V Festival 2013 - put those arse cheeks away!

This year I won two tickets to V Festival. I then managed to persuade my very anti-camping best friend to join me. Not sure which one was more of a miracle. I was slightly apprehensive though. One of the things I had heard/read about V Festival was that it was very popular with chavs. I read some really awful reviews/blogs about peoples experiences. We decided to check it out for ourselves though and I decided to balance it out with this blog because honestly - it wasn't half bad. 

Camping - We decided to camp in the 'quiet' zone. Partly because it was the nearest field when we were dragging all of our stuff from the car and partly because it just looked far more civilised. We choose to camp next to a couple in their mid fourties because we thought they might be a bit more civilised. How wrong we were.....on the first night she got absolutely hammered, started singing Michael Jackson's 'You Are Not Alone' at the top of her voice in the middle of the night and then proceeded to vomit loudly in their tent for about half an hour. Someone finally asked her to 'shut the fuck up please' (no it wasn't me, there's no way I would have been that polite at this point) to which she replied that they should 'have some compassion'. The next morning we got a half apology which included her informing us that she wouldn't have been the only one in that state. No, you probably wouldn't, but the other morons were  30 years younger and not camped in the quiet zone. Anyway that was pretty much all we heard from them for the weekend - way to burn yourself out before it even begins. Our other neighbours were all very lovely. When walking through the other fields to the arena the tents were absolutely jammed in, there was rubbish everywhere and many tents had been damaged/pulled down so we were really glad we chose the quiet zone. The moral of this story is - the quiet zone is a safer/better place to camp but don't always judge your neighbours by their age.

Fashion - It seemed we didn't get the memo that the uniform was a pair of denim shorts with your arse cheeks hanging out the bottom. It doesn't matter how good your body is (and frankly most of the people wearing them didn't have the body for it) keep your arse cheeks covered. And while we are at it, just because it's popular doesn't mean you have to wear it. I couldn't tell if I was on the set of a cheap porn film or Attack of the Clones.

Toilets - Because we hadn't paid for tickets we decided to treat ourselves to the 'luxury loo' experience at a cost of 40 quid. I wouldn't have been happy to pay that if we had paid for tickets but as we hadn't we didn't mind. BEST MONEY I SPENT. These toilets were amazing - proper flushing toilets with toilet roll, hot water, mirrors, hand driers and attendants that were constantly cleaning and replenishing toilet roll. I didn't get a bad one all weekend. At some points the queues were too long but they had basically oversold the capacity. People were still buying wristbands all weekend which I took as a testament to how bad the portaloos were. Some of them smelt so bad just walking past I would never have been able to go in! That would be my biggest tip - if you can, buy that pass! Next year they said they would have more toilets so smaller queues but this was their first year and they didn't know how popular it would be. I (well me and the rest of the queue) actually watched one girl have a wee behind the box office for the luxury loos. 40 quid or your dignity? You choose. Stay classy festival goers.

Performers - Beyonce and Kings of Leon were headlining the main stage on Saturday and Sunday night respectively. I was pretty excited for both. Had to wait for Beyonce in the rain when she was 25 minutes late which was mildly annoying but it's not the first time a performer is late at a festival I'm sure. I loved her and enjoyed her whole set. I didn't really get what people were saying about her being disappointing until Kings of Leon the next night. They were just AMAZING. Totally rocked it - loads of energy. That's how you do it. I was quite surprised that the main stage area wasn't so rammed with a fair few people opting to watch Basement Jaxx (seen them before: didn't rate them) or Calvin Harris on the other stages. Fine by us - just meant we got closer to the front and the beauty that is Caleb Followill.

Verdict -  Maybe I'm just getting old but if I'd paid for the ticket I would have been disappointed. It didn't have the atmosphere or the quality of line up that Isle of Wight offered when I went and the crowd was definitely younger and heavily made up of chavs. However it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be - we didn't see or experience any real trouble ourselves and the only people we encountered were friendly and out for a good time. The most important thing is who you are with. We were with a great bunch of people and had a really good time. I highly doubt I would go again but V Festival 2013: you were pretty damn fun.

We need to...... 'create education better'

Everyone is talking about Miss Utah. And not just because she is so hot. Although she is (naturally) and they are (naturally). It's because she managed to majorly fuck up her answer to the question she was lucky enough to be given at random. In case you are not up on pageant protocol (like me) or haven't seen Miss Congeniality (not like me, seen it a million times and still love it), each contestant is  asked a question which is deemed to be relevant to society at the time and has to answer it immediately in front of everyone. While we contemplate how doomed for failure most of us would be in this situation, I will fill you in on both her question and answer. She was asked: 'A recent report shows that in 40% of American families with children women are the the primary earners, yet they continue to earn less than men. What does this say about society?'. Ignoring the fact that it's a pretty stupid question and not really easy to answer in 30 seconds she could have said 'that it's fucked up', 'that it is dominated by men' or 'that it's not fair'', none of which would have won her the crown I think but then neither did what she actually chose which was this gem: 'I think we can relate this back to education and how we are continuing to strive to.....(long pause, beauteous smile)...figure out how to create jobs right now. This is the biggest problem and, I think, especially the men are seen as the leaders of this, so we need to...(short pause)...create education better so we can solve this problem'.

She is very beautiful though....

Well. I'm stumped. I'm not sure that would make sense as an answer to any question and most certainly not the one it was in response to. Of course, whilst the clip is cringingly painful to watch, the answer is good to have a little laugh over. But as I said earlier, who amongst us could do much better? Aside from my joking provocative answers, who could put together on the spot an answer that is relevant, makes sense and addresses an important topic sufficiently in 30 seconds? Few I would assume. I have seen enough presentations both at university and in my work to know we all stumble occasionally when confronted with a judging crowd. Surely the issue at hand is why the hell these pageants still exist? And why they put in a gratuitous question and answer section in so they can pretend they are judging these women on something more than the way they look? Miss Utah came third by the way. So they obviously were not handing out the most points for brains. 

Without wanting to sound like a raging, bra burning (never) feminist, these pageants are outdated and I can't see what place they have in society. Everything I seem to see lately suggests that girls/women in society increasingly feel that all they have to offer is the way they look. Is it the rise of the internet and sites such as Instagram where we all (I am not immune) compete to get a selfie where we look as hot (and as least like how we actually look on an everyday basis) as possible and have it as our profile picture to show the world just how beautiful we can be. Don't get me wrong I can be a shameless narcissist and see nothing wrong with everyone wanting to look and feel the best they can, but this is something more. It is the feeling that our looks are the most important thing we have to contribute to the world. That's where the key word comes in: JUDGING. These women in pageants are judged by men and by other women, who decide who is superior based on how good they look in a swimming costume and evening dress. Sounds ridiculous doesn't it? In everyday life SOME women judge others for the exact same thing. They do it on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, internet forums, or newspaper and magazine articles and write disgusting comments about them based on their body, their hair or their outfits. Just what did this stranger do to incite their vitriol? Nothing it would seem, apart from look the way they do. Sad but true. It goes deeper than the old bitchy comment we are all partial to, no one is saint but this is another level of bitchy. Of course most of the time the women behind this vile web bullying are deeply unhappy themselves and so take it out on others in the only way they know best. And that is where Miss Utah's answer comes in: 'we need to create education better'. Switch it around to 'we need to create better education' and it's actually coherent (we will ignore the fact it is irrelevant to her question because it is answering mine). Until we educate young girls that they are worth more than their reflection in the mirror this cycle will not stop. 

It's not just young girls, although they are the future. Maybe we all need a reality check. When we die, people are not going to remember and talk about us because of how beautiful we were on the outside. They will remember how we treated them and how we made people feel. I have some physically beautiful friends, but that is not why I love them. I love them because they have a good heart. So come on, let's 'create education better' and leave the world something to remember us by other than our super hot Facebook profile pictures.

Les Misérables - C'est Magnifique!

I haven't blogged for a while. It's a combination of second year of uni keeping me busy and not having been inspired enough to write. As I type this I should be writing an essay and studying for an exam, but after watching Les Mis (to give it the luvvie name) last night I just had to share.

It seemed to be a given that everyone knew about the story before the film came out. Most people had been to see the show or at least heard about it. I knew nothing. My first ounce of knowledge came from the trailer and I thought I would check it out, not with particularly high expectations. So for those of you as clueless as me  (there has to be someone right?!), here comes the history bit... Les Mis was originally an 1862 novel by Victor Hugo. I'm ashamed to say I thought it was just a stage show but that came later apparently. It was then turned into a musical play in Paris in 1980, before coming to the West End in 1985. The rest as they say is history. I'm also ashamed to say I thought it was an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical but apparently not. That must be another one about poor people or something. So, now you know. When I said I knew nothing I wasn't being modest. Actually I think that may have helped because of the people who I have seen criticise it, it is because of comparing it to the show that they loved. So there are times when going in with no expectations is a bonus. I'm not going to describe the storyline for two reasons. One being that it doesn't sound as good on paper as it actually is and two being that it's fairly long and I'm too lazy. I will just say that your French doesn't have to be an amazing standard to get the gist of it from the title. It's not a happy story...

Not the main character but the hottest...

Light relief comes however, in the shape of Sacha Baron Cohen and the fantastic Helena Bonham Carter. There's something very Dickens about their character portrayals in this film. Let's be fair - you can't go wrong if you throw in a bit of Dickens. The rest of it is non stop emotion, great performance from Hugh Jackman (yes really), and there's even a hottie thrown in in the shape of the gorgeous Aaron Tveit who plays Enjolras. Who can resist a man in a cape? Not me. We were in a full cinema (it was the Sunday of opening weekend) and it got a round of applause at the end. Usually I can't bear that kind of cheese but this time it felt right. For me anyway, my best friend was still cringing and grateful that I somehow refrained from joining in. I was also informed by another friend that it got a round of applause in Brixton too. Enough said.

Anyway, I've really dragged this out but what I essentially wanted to say was go and see it. If the storyline along can't tempt you, the fantastic scenery portraying 19th Century France is stunning. It will be the best 158 minutes you've spent in a cinema recently. It's just won three Golden Globes and I'm sure there will be more awards to come. Here's a tip: take some tissues. I started crying around 7 minutes in and didn't really stop. I even gave up trying to wipe them away (until the end when I spent the round of applause frantically wiping my face so I didn't look like a complete emotional wreck). There have been some really good films lately. Fellow Oscar nominees Argo and Silver Linings Playbook to name just two. This quickly joins them on the great watch list. If you don't want to get up and join in the rousing rendition of 'do you hear the people sing' at the end of the film I'll eat my cape.

Welcome to Dumpsville

I've spent the last few weeks moping. Well, that's not strictly true as I've had a lot of fun the last few weeks. But the times I haven't been having fun, (namely the times I've been alone) I've been moping. Why you ask? Or you don't, we've been through this before, I'm going to tell you anyway. Because it's my self indulgent, narcissistic, self-therapising, (don't think that's a real word, but what the hell) blog. Anyway, I've strayed off topic. I got dumped by the guy I was dating. It was early days, nothing serious, but the circumstances were fairly traumatic. Really, any time you feel close to someone, only to find out that they really weren't that into you bloody sucks, quite frankly. So, let me set the scene: I'm about to move house so my bedroom is packed into boxes and black bags and my bed has been taken apart so I am sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Obviously not feeling the most settled, when I get a text informing me I'm undateable (it didn't actually say that, but that's what I saw). I mean it's a fecking text. Even Taylor Swift got a 27 second phone call from Joe Jonas. Right there and then felt rock bottom. In true dramatic fashion, I was sure I wouldn't sleep a wink that night on my mattress on the floor, but, well, I did. I guess in my case my desire to sleep beats my desire to stay up all night and weep. Free poetry for you there readers. Even in the depths of despair, I'm that good.

Essentially, after that trauma I've moped around like a little bitch. My friends have literally acted as babysitters, realising the need to keep me occupied. Unfortunately that has led to me absolutely chewing their ears off. If there is anything worse than being the dumpee, it has to be being the friend of the dumpee. You have to be sympathetic and kind, when all you really want to do is tell them to shut the fuck up and get over it. I actually have a few friends who do take that approach, one friend (who shall remain nameless) told me she wasn't going to reply to me anymore and to get a dildo. I like to think the first part of that statement was a joke. I know the second part wasn't. I've also eaten like a pig. I mean I'm obviously so unattractive anyway that a few million jaffa cakes won't make much difference right?! Whoever said jaffa cakes won't solve the problem obviously just didn't eat enough of them. I've got very drunk and put stupid messages on twitter. Worst case being this weekend when my housemates had to go into my twitter to ensure said messages were removed. They were sober and trying to watch Match of the Day at the time. Not sure it was their idea of a great Saturday night. I also wrote a poem, but we're going to skim over that fact. Of course there is the essential indulgence in break up songs (cringe). I'm not revealing my playlist because quite frankly, that's too much shame, even for me. What I will say is, if you have been dumped and your road to recovery doesn't include Whitesnake 'Here I go Again', I don't think you'll make it. Crank it up, jump on your bed and suddenly being 'a drifter born to walk alone' will seem quite cool. Disclaimer: this might just be me, so if you try it and it doesn't work, I apologise that you have wasted 4 minutes that you could be crying and listening to Adele.

To add insult to injury, he'd borrowed one of my favourite books and even though he said he would, he hasn't returned it. I guess he couldn't figure out how to return it via text message. Maybe I should expect it in 2062 when they develop that technology. I decided to go the dignified route (when all I really wanted to do was text saying 'GIVE ME MY FUCKING BOOK BACK') and not nag for it but buy myself a new one. I then found out my best friend also bought me a replacement copy. So now I have two books where I had one. I love my friend for the thought, even though I suspect her main reasons for purchase were to read it herself and to stop me moaning about it.

As I write this I realise I have achieved what I set out to. It is embarrassing what a twat I have been. If feeling sorry for yourself, having a wounded pride, raging low self esteem and being a whining bitch were Olympic sports, I would be Team GB's biggest hero this summer. But they're not. Nobody likes a crybaby. So that's it. No more moaning (well, not about this anyway), no more jaffa cakes (well, for a little bit anyway), and no more break up songs (well, until the next time). Mission accomplished. Time to pick myself up, wounded pride and all and get back in the game. Dildo girl also told me I need a rebound. So, if anyone wants to be my rebound, apply within. If you have read this blog and still want to sleep with me, the chances are you're a keeper.

To anyone out there who has been dumped, put down the jaffa cakes and stop boring your friends. You were doing okay before you met that person so you'll do okay again. To anyone planning on dumping someone - don't do it by text, arsehole. 

To end, if you are asking yourself why I would write a blog about the humiliating experience of being dumped you obviously didn't read the first paragraph, so please refer back. As F Scott Fitzgerald said 'what people are ashamed of usually makes a good story'. But ultimately, as my Nan always says, it's better to laugh than cry. Especially for me, I'm a really ugly crier.

A sonnet for the critics

I have not revered Will's cunning wordplay,
Nor shall my musings be so numerous.
Somewhat self indulgent, slave to cliche,
A rare place, no bid to be humorous.
Be sure that my words come straight from the heart,
I purely seek to bare my restless soul,
I seek not acclaim, rather stand apart,
Cannot feign style, I have not the control.
My fealty lies with Shakespeare, night and day,
Reading a Petrach is a transgression,
I know my loves, there is no need to stray,
Let this be clear, there is no concession;
If you like your poems risky and new,
Be warned: my blog is not the place for you.

A sonnet for the disappointed

As sweet sleep evades my weary body,

My mind drifts to a place shielded by day, 

A savage madness, vicious malady,

There are no means to keep these thoughts at bay.

Words unsaid, a bitter pill to swallow,

Mine own artless actions make me a fool,

But mine conscience has no cause to wallow: 

Better give freely than nothing at all.

And yet these feelings are stronger than due,

To thou, whose fair presence was so fleeting,

Old wounds opened from disappointment new,

A lesson ill learned means much repeating;

That which first appears both unfeigned and true,

Is as inconstant as the sky is blue.

And the gold medal goes to.....Great Britain

When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life - Samuel Johnson

The Olympics are over (cue tears). So what is left to do except write about them?! The last time I was writing about a sporting event and the British public, I was feeling disappointed. You will be pleased to know that in this blog I will express no such sentiment. The last couple of weeks of Olympic festivity has restored my faith in our country. Is that over dramatic? Probably, but I'm not one for half measures.

Everyone was sceptical before they started. People were complaining about the special road lanes, public transport being under prepared, the money it was costing (approximately 12 billion pounds in case you are interested) and the farce that was the ticketing system. The latter I will confess to having moaned about because I didn't get tickets, so of course that means it was a terrible system. The whole thing was so typically British, heaven forbid we should express a bit of pride at hosting  and think that we might actually do a good job. No, it was sure to be a disaster. The tabloid press certainly didn't help, with their endless stories of shortfalls, overspending and other problems. Special mention has to go to the Daily Mail for taking it's shoddy reporting to a new level and attempting to whip up its readers into an anti Olympic frenzy. As if that wasn't bad enough, we had to cope with Mitt "only slightly less dumb than Bush" Romney using his presidential candidacy trip to stick the boot in, saying 'it's hard to know just how well things will turn out' and describing there being a 'few things that were disconcerting' about the Olympic build up. This coming from a man who once said 'Corporations are people, my friend....of course they are. Everything corporations earn ultimately goes to the people'. I'll tell you what's disconcerting Mitt - the fact that you could be elected President of the United States. I don't want politics to hijack my Olympic blog, but if you fancy a bit more Mitt bashing then check out http://mittromneyisatool.com/, it's pretty amusing (not to mention scary).

Loving the opening ceremony

Cue the games start. The opening ceremony might have gotten off to a slightly shaky start but with star turns from Mr Bean, James Bond and even Queenie herself (and didn't she look happy about it!), it soon picked up. So what if the rest of the world 'didn't get it'? Seeing as we spent billions on it a little self indulgence is not too much to ask, surely. Besides, the opening ceremony should reflect the hosting nation and as far as I can tell it did. Irreverent, humorous and unconventional. As one blogger said 'a triumph of punk over pomp'. From that night on, I was hooked. The next 16 days passed in a blur of cheers and tears. For me a few moments really stick out. Andy Murray winning the tennis men's singles gold after Wimbledon heartbreak (I must confess, I developed a little crush on him this summer too. Irrelevant I know but I needed to get it off my chest)....Mo Farah winning double gold on the track and when asked by a reporter if he would prefer to have run for Somalia answering (in his cockney accent) 'Look mate, this is my country. This is where I grew up, this is where I started life. This is my country and when I put on my Great Britain vest I'm very proud'....Bradley Wiggins topping his Tour de France win with a road race gold and celebrating in his inimitable style. But really, there are too many to mention. It's fair to say I cried. A lot. And so that brings us to the closing ceremony. At times repetitive (with a wealth of British music to choose from did they really have to play five songs on repeat for a section of the show?), but always surprising, it maybe fell slightly short of the spectacular I was hoping for, but I wanted to like it so much that I did regardless. Besides, any event that begets a Spice Girls reunion is more than worth it. I cannot recall the exact number of times I said 'when are the Spice Girls coming on?' that night, but it was a fair few. I was a bit disappointed that Geri didn't wear her Union Jack dress again but to be fair she hasn't got the boobs for it now. Also noteworthy was Boris Johnson (who appeared none the worse for his embarrassing zip line debacle) getting on down, dad style, to Spice Up Your Life. He's such an adorable buffoon, it's easy to forget he's a bloody Tory.

This Olympics has certainly been a triumph for Great Britain and not just because we were the host with the most but because our athletes also brought it to the table - the medal table to be precise. With a total of 65 medals; 29 gold, 17 silver and 19 bronze, we surpassed our Beijing haul of 47 medals and finished third in the medal table. It is our best gold medal tally since 1908. The athletes seemed to feed off the amazing support from the home crowd and the success of each other. Where do we go from here? Onwards and upwards - bring on Rio.

Can we keep this feeling of national pride going? Can we remember how good it is when we come together and forget skin colour and race? Can we seek to not only appreciate what we have achieved, but strive to achieve more? Tough questions. The theme of the Olympics was 'Inspire a Generation'. I don't think I'm the generation they were aiming for, but I'm feeling pretty damn inspired. Are you?