The beginning of the end?

The craziness of the last few days in Baltimore, USA, has made me seriously think if the recurring riots are to become larger, more common and more violent.

Firstly, I am not going to claim that riots are a good thing and I am not going to state that they are unjustified. I do not wish to offend anyone who feels passionately about this subject and I am merely expressing an opinion on what is going on.

On Monday 27th of April there was a funeral for Freddie Gray, a 25 year old black man who died in police custody. What has followed from this are protests in Baltimore. These protests then developed into violent riots. These riots are protests against the law enforcement's handling of black Americans and what they believe to be racist acts. Again, I am not completely informed on this matter and only taking my information from news websites.

Now as a British citizens we are only given information from British broadcasters. This means that the information might be filtered or altered in some way. However, as a human it is incredible to watch what is happening over there. The videos of looting, fighting and conflicts between law enforcement and African-Americans are terrifying. When you look at these videos you can't help to compare them to something out of some apocalyptic film not a democratic nation of the west.

Riots are awful regardless of their motive. The destroying and burning of buildings, the looting of shops and beating up of pedestrians is completely wrong. However, what these rioters are doing is getting the publicity they crave.

Peaceful protests are always the correct way to express an opinion. However, do you honestly think the world would be looking upon Baltimore and the corruption that seems to curse America if they simply walked down a street holding a few banners? Are riots a violent and inhumane act or an explosion of frustration at the result of being patient for so long?

There is obviously a huge issue in regards of police treatment of ethnic minorities in America and there are statistics that support this. What concerns me is whether this issue is genuinely being addressed or just forgotten about until another riot happens.

America seems to only pay attention to itself when it starts imploding. We saw it before when Ferguson was declared in a state of emergency. Now it is happening in Baltimore and you can guarantee it will happen again.

What I question is if this will get sorted or just get worse and worse?

Just imagine the riots we see in the news erupting to national level. The worlds biggest superpower will literally fall to pieces. A country that prides itself on equality, democracy and the 'American Dream' will become a land of civil war. I understand this is incredibly far-fetched and a little ridiculous but it does concern me how violent a nation can come after being sparked by one particular death. If there is a building of frustration amongst American ethnic-minorities, when will it eventually surface? There seems to be so much pain in America that is hidden to the rest of the world that it makes you question how free this 'land of the free' is?

Is to be patriotic to be racist?

Happy St. Georges day first of all!

I understand the title might be a little confusing and completely ridiculous. I get that, I would think that too. However, it got your attention and now (I'm hoping) has got you to want to read what I have to say.

Obviously you can be proud to be English. I am incredibly proud to be English, British, southern, a student, a rugby player... whatever else that might have a certain stigma attached to it. But there does seem to have been a horrible abusement of the term 'to be English'.

Today on social media I saw plenty of posts similar to this...

It got me thinking to when the last time I saw something similar to this was and it struck me that there is a common theme to these posts throughout the year,

People only seem to want to promote being English when they wish to claim that being foreign is wrong. It is almost as if people believe we are still an empire and that our traditions and culture are the only ones worth knowing about.

When you look at other nations around the world they celebrate being patriotic as being proud of being from where they are from and all those who inhabit it. Not to make any other point. I can't understand this reoccurring trend to blame immigrants for everything. That to be anything but English in England is wrong.

The most well-known 'cult' that exercises this ideology is the wonderfully medieval sounding 'English Defence League'. The EDL promotes English supremacy. That England is for English people and that anything that could favour this nation should be directed towards people who can trace their bloodline to go back to King Arthur himself. It this group of individuals that claim to be 'patriotic'. There is also UKIP but they have an incredible way of making good points on immigration to highlight a 'problem' with immigrants. *I will admit I have agreed with some of their points. I will also admit that when learning about their policies, they are a tad over the top, note the sarcasm.

Now I for one do not want my patriotism to be based around an English favouritism. 

I hate the idea that other nations could look upon ours and base their judgement of us on how much we loathe people from other nations. 

I watched a video recently of an EDL march in London whereby they were arguing against Islam in our nation. The second lady in command claimed that 'Allah' was a proven paedophile and that how could they believe in such a horrific God. A PROVEN PAEDOPHILE?! I am pretty sure Allah is based around all other god's in that there is no physical evidence that he/she/it existed and that faith is what is needed to follow them. I believe they meant Mohammad, the prophet. But I still believe this is just as believable as Jesus being wed to a prostitute which is ridiculous right?

These same people most probably watched or listened to the likes of Jimmy Saville, Ralf Harris etc. and loved them! These people most certainly did exist and most certainly were horrible, horrible people but because they are white, they are just a bad egg.

I will not stand for people who claim to be English patriots and ruin our saint-day with ignorant and completely racist remarks. 

The English flag is one to be proud of and we have every right to be proud of our nation with the abundance of brilliance that has come out of it. However, don't claim that there brilliance is being tainted by 'foreigners' of today. And don't speak as if you have any of that brilliance because you so happen to be English too. I have seen English people in foreign nations. Notably I witnessed a bunch of drunk and incredibly loud Englishmen in Krakow, Poland. An entire city ringing with football chants and breaking bottles.  I was embarrased and had to tell my Polish girlfriend who took me there, 'we're not all like that'. I do understand I have been a drunken mess in Malia and contributed to this stereotype a little, sorry mum. However, I would not claim this to have been right.

England happens to be one of the most multicultural nations in the world and the fact that people want to emigrate here is a sign of its quality. The only problem England has is that it is becoming more common to be anti-migrants and to not agree with other cultures apart from curry, chinese food, pizzas, foreign beer... 

Now I am sure that this post will get a lot of people educating me on the awful things extreme muslims have done. That the terror they have caused is completely motivated by one book and this only. That child trafficking is done by muslims. That parts of the country are under 'sharia law'.

All I will say to this is that the small minority of muslims that have done this needed motivation from somewhere else and being a student in Coventry, I have met a lot of lovely muslims.

There have been plenty of white terrorists, rapists, child traffickers, drug dealers etc. The only difference is that they are not judged on religion or race but 'just bad people'. 

So if you are like me and proud to be from England then great! I don't alway show it apart from the six nations or other sporting events but that doesn't mean it isn't always there. Just stop the individuals who play off this patriotism so they can vent their anger at immigrants because of our governments mistakes.

Project Cov

Ever since moving here in September, a house party was always expected to happen. Finally we got round to organising it as a last proper piss-up before exams start, not that I have any.

It was expected that around 30 people would come around 10pm (an hour after the official start time) with some +1s with them to fill out the house. What actually happened was that at 10:30pm the actual occupants of the house and a few close mates were sat twiddling their thumbs, drinking their alcohol and questioning whether the lights they had very specifically placed were OK. The first twinges of concern were starting to build into whether anyone would be there to appreciate the very specifically placed lights and enjoy our quality company. 

By 11:30 a considerable amount of people had arrived and the party was starting to become less of a little chatter between friends and an actual party. Shots were being shot, dance moves were being moved by those already quite drunk and the beer bong was in full use.

At midnight I went outside to do the bong and out of determination not to make a tit of myself, focused incredibly hard on it. It was only after my alcohol consumption that I heard 'ain't nobody f-ing with my clique' being chanted from the living room by a huge amount of people. It was on investigating this that I found that the house had become rammed with people, half of which I did not recognise let alone know. When I asked who they were they often replied with 'why do you want to know?'. I calmly explained how I was a tenant of this house for which they replied with 'ahh sorry, good party'. 

In the living area there was at least 30 people in it which is about 25 more than has ever been in it before. The playlist we had carefully put together was now off and black American rap was being screamed out by a huge group of lads. I had had no idea who they were apart from one individual. Ashley Powell, a person I had come to know quite well over the last few years, was jumping up and down in the middle of the group like an intoxicated kangaroo. We did make eye-contact for him to shout a Kanye West lyric at me, which seemed rather innapropriate with him being incredibly white. 

The rest of the night followed as described above with shots, beer bongs, dancing, singing/ rapping and drunk conversation eating the hours away. I had somehow begun talking to two Polish people in my incredibly inconsistent and over confident Polish. They said I was 'very good' but their faces told a different story. 

At around 3:30am many of the people had left and it became mine and the other hosts responsibility to finish off the remaining alcohol. This was a mixture of beer, cider, shots and a Polish beverage called bimber which at 70% was described by Liam Quinn (another accomplice from back home) as 'nuclear cat piss'. By this point everyone was incredibly drunk and drinking now was more of a challenge than a pleasure. Mr Powell had now made plenty of new friends and spent a good few hours rapping to all his favourite gangster tracks. I did have my 5 minutes of fame orchestrating Wonderwall by Oasis on my guitar standing on one of the sofas to about 15 people screaming 'AGAIN' as I gave myself an encore.

It is fair to say the clean up the following day was awful. There was a stickiness to every possible surface, still full cans on every table and chair and for some reason the kitchen wreaked of balsamic vinegar with cracked eggs and straws littering the floor. The hangover alongside this mess was equally as bad with my head feeling like it was about to implode and my mouth feeling as if I had been eating sand all night. There was obviously a full fry up the following morning but this only intensified the feeling of vomit beginning to rise in our bellies. 

However, regardless of the hangover, the state of the house after and the damage it had done to my student loan it was such an insane night. I witnessed awful rapping, a brilliant consumption of booze and someone so drunk they tried to switch off the light on the wall with their feet as they lay drooling in their own mess.

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Slipping under the covers

It would be a lie if I were to say that I have had a very close relationship with my nan. I'm not someone who posts on social media how amazing she is or how inspiring she has been to me but nonetheless, she is family and someone I hold close to my heart. She is the last of my grandparents and there is a peculiar realisation that she is the last of my parent's parents.

Today I made the far too rare visit to see her in the home she is now unfortunately stuck in. It has all the elements to be a lovely, warm and friendly care home. It is situated in picturesque countryside, appears to be large and warm looking and has the ever so fitting name of 'Cranmer Court'. It is a very stereotypical care home and as far as I know, has no faults apart from the odd tinge of urine in the air, something that cannot be helped with occupants that live there.

In her own room by the garden is my poor and physically restricted nan, lying in bed as she does every day. Her company comes in the odd family member, nurse or the birds feasting outside on the seeds purchased by the in-laws. Often or not those who come to visit come in 2s or more. This is not because of nan's popularity but due to her condition, there has to be a conversation she can listen to rather than one she can participate in.

I went today with my mother and met my uncle and aunty there. We discussed the usual ins and outs of everyday life. 'How's uni?' one way. 'How are the cousins' the other. This chit chat lasted a little while but inevitably the chatter simmered down to silence and I found myself focusing more on nan. It felt to me as if in the last 5 times I have come to visit she has slipped lower and lower into the bed. Her facial expression has over time changed from awareness of conversation to a flat faced, squint eyed glare at the ceiling. Almost as if the world was nothing but a fragment of her imagination and the heartache of losing her husband of 59 years 5 years prior being her own reality. Frustration of her condition has been often discussed throughout the family and her lack of effort in trying to pick herself up emotionally being the main reason of her inevitable vegetable state.

There can be the argument that she has not indeed helped herself but it is important to state she does have parkinsons disease and this has been a major factor in her physical decline. However, regardless of her physical state, she had lost her absolute other half. There cannot be anything worse than losing your stability and balance that you gain with someone else over such a huge time frame. You would not expect a man to run with one leg taken away when he had ran with two for 59 years. This was her state but not only had she forgotten to run but lost the ability to walk through life. She has limped her way through last five years to now and it is absolutely impossible to consider her situation. She is part of a generation whereby you didn't divorce at first sign of trouble but learnt to adapt to their faults and live by them. That you would understand that life is not always about being happy but contempt with being solid with another.

I have to admit I did pity her. I was in no position to empathise and I had no wish to put myself in a position where I had to think about living 60 years with someone for them to be gone in a blink. She has had to go through an ordeal I hope I never have to endure but hope to understand. I hope to be with someone as close as that for such a time that I can claim I have had a relationship through everyone of life's ups and downs. She might not have been a huge part of my life but when I sit there looking at her, her pain shows to me how amazing it must be to be anothers true life partner. With her pain shows true happiness before.

To the 'anti-voters'

The general election is just over a month away now and with the first television debate being shown tonight I thought it would be relevant to blog about a particular pet hate of mine.

There seems to be a growing trend that it is better to not vote when it comes to elections. There are a handful of high profile individuals who strongly claim that politicians are unfair and disillusioned with the British people. That they are in politics for all the wrong reasons and have lost touch with the 'working man'. What this has lead to is this dribbling nonsense that a 'revolution' is forthcoming and the entire nation will sucumb to a change in the way the nation will be lead.

I have to admit I have never read Revolution by Russell Brand and though it is seems to be immensely popular I don't intend on reading it. I am fascinated by Brand's opinions on the Government and the way it goes about exercising its powers but that doesn't mean I agree with him.
I cannot get my head around this idea that to not vote is better than to vote at all.

Now my history is not brilliant but I am pretty sure that most, if not all, of the wars we have had over the last 100 years was to secure democracy in the modern world. Democracy, for the few of you who don't know, is the idea that society has the right to vote for who is in charge of the nations Government. And yet even though millions have died for this right, people are not only using it, people are arguing against it!

Never will an entire nation not vote. There will always be a new man (or woman) in charge every time an election comes about. There will always be people who will vote and if it is a very small number then a very small number of people will have put a particular party in power. There will always be something to moan about when it comes to politics and if you want to have any right to argue, you HAVE to vote. I will not accept that 'not knowing' or 'not liking' politics/ politicians is a viable excuse. I am 20 years old and this is my first general election that I am able to vote in. I am still completely unaware on who to vote on and even though I live in a Conservative stronghold, that does not mean I will necessarily vote for them. I am absolutely willing to hear every parties opinion and make my own verdict. But if you turn to me and tell me they are all knobs who don't understand the country then emigrate. Please leave this country and go to North Korea or any other nation where voting is not allowed or riged. Ask the people of those nations if they would like the right to vote in a fair and just manner. Or read up on Communist Russia, Nazi Germany etc and tell me that not having that right to vote is correct.

I cannot stand people who say they won't vote. It is a ridiculous and immature point of view to claim that 'we can make a change' by not. You can have a much more powerful say in simply ticking a box than standing outside parliament for days on end stating that those in charge are old fashioned and single minded. As far as im aware, England really is not that bad for living in and if I can have a tiny say in how it might run then I am more than happy to go along with that.

Goodbye Clarkson; burnt by his own flame

Today it was announced that Jeremy Clarkson has indeed been 'dropped by Top Gear'. In other words the BBC have sacked their most valuable asset and you can't argue that it was the only option.

I absolutely love Clarkson and it is because of his controversial humour that I watch Top Gear. I have always believed that he is the one character out of the three that leads the show. James May and Richard Hammond are necessary to assist him but you could argue they are replaceable. I don't think you will find another Clarkson and here is why I think so.

Some claim Clarkson provides a link to the old fashioned british humour that we don't see as much anymore. His attitude towards global warming is refreshing in a climate where everyone is 'green' obsessed. I am not saying that global warming is something that should be ignored but when it is being rammed down your throats it is sometimes quite nice to hear someone mocking an issue we are told will end us all.

His way of addressing the audience, his strong and controversial opinions and his sheer manner cannot be ignored and it leads us to listen to him. In a society whereby everyone in the media is trying to say something to gain popularity or to abide by political correctness, I think in Clarkson we had that one figure who did the opposite. What is unfortunate is that it is because of this that we might not be seeing him for a while.

He has had his entire career riddled with controversy which, for me at least, lead me to follow him even more. I found myself being fascinated in what he was going to say or do next. To be honest I don't really have much interest in cars or anything like that. I only watched Top Gear to see what the three did or had to say. And even though I have watched every episode to date I can't help but watch the endless repeats on Dave and it looks like that is all I will be able to do now.

However, in the end it is a huge shame that this whole thing has happened but lets face it, if you punched a colleague at work you would not expect to have your job. The BBC had been put in a position whereby they either thought of the commercial side of things or their values. Obviously the BBC prides itself of being incredibly middle minded and politically and this leads to us saying goodbye to Clarkson but only for the time being. He will be back and he will be more loved for it. Another channel will buy him and I'm pretty sure Hammond and May too and will be seeing his humour and refreshing personality on a television pretty soon.

So to finish off I say thank you Mr Clarkson for everything you have contributed to my Sunday evenings and I think most of all, smashing Piers Morgan in the face and shutting him up for a bit.

Party, police and pricks

Last Saturday our plans were to go to a university house party. I can't remember the last time I went to a house party and the rest of the group were excited for a cheap and sociable evening. We bought our booze a couple of days before and made sure we were sufficiently prepared with enough alcohol to last the evening.

On arrival we noticed that though the cab journey didn't seem to take so long, we were completely bewildered to our location in Coventry. The house looked nice enough and when we entered we found that though it looked relatively large on the outside, it was incredibly cosy on the inside. We lay our boxes of beer and cider outside so that they would remain cool and went inside to see what was what.

There was only around 20 people at the party at this point, 12 of which were us, so we decided to make our own entertainment by drinking and talking. Some individuals scouted the girls present and for those of us who were in a relationship, laughed at their disappointment that only 3 were actually present.

One individual of our group, John, had left to discuss his gym progress with an obvious stoner who was more interested in talking about how high he had been the night before. We again laughed as he looked at us from the other room quite confused into why we weren't going in to talk with them. The truth was we were quite happy with our own company. Furthermore, the guy in question loved singing My Chemical Romance whenever he had the chance and I can't be dealing with someone like that. .

Everything was going smoothly. We had started to make conversation with people we did not know and were getting involved with other groups. The party was starting to gain more people at this point and the alcohol consumed was starting to take effect. So as far as house party goes it was all going quite well. Until...

The doorbell rang and the host answered the door. Rico's (the host) face looked at those outside the house with a sort reluctant smile and welcome. Chris and I, who were sat in the other room watching, could tell that something wasn't quite right.

Four guys entered. Three of the four were incredibly round and the fourth looking like he hadn't eaten in a week. Two of the three round people were wearing polo tops which were clearly two sizes too small and the third fatty was wearing a coat, to our pleasing as two fabric stretchers was quite enough.

They came in and immediately we knew they weren't students. Not because of their appearance so much, though this did have some influence, but the very manner in which they waltzed in shouting and swearing with no regard for anyone else. Aaron, who had been school mates with the host had warned us that these people could come and stated they were 'massive knobs' and the only reason they were invited was because the host felt obliged to.We ignored the Jeremy Kyle contestants and left them to their own doing as we attempted to go on as we had done before.

About two hours later I was informed that a police van was outside and I decided to investigate. There was indeed a huge and full police van outside the front of the house. It turned out that one of the fabric stretchers had thrown a bottle outside, awoken a resident with children and racially abused them. On confronting the group I said 'why would you do that in a residential area?'. Their reply was 'it's a house party, got to have some fun'. I decided they were not worth the reply and left them to the host Rico.

It turned out that due to Rico's 'kindness' he could not tell them to leave. Chris and I insisted that if he wanted the party to be a success they would have to go otherwise the police would return after they politely warned us to not let it happen again.

Another hour later I got tapped on the shoulder by Abbie.

'The police are back again and one of the fat kids has just slammed the door in their face.'

Brilliant...

Next thing I know three police officers came round the back of the house into the garden. Two were in the house and around eight lined the entrance.

Not surprisingly they asked us to leave and that party was done. It was 1:30 am by this point but we had then planned to be there till the early hours of the morning. We picked up our existing drinks, most of mine had then been stolen, and headed through the house to leave. To my amazement the most stretchiest of fabric stretchers was trying to argue with police and questioning him on the law. The police officer looked at him with some amusement as we all did. The fat prick seriously thought he was better than the policeman!

I did ask why we had been asked to leave and the police officers were incredibly friendly and helpful in describing that they had two complaints and in a residential area that means two strikes and you're out. We completely understood and they knew who the culprits were but they apologised for having to end our night and gave us taxi phone numbers.

Once we returned home we were all quite annoyed that the pricks had gotten their way so we went and bought some greasy food and drunk the last of our beer. Chris was on full rage mode and ranted about how much he hated them for a good two hours. Even now if you bring the topic up his face goes a little pink and he goes 'argh', inhales and he's off again.

Having a party shut down by the police can show that the party was bouncing. This time it was not. It was just a few ignorant and thick skulled twats that believed that with size came confidence. It was a shame as everything was starting to get going and we were enjoying ourselves. But I think the biggest regret was that we hadn't even had the time to see one of the single lads make a complete tit of himself with one of the poor and unexpecting ladies.

How coursework lead to the discovery of the creepy housemate

Though this blog will most likely go out during mid-afternoon it is important to establish that it begun at 1:36am.

The reason for this is that my body clock over the past week has become completely distorted because of that old foe... the coursework deadline. And what better way to spend this peculiar time of night than writing a blog about the state it has left my mind in and what I have discovered harbouring in the house.

Firstly, I understand that some irritating and patronising few reading this might state 'but Matt, you shouldn't have left it to last minute' (goes out specifically to my dad who loves making this point). Yes it was set ages ago, but due to seminars on novels I am writing about having only recently happened, I wasn't going to begin the work to find out I had been wrong and needed start all over, DAD.

I have currently spent 10 hours in three days in the library. Might not sound like a lot but considering the other 62 hours were spent reading on relevant academia on the work done in those 10 hours, I think I have balanced it quite well. Reading academia for those not familiar with the term just means reading published articles on your essay topic to realise you cannot write anything near as good.

I much prefer coursework to exams and English does favour this. For example for the whole of my second year I have not had to endure one exam to my relief; mainly because I am crap at them.

But the problem with having an extensive piece of work is that it has the great ability to change your patience from a solid 8 to a complete zero. Your diet will become incredibly pizza orientated and will screw with your sleeping pattern. Even now it has got to 1:53 am and I am still wide awake.

Now the time is 16:52 as I finish it up and though it has been a few days since the deadline I have found that my sleep is still a little muddled. However, I have found that one certain individual awakens at this time of night (around 12am) and goes about his 'nightly' life.

We have someone living with us who never socilaises with us and the only time we see him is when he is skyping his American girlfriend, to which he attempts to imitate her accent with complete cringeness. His actual name will be hidden but that doesn't matter as we refer to him as Paddy, not that he knows this... The reason behind this name is because of Patrick Swayze who played a ghost in the film 'Ghost', a rather peculiar nickname but certainly has relevance.

In the middle of the night I hear him ponder downstairs to the kitchen whilst his irritating and fake American accent is in its most confidence. I hear the odd 'I love you baby' followed by an incredibly sloppy kiss sound or sometimes if he is feeling rather intimate 'what was that puppy?'. I lie in bed in complete horror that anyone could possibly act in this way.The nearest I get to imitating my Polish girlfriend is by shouting 'eeeshh meeesh' in a Borat accent to describe how the Polish language is thought to by the English, or maybe just me.

I struggle to understand how anyone can live with others without attempting to talk to them or even acknowledge them. We might be a group of guys who constantly take the piss out of eachother but we are a friendly bunch.

I am now forcing myself to wake up earlier so I can go to sleep before he wakes. Mainly so I don't have to endure his poorly executed American accent claiming that he is so in love with her that he feels the need to put his mouth right up to the camera to slobber... yes he does actually do this.

I get that not everyone wishes to socialise with certain people but come on! You can't stay in your room for the entirety of time doing things in front of a camera I am pretty sure would be illegal in most countries knowing of his character.

Yet even though he comes across as an nocturnal 'thing', he has succeeded where the rest of the group has failed. He possess something that usually makes someone an integral part of any friendship group. He has the 'nickname'. And for that he has some respect but I highly doubt he will be making the most of that come tomorrow when all the 'paddies' will be out drowning themselves in Guinness on his name day, St Patricks Day.

So tomorrow I feel it might be appropriate to raise a glass of the black nectar to honour Lord Paddy of the 10th floor and all of his creepy mannerisms. He might not ever speak to us but he has sure lead to us lot giggling and in a way contributing to our happiness.

Why student fees make sense

For most students when they are asked about student fees they are usually quite happy to criticise them without fully thinking it through. It is true that other countries pay far less when it comes to higher education. It is also true that if a Scot was to study in his homeland it would be free, yet if you were from anywhere else, it would cost. That by all accounts does seem completely ridiculous but I do believe that by shouting at politicians and universities about the £9,000 fee (not all courses) you need to take a step back to realise why they are doing it.

Firstly, they're not doing it to put us in massive debt and to cover the problems certain bankers have made in the last 10 years. The simple truth of the matter is so that universities can improve.

It is a common misconception that the actual study fee goes to the government. It doesn't! It goes to the university you are attending. That means that they can invest and improve so that when you apply for a job in the future they can look at the uni and go 'that's a good university'. It isn't going back into a complicated system which the government uses for benefits, the NHS, paying the EU or some other matter people love to moan about.

I am very lucky to be at a university that has clearly invested extremely well over the last 10 or so years. Coventry Uni has shot up the league tables since I have been here and in my first two years it has been voted Modern University of the Year 2014 & 2015. This doesn't just come from well planned lectures and good grades.

Yes the quality of the teaching and the classifications of degrees does have an influence, that's why Cambridge and Oxford are always up the top. However, it is not always what you have on a piece of paper that gets you a job or whether you went to fancy balls and have a sophisticated and frankly irritating accent and opinion on the world.

Ed Miliband has recently announced he will lower tuition fees to, if I am correct, £6,000 a year if he is voted in. This is probably a way for him to get younger voters to vote for him as everyone else has given up. Furthermore, he is willing to make these changes DESPITE last year having one of the highest recorded amounts of applications for university study. I can't see the logic in making this change if the money is not deterring students to going to university. He claims he didn't have that debt when he finished his degree and we shouldn't either... But to be honest Ed, you didn't have to worry so much about the money when you came out.

I do believe lowering tuition fees is a good idea if  the current fees raise a real question on the possibility of someone going to uni. It is clearly not doing that at the moment and to be honest if you have gone to any student finance talk, you will be aware that it does not cripple you when you start working and that paying back is doable.

I am not someone who has a wealthy background and has no money worries whatsoever. The idea of paying £££'s back when I am older is a horrible thought but I knew that was going to happen when I was applying to study. It is easy to moan and say 'we shouldn't have to pay'. That is right, but you don't have to go to uni to get a decent paid job. Going to uni is a sacrifice and a risk but it is one I have always been willing to take. And if it means that I have to pay back a fraction of my salary when I'm older so that universities can improve now then so be it. If putting yourself in debt is such a big problem then don't go to uni, simple as that. If you are at uni now and moaning then question how your university is funded and where the money comes from to pay for the academic professionals. Nothing is free in the world and if I am to spend a lot of money on something, my education isn't a bad investment, especially when I haven't had to pay a penny until uni.

Tomorrow by the side, yesterday over the road

In a moment of what seemed just like a usual day, she stood there next the tree next to the road. The tree was large, huge in fact, and its roots had distorted the concrete beneath her. Its very source of life had destroyed the concrete and made all man made structures look weak and pointless. Yet she stood there with her arm out with a small boy holding it. The boy epitomised the term ignorance is bliss. He looked up at the big tree and was in awe of its size, not knowing what damage had been done beneath. The branches looked alive in the wind and though bear with the season it looked more human than it had in any month of any year. He just looked and began to feel confused to whether the tree was more alive than the woman he was with for she had no expression and was motionless. Her stance was regular. She held the boy's hand in one and the pushchair in the other. Her face was terrible. It wreaked of misery yet it looked plain with no expression. It was as if the tears of previous days had scarred her face with terminal sadness.

She didn't look at the boy at all. She didn't look ahead at the man approaching her. She just looked over the road. She was still and made no body movement or change of facial expression. She was fixated on the building that was across the road. The building had no natural beauty whatsoever. It was just a plain building but it was what was inside the building that trapped her. She looked at the large pieces of stone with carvings that were behind the buildings large and revealing windows. The carvings said 'forever loved' or 'a wonderful husband, father and brother'. The words, though sympathetic, burnt her. Every letter was as bad as the next only because it had relevance to her current situation. She knew one of these stones would be squeezed in the earth in the coming days, but she didn't believe it was the correct way to say goodbye. She believed that something as cold and bleak as stone was disgustingly ironic for its purpose. And though she would constantly change the flowers and make sure some life was there, people would be more interested on what was said on that stone.

The man walking down the road was now very close to her. It was only when he was a few feet away she sort of snapped back into reality and said to the boy 'look at how big this tree is'. The boy was happy she had the same opinion as him and now they both went to the tree to see how hard its bark was. She showed enthusiasm for the boy and he was loving it with questions on how old it could be. She simply replied 'very old' or 'older than me', this made the boy chuckle and she would tap him on the back of the head because of his playful cheekiness.

They stayed by the tree for a couple of minutes and carried on up the road with the boy in one hand and the pushchair in the other. She would keep talking to the boy to keep him amused but the boy was too young to understand the pain behind her kind words. How when he spoke she would barely listen with her mind elsewhere. Her mouth would smile to him but her eyes would scream for yesterday to be back.