University; 3 years well spent!

Oh, bugger!

Without any awareness of time ticking away in the background of the student bar, the rugby field or the library, 3 years of brilliant university life has come to an abrupt and shocking end.

I remember being accepted into uni with the teary-eyed parents ringing up all family members, expressing their delight that their eldest had made it into higher education.

I remember on the first day saying hello to some bloke in halls of residence within an hour of moving in, trying to understand his peculiar accent which I soon discovered to be of the Mancunian race.

I remember when I first met a peculiar looking bloke wearing a YOLO t-shirt, thinking he was probably a bit 'off'. Turns out he was a bit odd but he turned out to be one of my best mates later on.

I remember meeting another individual who had an accent closer to Klingon than English. She tried explaining where we were going to venture out to later on that evening but I had to get someone else to translate. It turned out she was from Barnsley, or in her tongue Barrrnslaaaay, and she also turned out to be one of my best mates later on.


And of course there were others too who if I have not mentioned in the post, don't despair, you know who you are! I haven't forgotten about you; The Dickhead of Donny, The Girlfriend Befriender, The Gear but No Idea Pilot, M-Forehead, Irish Matt, Cahomeh, Billy No-Nickname, Chinese Sam, Ronnie, Dickhead of Donny's carer, and Burger N..., actually, we'll leave that one.

But now, I'm sat in a coffee shop in Brighton, a million miles away from my beloved dump of a city, Coventry. The sun's out, I'm drinking perhaps the best latte on the planet, I'm with my mates from back home, but still I feel this knot in my stomach.

It's a reminder that no matter how much I try, those three years will never come back.

It feels like that no matter how hot this summer becomes, no matter how good my yet-to-get job will become, the delight of university will never be there once more.

For any of you wondering what university is or what it can be, take this one sentence summary below as a good guide:

It's where you discover people you'd never usually meet, learn things more than just academic, grow up quicker than any other time in your life, and all while drifting between hangovers, deadlines, and making £20 pay for a week's food and a night out. 

All in all, it's bloody brilliant and I feel as if I'm mourning its passing.

I would do anything to go back to my first night out, jumping up and down at the price of jager bombs; 2 for £5. I would do anything to go back to my first rugby social which, as far as I know, ended up with myself acting like a right tit, trying to impress a load of older rugby lads. I would do anything to go back to meeting my girlfriend in a club on a Saturday night which, if you don't know already, you never do as student. You never socialise with the locals of your student city, they won't like you and you probably won't like them.

To be honest, university is like making an elastic-band ball. It will start off as something exciting and easy to make. Each band will go on as quickly as the seconds go by. But slowly, as second and third year comes around, the ball will get bigger and more difficult to make. Each band will need more stretching and when you're near the end of university and finishing of your dissertation, you feel like your bands will snap. But they won't and you'll finish uni with a ball created by thousands of memories, some smaller than others but all as important as each other.

I guess what I'm saying is that if you're a first year or even a second year, just appreciate every second you have in that environment. Don't regret anything you do and work bloody hard. Appreciate it's not forever and that you won't be living with those group of mates for very long.

Go to university with the highest hopes and you'll leave it knowing those hopes weren't high enough.

And to all the people who I became mates with during university, thank you. It was bloody brilliant!

Posh Boy x

Junior doctors' strike; for all the right reasons.

We're often told that in order to express a point or to make a stand, it has to be done so peacefully and respectively. That if we have any hope of having our 'voices' heard, it has to be done in accordance with the law.

And of course, this is absolutely correct.

However, regardless of the numerous junior doctors strikes, nothing seems to be changing. 

I have not read the 80 pages or so that outlines the new contracts for junior doctors. I cannot possibly empathise with those who have studied medicine and beyond for approximately 15 years, simply because I've only studied for 3. I, like the most of us can, however, read and listen to the so obviously desperate pleas from those who are affected by Jeremy Hunt's proposed terms of a 7 day NHS. 

First of all, was the NHS not a 7 day service anyway? 

I am yet to hear of somebody having a heart attack, a stroke, a broken arm, or whatever else you can come up with and turn up to A&E for someone to go, 'sorry, it's the weekend'. 

It feels to me that Jeremy Hunt is looking to save money where it cannot be saved. He's trying to force some of the hardest working individuals in this country to work more hours and for less. 

I appreciate that the junior doctors have said that they are not striking because of money, and I believe them, but my word! If I had studied for as long as they had and worked as hard as they had, I bloody well would! Nobody should go into a profession with the sole reason of doing that work being for the money, especially when duty of care is so strong within it. But this isn't to say they shouldn't be paid a respectful wage for it too. 

For those of you who are confused to why junior doctors are striking, here's a very brief outline of why (and remember, this is from an onlooker of it, not an expert):

There's this new contract, right? And it's stating that junior doctors will have to work ludicrous hours for less money. The Health Secretary, Jeremy Hunt (be careful not to misspell his second name, or do, it'd be more accurate) is claiming there has to be more work done so that people don't become more vulnerable at weekends when less doctors are working. This is because statistics show that you're more likely to die at the weekends due to lack of staff. So, Jeremy Hunt (don't be afraid to misspell his name, actually) is trying to stretch resources which are about as flexible as glass without allowing them to have any give. Instead of investing into the NHS, he's trying to bend it without realising that it won't bend, but snap. 

Got it?

So, that's the reason why junior doctors have been striking. They're terrified of the prospect of being forced to work so much that their concentration could alter their decision making.

You've worked tired, right? You know how hard it can be to focus? Well imagine being a doctor and having to make a decision that could help someone fighting death survive. The stakes are so high that it's unbelievable that we're even debating it at all! 

Jeremy Hunt, to me, is so blind of the profession he is secretary of. He has never been a doctor. He has never been forced to work hours that would make the day and night merge into one big ball of confusion. He has never had to work as hard, physically and mentally, as these poor men and women. 

He's had some of the worst public opinion I've ever seen in politics, and that's saying something!

His arrogant stubbornness makes my blood boil. 

He claims to have tried to negotiate but makes it sound as if the unions are like school children, throwing their toys out of the pram and getting on a right strop. 

How he can possibly think this is a good way forward is beyond me. 

Junior doctors, please strike when you feel the need to. 

The NHS will not fail to help you if you are ill during this strike. 

The NHS will not fail with the incredible people working there.

The NHS will fail with Jeremy Hunt holding the reigns. 

Jeremy Hunt is just an individual who is lucky enough that the QWERTY keyboard doesn't accidentally misspell his name; or have I mentioned that already?

The Midnight Library

4 hours.

It's been 4 hours since I planted my arse down on my seat with a coffee, a can of energy drink, and a bag of Maoams to keep me company.

However, my company has diminished into nothing and I sit here with a sugar-high close to supersonic, a laptop screen glaring at me like a disapproving mother, and a swarm of others around me either eating sweets, drinking drinks never meant to be good for mind or body, and different forms of procrastination happening as if it were a trendy pastime that definitely wasn't bad for late night studies.

I've seen one guy read the ingredients of his sweets like it was the bible and required the same amount of attention and time. I've seen guy walk around the library floor so much that he's completed a marathon, twice. And I've seen a girl watch about 10 videos of people getting their backs cracked on YouTube.

Me? Well I'm typing this, telling myself that it's still writing and that writing is good. Not the right kind, granted. But writing nonetheless, meaning it's OK to do and better than dropping my head onto the table, which someone sat next to me has done right now, quite hard too. It was more of a headbut to the table than a pitiful fall.

We're all 3rd years, all doing dissertations, and all sat here looking bleakly at our work knowing that it's single handedly the most time consuming thing we've done since waiting to be born.You can tell we're all third years by the lack of joy in our eyes, like energy saving lightbulbs that haven't quite warmed up and just give off a light about as powerful as a fart is to wind. Second years are at home, in bed, with the slight pressure of non-important coursework drifting into thought then pissing off. First years are out, getting drunk whilst thinking how unlucky it must be to be a third year, not realising that this torment will haunt them one day.

It's almost midnight and still the library is pretty full of burners of the midnight oil who lack a match to get the sodding fire going. There is a silence so empty that a blind person would have thought he'd died and gone to hell. The occasional keyboard being typed can be heard and the odd crack of bone on table as, like my friend here has just done for a second time, realised that his motivation has officially left his body and that a bruised forehead will offer more joy than trying to do work.

Books are open but only read by the yellowy, piss-coloured shade given off by the lights above. The only signs of life are from the occasional staff member who walks around telling students to be more silent than silence and to not type too hard on their touchscreen smartphones for risk of waking up the realisation that their job is to tell people to be quiet.

It feels to me like a room filled with intelligence but lacks any sort of application.

We are all educated and specialists in some form of thought or action.

We are all capable of finishing the work within a few hours.

We should all be in bed.

But we're not, we're here trying to get blood from a stone. A stone that goes by the name of disso.

Oh, table-butter's just delivered his latest abuse to the table. This time he landed on his nose and not his forehead.

Here comes the man to tell him to shut up.

What a time to be alive.

David Cameron's taxes; not worthy of #CameronResign.

If you haven't been on Twitter for a few days or not a user of the social media platform, let me fill you in about what #CameronResign was and is, even though it should be glaringly obvious.

After the Panama Papers leak there was evidence that David Cameron's father, Ian, had involvement in offshore accounts; meaning he was avoiding tax. Not evading tax, which is illegal, but avoiding which is legal. Please note the difference.

It was then discovered that he inherited from his father, who died in 2010, £300,000, £25,000 short of paying inheritance tax

In 2011, a year after his father's death, David Cameron's mother, Mary, 'gifted' David two separate instalments of £100,000.

This extra £200,000 was then deemed by the public as part of the possible inheritance from his father and only given to him after as a 'gift' so that he avoided, not evaded remember, paying an estimated £80,000 in inheritance tax.

Follow it all so far?

So, in essence, Cameron inherited a lot of money and by using a very simple method evaded paying a huge amount of tax for it.

Cameron has been massively against these 'loopholes' and has quite vocally stated that the UK should crackdown on those who are avoiding tax. It was because of his previous statements that some felt he should step down as PM.

Now, if you're not so aware of how hashtags work, for them to 'trend' there has to be a high amount of users using them and indeed there was a LOT of people tweeting #ResignCameron.

However, the vast majority of people using this hashtag were writing that Cameron should resign because he's avoided tax, or from the ignorant few, illegally not paid tax.

Cameron had/has done nothing illegal. He had simply invested well and made sure that he made the most money he could.

Should he have declared all the money as one and paid the subsequent tax with it?

Of course he should have but honestly, if you were in his position, would have you?

Let's say your mother or father pass away and you find a way to make sure you get all of the inheritance which is simple enough to do and not illegal, this being if the inheritance is over £325,000 and thus qualifying you to pay inheritance tax. Would you honestly say, "no, make sure we put it all together and pay £60,000 in tax, rather than having it for ourselves" ?

If you would then good, great, brilliant! You have a morally strong personality.

But Cameron, doing what I think the majority of us would do, should resign?

Oh, come on!

You have cooperations such as Apple, Starbucks, Google etc. avoiding billions of pounds of tax. However, you still use them at free will, paying into them and sipping your coffee without batting an eyelid. One man, however, avoids paying inheritance tax and he's the devil? To be honest, you most likely have friends or even family who don't pay income tax. Would you react in the same way?

Cameron came out and published his tax details and revealed that in 2014/15 alone he paid almost £76,000 in tax. He was the first MP to do so and, to people's disappointment, proved he'd done nothing illegal.

I worry that people hate Cameron simply because he's rich and had a wealthy upbringing. That's not a reason to dislike someone. Some people are born into better conditions than others. It's unlucky for us who have to worry about money and constantly think about when the next payday is coming but it's the way the world works unfortunately.

If you are someone who genuinely thinks Cameron should resign because he acted upon principles that he has criticised previously, then OK. I personally think it's a bit of a light reason to resign, but OK.

In my eyes too many were upset that he had that much money in the first place and were simply jealous of his position and wealth.

You can't have a go at someone for being rich.

You can't have a go at someone for trying to expand the amount of money they have.

David  Cameron can be a tosser at the best of times but this whole fiasco has not been one of them. He simply did what the majority of us would have done.

Abortion; let women have the control they deserve!

Abortion is one of the most controversial subject matters than can come up in any discussion, debate or chat in the pub, though the latter is very unlikely. It's one of those topics where people can come across as overly harsh or too relaxed.

Recently Donald Trump has come out stating that he is 'pro-life', meaning that if he were to become President of the United States, he would push to make abortion illegal. He went further onto say that if a woman were to get an abortion in a country whereby it was illegal, it would justifiable to punish them further. He has since redrawn his comments after a huge backlash from the public.

For Mr. Trump to take back his comments it means that he was under huge, and I mean gargantuan, pressure. He's not one to go back on his opinions or comments. It does seem, however, that his latest controversy has gone over the line, a line he has redrawn so many times he could be called an artist.

So, let's think about this for a second.

Abortion.

I think first and foremost what needs to be made absolutely clear is that a guy, regardless of how educated, established, morally respected or powerful he is, can not, and I emphasise the not, decide on whether a woman should or should not have an abortion.

It would be like telling an artist to not paint, a writer to not write, a musician to not play an instrument. The biological hardwiring of a female is to have a child, this also means that it's their choice not to.

Men don't know what happens to a woman's mind when she gets pregnant. We even don't know what's happening with periods. In fact, tell a guy you're on your period and he will probably go 'urgh', not out of disrespect but out of ignorance.

The idea that Mr. Trump thinks that he out of all people can determine the right of a female's choice to have an abortion is, to put it lightly, grossly inconsiderate and vile.

I'm not saying you can't have an opinion on the matter. By all means do and express that opinion as much as you like. Just consider that just because you think you are right, that does not mean someone with opposite views is wrong.

Personally, I think it is wrong to make abortion illegal. Simply because the woman supplying the foetus with life, if you consider it 'life', has every right to do what they want with their body if it's only affecting their body.

Whether you think it's morally right or wrong, religiously correct or not, is, in my eyes, not important.

No abortion, regardless of the individual, is a decision that is taken lightly and certainly not gone through with ease.

It's not as simple as going to the doctor and saying, "take this out, please".

There are a some things in life which I think are in need of control with legislation. There are also situations where the individual, whether male or female, has to make the decision for themselves.

We are evermore becoming a society where we tell people to do one thing or another. It's worrying but something we are becoming accustomed to.

People need to allow others to make their own decisions, regardless of what you want them to do based on your moral viewpoint or opinion.

If a woman wishes to keep a foetus inside her then that's great, regardless of age and situation.

If they don't then that's fine. Whether I think it to be right or wrong in that situation shouldn't be forced upon someone else's decision.

Your body is the only thing that will only ever be yours and be under your control, excluding diseases that is. Keep it that way otherwise we'll literally be under the control of an authority that will neither understand or ever see you.

Voted Tory; a mistake but not a life sentence.

Let's be honest, as soon as you approach politics people usually either go into their shell or come out all guns blazing, opinion ready and up for a debate till the death.

It's a subject that can either lead to a healthy discussion or a genuine, and in my eyes completely wrong, judgement. Individuals will very quickly presume that depending on whether you voted one way or another, you're either anti-poor and pro caviar feasting or haters of war, regardless of motive, benefit eaters, and tree hugging enthusiasts.

Am I exaggerating a bit?

Well, yes, of course I bloody am but the underlying message is ghastly true. Regardless of who you are, if you voted on either side of the questionable left or right line, you are put into the same bracket as everyone else who has.

Don't believe me? Well here's an example, a story from my own experience.

Last week I went out for a few pints before leaving uni for easter. I found myself in the last pub of the night, this one closing at an hour too late for justifiable alcohol consumption and was filled with people we will simply brand as inappropriate for daylight in their state of intoxication. I was with a mate from my house and because we saw no spare tables, we asked politely if we could sit with two girls and a bloke who had a couple of spare seats to their table. The three of them were Geordies, or from Newcastle if you'd like the more geographic term, around their 30s if you're curious. We sat, we drank, we spoke and were, for the most of it, enjoying each other's company. Up until, somehow, something came up about current affairs and the opinions of politicians came up with it. This lead onto what our views were and I, idiotically and not knowing I was dangling a huge turd over a bigger fan, stated, 'I presume you're labour being from your part of the country'. Two of the three politely said 'aye man'. One of the two girls, however, replied with a venomous 'you're not a Tory are you?' I responded with a simple, 'well I voted Tory, I wouldn't say that would mean I am a Tory'. It's as if with my vote I was branded with a mark meaning I was only ever one political ideology for the rest of my life, like a cow with a fat Conservative Tree printed of my arse. What followed was, to put it simply, a barrage of how I single handedly ruined the country and was responsible for the closure of mines 15 years before my birth, was the man who stripped individuals on the other side of the country of their homes and welfare, and all round a 'top twat'- this not being a new title and gave me a sense of deja vu. I gave my viewpoint back stating I voted for what I thought was best at the time but had some regrets now. She continued to shout and get teary eyed while I, innocently I promise, sat back and listened. It was only when she claimed that Margaret Thatcher was a murderous cow that I said goodnight and left, apologising for causing such offence in my honesty.

I'm not saying everyone is like this! Just an ignorant few which in society, sadly, doesn't seem to be so few.

So, what's my point?

Well, beside the point that branding someone with one political ideology just because they voted on, let's face it, one of two sides, is absolutely and disgustingly wrong, it did make me think of my vote last summer.

Do I regret it?

I guess I do.

Being from where I am, a Conservative seat was almost guaranteed. In fact I've heard locals from my area state they'd move out the constituency if it was anything but Tory; they said this as they smoked their pipe and tipped their butler for bringing them their overdue cup of Earl Poshy Washy tea.

However, as the Junior Doctors' strikes still linger around in one form or another, the teachers come out screaming that forcing every school to become an Academy is a failure of the education system, the Chancellor's budget is ripped apart for having more holes in it than a poor man's socks, and the two buddies from Eaton, Mr. Cameron and Mr. Fuzzyhead Johnson, argue over to stay in or out of Europe, I do begin to question whether, regardless of their manifesto, I have contributed in some way to bringing in a bunch of socially obsolete twats who, regardless of endless petitions and strikes, are inadequate to listening to the very real issues that are bombarding very real people.

Now, I'm not here to say that if you voted one way or another that means you're right or wrong. I firmly believe people vote with the context of their situation strongly in their ticking hand. That means it's hard to argue against someone's vote when you don't know the reasons behind their vote and the background they have which contributed to it.

What I'm saying is that it's OK to sit back and think, 'am I one or another?'

People say that sitting on the fence is wrong and that you should pick a side and get behind it.

I think this is complete BS.

I voted Tory because I agreed with some of their points last summer. I didn't vote Labour because I didn't agree with some of their points and couldn't imagine Ed Miliband being our leader.

Now I'm seeing that perhaps I was little naive and that maybe I didn't 'read between the lines'. But this isn't to say I'm ashamed of what I did in my first eligible general election vote. I've just learnt from it. I could very well, in the future, vote Tory again.

Don't brand someone because they voted for one way or another. It's not a club your joining. Simply the execution of our right to vote.

I voted Tory and regret it but this isn't to say that I wouldn't do it at some other point in the future.

The truth behind the dissertation.

DISSERTATION.

A word all university students greet with a grimace, a tear or another pint to fog over the idea that they all, at some point, will need to endure its torturous ways.

But for all you 'non-students', or even first years who might not be aware of what it is, here's a brief explanation. 

A dissertation is, in essence, a study you carry out in order to discover something new or develop an idea further within a certain discipline. 

For example, it could be looking into why a certain drug could be used to treat x as well as y. It could be a study into why a certain equation can be used to discover something different than to what it was being used for before. It could be why a new piece for an engine could reduce pollution.

It could be literally anything, as long as it's relevant to your field and degree and is looking to do something slightly original. 

My dissertation title is 'How to create a mad man. A Cognitive Stylistic Analysis of No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy' - sounds fancy right?

Well, it isn't really. The gibberish in the title is simply saying that I'm using certain theories to look at how language within a certain novel can be used to create an antagonist who is either unique or 'mad'. The reason why it sounds more complicated is explained below.

The first thing you will realise about dissertations is that they sound a lot more sophisticated than they actually are - this being if you're someone who has read academia before and not completely new to an academic field. 

When you have a lecture about writing a dissertation, the first thing they will throw at you is example titles, simply to give you a little idea of how they can sound.

When you first read the titles you immediately think you're well out of your depth at uni and that you have no idea how you could possibly create a title that could sound anywhere near as sophisticated and mind-meltingly confusing.

Well, it turns out you can and quite easily too. Don't be intimidated by what others have done when you won't be doing what they did, this being the whole point of the project. 

The title is all yours and you can be as creative as you like with it. As long as it gives a brief overview to what it is about, then it will be fine. The title isn't the important bit remember!

The second thing you will realise is that you will have learnt so many theories from all sorts of fields, for example I've done literature, language, and creative writing modules, and that you need to pick just one.

It feels like when someone says give me the name of any animal and for a second you go 'err ermm what?' But in this case it's much, much worse. 

Some people will know exactly what they want to do but the majority will be completely terrified at the thought of picking ONE specific field when they've done more than they'd like to remember. 

My tip for this is to simply pick a subject or area of study you've done well at before. If you're better at doing one thing more than another, you will probably find you'll enjoy it more or at least do better at it. 

The third thing I've come to realise is that dissertations are very very independent projects.

Yes, you'll have a supervisor who will assist you in the process but really they will expect you to not need them too much. You will have by this time done 2 or maybe 3 years of study prior to your final year dissertation. You will have by this time understood how to find books, journals, and articles that are relevant to your field. You will know how to correctly reference them. You will know how to write up an academic essay. And you will know how to apply the theory or idea that you're working on to some level. 

The whole idea of a dissertation is to use up the three years of studying you've done and apply it to your maximum capability. That means sitting down on your lonesome in a library with nothing but a pen, paper and numerous books and articles to give you company.

The final and most important thing I've realised about dissertations is that regardless to what I've said prior, it really isn't as bad as you initially think it is.

University is full of work and essays and tasks and whatever they can cumber up to be a pain in the arse. But in the end a dissertation is just a double, maybe triple sized piece of coursework - this being that most dissertations are 10,000 words but this can vary depending on course. 

I'm used to doing 3,500 word essays for my lecturers. Granted they're not the most enjoyable pastimes but this isn't to say they're not doable. 

Before you actually embark on your project you will probably have this idea that a dissertation is a gargantuan project that will require 3 hours of solid work every night for about 6 months. 

This is not true.

To be absolutely honest, I could do my dissertation to a very average quality in about 3 10 hour days of work. 

Obviously I'm not going to do that and will do a few hours every few days to just keep eating away at the workload. 

This idea that dissertations are impossibly difficult projects that will take over your life is simply not true. Yes, they will take over your life for a few hours every few days but so do other things. 

Don't fear the dissertation. You will be the one who creates it and the one who will develop it.

It's the most controlled piece of work you'll ever do. 

Just make sure you do the work and not leave the whole thing for a week prior!

Do that and you could be well and truly f.....

Not another Je Suis...

This morning I woke up feeling relatively worried about the day. I had a script to redraft, a recording of the script to do with no actors to do the acting, dissertation work to do, a 9am lecture, and a literature workshop which was going to be relatively difficult to get through without being wrong at some point.

But at around 8:30am, every a worry I had, every concern or stress I felt lingering in my stomach evaporated into nothing as a wave of dread, fear and sadness put my my worries into context.

At 8:30am I saw the news that Brussels had been attacked by terrorists. NOT by refugees but spineless, cowardly, delusional terrorists. It left me feeling deflated that it had happened again and that so many people's lives had been ripped apart, simply because they were living their everyday routine.

Yet again, the first words on many people's lips are of hatred and revenge, fury and death.

People seem to forget that at the heart of this people have died. That human beings wanting to get on a plane or a train have been murdered and that now, even as you read this, families are still unaware if their loved ones are coming home or not. Mums, dads, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, girlfriends, boyfriends, husbands, and wives will be at home, frantically trying to get hold of someone that they believe might have been affected by or near the attacks. Yet they can't get through so they excruciatingly wait to get a phone call from them. A wait that could last an eternity.

Today give sympathy, revenge and hatred can wait for tomorrow.

Katie Hopkins tweeted earlier today that it was the country's allowance of refugees that had caused the attacks.

Regardless of what you think of the columnist and personality, this was a bitter, ignorant and insensitive remark. Branding all refugees under this huge deadly brush will not help solve the problem. It will simply push readers to forget that refugees are forced out of their home nation because of conflict. Terrorist are not the same as refugees. Terrorists are bastards who go out their way to instil fear and death amongst the world. Refugees are victims of death and fear.

Closing the borders to refugees and migrants won't stop terrorists blowing up airports. To be honest, I don't know what can be done to stop their ignorant hate. All I know is that throwing at hate at them will be putting fuel onto the fire.

My feelings right now are not of hate but simply of sadness.

If you wish to blame the events on something, blame it on the INDIVIDUALS.

I've said it a million bloody times that extremism is not acted out by muslims or refugees but of INDIVIDUALS who wish to spill blood.

Whether it's in the name of Allah, God, the Pope or the fucking Tooth Fairy, don't be so naive to blame a single entity. Killing is not a natural, humane action that the human being wishes to do in order to make a point. If it was none of us would be alive now.

If you are to do anything right now, don't go out of your way to tarnish everyone under the same brush.

Recognise that though they might claim to act out of religion, they are motivated by a delusional, brain-washing ideology, thrown upon vulnerable uneducated individuals.

Feel sympathy now, save hatred for tomorrow.

Appreciating the necessity of not caring.

Throughout your younger years of life you truly obsess over the opinions over others. You wish to fulfil a certain criteria that perhaps makes you acceptable within school or a community.

But what I'm learning at the age of 21 is that who really cares about what others think?

I know, I know!

This sounds like the corny kind of post that an American hipster might post about living life how you want and not conforming to the restraints of society.

But hear me out.... or don't if you are beyond my opinion and point of view.

Writing.

For those of you who are not aware, writing is what I love to do and want to do as I get older.

What form?

Well any form really. I'm currently finishing up a novel of 80,000 words which I'm co-writing. I've written a short play. I've adapted this into a radio drama. I've written numerous short stories. I've written the first act of my own feature film screenplay. I've written well over 25 newspaper columns for the Croydon Advertiser paper expressing views about Crystal Palace FC. And blogs, if you weren't aware.

So yeah, I've been pretty busy and attempted to communicate through different 'arts' of writing.

But for me to actually post them out on social media and state 'I like writing!' took a while.

I was concerned about others thoughts about it.

A guy that likes to write? That's a bit gay isn't it? (Note: I'm not using gay as a term I deem acceptable, it's just one I've heard used about the idea of writing.)

Well if you think it's 'gay', and I know some of you reading this would have automatically thought this, then that's fine. But you are so, so wrong to think so.

It was only when I hit around 20-21 that I started to not be bothered about whether people knew I liked to express my thoughts through words, whether it be creative or not.

*Bloody hell, this is starting sound like a 'coming out' post. Kind of ironic ey?

There's a level of maturity that you get when begin to finish up uni- yeah even me!

There's the sort of understanding that regardless of what people say or think or do, just do whatever you like to do and not care about what others think about it.

In fact, when I've posted short stories on Facebook or Twitter etc. I've had people message me saying they really liked it. People I didn't even think would have read it. And to me, a guy who simply writes with the hope just one person reads it, let alone likes it, this is so uplifting.

So what am I trying to get at?

I guess to those of you who might wish to write, paint, sing, dance, shout, cry or whatever; just do it and let people know you're doing it.

People will think that it's odd or strange at first but you will find people who genuinely get what you mean.

If you are truly bothered about what people think then ask yourself why.

There's far bigger things to worry about then whether some dick who you never talk to anyway thinks it's strange.

Do that then all sorts of pressure will be released.

The bleak outlook of post-uni; a contradiction of a previous post.

I'm going to be honest with you, my previous blog post about being excited about leaving uni might have been a little too soon. As I approach the final few weeks of university I begin to feel an odd sense of being completely lost.

That when the curtain falls on three years of life dedicated to studying I will be placed in the raw, unforgiving terrain of reality. 

It feels as if university has been the safety net for me for the last five years of my life and that when that goes, even though  I will have a degree printed onto my CV, it will be just a few words expressing that I am educated in the subject of English. That really, I will be put into a world that I have quite a lack understanding of.

Why such a bleak outlook?

Well I've always felt quite confident that once university finishes I will have a job, a career, a direction. Yet I type this after months of job applications and still nothing has come my way and I'm about to be placed in a situation that I hate. 

A situation which lacks security, both financially and metaphorically. 

I'm not saying that money is why I'm typing this but I've always prided myself of being rather good with money and that no matter the situation I will have some sort of fund to fall back on.

And though I still have some sort of cushion, I'm horrified at the thought I'm having to look for money as if it were water in a desert. 

There's a common feeling amongst students that money is there and that it's a precious 'thing', like a living being that if you use it too much you will be guilty of murder and well and truly fucked. 

Now before people get all judgemental and say 'Matt, there's jobs out there' or 'you're not the first person to face failure or search for a job' or the really irritating one 'just do what you want, man. Be happy and live', consider this. 

You've been a student for three, maybe four years. You have friends back home who have solid jobs. They can afford rent without the needing of a student loan. They know that if a laptop breaks, a shoe gets a hole in it or even they have a week they can do something to sort it out. You, the student finishing uni, however, don't have that ability. No, you might have to simply go without a computer. You will just have to endure soggy feet. You might, even after a horrific week, might not be able to have a pint to drown the sorrows. 

For me money is a terrifying prospect. 

I cannot stand the thought that there is no line between how much is enough to live on comfortably or not. That from now on there is a constant struggle to get more money or outdo yourself. 

Like, how much should I be earning once I find a job?

I have friends saying that £20,000 per year is not enough for a uni graduate. On the other hand I have friends who have worked their arses off for 3 years just to get to that salary. I have friends who have jobs lined up paying £30,000 and I have friends who know they will have something to fall back on if all else fails. 

Me?

Well I don't really know. I've applied for at least 20 jobs in the last few months, all graduate roles and more will be applied for in the coming weeks. How many have I heard back from? Approximately 4, maybe 5 because for some reason it's OK for employers to not let you know if you've been unsuccessful. I'm lingering in some sort of balancing act, not being sure whether to jump onto one oppurtunity or wait for something better. At the moment I'm just taking up every chance I can get. 

At the moment though, there is a vile feeling that come mid-summer I could be still searching for a job, still questioning whether I really know what I'm doing.

Maybe it's arrogance that I'm demanding a job that I actually want and requires something from my degree. Or maybe it's the student's right to be that stubborn. A student who's worked hard for the job he/she desires, or at least a position that leads to that.