Media's moral guardian?
I’m going to come right out and say it – I actually quite like the News of the World. I fully accept that in having admitted this, I have relinquished all claims to journalistic integrity, but there you go. We all have our crosses to bear. I love the tacky headlines, the gaudy pictures, the sexual outrage. What I love most of all is the fundamental hypocrisy of it all.
Is it just me? It can’t be. I fail to see how anybody can fail to be amused by a kiss-and-tell exposé told out in a slightly scandalised fashion, framed by photos of the less-than-discreet participants in their sexiest undergarments. Oh, and let’s not forget those essential vital statistics of the lovely ladies, either. Frankly, it’s bloody fantastic – as cheap thrills go, it’s up there in the bargain bin.
Heroes and Villains
I’m always slightly sceptical about any hyped-up new TV series. If everyone’s talking about it, it’s bound to be a disappointment. Desperate Housewives, Lost, Heroes – all of these have passed me by, their absence leaving no discernable void within my happy little world.
Dead Set, though – that one’s a different kettle of fish altogether. Or even a different plague of zombies, if you’ll indulge me on that one.
Spreading the word?
There are a lot of good things to be said for buses. You can curse them when they don’t turn up according to the timetable, which means that you can spend most of your life cursing them. You can insult someone by telling them that they look like the back end of one. If you’re Wendy Cope, you can write a poem about how bloody men resemble them. You can even plonk religious adverts on the side of them, if you’re so inclined.
The problem with the latter is that people sometimes get all uppity about it, which is exactly what Guardian blogger Ariane Sherine did. Back in June, Sherine decided that she’d seen one Christian slogan too many on public transport and formulated a plan. On 21 October this plan came to fruition – donations are being collected through website justgiving.com in order to fund a set of atheist bus adverts reading: “There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life”.
Heroes and Villains
If a drug dealer were to offer crack to Amy Winehouse, nobody would be very impressed with them; people would be scandalised that they were taking advantage of somebody in such a vulnerable situation. I’m not sure who I’m kidding – people would just accept it as the usual.
But still, the metaphor almost fits. As an English Literature student with a mere seven hours a week of contact time, I feel I’m in a pretty vulnerable situation when it comes to the advances of Harmonix.
Mind your language
“Soz cnt 2moz hv staff meeting but cud do evenin?” – when faced with a message like this, I always have to fight the rising temptation to reply “I’m sorry, could you possibly rephrase that in English? I didn’t quite catch your meaning”. I don’t reply with that obviously, because I do technically understand what’s being conveyed, even if I don’t quite understand why it’s being conveyed in such a bizarre fashion.
Call me old-fashioned if you wish (and doubtless many people will) but I just don’t see what’s wrong with spelling and even – God forbid! – punctuating properly in text messages and e-mails. If you can manage to write out “Sorry, can’t tomorrow (have staff meeting) but could do the evening?” with pen and paper, it surely stands to reason that you can manage the same feat when faced with some handily labelled little buttons. There’s even predictive text, for God’s sake.
Stephen Fry: Hero
There’s some strange correlation between my determination to work and the temptation of procrastination: the more determined I am to work hard, the more tempting the guises in which procrastination presents itself.
It’s the start of a new academic year, so naturally I’m resolved to turn over a new leaf and work my little cotton socks off; I’m not actually wearing socks right now – I’m wearing tights instead – but that’s beside the point. I’m going to be an outstandingly dedicated student; I mean it this year.
We're all going on a summer holiday
The term “summer holiday” conjures up a multitude of delightful images, doesn’t it? Sunshine, relaxation, even relaxation in the sunshine – plenty of it, too. Long, lazy afternoons in the beer garden of your local with a group of friends and a few pints of Strongbow or Kopparberg (or even Magners, if you absolutely insist). Trips to the beach, if you’re lucky enough. A break from uni and lots of time off: it is a holiday, after all. What a concept. Perfick. And, also, what a bloody con.
I defy you to tell me that you’ve just had the summer described above. You have? Well, in that case you’re either a liar or you can get out. Summer is never the happy, idyllic escape that you dream of or see on the telly. I’m not saying that summer is a bad thing – I love a good chance to catch up with my home friends and even to return to the familial fold for a few months – just that we ought to change the name, because whoever termed it a “holiday” should get done under the Trade Descriptions Act.
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