A Natural End

As you have probably noticed, this blog has become redundant and unused. After nearly 2 years to the day, and 436 posts, I think a natural end has come to this blog.

It's been a difficult few years, as I'm sure you will work out if you, for some reason, have enough spare time to read through the very up ups and the incredibly down downs that grace these pages. It used to serve as a tool to vent frustrations, whether it be incredibly honest accounts of friends' shortcomings, the frustration of working nights with that hideous human being, the occasional recollection of refereeing or just an outpouring of desperation at times. Now though, I feel it is best left to gather dust, as it does little but decrease the mood that means everything in my life at the moment.

The road to recovery is still long, with a great distance to travel. Thank you to all of you who have passed comments on to me, offering support and friendship, simply through reading the words in here that have sometimes sounded like a grumpy man complaining of the shortcomings of life. I'm very surprised how many people did read, given I sometimes felt like I used this tool as a way of talking to myself.

I'd like to leave you with a final thought. Everyone in life has their own troubles. Very few people can walk this Earth and claim to have the perfect recipe. There are lots of people out there, who have a darkness within them, unbeknown to the world outside and most of the time, these people have learnt to cover it up. These people are the world's best actors, and these people need not be judged by their actions from the eyes of people who have little idea how it feels. Depression can hit anyone, at any time, and it takes great courage to face up to it. I have started the long road to recovery. Anyone out there who is reading this, at any time, who feels as if the blackness is closing in on them, I am here if you need a consoling shoulder to cry on. Because I know what it feels like. And I don't want anyone to feel the same.

I know that's a sad way to end a thing of beauty, (if I say so myself), but it needed to be said. For the times in this blog have been dictated by the illness that lingers. It will be fixed, in time, but support is needed. Soon, two mittens will become one.

Wembley Way

Today was an exciting day, as I popped my England full international cherry, as we went to the "new" Wembley to watch their international friendly against World and European champions, Spain. How long can you get away with calling it "new" before it genuinely isnt? Or has that stage already passed and I'm late catching up?

The only matches in big stadia I had been to before all included long trips up north to my most visited city in England, Manchester, to watch The Red Devils. The buzz around matchdays, in and around the stadium, is a feeling you have to experience at some stage in your lifetime. The anticipation, the build-up, the excitement of a big matchday. The differences between it and simply sitting at home watching it on a cinema screen, are vast. At Old Trafford, there is a monotony of chippies, pubs and the like along Sir Matt Busby Way, which has become the walkway to the Theatre of Dreams. Today, we got out of the underground station, to be greeted by a huge arch in the distance and a long stretch of pathway. Wembley Way. All part of the experience, and walking up it sent a little tingle of presentiment down my spinal chord. Touts attempting to gain any "spare" tickets, food stands, with their inviting smells, to either side and merchandisers selling everything from scarves to hats to flags to poppies. Surrounded by proud Englishmen waving flags, and singing songs. It was only a friendly, but it was an occasion to savour none the less.

As we approached the stadium, finally, we found our entry point and went in. The temptation to buy a drink and something to eat was big, mainly because I had had very little lunch, but I had been warned about the prices. As I found out, when the man behind the counter had the cheek to charge Father Mitten £5 for a bottle of Carlsberg. My jaw nearly hit the ground. I didn't want to chuck my money away like that, so I went to the bookies and put a bet on. Oh ok, shut up! Looking at the odds, I went for a half-time score of 1-0 to England and a full-time score of 2-1 to Spain.. Ambitious? Yes. Were Spain going to kill us? Yes. Would we even score? I doubt it.

We made our way through to the main stadium, and was greeted with a sea of red seats and loud music. I was slightly underwhelmed if I'm honest with you. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it just looked like your average stadium, albeit it with 90,000 seats in. Still incredible, but lacking that punch that made it a fortress. A lot of waiting around then happened, before the best bit of the whole lot and the national anthems. The last time I had gone to an England match, (Under 21s), we had got there so late, that we missed the anthems. That was not going to happen again, and as we belted our way through a rendition of 'God Save The Queen', around 87,000 other Englishmen, I felt I had ticked one of life's boxes. It was highly eerie that we went straight from 87,000 singing voices to complete and utter silence however, as everyone graciously followed the minutes silence for our fallen heroes.

The game itself? As most of you will probably know, it wasn't a cracker. More like a game of 'Piggy in the Middle' starring Spain as the bullies and England as the boys chasing shadows. It would be interesting to see the stats actually, because I'm still not sure how we escaped with a 1-0 win. The goal itself wasn't incredible either, as I'm pretty sure my my dead goldfish of 10 years ago would of scored it. We were sat right behind that goal, about 5 rows back, so we were probably on TV! I'm used to it...

Still. A win's a win, even if it doesn't make us World Champions, and come the full time whistle, we filed out... Slowly... As we walked back down Wembley Way, with about 15,000 other football fans ahead of us, we thought it was going to be an incredible amount of time before we got home.. By this point, I could of literally eaten Red Rum, so I succumbed to the hideous prices and bought myself your average burger and chips plus a bottle of Ribena and a hot choc for Father Mitten, at the combined price of £12.90... These stands might aswell just take your wallet and physically empty it of all its contents. Then punch you in the face and call you a "muppet".

It didn't take as long as we thought it would. I hadn't even finished off my chips when I walked through the barrier in the underground station, and slowly but surely, we made our way home. It had been a good day, and despite the scandalous prices for food and drink, I'm glad I didn't spend TOO much money! And we had the Barmy Army behind us aswell!

Next week, I PLAN to begin preperation for my Met Day 1 Assessment Day, but whether it happens or not is a different story. Come Monday morning, I may actually feel like I'm employed. Tomorrow, I'm refereeing what I'm pretty sure will be an interesting match, before not doing a lot at all.

Cushty.

Turning That Leaf Over

You may have noticed a distinct lack of blog posts in recent times. Yes, some of this is down to a loss in inspiration for typing in here, but most of it is down to a change. A change that I reckon will do me more good than bad, and a change that will hopefully keep me in good stead for the times ahead, (rhyme!)

I've finally worked out that typing bad things in here does little to increase any bad stage that may trample it's way across my mind. It used to, but these days, it doesn't work that much. I find it much better to get out and about, even it is simply a walk to the shops or to town. Fresh air does you good, and as the air gets fresher as the darkness approaches, I find that is a more sensible and sure fire way of getting into good spirits.

What's happened recently? My initial application into the Metropoltan Police Special Constabulary has been accepted, meaning I move on to the next stage and the Day 1 Assessment. This happens on the 14th December, so I have plenty of time to prepare for it. I have a 'Team East' meeting on Monday at the Volunteer Centre, which, to be honest, I have no idea what it is. Nevertheless, I shall go down and see what it's all about. It must be better to get out of the house instead of staying in, flicking through the constant never ending TV channels, attempting in desperation to avoid Jeremy Kyle on ITV2.

In the world of refereeing, I was on the line this afternoon in a very one-sided Senior Trophy tie, which finished 9-1 to a rampant Crawley Green and tomorrow I'm in the middle of an Under 15 county cup tie, before the busy(ish) times of next week.

What does the future hold? Apart from the Met assessment, I'm off to Wembley with Father Mitten next Saturday for the England friendly against Spain and yesterday, a trip to Nottingham was confirmed with Billie, Beddoe and possibly Kettle! Makes a change from boring old Manchester hey... (joke Beddoe!)

As I say, this blog won't be updated with the horribly frequent nature it was before. I will write if something needs to be written, otherwise it's the turning of another new leaf. The amount of leaves I've "turned over" in the past couple of years is probably enough to de-leaf the local park. But given it's November, and the signs of anything bad seem a while away, things might just be different this time..

Phil Jupitus - The Clairvoyant

It's been a while since I last put anything in here, which is probably a good sign that I've been a bit busy recently. However, I feel too much has happened since Friday to document, so I shall give you a brief summary of the goings-on, before moving on to the main event!

On Friday, I left at roughly 10:30am for my 2pm presentation meeting at the Metropolitan Police Service Training HQ in Colindale, North London. It was a very good afternoon, with me meeting a couple of other potential candidates and learning a lot about the selection process and the stages to go through before becoming a fully-fledged member of the Special Constabulary. I even learned that, at a random stage throughout the training process, you will get sprayed in the face with CS Spray. Lovely. I got home at roughly 7pm, and despite being rather tired, we went out on the town. It was a pretty average night, with the only "highlight", (if you can call it that), was a rather long and irate justification from a man who looked more like he should belong in My Chemical Romance. His argument was how Robin Van Persie is the best striker in the world, and plays for the best team in the world, Arsenal. No.

Saturday was a bit of a non-event, as plans for a karaoke session blew up as people dropped out like flies. I was sort of expecting it to be honest, and even I was still a bit tired from the night before. I wouldn't have been able to give it 100%, and quite frankly, my amazing singing voice needs to be saved for a time with a bigger audience. Sunday was also a non-event, with the only highlight being correcting a horrific mistake from a losing manager on the laws of Association Football, before the pub quiz, and another session of, "Who Could Cheat The Best".

Which brings us to today. I had told CC that I would accompany him to a rather strange event happening in Milton Keynes. A mix of comedy, music and... clairvoyancy. A strange combination, I'm sure you'd agree, and despite me being possibly the biggest sceptic going, I went along with an open mind. Maybe these people were genuine? (Don't laugh). On the journey up there, we speculated as to what would happen, minorly excited at the prospect of the psychics getting it right. On arrival, we were greeted into the hall by a man who might have been half man, half beast and took a seat. We weren't expecting a bumper crowd of thousands, but were pleased to see roughly 20 people seated at small circular tables with a candle and a bowl full of crap advent calendar chocolate. The event started with a scary looking woman who offered to have our Tarot cards read, (to which we agreed), waited for her to go round other tables, before coming to us. In the meantime, we listened to a decent country singer, (despite her few hiccups), and the beginning of the main act, (which by the end of the night, was to be more entertaining than we expected).

After about 20 minutes, the time had come for our Tarot cards to be read. Me and CC both went into a side room, and chose a card for this scary looking woman to analyse. I chose the 'Authority' card, and listened as this woman vaguely skirted around some of the issues that had come up in my life, especially recently, but never really put her finger on the problem or possible solutions. I was neither impressed nor unimpressed by what she said, and chucked some money at an owl before leaving. Apparently it's superstitious? Whatever. We went back outside to the "main event" and started listening to the host, who would begin an "experiment".

He asked for 5 volunteers, so seeing as I was here to find out what it was about, I put myself forward. I went up to the front, along with 4 women. The host, (who was rather eccentric and... not funny throughout), said something along the lines of, "This young man is a lucky one, in a line full of ladies!" I didn't say anything, as I didn't know what to say, and then he said, "This is the point where you're going to tell me you're gay aren't you?"

I replied with, "Exactly that!" ... There was an awkward silence.

This experiment involved holding a pendulum out in front of you at arms length. If the pendulum started swaying, there was a spirit in the room, making it move. The only problem with this is, after about 10 minutes of holding a pendulum out at arms length, your arm starts to hurt and ache quite a lot. If your arm starts to hurt, it becomes more unsteady, so obviously the pendulum is going to move. The meer fact that they tried to prove that this fact of science was actually spirits, was the beginning of the end for me. I sat back down, and the host did another God awful "experiment" on a lady, that was so bad it made her walk out, before a break.

After the break, a chap called Martin Roberts, the clairvoyant, came on. Martin Roberts had crutches despite having the ability to walk perfectly fine. Martin Roberts is a carbon copy of Phil Jupitus. And Martin Roberts is the worst clairvoyant you can possibly imagine.

I have never been to an event even similar to this. I wasn't sure what to expect, but after witnessing this, I am now pretty sure that I will never be attending anything like this again. It wasn't boring. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was so bad and so obviously fake, that it slowly got more and more laughable before CC and myself were trying, (and failing), to hold back laughter. This man, Martin Roberts, claimed to hear a lot of voices and spirits in his head. The problem was, that every one of these people was either a woman, always 5ft 2, called either Liz, Edith or Emily. Or a man, always 5ft 11, who was called Bill, Bob or Mark, wore metal-rimmed glasses, smoked a pipe and was in the Army. Every single time. There was even your customary fake crying from a girl at the front, who was so obviously in on the whole thing, it was almost as if these people thought we were mental invalids.

Every now and again, the acts changed, as the country singer came back on, and the scary looking woman came on and did her Tarot Card thing on a member of the audience who was also in on the act. By the end of the night, both CC and I were convinced we were the only members of the audience who were not in on the scheme. By the time Martin Roberts had come back on, for his 3rd attempt at trying to connect to imaginary spirits, connected to the same members of the rigged audience, we had given up. CC was beginning to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, and this set me off. Time passed, and the same people were being dreamt up by this Loony Tune of a clairvoyant, before CC and I could take no more. We were both trying to tell the other to stop laughing as it was embarrassing, but we couldn't help ourselves. The turning point was CC predicting that the woman who the clairvoyant was "speaking to" was 5ft 2 and called Liz, and when Martin Roberts said exactly that, we burst out laughing to a point it was more embarrassing to stay than to get up and leave.

As we stepped outside, I could feel the tears of absolute joy streaming down my face. It was so bad, so outrageously stupid and fake, that it was quite possibly the funniest moment of my 2011. Even CC was crying with laughter, and despite telling ourselves we would stay for the midnight seance, we climbed into the car and drove off. God knows if we had stayed for the seance, we might have actually snapped in half through laughter. Either that or we'd have been kicked out.

On paper, tonight was a complete and utter failure. I could very easily have gone out into town, and enjoyed  a foam party whilst drinking lots of Jack Daniels. In reality though, despite it being astonishingly bad, it became one of the most enjoyable evenings I've had in a long time. The very fact it turned from a dodgy evening, and quite possibly a scam, into a scene of uncontrollable laughter and enjoyment was a recipe that cannot be forgotten.

Nigel Farage

I'll be honest, I haven't done a lot this week. After the fantastic weekend I experienced in Manchester, where we experienced new places, and gentlemen tried and failed with firework salesmanship, this week was never going to live up to it. In contrast, I haven't really put enough emphasis in trying to make things work for myself. Story of my life? I'm afraid so. Tomorrow is hopefully the beginning of another journey, and a journey I would like to be successful, but honestly? I'm not very certain it will work out. I'm afraid it's a recurring pattern, but it's the self-confidence and the confidence in my own ability that I seriously struggle with. I've tried looking for things to improve this side of me, but on a day when all you can see is dark skies and no light at the end of the tunnel, this is rather difficult.

However, this evening, I settled down in front of the TV, (as I have tried to escape the same humdrum of waking up and spending the day on the laptop), to watch 2 very different programs. I know. The meer fact that I think "variety" is changing from a laptop screen to a TV screen, shows the progress I'm making at the moment. However, I did take a trip to library earlier and came back out with Marcus Trescothick's autobiography. Anyway. First of all, I watched 'Celebrity Juice', which is, by far, the most outrageous "tele show on tele". Tonight's episode was a cracker, before turning over to BBC One to watch the rest of 'Question Time'.

You should all know the format. 5 politicians, on a panel with David Dimbelby, (or however you spell his name), take questions from an audience and debate the issues of the week. Most of the time, we are treated with a panel of one from each "mainstream" political party, who go about dodging questions and try and knock down the other political parties with facts and figures, along with a mad-cap far-left extremist and some randomer from the world of sport, literature, the arts or any other field that takes to the BBC's fancy. Usually, it's a show I would not bother with, as nothing gets debated properly, and no questions are actually answered. Unless, like tonight, Nigel Farage is on the panel.

Nigel Farage, is the person that most people would put in the, "mad-cap" category. The extreme views of this man are likened with the disgrace that is Nick Griffin, but in a non-racist capacity. In my opinion though, Nigel Farage is the greatest politician to have ever lived. Forget Churchill, or Blair, Farage is the only politician in my lifetime who actually answers questions. He doesn't hold back, and he is completely honest, even if it makes him or his party look bad, and it is this that I can hugely respect. He spends most of his time in Brussels, berating the European Parliament for being un-democratic, (of which it is), and telling the ministers of this un-elected council to stop telling us what to do. Because he is the polar opposite of what a politician should do, he is viewed as "extreme". But he is the best politician we've got, and after the sham that the Lib Dems thrust upon us after the last election, and the Tuition Fee fiasco, my vote may well go to UKIP!

Especially when I was listening to the rest of the panels views, Farage sounded like the only one who knew what he was doing. The no-hoper that Labour had sent along, Gloria De Piero, sounded more like a disgruntled Mum at a PTA meeting. They would have been better off sending Alessandro Del Piero. He probably would have more knowledge on British politics aswell... Iain Duncan-Smith, the former leader of the Conservatives, was slumped back in his chair, trying to avoid questions and generally not wanting to be there, Lord Fellowes just bellowed his way through nonsensical argument and the Lib Dem MP, Jo Swinson, tried to cover her growing nose as she tried to cover up the lies her party had produced in May last year. Farage spoke sense. And he is the only politician who does.

And then they wonder why people aren't interested in politics, and thus, have switched off halfway through this very blog post you're reading... Wakey wakey!

I suppose I should go to sleep. I have to get dressed up in a suit tomorrow to go and watch a few presentations on the Metropolitan Police Service Special Constabulary. To many of you, it may sound boring, but to me, it could well be the start of a new door opening. But then again, it could be a glass one and I could walk straight into it, face first. You just don't know.

Sensible Me

The tradition of eventful weekends in Manchester was just about kept alive this weekend, but for once, I was very much out of the ascendency as a certain Colin stepped up to the plate to let loose and bruise Manchester.

I was excited, as is usual, on the Friday as I set off for the long walk to Sainsbury's to meet Colin. No, I did not walk all the way to Manchester, as that would have been silly. It was a long old journey to Sainsbury's, passing a group of 12-year old weed smokers, that show the absolute worst of Bedford society. I was even re-directed by a randomer back to the gym, as she thought I was going to the gym with my huge bag. No love, I'm off to get wasted.

After waiting for an age for Colin to finish his shift and then get ready while I bought him a crate of Sol Campbell, we jumped in the car belonging to one of Colin's friends, and drove as quickly as possible to Milton Keynes station, where we were due to jump on the 6.50 train to Manchester Piccadilly. We made it just in time, sacrificing Colin's ankle along the way, and relaxed and spoke about what the upcoming weekend had to offer. Literally anything was on the cards, given the previous experiences in this wild and vibrant Northern city. We arrived fairly late on the Friday, which is standard procedure, and immediately got the ball rolling. Friday nights are traditionally "5th Av" nights, given the taste of music, but this time there was a special event on at a place called 'Avici White'. It sounded modern, and it was, and I was looking forward to it despite the £5 entry fee. Upon leaving, I was at a good rating on the drunken scale, and despite the taxi driver not knowing where he was going, we arrived in pretty good time and enjoyed a good night. Everyone got very drunk, (some more than others, with me at the bottom of the list). The highlights of the night were the huge relief of finding Billie's "stolen" camera and... we'll leave it at that. I think something a bit controversial happened, but seeing as I was well out of the way, it would be wrong of me to speculate! At the end of the night, (I think it was around 3.30am by this stage), I ushered everyone into a taxi and we made the long trip home. Beddoe's new house is a bit out of the way from his last, so every trip took a good 20-30 minutes. As we walked, (or stumbled), into the house, I settled down on one of the two sofas, discovering, to my delight, that they were infinitely more comfortable than the slabs of concrete and sponge at Beddoe's old house, and I think we talked for about an hour about nothing in particular, before falling asleep at 5am...

Some people awoke on Saturday morning, (or afternoon), with quite a hangover, but not me! It's always good when that happens, and I think the plan for the day was to travel another long journey to the Arndale to get some food, and do a bit of shopping before the agreed Nando's to line the stomach before another night of craziness.. I don't think anyone could be bothered with shopping. There were too many tired legs around to walk through the vastness that is the Arndale, so after we ate our variety of late lunches, we walked around a few shops then called it a day. We got back to Beddoe's at about 5 and decided on playing FIFA 12.

Now. Beddoe knows I simply cannot go through this blog post without mentioning this amazing moment. Despite being a Football Manager fanatic, when it comes to FIFA, I am quite possibly the worst player there is. I have not played on any sort of console for about 2 years, and no FIFA game since about 2006, where I snapped my FIFA 2005 disc in frustration at being useless. My reluctance to play at first subsided, as I chose Bayern Munich to face Beddoe's unbeatable United team, (not that they showed that in real life yesterday). I was not confident. I set out a 4-5-1 formation, (not that I was given a choice), and attempted to not embarrass myself. What happened though, was a 2-1 win for me that ended up in Beddoe being embarrassed at losing to a complete novice, and me, delighted with a maiden FIFA 12 win. I then followed this up with a win against Colin, by the same scoreline, with the same team, and I was an instant hit!

I was unable to add to my wins, as the time for Nando's had arrived. No need to go into detail here, as amazing chicken was had by all, and I claimed a free quarter chicken. Free chicken is nicer chicken.

As we headed back to the house, I let everyone know that I would be taking it easy in the upcoming night out. The destination of choice was 5th Avenue, a place where I lost my last liver and half of my stomach, and I promised everyone, (including myself), that there would not be a repeat. There wasn't a lot of time for pre-drinks as we got home, as more FIFA dominated proceedings, so with just a single vodka and orange inside me, we left the house to catch the night bus to the club to end all clubs.

I'm sure you've heard of this place. "5th Av" is 90% of the reason why Manchester nightclub goers end up in A&E. They sell double vodka red bulls at a stupid price, with shots at an even lower one, and the amount of vomit that ends up on the floor in this place is enough for the most hardened of people to gag. "5th Av" is the resting place of my former liver, and "5th Av" is a club that really should care more about how much alcohol they give to people. It was a naturally slow start to the night, with people still recovering from the night before and me, taking it easy, as promised. All of a sudden however, Colin decided to "go for it", ordering 2 double vod-bulls and putting them together to make a quadruple. Him and Chris both did it, and later on in the night, after Beddoe had had a lot aswell, me and Billie watched from the sides as Beddoe swayed around the dancefloor in his usual drunken demeanour whilst Colin pulled what was described by Chris, as a "water buffalo". It's not as if I wasn't drinking at all, after a fair few JD and cokes, I was in the massive kerfuffle of dancers on the biggest dancefloor in Northern England, dancing through classics from Oasis and Arctic Monkeys, (that seemed to please Colin...) For most of the night though, I accompanied Colin as he first went outside to try and coax randomers out of cigarettes, (when he doesn't smoke), and then claim to "trip out" upon one puff of a small fag-end that someone gave him. It was funny to watch, and embarrassing at the same time, and as we went back inside, the real fun started.

He had made straight for the first girl he saw. Unfortunately for him, and everyone around him, this girl wasn't exactly Cheryl Cole. The fact she ended up attempting to reject him for the best part of 90 minutes was even more embarrassing for the lad, but he never gave up. For the final moments of the night out, we had a dance to club classics, while shaking our heads at the apparent misfortune/luckiness of Colin's plight before forcing him to leave. I was fairly sober by this stage, and we boarded the busiest night bus ever to go home. It was a long old journey, made slightly funnier by some random old woman pulling Colin's trousers down, but as we got home, I felt incredibly tired, and after losing my 100% record, rather embarrassingly, to a heavily intoxicated, (and apparently blind) Mr.Beddoe, I made my way downstairs to my comfy sofa.

I could go on to talk about our trip to The Vic pub to watch the Manchester derby, but I think we'll leave it there. Beddoe's face at the time told a thousand words, as we watched United being pummelled and then thrown in the trash, surrounded by City fans, who were delerious.

The train home wasn't fun, cramped in the aisle surrounded by "football traffic", but it was a good weekend. I was pleased it went well, and both nights were good without any... hiccups. Colin stole the show, and I'm pleased he did, because if he didn't, I probably would of done! And we didn't want that did we!

Questions Answered

Very rarely is a discussion about weather that interesting. When a discussion about the weather sparks up in conversation, you know you're struggling. This evening however, I continued what I had begun watching last week, in the shape of Stephen Fry : Live At The Sydney Opera House.

It was filmed in 2010, and despite me not being close to the intelligence, the wit, the absolute genius of Stephen Fry, I do relate to him in some ways, not least the mental side of things. He is a well-known sufferer of bipolar disorder, however, unlike me, has officially been diagnosed with it. I would just like to make plain that I have only ever officially been diagnosed with depression, and nothing more. However, the research I have carried out myself leans heavily in favour of a disorder called Seasonal Affective Disorder, (ironically abbreviated to S.A.D), which has similar symptoms to disorders associated with depression, but they come much more heavily in the winter season. Almost a case of more quality, with less quantity.

However, Stephen Fry has bipolar disorder, which is the movement of mood between severe depression and suicidal mania all the way to the other end of the spectrum, and delerious happiness. The most extreme of bipolar sufferers can one day feel as if there is no light at the end of the tunnel, with only black times ahead, with the next day, feeling on cloud nine. I know this feeling, to an extent. I know how it feels to not have any hope for the future, and I can honestly say I've felt nothing worse. I'm fairly sure I will never feeling anything as bad, physical or emotional. On the up side, the happiness stages lead to inflicted people planning futures and throwing themselves into challenges, only thinking of a happy outcome at the end of it.

I'm waffling, as usual. Stephen Fry, in this simple conversation with Australian broadcaster Jennifer Byrne, spells out the highs and lows of what depression is. What it's like to have depression. It was amazing. And he used the weather to explain it.

When you are at your lowest low, it is like stepping outside to torrential rain. Something in your brain, everyone's brain, triggers to sadness and a miserable demeanour. You did not cause the rain, the weather makes up it's own mind. You cannot "walk off" the rain, and all of a sudden, it will be sunny. The two mistakes to make are 1) To deny it's raining, when it clearly is. You cannot deny something that is happening, and 2) That's it, my life is over. It's raining, therefore the Sun will never come out. It's the same with depression. When you are at your lowest, nothing seems possible. Life is black, your energy is horribly slow, there is no tomorrow. It is deadly painful. It is raining, and you think it will rain forever. But the fact of the matter is, the Sun will come out. It will. It has to. That is the thought you HAVE to keep in your head, during the darkest days, and even if it does seem impossible, and it seems like that thought isn't there, deep down, in your subconscious, it is. If it wasn't, I can assure you, the depression would have beaten me ages ago.

It is not a case of, "Snap out of it!" It is an illness, and an illness no one will understand unless you are unlucky enough to experience it yourself. I would like to try and make people understand it a bit more, as I get the impression that most people think it is a case of moping around in your own self-created misery. I will be the first to admit, that most of the problems I have experienced in the past few years have stemmed from issues I could have stopped. The problems I have now, I don't think are self-created. It has developed, and I deal with the subsequent highs and lows of it. This time last week, I was asleep, about to wake up to a vicious low that meant I ended up walking out of the house, and to sit on a park bench for hours. For ages, I sat and tried to think of the Sun coming out to disperse the torrential rain, but it was very hard. The Sun did come out eventually, and that is the thought I need to keep thinking. Sometimes it will be sunny, and sometimes it will rain. For this is life.

Another thing I listened to with great intent during this conversation was a quote from Oscar Wilde. It goes like this:

"If you never know what you want to be, if each day, you are unsure of who you are and what you know, you will never become anything. And that is your reward."

It is not a case of a simple clever quote, about not being stereotypical and going down a particular road. I will be honest and say, I am not too certain what it insinuates, but it is promising to see a quote with the phrase, "unsure of who you are and what you know", next to the simple word, "Reward". It's something I will be thinking about for a long time to come.

Stephen Fry, aswell as being a national treasure, involved with everything great about broadcasting, acting, comedy and writing aswell as presenting, is also a man that speaks great sense. He will obviously never read this, but I would like to thank him for making my mind so much clearer tonight. Questions that I thought would be left long unanswered, have been solved, thanks to a simple analogy and a quote, from the legend that is, Fry.

Top Drawer!

This weekend has been a good'un! I've got the feeling, as we have officially entered Monday morning, that I've just enjoyed a spectacular two days, and without anything to really do until the probable highs of next weekend, things just look good right now. How long this will last, I do not know, but I hope I have no more bad episodes of despair before the trip to Manchester next weekend. Experience tells me not to hype it up too much, as we all know the range of emotions that have been let loose in this city. This trip has the potential to be amazing, but also has the potential to be disastrous. I have experienced both.

But back to this weekend, and after rejecting a Friday night out due to considerable absenteeism, I got a relatively early night so I could make the most of Saturday. I say, "relatively early night", but what actually happened was that I went to bed at 9pm. I think that is practically unheard of these days. Even so, I still ended up waking up at 10am, and I was determined to try and make the most of it. There wasn't a lot to do however, until the afternoon, where I walked down to Mowsbury Park to watch some local football. On arrival, I saw Tiny refereeing a team who's kit looked as if it had been attacked with gunge. Upon seeing me, his eyes widened as if to say, "What the hell are you doing here?" It seemed I would have to tell my University story yet again, a story that I have become accustomed to telling. I walked around a bit, watching another cracker of a match that finished 4-4, before walking home via the shops to buy a lottery ticket and some much needed Dairy Milk. That lottery ticket ended up being aggressively thrown into the bin at 1am in the middle of the Town Centre. I'll get to that bit.

After a few hours of dossing, as I had started to get withdrawal symptoms from Football Manager, as I had been away from it for over an hour, me and Kettle decided that we were going to go to Nandos. Why not? Kettle was back for the weekend, I had more stamps to collect, and chicken was needed to be consumed by all. Abigail came along as well, and despite us sitting directly below the speakers, meaning we had to shout our conversation, a good time was had by all. It was at this point, at the end of the eating of succulent chicken, where the vibe changed. The motion was that we were going to Chameleon for, "a couple". Now. We all know what happens when you go to a bar for, "a couple". There is no need to describe the sequence of events that led to this, except for the fact I definitely had a "couple" of JD and cokes plus sharing a fishbowl full of vodka and Corky's, (otherwise known as "water"). We left Chameleon and went to the Barley Mow, to try and find Burkitt, until realising he didn't start until midnight. We did however win £5 on the quiz machine, thanks to our superior knowledge, and got in a round for free!

We then went to The Rose, a place that I have never been very fond of, but I saw a lot of people I knew in there, including none other than Sister Mitten who was enjoying a much-deserved night out after her hard working of late! I also met an old friend who I hadn't seen for years, another referee who is quite a bit older than me, and an old PE teacher from Mark Rutherford. Was a bit crazy, and by this stage, I was a little tipsy, so it was all good fun. Marriott then turned up, and we headed off to Elements. It was just your average, but good, night out, until something clicked.

I don't know what it was, but it's a feeling I am used to getting when a certain amount of alcohol kicks in. The feeling that you don't really care about the financial implications of buying alcohol. Because of this, I went to get more money out, came back, and ordered in 9 shots of Disaronno and shared them out between myself, Kettle and Marriott, (Abigail had disappeared by this stage!) What then happened, after a brief visit to Chunder Central from Marriott, was nothing short of a shot-fest. I opted out of the latter stages, as I didn't really want to catch a train to the Land of Chunder myself, but Kettle and Marriott just kept on going. It was an incredible sight. The following hour or so was spent screaming and dancing away through club classics on the dancefloor, before exhaustion caught up with us and we left.

For some reason, we didn't go home. We trekked across town once more to visit Burkitt in the Barley Mow. The only problem being at this stage, was that it was 3am. It was soon to close, and they weren't letting anyone else in. Burkitt came out to speak to us, and despite our best efforts, we never got in. We headed to the taxi rank, and got a cab home, (which Marriott kindly paid for... In fairness, he had no choice!) I stumbled in through the front door at .... Ridiculous o'clock.

I was fearful at this stage that I had gone too far once more. But, almost surprisingly, I felt no dizziness, didn't feel sick at all, and snuggled up in bed to go to sleep, as easily as you can say "Sweet Dreams". I had the alarm set to the modest hour of midday, in time for refereeing. Upon waking up in the morning, I had no signs of a hangover, (largely due to the insane amount of water I had when I got in the night before), and despite a slightly croaky voice, I left to referee an Under 17 tie. Mr.Wright had pointed out that I had jinxed myself just before I left, by stating I was yet to issue a red card for the season, (despite my small amount of games). I think we both knew that was about to change...

The game I experienced was incredible. The first half was fine, almost void of incident. Things changed at half-time however, when I cautioned a player for coming over and berating me for being useless at cutting out swearing on the pitch. He said something along the lines of, "You shouldn't be wearing that kit, with a Beds FA badge on, if you don't know the rules". That sentence itself just shows how ridiculous his reasoning was. I, as a referee, have little power to cut out swearing in general. Players are allowed to swear, (to a degree), but just not in an insulting or abusive manner at anyone else. Times have moved on from the "foul language" era of the 90s. Things kicked off from there, with the majority of decisions just happening to go in the favour of Team A*. Slowly but surely, Team B* got more and more wound up, until I awarded a penalty to Team A, and rightly so. Team B's keeper went ape shit. His words to me were words that no one in any walk of life would take without some sort of action being taken. Naturally, he earned himself a red card, and from then on, I was subjected to copious amounts of abuse from players, coaches and spectators of Team B. I was pleased to blow the full-time whistle, but also looking forward to the probable approaches from players and coaches alike.

I was right. Complaints here, abuse there, it was just amazing. I ended up just counting up the further misconduct reports out loud, until they went away. In the end, I submitted 3 more reports, but it could easily have been 6 or 7. Even walking home from the game, a player from Team B shouted out of his car at me as he drove past. No wonder grass-roots football has a shortage of referees when there are teams like that around.

It's also quite amazing that a character like mine can take the smallest bit of "banter" and think about it for hours on end, wondering whether or not it was personal, but I can have the 'Encyclopeadia of Abuse' thrown in my direction whilst refereeing, and brush it off as nothing. How strange.

This evening was spent in the company of Kettle as we attempted to do the impossible and win a pub quiz with 2 people. It was never going to happen, and with my dodgy hearing playing a factor in losing the answer to a particularly simple question, it was merely a case of "How embarrassing can we make this?" We ended up scoring a very, very... very mediocre 19. Oh well. We visited McDonalds for a trial of different things, included a spectacular "shake 'n taste" BBQ chicken thing, before heading home via taxi.

It sure has been an interesting weekend, but rest assured, this time next week, you will be treated to an equally long blog post about Manchester Round... 6? I've lost count, but it rarely ends up as un-interesting... You have been warned.

*I have put "Team A" and "Team B" as I am not too certain if I am allowed to talk about teams in such a derogatory way in public, despite it being completely justified. We received some "guidance" about putting comments on social networking sites against players, teams, coaches and the like, so I presume blogs fall under that category. In fairness, the likelihood of anyone reading this blog anymore, (let alone representatives of the actual clubs), is minor, but just in case.

Special

Imagine the scene. Me, sitting in the lounge, with the TV stuck on Channel 81, with the Prime Minister's Questions in full flow. I take a quick glance at it every now and then, only paying real attention when Richard Fuller's name is shouted out by the bellowing Speaker. I look up at the screen to hear what he has to contribute to the jousting competition happening between opposite benches below. It isn't anything particularly important, although he does mention Bedford, (as he should, seeing as he is our MP), but the subject of his words are of no interest to someone of my social standing. The only real thing I can take from the whole charade of PMQ's is the fact that our MP, our representative, for our wonderful town of Bedford, Richard Fuller... Looks like Hitler.

Anyway. I'm babbling. Setting the scene is always something I was actually quite good at when asked to write a story or passage of some sort back in school . It's a shame I didn't carry on with English as a subject through my A-Level days, although back then, it wasn't even an option. The thought of slaving over 'The Great Gatsby' and the like, when I could of been out playing cricket or football filled me with dread.

Talking of decisions, today brought a pretty big one. I have decided, upon much deliberation, that I am going to go down the Police Force route. It was a route I considered before the University option, and I think it has the right mix of "on your feet" activity and desk work and has a good variety of career aspects and routes to go down. How did I come to this decision? I have no idea. And again, I have absolutely no idea if it's certainly the right route for me to go down, but it is far and away the most realistic choice, in terms of me surviving it. Besides, the way things have worked out, I think I have certainly given myself enough time to decide if going for a career in this field is right for me. As I shall now explain.

Going back to politics again, I suppose, and seeing that the world is in crisis and severe cuts are being made by governments all over the world, the UK included, the Police Force is going on a diet. Savings are trying to be made all across the board, so no Police Force is employing at the moment. However, given that savings are trying to be made, some forces, (apart from Bedfordshire seemingly), are attempting to recruit Special Constables. This afternoon, I spent a good couple of hours sifting through the application form for Special Constables in the Metropolitan Police Service, and I have a good feeling I will be accepted. If you don't know, the role of 'Special Constable' is a voluntary role, (with expenses etc. paid for you), so I will be finding a part-time job aswell as refereeing to get some money in the kitty.

My plan is then, to combine a part-time job and being a Special Constable until Forces start employing again, which, (if I have figured out if the career is right for me, through the Specials), will signal the beginning of a new career! If it isn't for me, we're back at square one. I do hope not. However, I nearly made a grave error this afternoon in accidentally disagreeing to take a Substance Misuse Test, (a requirement for the application to be considered), before I spotted my mistake. I had still sent the application off however, so I have to ring tomorrow to get them to change it. Not the best of starts...

Hopefully this is the one for me, but I am not going to presume it is. You never know with me, after a major breakdown of communication between my heart and my head, (remember Manchester in February 2011? SmartMove Dec 2010? GoOutdoors May 2011?), I tend to look on things with a fresh slate in front of me, before things start bogging me down. So, who knows!

And one of my concerns, is that on certain days, especially with Winter coming, I'll feel terribly bad and depressed and my thoughts on what I want will become blurred and disfigured. No ambition will be present, and all I will want to do is mope around and do nothing all day. I had one of these days yesterday. It was horrible. In the morning, I felt as bad as I had done for a long while, choosing to walk to town to clear my head, and buying a baguette and some chocolate fudge cake along the way. It's not really a pattern that can go on, and I'm slightly afraid that I'll end up becoming a person who just waits for the next down stage. The next time you'll feel rubbish. The next time you'll just want the ground to open up and swallow you. And I don't want that. Who wants that?

Next weekend however, is a quickly-arranged trek to BeddoeLand, otherwise known as Manchester. We all remember what happened on the last occasion we graced their shores, and rest assured, I will not be even thinking about going that mad again. I look forward to it though, and there does seem to be a rather large bottle of vodka in my cupboard-of-many-things that needs to be seen off. Good times.

I've waffled for way too long. It's now 1am, and I have an appointment with my career advisor tomorrow, although I feel that is going to be rather redundant given today's revelation. But I will make the best time of it anyway.

Wish me luck in my latest escapade. No doubt I will need it, at some stage.

Route to Potential

Things haven't changed in the past few days. I'm still completely clueless as to where to go with my life, although I have figured out I would like something that's mostly "on your feet" and active in contrast to sitting behind a desk. That's about as far as I've got with trying to work out where I want go, but I fear I may end up being way too picky with the career path I want to go down, especially in these difficult times. The words of Jo the Career Advisor are still ringing in my head..

.."It's incredibly difficult being a young person in this day and age."

I've been repeatedly told that my options are endless, with the potential for all to see, but how come I can't see that potential? And how come I can't see a single door to go through, let alone an "endless" amount? Well, I know why I can't see my own potential. A lack of self-confidence and a negative demeanour do not help matters, but hopefully, heading into what will undoubtedly be a long and formidable winter, I can work on trying to find positives out of situations. A silver lining in every cloud, and a bright side to difficult situations. I have filled my music playlist with songs I find inspirational and songs that have a deliberate cause to lift spirits, deleting anything that could diminish any good mood that comes my way.

As for University, that is all in the past. I moved out on Saturday, without seeing anyone as it was still early in the morning, (for a student). As soon as I got home, I deleted all of my university contacts, on phone, facebook and e-mail and put it behind me. It shall be an experience in life's tapestry, and one that I shall not consider going near again. I have received a fair few jokes in light of my failed experience, but compared to the "banter" I received there, this was all fairly light-hearted.

And yesterday, was actually a good day. I was out on the football pitch once more, refereeing my 2nd game of the season, and I have to say, I'm not sure I have enjoyed refereeing a football match as much as I did yesterday. The 80 minutes, (as they were only Under 16), flew by and the match was an absolute cracker. They were talented footballers, and some of the challenges going in were worthy of a Tyne-Wear derby. I can't remember a single mistake I made, giving 3 cautions along the way, and a fantastic advantage for one of the 8 goals that went in. Crawley were 3-0 up at half time, only for Kempston to fight back to win 5-3. Tensions were high, and the pace of the game, extraordinary, but I feel I did very well. Unfortunately, I don't have a game this weekend, (yet), but hopefully that will change.

As for the rest of the week... I don't know I'm afraid. I have my 2nd NextStep meeting on Thursday, but I genuinely don't think they will be much help. I know this decision of where to go with my career has to come from me, and I have to decide. All these meetings are just guidance and support, but the ultimate decision lies with me and me alone.

And I haven't got a clue.

Finding My Feet

Believe it or not, the last couple of days have been relatively busy. Probably not what the rest of you would call "busy", but certainly more so than I expected.

Yesterday saw my inaugural NextStep meeting with an advisor paid for by the government, who's job description was to help me, and any other persons who step through her battered white door, to decide upon where to go next. I had urged myself beforehand that I was not going to go into it expecting to come back out with a career all panned out for me, and an easy road ahead, which is has been one of my downfalls recently. I have expected too much to happen, too soon. I have been too impatient. I was expecting a usual careers advice session, with the usual set questions that circulates the Careers Advisor circle, but what I got instead was an up-front, honest lady who used her own experiences and the experiences of her children, to work out what mine were. Strangely, she knew exactly where I was coming from as I tried my absolute hardest to get across the message that I had failed to tell up until that point. First of all, we spanned my recent history, including the rather failed attempt at University, plus my exploits from job to job. I told her that the nights at BP had done more bad to me than good, to which she completely agreed, and she even told me what it was like from a parents' point of view, seeing as her son had recently done exactly the same. I told her my interests, which are mostly sports based, but was quick to say that I thought a career in sport may diminish my interest in the subject, and generally extinguish my life. It sounds very contradictory saying that now...

 Again, she agreed. I was being agreed with left, right and centre, on all the points I came up with, which made me think about whether or not she genuinely did agree, or whether she was doing it just to raise my morale, which was clearly rock bottom. My paranoid mind thinks like that. Any praise that comes my way, I brush it off, thinking that they are just saying it to make me happy. This needs to change. I also mentioned that I enjoy writing, and even mentioned this blog, although she seemed to look at me in a way that suggested I do not look like the next Roald Dahl. Obviously.

The session itself, was just a starter point and needs to be built upon. I am expecting a phone call in the next few days to arrange a 2nd session, but was asked to complete a 'Health Skills Check' online, to collaborate my strengths and weaknesses, (with the 'weaknesses' section seeming more prominent in the final report), and give me some fields to try and explore. It took a whole two and a half hours to complete, with tricky numerical tests along with mechanical and abstract challenges and personal and social questions to complete. It was incredibly thorough, and the 26-page report I got back at the end of this, certainly confirmed this. It told me that I was more of a "team-working" sort of person, in contrast to working on my own, and that I wasn't great under pressure, although I was obviously intelligent and clever. My drive and ambition was also poor, which is something I already knew, along with the 'not being great under pressure' thing.

However, some of the fields it suggested I look into as careers were laughable. It suggested I become a Dramatherapist, which is an obvious no-go, as well as an Agricultural Inspector and some sort of Martial Arts Instructor. All of these were just ridiculous, until I looked further down the list to see some possibilities.

I have mentioned becoming a Police Officer before. I seem to remember typing the possibility in this very blog, and I have thought about it in the past. 2 things are stopping me however. 1) Again, I am no more certain of wanting to become a Police Officer, than I was with the whole University thing, and 2) At a time when the Government are making severe policing cutbacks, is there much chance of getting on the ladder soon? I predict not. As Jo, the NextStep advisor said, it really isn't easy being a young person at the moment. Boy, is she right on that one...

There were a few more slight possibilities, with Immigration and Customs careers being one of them, and also a career in Journalism being another, but these sorts of things need language and literature qualifications, both of which I don't have. (Yes, I have a GCSE in French, but that doesn't quite cut the mustard). So, until the next session at least, I feel I am no better off on knowing where I want to go, but like I say, I can't expect things to happen instantly. On the plus side, I did come out of that meeting immediately feeling a bit more positive about my future prospects. That's something else I need to do aswell. Look at the positives of situations, instead of dwelling on the negatives. As the song goes, always look on the bright side of life...

And today? Today, I've been at work. Yes, you read that right, I've been at work, but unfortunately, (or fortunately, depending on how you look at things), it was for one day only as I helped Mother Mitten out in her Shop of Many Bags. I am getting paid for the 4 hours of long and tedious nothingness I did however, so I can certainly take the positive out of that one! Along with this, I have picked up another game to referee on Sunday afternoon, which will gain me a bit more money that will certainly come in handy at some point, even if it is used to make up the money I may or may not spend in town tomorrow night...

Talking of tomorrow, I imagine it's going to be highly awkward. I am off to Eastbourne with Father Mitten to pack up the rest of my things and hopefully not say goodbye to so many people as I officially leave University. The experience I had looked forward to for 8 months, and it's over in 2 weeks, but I do still believe I have made the right decision. Maybe in 10, 20, 40 years time, I will regret it, but who knows. I made a mistake in going to University, but as many people have said, "it was my decision". And now I've got to make another strong decision when it comes to where I want to be in life. At the moment, the questions are still as unanswered as they were a couple of years ago, but hopefully the answer will come soon. The positive? I am 20. Not 50. I am younger than I think, and there is plenty of time still. I will be fine. I will be good. I will be cushty.

Suppose I'd better be off to sleep then. Up at 6am tomorrow, as Father Mitten is an early starter, and its now just past midnight. It's going to be a long road to success, and I've got to learn to fight in this world that's becoming more challenging by the day.

Lying Low

I have tried to keep my head down in the last few days, trying to avoid awkward questions from people wondering why the hell I'm back in Bedford until people have forgotten about it, or enough time passes for it to become probable that I've given up on University. I think it goes without saying, that I haven't done a lot with my days unless you count the administration around officially leaving, and trying to sort out meetings with people who might be able to give me some idea of what to do next.

That meeting is tomorrow afternoon, and to be honest I'm dreadfully nervous. Its only your average meeting with a woman who may or may not give a rat's arse about my future or the welfare of my mind, but it's the first step to what needs to be done to give me any chance of succeeding in life. I have been thinking about what I've learnt from this experience, and what I need to do next, and I have a long list of things that went wrong, with a much, much shorter list of actually how to go about it. I know I need to have a positive mindset, I know these opportunities will not be given to me on a silver platter and I know I need to stop expecting things to happen quickly, but how do I change from the most negative of negative attitudes to the positive one that is required to get going? How can I be positive about the future, when I have no idea what the future holds, and most importantly, how can I permanently change my attitudes towards the things that must happen if I am to succeed? It's this, that I have no idea. And it's this, that I fear will be my downfall.

At the moment though, I have gone back to pure and utter basics. Trying to go to bed at a sensible time, waking up at a sensible time in the morning, (even if there is nothing to wake up for), and trying to get out of the house enough to stop feeling sorry for myself while couped up indoors. I have accomponied a noticeably strained Mother Mitten on outings to town and Tesco, just so I can feel like I'm doing something to help. I cannot imagine how frustrating this whole thing is for my parents. Mother Mitten seems to have expected this to happen, (which I don't blame her for), whereas Father Mitten has come out with a couple of cold comments that does little to improve my mood, but even I feel that some of these comments are justified. That is what they are like though, and I cannot complain about it, seeing as they are actually contributing to life, when I'm drifting through it.

The only silver lining from this whole thing is that I don't lose a penny from the course fees, accommodation fees and anything else that was needed, although I do feel a little bad for my parents and my sister for everything they bought for me to make the university experience that never happened, better for me. Mother Mitten even said that she will pay for a car for me, (with me paying back the money eventually, of course), if it helps me widen my search for employment, but I feel like I can't accept such an offer after all the things I've put them through. I seriously cannot comprehend how they are still so supportive, despite me disappointing them so often.

However, none of this seems to be enough for me to work hard and change this around. I feel stuck in the crevises of life, waiting for a door to open or an opportunity to arise instead of actually going out and finding and searching for opportunities. I have no idea how to go about it, and the mindset that is now engrained in my personality tells me to just give up, as there is nothing out there to look for. It's this that I need to change, and it's this that I have no idea how to. And it's this attitude, that I feel I cannot change, that scares the hell out of me.

However, I shall wait and see what happens in this meeting tomorrow. You never know, I may actually walk out of that LearnDirect building with some idea of where to go, but then again, maybe that's me expecting too much, as usual.

What Now?

There is one hour left of what has been the longest week of my life, by miles. Most of the week was spent either knocking on flat doors, discovering that the people I had landed with were my worst nightmare, and then the rest of my time spent couped up in my flat, doing anything to avoid them. Many of you have commented on what I have done. Most of you seem to think I should have given it a chance, with some of you thinking that I did the right thing to escape before it was too late. One thing I do know though, is that none of you realise what its like to have the mentality of a dead man, with no ambition at all. None of you know what its like to be stuck, at the age of 20, not knowing where to go next.

And that is how I feel like. I have no idea what to do, and I feel like I have simply had too many chances to simply experiment and throw it away before moving on. I cannot go on just trialling different career paths until I find something I can handle. It just sounds absolutely stupid. And even then I haven't got a clue where to start. My head is completely fried, and I'm not sure I can handle a lot more of what is, my life.

This afternoon, I had a welcome distraction in the form of refereeing my first game of the season, with your mediocre Under-16 game. It was boiling hot, and in October, it threatens to ruin your mindset, (as if I need anymore of that)! It went alright, with not many major decisions needing to be made. The only one being a huge penalty shout for handball, that I dismissed with your bog-standard grass-cutting technique. Otherwise, it was a stroll in the park in beautiful weather, even if I couldn't completely concentrate with everything else going on in my life..

Sigh.. This is going to be a long fight, and after a couple of occasions where I genuinely thought my depression had vanished, it emerges it is still buried deep down in my sub-consciousness, waiting for an abominable event or an erroneous experience to feast upon. I just don't know what to do.

I Give Up

This has been the most difficult week of my life. The emotional rollercoaster that has taken place in my head, that is more battered than mashed potato, has taken its toll. The decisions I have made, not just in this last week, but in the last 3 years could not have been more hideous, and I have given up entirely in trying to sort out my own head. I am a nobody, and that is how I shall stay. I am a lacklustre, lazy, bone idle, idiotic excuse for a human being, and that is how I will remain for the rest of my days. I am not prepared to trial and error my way through life until I find something I want to do, because the horrible journies I will have to suffer along the way will not be worth it.

I don't want to be involved in any education system, I am universes away from being hard-working enough to complete any apprenticeship, and clearly a working week is too much for me to handle. My whole life is a trainwreck waiting to happen, and I'm struggling to delay the inevitable much longer. My rash decision making, mixed with my awful ability to panic and worry about the smallest of things, means that if I stay at University any longer, I will end up throwing myself off the edge of Beachy Head. Therefore, I am leaving and coming home to ruin my life around people I know. I am too selfish for it to happen any other way. If I'm extremely lucky, I will find a job that I could keep for a few months before caving in again, and then we'll start all over again before it becomes too unbearable to stay alive for.

I'm doomed to a life of depression, and I am powerless to get out of it. I'm going to bed, and hopefully it will all have disappeared by the morning. Welcome back to the dark days Mitten.

The Domino Effect

Seeing the blank screen in front of me is a bad sign. I want to scream and shout my feelings in the direction of anyone who cares, and although lots of people do, I just seem to get the feeling that no one really understands. Even that sounds stupid, because most of the people I'm talking to have been through the same experience. But no one understands the feelings from inside my head. The same head that has taken an absolute battering over the past couple of years. The same head that has given up countless times. The same head who cannot hack the demands of life.

I can hear the laddish overtones of a group of guys heading out. A "lad" has just shouted "You Fat Bastard!" in the general direction of my open window, although I highly doubt it was aimed at me. Some more "lads" have seemingly just played a prank on another "lad" because the howling laughter that is now eminating from down below is too loud. I have no idea where people are going, whether it be to Brighton or to the seafront, and frankly, I don't care. All that is going through my head is the moment is the mountaneous desire to go home and the rising temptation to give in. Again. I cannot quite believe I'm feeling like this. After 8 months of looking forward to fun times with similarly joyous flatmates, I have been landed with a whole Halls worth of absolute cretins and louts. The disappointment and guilt that is slowly filling inside me is becoming too overpowering, and once more, I find myself in the same position as always. I cannot do this. And I'm really starting to think... Can I do anything?

It's not as if the day started badly either. I was nervous about our forthcoming coaching practice at the local primary school, but I was confident I would do OK. No one else in the group was seemingly enthusiastic, probably because they had been out the night before, but I was raring to go and give it all the energy I had left, despite the emotional draining I've had the last couple of days. We turned up, and got into our groups from yesterday, admittedly not really knowing what they were.. Yesterday was incredibly rushed and given I wasn't in the best of moods, I wasn't prepared to traipse through drills and exercises to use after our session, and decided that going with the flow would be the best thing. Turning up at the school this morning, I realised that this was the best thing, as I saw the kids running across the field. I swear I wasn't that small when I was 10?

The session, given it was an hour long, absolutely flew by. We played a few games of 'King of the Ring' as the whole group of 8 seemed to enjoy it, before doing a few shooting exercises that included scoring a lot of goals before a little game and a penalty shoot out at the end. We went with the flow, and concentrated on trying to make it fun for the kids, and I think that worked. They were amazingly hyperactive, and it was sometimes very difficult to keep control of them. Some of them were very handy young footballers, whereas some of them... weren't. It made it challenging, but the challenge was good!

So, this is my dilemma. The course, right from the off, is fun. Halls, is anything but. I want to carry on with my course, more than anything, but in equal measure, I want to leave this place. The university lifestyle is just not what I imagined, and I cannot see myself settling in at all. I just can't see it. I'm going home tomorrow, coming back on Monday, and many a discussion will take place about what to do next. But, after 8 months of looking forward to the craziness of it all, it's taken a single week for me to realise it really isn't what everyone says it is. Not in my eyes anyway.

Why am I like this?

The First Signs

I wasn't looking forward to this bit. I knew deep down, that it would come eventually, but I didn't expect it to be so strong, and come so soon after leaving home. The inevitable feeling of homesickness has hit me, and it's hit me hard.

I don't know what it is. I've enjoyed my first few days here, going out and getting drunk, talking to new people, I have. But the last couple of days really have been a struggle, and although I know a couple of you are saying, right now as you read this, "That's because you didn't go out!", I don't believe it is that. I think the problem is, that despite making a lot of new friends, most of which call me 'MySpace' as a nickname, I haven't really found anyone who is like me. A couple of my flatmates are nice enough, but the ones I do get on with just seem to go off and do their own thing. Whether that be going for a smoke, or playing a guitar, or playing on the brand new FIFA 12 on their 32-inch widescreen. I don't want to feel like I'm getting in the way, and I take interest in none of these things. It sounds ridiculous reading it back. Along with this, there is definitely no one here who I can talk to about these things, no one I can trust, not by a long shot, to take my feelings seriously, although they can most probably relate to them. Most of the people here seem to have just taken it all in their stride, and me being me, I haven't. Now I've started to let these feelings in, I fear a domino effect that will only end in the same result it always ends in.

Today saw the beginning of our course, and I was sort of looking forward to it this morning. I had had an early night, (Nope, not Freshers behaviour), on the ridiculously hard beds we've been provided with. I was apprehensive, yes, but looking forward to hearing what we had to do. The feeling of apprehension is one that I have been feeling ever since I got here to be honest... It didn't help that I misread the article on StudentCentral, thinking we were coaching the school today, and not tomorrow. That was the main reason I didn't go out, knowing that I had to coach in a Primary school at 9.30am. The first impression I would have given, the impression that I'm a complete waster, wouldn't have been a good one. Instead what happened, was we met at Eastbourne Sports Park, right next to Sussex Downs College, after an expensive taxi, and were split into 4 groups of 5 and 6. We had to plan a session to deliver to 10-year old primary school children tomorrow afternoon, and I've got to admit, it was tough work. The guys, (who won't read this), were about as vibrant and enthusiastic as an oak tree, and I tried more than anything to bounce ideas around for our planned football session, but got the response of a group of scarecrows. The session we planned looked boring, disenchanting and downright rubbish. I highly doubt that these guys, (apart from maybe 1), will even think about looking for anything else, which means I've got to russle up an hour's worth of session, with no inspiration in my belly at all.

I can't say I'm looking forward to tomorrow, and I'm failing to think of anything I'm looking forward to in the near future unless you count Christmas, when I get to go home. I was hoping more than anything that I wouldn't be like this, but it has begun. And as you all know, I have no faith and confidence in myself to reverse the situation. I just want to give Mum a hug.

I Believe I Can Fly

I have found a small window of opportunity to update you all on this University experience, seeing as I've just got back from a marathon bike journey. And besides, I have to tell those of you lucky enough not to get a phone call from me at a ridiculous time of the day last night.

It's all a bit hazy, so bear with me. After the potential on the first day, it was time for the 'Where's Wally' pub crawl. We had our t-shirts, that bizarrely cost us £8, and looked nothing like the ones seen in the popular childrens books and I had my glasses, drawn on in permanent black marker by a Student Union rep, and something else written on my forehead, that I never worked out what it said. I now know it was simply, "FRESHER" and nothing more... sinister! It was a slow start, admittedly, just sitting in the SU, chatting, having a couple of JD and cokes, and a couple of Agwabombs, (Nope, I don't know either), before we were ushered into different groups and left for the now familiar long walk to Town.

It was very strange on the way. The reps, (3 to a group), attempted to play some games that included different actions when 1 or 2 whistles were blown. Either getting on the floor or getting off the floor with the punishment if you were the last one, some unbeknown challenge that was designed to be embarrassing... I didn't lose at all, especially after jumping on Ryan's back to get off the floor, but my time would come later... We moved on to about 5 other bars, playing some games along the way including 'I Have Never', 'Boat Race', (which is pretty much a race to see who can see off a drink quickest) and, in the first bar, we had your generic, 'Go Round The Group And Introduce Yourself' game. Name, where you're from, what course and an interesting fact about yourself.

Now, I've never been very good at this. Not that amazing, despite my brief acting days, at standing up in front of a group and telling them about myself, especially when 99% of these people, I hardly knew at all. The only difference this time, from other times, is that I had a decent enough amount of alcohol circling my system, and I decided I would go for it. I couldn't think of a fact though, so Brummie Ryan suggested I tell them I was the creator of MySpace. You all know that story by now, right? I went for it, stood up on my chair, (that exuded confidence), and introduced myself, said I was from Bedford and told this group of around 50 Freshers that I created MySpace. Obviously, it went down well. The reps said it was 'Quite obviously bullshit' though, which was fair enough, and my punishment was to stand on the large table, in the middle of the squared group, and sing a song. Right. This is unfamiliar territory, but I decided that I would embarrass myself even more if I refused, so got up on the table and asked everyone what song they wanted to hear. There were quite a few suggestions, of which I can't remember, before I overheard someone shout, 'I Believe I Can Fly'.. I know that... (I thought). I can do that!

And, before the Rep could stop me, I was belting out a version of 'I Believe I Can Fly', in front of 50 people I had only just met..

"I believe I can fly! I believe I can touch the sky! I think about it every night and day! Spread my wings and flyyy awayyyy! I believe I can soar! See me runnin' through that open doooooor! I believe I can flyyy!"

Everyone joined in, and I have to say, it was amazing. The rep said to me after, "You know what, I felt a bit bad making you do that, because I thought it would be a bit awkward if you were shit, but that was fucking amazing". I was shocked. I'm no singer, but I've gotta admit, it did sound good, and I even got compliments from a few others saying I was "a very good singer". Ha! And just the fact I got EVERYONE to join in... It ranks up there as an amazing moment.

The rest of the night was your standard, but very enjoyable night. Of course, the old Jagerbomb trick came out, but I only ordered 6 this time, in fear of making a fool of myself, and, in 'Kings', Rachel very kindly spent a lot of money on a few double JD and cokes, and some ridiculous tower of shots that cost her £6, but I did return the favour later in the night, even if she did pour her Vodka all over me in revenge for me pouring water over her. Just ridiculous. And all of this was before we ended up laying in Eastbourne Royal Golf Course, for over an hour, on wet grass. Oh deary, deary me...

I was supposed to attend the Freshers Fair earlier, but I genuinely woke up at 8.30am, still drunk. I went back to sleep at 9.30am, and slept through until around half past 2, which signalled the start of my marathon bike ride to find a route to my college. It was insanely long, but simple, yet I do think there is a shorter route. I've just got to find it. One more word about the food, which is amazingly ridiculous, and certainly justifies the crazy amount of money I'm spending on these Halls. Talking of food, I suppose I'd better go get some!

I can only presume we're heading out again tonight, but I'm really not feeling going mental again. Clearly, that means another mental night ahead. No rest for the University wicked.

Vodka Helps

Some would argue that I shouldn't be here, in my room, typing up a blog post, but in fairness, I have spent the last 24 hours away from a computer. I'm starting to get withdrawal symptoms here! I have spent my time here getting to know my new flatmates, generally socialising, (the occasional drink may be included*), and just chatting.

I cannot put into words how nervous I was yesterday morning. I had had a dream, that Gordon Brown, Gok Wan and Mr.Blobby were my flatmates for the year. It was probably a nightmare, but being woken up by Mother Mitten was a happy thing, and the day had finally come. "Being nervous" doesn't cut the mustard in this particular situation, but I was never going to back out at that stage. I cannot imagine the regret that would fill the rest of my life if I backed out. And I'm not going to act like it didn't cross my mind. It did.

The journey here was frightful. I was couped up in the back with suitcases and bags, transporting my whole life to another location, 3 hours away. I felt sick, through the travelling and quite probably the nerves and it was quite generally a horrific journey. I was scared that 'being me' was not going to be good enough for my flatmates, and I would end up being secluded in my room, whilst everyone else was out making new friendships. The classic Mitten ritual of thinking up the worst possible situations was in full flow in the back of that car.

Upon parking in the Halls car-park however, it all seemed to vanish. This was going to happen, and woe betide me if I was going to panic and do naff-all. Everyone around me looked as nervous as I was, even if a couple of them were carrying in 32-inch plasma TV's. As I hauled everything into my room, of which I gained a first glance on entry, I completely calmed down. The nerves had almost gone, and I met the only other person who was here, Rachael, who is great, and then we went to get some lunch and some much-needed essentials. You all know what I mean when I say "essentials" right?

We went to Sainsbury's, which is a trek and a half into the town centre, and got in some food. And some beer. And maybe a bottle of vodka. And a bottle of Jack Daniels... Too much? Pah. Whatever. My parents then left me to it, leaving at about 3.30pm, (possibly the biggest anti-climax to an event, ever), and I went to talk to Rachael. There was no awkwardness there. We chatted for ages, then decided to go on a random spree and knock on everyone else's flat doors.

The night I had was insane. We didn't go anywhere, only to the Student Union, which is literally 30 seconds away, ordered a lot of JD and cokes, (bizarrely given as triples), and Jagerbombs in some wierd shaped glass, that was difficult to down, plus some shots of vodka that I will hopefully never do again, and I was well on my way. I spoke to so many people last night, (most of which said I looked like the creator of MySpace?), and the night was good. I think I've made a good amount of friends, and a perfect base to expand my university experience. Sorry, I didn't read that last sentence from a brochure.. Honest!

I'll leave you to it. Besides, I'm supposed to be socialising! All of you lot that wanted this blog to continue, have got your wish!

*As said before, "Occasional" may not be the literal meaning of the word. And to those who received any ridiculous phone calls last night... Expect some more! What am I like! (Camp voice optional)

The Day Has Come

8 months of waiting is finally over. 8 months of wanting this day to come more than anything I've ever wanted, ever. 8 months of waiting for the promised and rumoured brilliance of a university lifestyle. It's here. I have no more waiting to do. Tomorrow is it. It starts here.

In truth, I am terrified. Being nervous is natural, (as I have been told so many times today), but I'm not actually sure I've been so nervous in my life. I remember the times I've been very nervous. Before my first ever play performed at a professional theatre, my first ever cup final in adult football, the first ever match I refereed, the day of my GCSE results, (which ironically was never the case come A-Level time). All of these times have been so nerve-wracking that I've felt physically sick. This time is no different. But this time it's bigger. As Mother Mitten so rightly said earlier, "You're moving your whole life". I will have nothing to fall back on, no parents nearby to comfort me if something goes wrong, and in a place that I won't know my way around for a while.. It's all so daunting. So scary. So terrifying.

Packing took place earlier this evening, and it was only at this time it really hit me what I was doing. I stopped in my tracks a few times, just for a second, realising that tonight is the last time I will sleep in this hot, small bedroom at the back of the house, (for a few months at least). The steak and chips was the last meal I had cooked for me, (although that is not technically true, you know what I mean), and this is the last day I will officially live in the same house I've lived in my whole life. Tomorrow I am moving, for the first time ever. On my own.

I have spent the day thinking through what may happen. The people I may come across, and the events I will attend and the memories created that will stay with me for the rest of my life. I over-think things way too often, and this is very rarely a good thing. Most of it is negative, where the situation requires me to be relaxed and be myself. That is the one thing I am trying to urge myself to be. Myself. Don't go trying to impress the new people you meet by being someone you're not. I think I attacked Wednesday a bit too aggressively. I went to the Enrolment Day trying to be someone I wasn't, and because of it, I came out of it unsure of how it went. At least if I'm myself, I can expect nothing more or less than what I get in Bedford. I haven't got the best friendships a man could hope for, by being a general moron. And I hope similar friendships are built in the place they call 'The Sunshine Coast'..

I know it will take time. It won't come instantly, and the first few days are bound to be difficult, tricky and awkward. Everyone is in the same boat though, (another phrase I've heard a lot today), and I'm sure a few JD and cokes will make things a bit more sociable! But it still doesn't stop me being horribly nervous about the whole thing...

What's happened today? General housekeeping. The buying of final things that I had forgotten about, meeting up for a fantastic "goodbye lunch" with Kettle before packing my whole life into a suitcase and a few bags. All is complete, and everything is waiting downstairs, ready for the journey in the morning. The only complicated part is how to transport my bike to Eastbourne, and after failing to gain a bike rack to take it in, I think we have decided to go down the "dismantling of the bike" route. We considered taking the bike seperately, which involved another long and expensive train journey for me, or stealing one when I get down there, which I quickly dismissed as "a ridiculous idea".

It is now exactly midnight. I suppose it would be sensible to go to sleep. How much sleep I am going to get though is anyone's guess. I imagine a sleepless night ahead.

It's been a long, tiring, boring and nasty road, the last couple of years. To get to this point. And it's only just beginning. Tom "Mitten" Carr. University beckons.

The Warm-Up Act

I am monumentally tired. So tired, that I feel physically sick and my head is forcing its way out the side of my head, despite the taking of Nurofen tablets. It's almost as bad as the long, sleepless weekends I put myself through last Summer and a couple of weekends this Summer, but not quite as bad.

The reason I am like this? I have had a very long, interesting and generally quite nerve-wracking day. 3 days before I leave for Eastbourne, yet I had to enrol at the college I am studying at. It seemed tedious that I had to dedicate a whole day to enrol on a course, when it would of been much easier to do it next week, but hey ho. I had been invited, and it would of been suicidal not to attend, so I hauled myself out of bed at the crazy hour of 5am, (some would say I should be used to this by now!), and caught the 5.40am train to Brighton.

You know what? I'm so tired, that I'm not going to bother to continue. I need sleep, desperately. This is going to be a long post, so I shall continue it when I've had my required 14 hours kip. Until tomorrow.

Ok. I'm fully awake, completely aware, and positively ready to explain the madness that yesterday brought. Sorry about my apparent eagerness to sleep last night, but I needed it.

Where was I? That's right. The journey. There's no point making this part of the story any longer than it needs to be, but in short, the train was delayed 20 minutes, making me rush and pay an extra £18.10 for a faster route to Eastbourne plus an extra £6 for a taxi to the college. Even then, I was 5 minutes late, but the embarrassing entrance into the introductory talk was lessened somewhat by the fact that many people seemed to be in the same position as me. So much so, that the actual introductory talk didn't start until 30 minutes later than scheduled. I sat down on the assembled benches, and attempted to start a conversation with the chap sat next to me, which didn't get very far. He didn't look interested at all, and looking around the room, the atmosphere resembled more of a doctors surgery waiting room than a University Enrolment Day. In fairness, I can possibly get away with saying that the awkward nature of both are very similar. I recognised a few faces, some that I had added on Facebook in an attempt to get to know them before we start, but most people just looked like they didn't want to be known.

After the very brief introductory speeches, we started the main activity of the day. "Team-Building Exercises" ran by a company called Adventure Unlimited. Now. Bearing in mind none of us had ever met each other before, and our group was being headed by a man who looked like the behind of a particularly ugly, (and uninterested) gorilla, the first half an hour or so was extremely painful. The generic "team-building exercises" we were being asked to do though, after a fair while, helped us communicate and get to know each other more, and by the end a few jokes were being cracked and things seemed a lot better. These exercises included getting all of the "team" through a spider's web without touching the web, getting across a makeshift and imaginary river using only 9 lillypads, (or pieces of carpet if you're a realist), and a lot of things that included being blindfolded, which gave me a painful and disorientating headache. At the end of the session, we were split into three groups, and taken to enrol, followed by a tour of the campus and much-needed lunch.

At this stage, I had gotten into a group of about 6 people. My initial evaluation of the group was that some people were outgoing, loud and ready to get to know people, and the other lot mainly kept themselves to themselves, not keen on keeping a conversation going for too long and were mainly pretty quiet. I wanted to get to know people, so talked to the outgoing group, who were ... I don't know how to describe it... "classic lads". They are the sort of people I wouldn't usually hang around with in Bedford, the sort of people who comment on every girl passing them as "f****** hot!" or "I would definitely smash her back doors in!" The sort of people who are incredibly homophobic and their only joys in life are sex, football and FIFA. They talk like they're wannabe gangsters, and boast about their holidays in Malia, where they slept with at least 6 girls a night and are going back next Summer to be a rep. They are the sort of people I would do my best to stay away from if I'm honest, but it was either them or stand on my own all day and be non-sociable, and I had told myself that I wouldn't be like that. There were a couple of potential friends, who were not like this, who were more .... human, (for want of a better word), but we shall wait and see what develops.

After lunch, the actual enrolment happened, a lot of forms were filled in and I received my student card and NUS Extra card, that apparently can save me £500 over the course of a year, if I "use it wisely", and more talking about FIFA and the nickname-giving began. For the rest of the day, I was merely known as "The Ref", for obvious reasons, with other nicknames including 'Cardle' for a Matt Cardle lookalike, Abou Diaby, for the same reason, and 'Pav' as one of them looked like a carbon copy of Spurs striker Roman Pavlyuchenko. I gathered from the rest that no-one liked a referee, (common knowledge), and 3 different people throughout the day stated that I even "looked like a referee".. Not sure how that is possible? It was all "banter" though and I took it on the chin.

After a few more talks, that dragged on, plus the giving of our first ever assignment, (that I have already completed, like the apparent "mature" student I am!), we got to go home. The long, and expensive journey home then started, and included arranging a lift to my first fixture as a referee for this season, (that commeces in a few hours time), and having to listen to the rambles of a group of medical students who talked as if everything in life was a life-saving operation.

I'm not quite sure what to make of the day as a whole. After seeing the two groups for the initial coaching that starts next week, I see I have been thrown in with the people I spent most of the day with. I don't see myself moulding into their stereotypical views though, and I think I'd need to get to know some other people to work with. More even-minded, less "laddish" people to work with. Of course, the main event begins in 2 days, where I find out which people I am living with, and move down to Eastbourne for good. I'm nervous, and excited in equal measure, but I have been assured that after things settle down, I will be absolutely fine.

I am officially a student now, and the next few months and then the succeeding 3 years are going to be huge. Things have changed in a heartbeat, and for once I'm ready to tackle them head on. Let's do it.

One More Week(ish)

It hasn't quite sunk in yet. The fact I'm leaving in 6 days.

My room at the moment resembles a landfill site, with bags here and things there, but packing is only at the planning stage at the moment. Making sure I have everything I need before I trek off down the M25 towards the south of our great country. Whether we'll be able to fit everything I need into Father Mitten's new car, which is fairly minute on the inside, remains to be seen. On Wednesday, I have my "warm-up act" so to speak, as I begin my journey to the official Enrolment Day at 5:40am. The alarm will be set for 5am, which is the exact time I've been waking up all weekend, seeing as I'm not quite finished my set of shifts at the "Berp". This weekend has been pretty painful, waking up at ridiculous times, walking to work in the pitch black of darkness, avoiding late drunks, coming home from their nights out. Those two shifts, one of which started at 6am this very morning, were long, painful and phenomonal tests of patience. I didn't need to be there, but I suppose the money would come in handy.

Saturday morning was a pain in the backside. I turned up, at 5:50am, positively awake as I had woken up a good 3 hours previously due to my crazy sleeping patterns, but with the covering manager nowhere to be seen, it could of got potentially tricky. Luckily, nothing untoward happened before the manager, who had travelled from Clarendon, North London to join us, walked in at 8.30am without a care in the world. Him and his unknown pal then proceeded to do nothing except stand there texting on their iPhones and then completely tear the shift apart as they not once, but twice, charged the wrong person for the wrong fuel. It was chaotic, and I was glad to climb in the back seat of the new 3-door and go home. I was tired, but I had promised myself I was going to stay awake to go for a curry with The Hawkers, providing a last opportunity to see everyone before we go our seperate ways for a few months at least. To keep myself awake, I grabbed a can of Red Bull, (who used to sponsor me), and headed in the direction of Mowsbury Park to watch some football before running home to avoid the inevitable promised thunderstorm.

I'm glad to say I did make it to the curry in the end, and I was greeted by a bearded Mason and Lottie, who left for University today, before being joined by a particularly tanned Master Beddoe, Kettle and Billie and a curry was enjoyed by all amid the usual plethora of innuendo. Oh Beddoe... Despite Mason's attempted efforts to try and get me to join them on a night out, I returned home at 10pm and collapsed. I remember the last time I tried a night out before a shift that started at 6am, and I seem to remember I nearly died. I'm 20 now you know, I'm getting on a bit! My body cannot handle it! Some would argue that isn't the talk of a Fresher...

As soon as I conked out, the alarm went off and it was 5am. It felt like I had been asleep 2 minutes, but I hauled myself awake and went on my way again. Once more, I had to avoid a group of particularly loud and aggressive drunks, who shouted at me in a way that suggested I was about to be knifed, but I negotiated them with apparent ease. Sober beats drunk any day of the week you see. This morning's shift was horribly long. Very quiet, and when it isn't busy, you do the next best thing. And clockwatch. The worst possible thing.

Tomorrow is my last ever shift at BP. Wait... Where have I heard that before...?

The End of Summer 2011

Wednesday never happened in the way I intended it to. I did promise stories of a special meeting with the papers, but that never happened as it was replaced by other things. We'll leave that one there.

My countdown to university has been getting ever slower, as friends start to drift off to their new lives. Monsieur Field and Madam Ellie Goulding have both already gone to Swansea and Plymouth respectively, starting their Freshers weeks earlier than the rest of us. I believe Beddoe is going back to the biggest year of his life in Manchester as he will surely gain a 1st in his degree in Facebook Studies. No pressure though Beddoe! Kettle goes back to Coventry on the same day as me, (I think), to start the 2nd year of his degree in Pretending To Be Someone Who is Fictional. Watty goes back to Loughborough some time next week to finally reach the end of a degree, Billie goes back to the gun capital of the UK if she survives the Islamic fundamentalists that may well plague her flight back from Spain, while Colin decides whether he wants to join the RAF, go to University, (despite it being way too late), become a neurological scientist, or an author, or a semi-professional footballer while studying archeology? You never know with him.

Everyone's going their seperate ways, and even though I am involved this time, I can't help but feel a little sad. This time last year, I sank quickly into depression as I realised I would lose my friends once more to the lure of University banter, while I was stuck. This year, I am joining in the fun, and I am drifting between being on top of the world through excitement and not shitting bricks, but shitting whole houses instead. One day I am amazingly excited at the prospect of a new life, the next I am deathly nervous about what lies ahead and whether I will be able to cope with it all. On Tuesday, I was dangerously excited, albeit wasting away behind Till 2 of the "berp", but Danica, (the hyper, chatty Serbian one!), joined in with the excitement of it all. Her son is going to Nottingham, so she sort of knows what it's feeling like. On Wednesday though, after the failed plans, I was rather down and nervous about it all. And today I've been back to excited, so tomorrow won't be a good day if the pattern is to believed. And given it's now 04:34, and I have the alarm set for 10:00, I imagine I might be quite irritable aswell...

I'm not sure this Summer has been the best of the lot. It hasn't been great weather-wise, I've always seemed to be working when the Hawkers go out on the town, and I have missed a fair bit of activity, while wasting away in what is now considered Hell. Don't get me wrong, it's certainly had it's moments. The nights out at the beginning of the Summer, involving a lot of foam and water, the golf and cricket and the poker nights of late. It's certainly had it's moments, but there have been too many times that I have missed out on. I can't even remember the last time I went out on the town, and for once, that isn't because of excessive alcohol.

And now I'm 8 days away from leaving the house I've lived in for over 20 years. The small room at the back of the house, where I have hidden away, had some of my darkest days in, yet enjoyed many times in. 8 days away from the complete independance I once dreamed of, and despite being excited of what lies ahead, I am so, so nervous of failing. If I fail, I won't know where to go. I dread to think what I will do if I don't succeed and complete this adventure. It is that, I am most nervous about. Some, if not most, would say, "Make sure you don't fail then", or, "You won't fail!", but it's easier said than done with me. You all know that.