Gair Rhydd

So this is it: the end

And I'm not talking about the finalé of Lost. Although that was brilliant.

One of the great things about this blissful hinterland between finishing the academic year and summer beginning is, I’m sure you’ll agree, the freedom to sit in the park/pub (dependent on weather) with close friends and ponder about the future – undoubtedly over a tall, cold glass of an alcoholic beverage of your choice. As such, earlier this week, I found myself spending mid-afternoon in a pub, conversing with a close friend, doing just that.

I must briefly interject here to say that I am not, as the repeated pub-related anecdotes in these columns may suggest, an alcoholic. It’s merely that a lot of inspirational lessons seem to happen in public houses, as I’m sure you’ll agree. But I digress.

Everyone needs a bit of egotism

Egotism; it’s a trait I’ve been told I have in abundance. It’s also been said it is not a very attractive quality. I beg to differ. I argue that, if egotism means a terrific interest in one’s self, then it is essential for efficient living. To be confident and assured of oneself is no bad thing in my book.

But my egotistical tendencies are a faint whisper of self-adoration compared with the epitome of egotism that is José Mourinho. If you hadn’t noticed, the soon to be/the new (this was not confirmed when the paper went to print, please delete as appropiate) Real Madrid manager rather likes himself.

Well that's it

Well that’s it. A year has been and gone in the blink of an eye, and how things have changed. As I’m writing this, I am in the Bute Building listening to Richard Bacon on 5 Live. As you are reading this, I am in a London office starting my first proper job. Yikes! Although, hopefully, I will still have Richard for company.

For many of us, this is where we get off the bandwagon that is student life and try and make it in the real world. I delayed this harsh reality by a year when I decided to come to Cardiff to do a postgraduate course.

It's all over...

The end of the year is almost here. So now comes the question: was it worth it?

Well this is it, isn’t it? The end of the year. It’s approaching ever more expediently – even as I write this I’m sure some unlucky group of people with a valuable degree (read: non-Humanties, but we’ll get onto that later) are crammed into the Great Hall, most likely jacked up on Lidl Red Bull-equivalent, scratching their future in biro marks, on lined paper, with the corner folded down.

As for me, I’m already done. That’s right, finito. Last Monday I strolled directly from the Julian Hodge 24-hour library into Humanities at approximately a handful of minutes past ten and handed the culmination of the last three years of my life, wrapped in a couple of clear document pockets, to a nice administrator lady.

Are we really being ConDemned?

I’m writing this just a few hours after David Cameron confirmed we are now living in a Conservative-Liberal Democrat coalition. Who knows what will happen in the next week or so? Okay, probably not that much in terms of policy and action, but this certainly is a defining moment in British political history. Something has to be.

Let’s face it: the political landscape of this country has been pretty drab and routine for decades. This election, though, has reignited an excitement and passion that many of us never knew existed. Who would have thought this time last year – hell who would have thought this time two weeks ago – that Nick Clegg would be Deputy Prime Minister? Then, of course, there’s Vince Cable, good old Uncle Vinny, in the Cabinet, looking after the banks and business. The economy might be alright now after all. There will also be genuine thought and debate given to a new electoral system, which is much needed, but would not have been comprehensible before the election.

Left hanging

So there we have it. As I am writing this, the votes across the UK have confirmed what we all expected, and the United Kingdom now faces a hung parliament. As the political wrangling begins behind closed doors to find that elusive majority-ensuring coalition, the blanket of uncertainty that settled across our unsleeping country on Thursday night remains tightly wrapped, and many – particularly Nick Clegg’s Liberal Democrats – are wondering what on earth just happened.

In an admirable moment, Nick Clegg came out on Thursday morning to accept his party’s lacklustre performance and make a stark declaration of intent: that he will stick to his guns, and go with his belief that the British voters have chosen the Conservatives as the party with the mandate to form a government.

Our vote is worthless, democracy is flawed

Democracy is only a dream: it should be put in the same category as Arcadia, Santa Claus, and Heaven – H.L. Mencken.

This Thursday, for most of us, will be the first time we can vote in a General Election. Also, for the first time, there are three parties all genuinely vying to get their feet under the table in Number 10. It is the closest and most hotly contested election in decades. This, then, is surely our chance to make a choice and make a difference, isn’t it?

'Every little helps'

*Nothing about politics this week – I’m sure you’ve already had your fill of the election in our special election section (good isn’t it?). God knows I could write something – everyone’s been in town this week haven’t they? Nick and Gordon getting involved with us mere Cardiff students. Who’d have thought? *

But no, politics is off the table. Which does, it must be said, put me in a little bit of a pickle. Well not a pickle, I hate those conundrums. A conundrum most devilish (before you ask, I’m working on bringing back 18th century speak). You see, there comes about, at this feared time of year, a terrible and most deadly affliction: writer’s block, the scoundrel (see?).

'Second division' – I know that feeling

So, by the off the chance you have not noticed, the general election is now in full swing and polling day is little over two weeks away. All of the leaders talking are enticing voters by saying how they are going to freeze income tax, not raise VAT and save the economy by investing in the manufacturing industries and selling blood and semen. Or something like that.

Okay so that last bit might not be true, but to be honest, with all the hot air these politicians are blowing at the moment, somebody might have said it for all we know. Promises, rhetoric and spin. That is how you could sum up the weeks leading up to any election and I, for one, can’t stand it. Since the day Gordon Brown made the trip to Buckingham Palace to ask Queeny if she would dissolve Parliament and let us have an election, and she said yes, there has been non-stop coverage and I was sick of it within half a day.

And the winner is www... what?

*Poor old Alfred. He must be spinning in his grave, mustn’t he? First of all Obama – that pacifist pretender – besmirched the name of his fair medal last year, and now this! *

Oh, I had better explain, hadn’t I? For those of you furrowing your brow in a quizzical manner (don’t do that, you’ll get those lines on your forehead), I’m not referring to Michael Caine in the most recent series of Batman films (although, poor old Michael must be having a right time of it, having to listen to Christian Bale’s shit voice acting – seriously, someone get him a fucking strepsil). No, I am of course referring to Alfred Nobel, the Swedish inventor, whose last will and testament established the Nobel Prize Foundation.