to shift the rocks, but Jethro encounters the old enemy of Horrific Spinal Injury upon attempting to lift the boulder without bending his knees. Fool.

Maybe I should go to the village - there might be a salesman from whom I can purchase a crane, or possibly a weightlifter. The top hat man hinted at the possibility. Unfortunately, the few houses I come across are locked, and the sole civilian babbles manically about his sister. I swiftly end the conversation and flee.

Hmmmm, this is tough. Jethro is already looking a little tired, and it's only 8am. I decide to take a break - this farming lark is harder than it sounds. Maybe later on I'll be more successful. With goats.

Hollywood, But She's Mean.

Oh, brilliant. At the end of the summer holidays, when I'd exhausted the possibilities of fun at home and around Cambridge, there were no good films out. A couple vaguely interesting ones, but nothing worth paying for.

Of course, now that I'm at Hills, inundated with homework each night, and generally busy at the weekend, there are numerous films out or coming out that I want to see. Tropic Thunder. The Wave. Burn After Reading. And a few others I can't currently remember. But I only have time for one or two a month now.

Here's looking at you, Hollywood. Yes, I'm scowling.

Sporific.

I bought Spore last weekend; because of Hills Road, I've not had much time to play it, and I've only reached the Tribe stage.

So far it sucks.

But I'll play some more this weekend, in the desperate hope it'll turn out to be worth the £15 I contributed for it. My brother says the Civilisation stage is really good. It better be, because otherwise I might just cry.

Monsters Inc.

A while back, a little demo called 'Spore Creature Creator' was released online. It allowed people to make their own crazy critters, which could then be used in the upcoming game (which is being released on Friday, incidentally), and if you look on Matt's blog you can see some of the weird 'creachers' he moulded from the clay of life.



Anyway, I didn't download it 'cos the software made my PC crash initially, but today I download

ed again with more success. Unlike Matt, I look a less realistic approach with designing my beautiful angels:

This is one. He's one happy chappy, with his arms too short to
actually reach anything, and his legs bent the wrong way so that he shuffles about like a crippled snail. The Ganglazoid was my
first attempt, which should explain his hideous Andy-like
appearance. Disgusting.






I would show my others, by my internet is suddenly stopping me from uploading the images. Weird. Anyways, I'll try again later or tomorrow, so you can gaze further upon the mangled remnants of my imagination.

Born to Run?

I don't hate exercise, as long as it occurs whilst doing something else. Something fun. Playing football, for example, is a great way to get fit; a game of tennis likewise. But exercise for the sake of exercise is horrible and yet, alas, my poor physical condition indicates that I should make the effort to do it.

I'll be checking out the 100 Press-Ups thing that Bigs had vaunted so triumphantly, and I've already taken a leaf out of Bernie's book by going jogging round the park over and over. Yesterday I ran 2 miles, and it wasn't remotely fun, even with some snazzy music in my ears.

Exercise sucks.

It's Comic Friday!

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net


Hmmm... you can't see the whole comic. But never fear, as you can just click on it and see the whole comic. It's really wholesome and comical.

GTA IV: Why So Serious?

Aeons ago, my brother purchased a little game called 'Crackdown', in which you played a "policeman" with powers, who could jump as high as a skyscraper, throw lorries around like toy lorries, and kick a man across an ocean. It was awesome fun, and we still play it to this day.

A few months ago, I purchased a far bigger and more hyped game called 'GTA IV', in which your played a "criminal" with no powers whatsoever, who could slowly run around, throw small objects at people, and punch a man fifty times with barely any impact. It wasn't nearly as much fun as I had hoped, and I haven't played it for many many days.

I'm not kidding: I find GTA IV boring. The realism has reached a point where it's no longer that fun. You want to get up a building? Find a logical and long-winded route from an undisclosed point somewhere. Want to kill a huge group of guys? Spend twenty minutes shooting over and over from behind cover (but be careful, as you'll die if you get shot more than five times). This endless dedication to immersion and realisim is commendable, but sometimes it just goes too far. GTA IV isn't a bad game. It's just one that is too mature to be enjoyable.

Of Moths And Men

"Does nobody care about the moths?"

*body trapped in automatic door*

*wind whistles*

*wig flies off*

"It's coming soon...not soon enough to care, but soon enough to take notice..."


Ah, Max will know what I'm talking about. The rest of you pandas can just skip over it.

Would You Kindly...

...find a wrench or something? Oh yes, I'm playing through Bioshock once again, and it's still the unsettling masterpiece I remember it to be. The sheer amount of atmosphere is simply astounding, creating a constant low-level tension, and the plot is one that, although relatively simple in general terms, manages to trump any other video game storyline that I've played.

Francis is playing it as well for the first time, so he has a lot to look forward to.

Lucky badger.

Dark Knight, Piano Style

Atfer a solid day of experimentation on the ole ivories, Max and I have successfully managed to compose the Dark Knight theme tune on the piano! Undoubtedly others have done it first, and can be found of YouTube - I didn't have the courage to search lest it dampen my own efforts. It sounds brilliant, and I'm as proud of it as I am of my GCSE results! If I had even a spark of skill with a PC I would post a video of it being played, but I don't, so you'll just have to take my word for it.

:)

All's Well That Ends Well

And indeed it did. Yesterday was GCSE results day, arguably the most important day of the year when thinking long-term. Although results were available from 10am, I decided not to be one of the desperate pandas who couldn't take the emotional strain of waiting any longer, and so strolled in nonchalantly at 10.50-ish, accompanied by Andy and Fatikins.

Greeting us at the school (not intentionally, I know, but still) were Bigs, Berns and some others: they feebly tried to ratchet up the tension , but knowing how stressed they themselves must have been only a few minutes earlier made their techniques (a stirring rendition of 'Final Countdown' by Bigs, and some gabbling by Bernie) thankfully ineffective.

I found that by this point I wasn't nervous at all. The previous few days had been passed in a state of a consistent, low-level anxiety, and I expected to have more butterflies than...well, Butterfly World, by the time I reached St Bedes. However, it transpired to be the opposite, where I was just grateful to end the ceaseless waiting. Perhaps it was the fact that cycling in with Andy - Watkins jogging along in tow - is just something you can't do without mucking around and joking; maybe it was the return to the school routine (cycling in, locking up the bikes, punching Michael etc) that calmed me. Whatever the answer, I entered the bustling hall with a sense of anticipation and relaxed eagerness rather than fear. Which was neat.

And so the results were handed to be, along with a grim-looking Mrs Howard declaring that she "needed to have a serious word" with me afterwards. Luckily, this was just a amusing attempt to complete cripple my emotional structure, which would have left me a shivering wreck on the floor had it turned out to be true. Oh, such japes!

It turned out that it wasn't. On the anticlimactic wad of paper (like Bigs, I was disappointed by the absence of envelope) were printed a pleasant set of results: 5 A*s, 4 As, a B and a C in ICT. Mrs Howard happily informed me that I had been top of the year in History, and I happily thanked her, secretly relieved that her ominous warning beforehand had only been a cruel joke.

Watkins and Andy got similarly decent results, as did Gibbon, who had arrived before us, and so together we returnethed back to my house for table tennis, phonecalls to family, and general chattering. Then we advanced to Pizza Hut and ate pizza.

At 1.10, we met Cohen and Nisikins at Cineworld, and traipsed through to watch The Dark Knight. Upon entering the actual screen, we remembered that we hadn't waited for Bernie - luckily, she had gone off somewhere else instead.

The film was, predictably, excellent, and I departed home in high spirits, which were promptly dampened when Emma popped round and trounced my grades with her own, substantially better ones. Not even this, however, could spoil what had been a thoroughly good day. Now all's left to say is: bring on Hills Road!

...

Wow, this is a long post. I'm becoming like Bigs!

Long Time No See

It's been a while since I last posted: a 2 and a half week holiday in the US of A combined with general apathy and a sloth-like inability to do any more than manouvre one finger whilst using the PC has been to blame.

However, I hath now returned, and bring with me the following news:

- America was amazing. I got a tan, a chest infection and lots of pictures of me and Max acting stupid at famous places.

- Playscheme was less amazing, although the presence of Mattico as a new playworker brightened the experience somewhat.

- I'm getting my results tomorrow. I was nervous about that before, but I've now reached the stage where I just want to stop waiting and find out. So by this time tomorrow, I'll either be in a state of happy relief with my satisfactory results pinned proudly on my cork-board, or locked in my bedroom sobbing into a pillowcase and murmuring "Not fair, not fair!" repeatedly.

Here's hoping for the former...

Tabby honest, I'm feline cat-astrophic.

I hate cats, but this was a nice opportunity to use the cripplingly bad sentence of puns seen in the title. Purrfect.

No. 1.

'The Dark Knight' has been released in America, and has soared straight to 1. in the IMDB Top 250 films of all time. It won't stay there, but it's nice to see that it's definitely going to be awesome when I see it in America in a few weeks.

Genesis.

Recently, my blog has slowed down, mainly because I've lacked the energy or enthusiasm to do anything with it. But I've resolved to give it a new lease of life, not only to satisfy my legions of avid readers, but also because I feel I have a sense of duty to tend to my creation, lovingly crafting it into something beautiful.

Maybe I'll start tomorrow.

Mamma Mia!

When I become the ruler of a small tropical island, which I will, it will become part of our culture to spontaneously burst into song and dance at random intervals every so often. My kingdom shall be called Music Land, and we will be Dancing In The Moonlight all day long...

Yay.

End of an Era

And it's finished. Done. El Kaput. The Prom 6 had their final, glorious (and wet) caper around today: Cafe Coaster - or Costa Coffee, as mere mortals call it; then to Parker's Piece for ultimate frisbee, the sport of kings. Such emotion, such drama, such a lot of rain. But the imminent threat of pneumonia could not deter we adventurers from having fun and champaggen, as we mourned the departure of Anna, who is a-heading for Hungary in a few days.

For her leaving present, Brier gave her an arty monochromatic photo, and Bernie gave her a cork with a fifty pence piece crudely wedged in it. I'm not sure the latter was particularly poignant, but the heart was there, and that's what counts. Right. Right?

And thus did we split for the final time, vowing to reunite in a year or so. Whether this will ever actually happen is debatable, so I may well have seen Anna for the last ever time ever for eternity super ever.

Which is as weird a thought as that of a fish in a pillow.

The Musings of a Bear

Once upon a time there was a bear. He spent a long time musing upon a rock. However the rock did not like the bear, and so it decided to eat him. But the bear was too quick for the rock, and he threw it into a tree. Unfortunately for the bear, the rock had wings and flew back at his head. So the bear RAN.

The musings of a bear. The puzzlement of a bear. The stupidity of a bear.

The End.

by Max Larkinson.

Awesomeness.

Kung Fu Panda is as awesome as a panda doing kung fu.

So skadoosh and see it.

The Prom: An Analysis

The prom was like a disco, except with fancier clothes.

Which isn't necessarily a bad thing.

I'm tired.

Prim and Promper.

It's been on everyone's calendars for months. Tonight is the big night: the prom, and anticipation is building to fever pitch. People are hiring limos, renting out Armani suits, dressing in clothes made from softened diamond and gold. For many, it is the highlight of their summer - a glorious, glamorous cacophony of singing, dancing and...prancing...which will be remembered for years to come.

Maybe I'll comb my hair...

GTA IV: A Moment Please

All good games contain Moments. Points where the game gives you an emotional clout round the head or makes you feel like all is well with the world. Essentially, something that makes you think: "Wow."

And it might not always be what you think. Although Call of Duty 4 had a Moment where the nuclear explosion obliterated you and your team mates, they don't always have to be action based. For example, I had a Moment in Loco Roco the first time my happy little blob started singing along with the sun. It was the most uplifting experience I've ever had in a game.

Today I encountered my first Moment in GTA IV, although I'm surprised that it didn't come sooner, and it certainly wasn't what I had expected. After the trumped up story, revamped gameplay and the whole of Liberty City to play in, I would never have guessed it would be such a simple thing.

I was driving down a motorway in a stolen sports car. The radio was on. And as I whipped along the tarmac, weaving through traffic, the sun suddenly began to rise, bathing the screen in scarlet light. In my ears was a catchy, Russian rock song. A feeling of contentment and excitement came over me, and I realised that this was a Moment. Hopefully the first of many.

Beautiful.

Clothed In Stupidity

Every holiday, I am filled with fear. A raw, primal terror that clenches its icy fist around my heart and consumes me utterly, making me shiver, shudder and scream like a small child confronted with a large, angry bear.

Clothes shopping.

The two words herald tedium, embarrassment and general rubbishness. The endless shops, changing rooms and mockery as you accidentally pick a t-shirt three sizes too small and end up looking like a less shiny Barbie doll that's been through the washing machine. I go clothes shopping before each holiday, gathering in clothes to last me until the next holiday. It's a horrific ritual on par with the sacrifices on the Aztec temples.

Today was that day, except it was not like before. Usually the entire family troopsaround town, with me and Max moaning incessantly, Dad making sarcastic remarks and Mum urging the weary soldiers on with encouraging declarations like: "After the next six shops, we can go and have a packet of crisps!"

This time it was different. I ventured forth alone (well, with Anna) and purchased three t-shirts. However, one problem solved did not prevent another arising. What the hell is up with this year's clothes? It's all bright colours like lime green and sunshine yellow! Cheerful perhaps, but with the unfortunate side effect of making you look like a parrot. There are little effeminate buttons on everything, or hoodies with random cartoon characters emblazoned across the chest with no apparent purpose other than to give a passer-by something to squint at.

It's ridiculous, and made picking the t-shirts unnecessarily difficult. I blame Andy.

The Good, the Quite Good, the Pretty Lame, the New and the Old But Hadn't Been Discovered Before.

Twas Matt who blazed the mighty trail across the vast wastelands of the internet, using nothing but his wits, dedication and ability to draw nutrients from his own urine.

I followed his path, with youthful vigour and optimism which swiftly degenerated as I came across the mythical place of Blogging, built my city there, and discovered that it had the power to consume one's life in an instant.

Francis marched next, but his Blog ground to a halt barely after construction. Three fine young men, who all achieved the Technological Dream with varying degrees of success.

And now I introduce you to two new characters in this epic tale of adventure and lack-of-life: Bigs, a.k.a. the Gekko, who has decided to follow me and start a blog of his own, and Bernie, who has had a blog for ages but I just didn't know about it.

You can absorb their wisdom via the links on the sidebar. Good luck; we're all counting on you.

Top Gear.

Ah, Top Gear is back! The three bumbling buffoons hath returned to our screens to entertain us with their crazy antics once again. But am I the only one who doesn't find the show as a whole that great?

I'm not interested in the cars they show. When Jeremy Clarkson roars round the track in the Jaguar XP7811JK Turbo Super Power Ultra Kickass Deluxe Model 2sS2!2!DD, I just switch over to the football. The bit I want to see is the feature. The big one. The piece de resistance.

Like yesterday, when they had to buy and test a cheap car to replace the Vauxhall Astra that police use while on duty. And the results are hysterical, because Top Gear is funniest when the three presenters are together, working off eachother and mocking the monkeys out of one another. The rest of the show is decent, but just not that good. It's when they do their big challenges that it becomes unmissable TV.

Surely I'm not the only one who feels this way?

GTA IV: The Beginning.

Picture the scene: a sunny Friday afternoon. The birds are singing, trees sway nonchalantly in the cooling breeze, and a group of rowdy teens cycle from school - their GCSEs are over, a relaxing summer awaits, and they've got the rest of the day to enjoy the dazzling sunshine. Do they go punting? How about the park? Or perhaps just a trip to town.

Not when GTA IV is waiting at my house.

We rush into my sitting room and rip off the cellophane wrap like a pack of hungry beavers. The curtains are closed - our pasty skin can't take the vitamin D, and the TV is clearer this way. The game boots up, and we roll our eyes at the drawn-out introductory montage. I declare that if I have to sit through this more than once, someone is going to suffer.

Niko, a friendly Russian with a daaaaaaark past, arrives at Liberty City. There's a lot of pointless plot stuff, and nobody is really interested in it except me. They just want to cause mayhem. However, it's my game, my 360 and my house so, cackling to myself, I force them to watch.

But finally, we're away. I scamper mischievously up to a car, smash the window and drive away, with the outraged squeals of its porky owner following me halfway down the road. The detail is astounding: bins left out to be picked up by the binmen, woman sipping coffee or chatting on their mobiles, an old lady causing discontent for everyone by taking five minutes to cross the road.

We leave a trail of destruction in our wake. Lampposts tumble, crackling and broken, to the ground as we plough our killmobile through them. Fences buckle, fire hydrants smash, and a poor man who chose the wrong moment to cross the road finds himself sprawled on our bonnet, as we laugh with sadistic delight at our sins.

But the cops are on our trail. We swerve in and out of traffic to a symphony of car horns and crunches as we misjudge turns. Unfortunately for everyone, not least ourselves, our driving is not yet refined enough to be...well...good, and we end up grinding through a pleasant park, our tyres churning up mud and splinters of broken bench. A innocuous gardener meets a sticky end.

We're eventually caught and locked away, and that's where the session is forced to end by the arrival of the girls and Bigs. We head off into town, determined to enjoy the weather and real life.

At the end of the day, though, sometimes virtual life is a hell of a lot more fun.

So I herd u liek mudkipz?

Yes. Yes I do.

Playing Catch Up

Grand Theft Auto IV has been out for a while now. Everyone seems to have played it: gushing its praise, marvelling over its achievement or, in the case of a select few whiners, moaning about how it fails to expand the formula of the last game (perhaps through adding 45 minute long cut scenes, as MGS4 is credited with doing).

Wisely, I was banned from buying the game until the end of my GCSEs - logic reared its ugly head again as my mum pointed out that I wouldn't get any revision done with a whole city open to me and my trusty lust for chaos.

But now that the GCSEs are eighty minutes away from conclusion, GTA IV is, as I type, soaring across the country in the noble scarlet van of Royal Mail, borne aloft like a king upon his litter. Soon it shall lie, gleaming smarmily, in my grubby paws, and I'll finally be able to experience the "game of the decade".

This blog shall be record of my journey. Prepare for numerous GTA IV posts in the future...

More Bloggedy Goodness.

As the saying goes: "Two's company, but three's a crowd."

And so we look on with disgust as Francis ruins the company by setting up his own lacklustre blog to swell the already corpulent blogging sphere to dangerously obese levels. If you have contempt for your own self-esteem, you can view Francis's balance-disrupting skulduggery here. There are now three blogs to feast upon, so you no longer have any excuse to have a life beyond the internet.

Gobble gobble gobble.

A Haiku for Monday:

Monkey in a tree
Tree tree tree
It falls out


Of course, I'm aware that it isn't actually a haiku in terms of structure or actual meaning, but sometimes you've got to take the bad with the good. The good being the fact that the above 'haiku' freakin' rocks.

It's Comic Sunday!

Revision + lack of inspiration = funny comics from websites being posted in a feeble attempt to maintain the flow of the blog. Here's another two classics which I discovered somewhere in the dank depths on Year 10 ICT lessons:



Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Unfortunately this second one is cut off when posted, but just click on it to enjoy the inappropriate hilarity!


Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Lapse in Logic

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

This comic made me laugh for a solid minute.

Frozen Contemplations...

This blog is a random amalgamation of thoughts and outbursts. I don't deny it, and I sure as hell won't try to promote it to be anything otherwise. Yeah, it's entertaining (for me, at least), but you're never going to gain anything from reading it. Although that's not to say I want you to stop...

However, if you're looking for a blog with a little more substance, then my friend Matt has just the thing. His blog, which can be magically accessed here, actually has some proper stuff about him, his life, and his general shenanigans.

Go check it out, but please come back here afterwards, because I'm getting awful lonely.

"You're a freak...like me!"

I'm psyched.

Super psyched.

More psyched than the psycho from 'Psycho'. So psyched that now the word 'psyched' looks weird, like words do if you use them too often. And why? Because of Batman. Or, to be more precise, the Joker.

On July something-or-other, the new Batman film 'The Dark Knight' is being released, and it has become my most anticipated movie ever. It features the late Heath Ledger as the Joker, complete with requisite manic laugh and green hair, and it looks absolutely fantastic.

I've seen both the trailers numerous times, and I can already predict that a lot of the Joker's phrases are going to become quotable for a long time to come. The music is pulse-pounding, the action exciting, and Aaron Eckhart looks promising as Harvey Dent, who later becomes the villain Two-Face.

Check them out on YouTube so you can share my enthusiasm. Forget Indiana Jones. Toss aside the Hulk. This summer's film opus will be 'The Dark Knight'.

I can't wait!

A World of Junkies?

I haven't been addicted to many things in my life. Sherbet was one. Chocolate swiss roll was another. I count myself lucky never to have endured the stranglehold of drugs or alcohol. But now I'm becoming worryingly captivated by two new interests.

Facebook and blogging.

Had you told me this a month ago, I would've laughed in your face and possibly poked you in the eye for good measure. Sure, I had a Bebo account, but I used it maybe once every fortnight. I had tried Facebook briefly but it had been plain and boring - nothing like the amazing craze I was expecting.

But once I made an effort with it, it just took off. Now, every time I go on the internet, I quickly have a gander at Facebook. Maybe only for two minutes, but the point remains: I always check it out. I love seeing the comments on photos, and the good-natured banter between friends. It's always great to see some hilarious responses to particularly weird pictures.

I'm trying to wean myself off, but it's tough, especially when it's such a pleasant diversion from the grind of revision and exams.

Blogging is something which has cropped up more recently. Today, to be precise. I've already posted three times, and my mind is awhirl with ideas for more. Everything else takes a back seat to my itchy fingers and buzzing brain. Even as I complain about it, I'm actually just sating my appetite for posting my (ultimately meaningless) thoughts.

Am I a loser? If so, then there's a whole lot of losers in this world. There are millions of people using Facebook - in fact, it was recently voted the second more important thing to an undergraduate, tied with beer and just behind the iPod. Likewise, blogging is now enjoyed by countless people across the entire world.

So I'm just part of a worldwide addiction. Surely it can't be that bad then?

Over one billion people smoke cigarettes.

Damn.

A Tribute.

I thought I'd start this shiny new blog with a tribute. This individual has helped me through some tough times, can always make me laugh, and has kept me going when I was down. I've spent money of them, lain down with them, devoted my time to them.

In short, this individual holds a special place in my heart, and always will do.

Garfield, I love you.

Your crazy antics with Jon, Odie and the gang have been a staple of my childhood, and I couldn't live without you. Your books take pride of place on my shelf, and I know that if I ever need to be cheered up, I can come to you. If you weren't a fictional creation, I would send you flowers and chocolates, although I know you'd prefer lasagne. Your movies sucked, but I can forgive you for that.

Don't you ever stop hating Mondays.

Alex.

The Beginning

And thus did the prophet Matt speak unto Alex: "Alex, getteth a blog and post unto it, as I hath done with great joy." Alex listened to the prophet, and thought this to be of wisdom indeed. He clicked with his mighty mouse and lo! a blog was born.

And Alex looked on the blog and saw that it was good.