It’s that time of year again…
The time when you start to regret all those nights spent doing everything except revision. The time when stress becomes piled up so high that you could metaphorically reach the Moon. The time when it becomes severely appealing to just give up with life’s aspirations and go to work at McDonalds.
(Of course I mean no offence to people who work at McDonalds; having my own intentions of doing a degree in literature puts me in a good chance of eventually working there myself!)
16 days marks the start of my exams.
It’s because of this I wont be posting for a while, (you want me to do well, surely?!) but I wish all the luck to those of you doing exams as well.
I just hope that the piece of paper at the end will be worth all this infernal suffering!
(That is, of course, a joke… an entire forest of paper could not be worth these nerves that I’m sure are determined to consume me!)
Every morning before I wake up, he’s waiting for me.
He is the single comfort in an otherwise laborious struggle out of bed.
Sensitive and selfless; he knows exactly what I need and when.
Above all else, he is perfectly sculpted and spectacularly functioning.
Although we may have our fundamental differences, (some even describe describe our love as materialistic!) he will always take up an alarming amount of my heart.
Meet the love of my morning!
Always the giver; my beautiful Mr. Snooze Button!
Now, as much as I am familiar with the mindset of a characteristic ‘weirdo’, it would surely be impossible for me to hold the key to wooing the hearts of each one of them.
It’s because of this I shall be concentrating on the do’s and don’ts of how to woo the weirdo which I know best.
But, who knows, perhaps there are others like myself out there (however much we may pray otherwise) and in which case, you are only moments away from learning the secrets to securing their love.
I realise that this is a tricky one as it’s not exactly easy to change but I adore characteristic noses. By that, I mean, I find noses which are full of character alluring and attractive. They don’t call me weirdo for nothing!
I’m going to assume that this one isn’t quite a rarity although when I was younger I was made an outcast for having an open crush on a very bearded teacher. I love hair. Perhaps it’s my primal blunder but I go weak at the knees for hairy knees!
#3 Quirky talents
Shamefully it wasn’t even that long ago when I thought that I had fallen in love with a man after he had completed a Rubik’s cube in front of my very eyes. Admittedly that seems a little crazy now but I suppose a peculiar skill corresponds with a peculiar, and all the more interesting, personality. Other quirky talents include telekinesis, fire-breathing and juggling.
Perhaps I am just easily impressed (or more snobby than I’d ever like to admit) but there is nothing more attractive than person who knows their ‘your’ from their ‘you’re’. As far as I’m concerned text language is the script of Satan n if u use it u luk kinda silly in ma opinion k?
As an avid reader I often find myself falling for the characters which are, in effect, just words on a page. Inky yet attractive, whether it’s the charming Mr. Darcy or the mysterious Heathcliff, I can’t get enough of those fictional fellas! (Warning: Ink poisoning is actually a thing so it’s probably best not to take this one too literally!)
And there you have it, my top tips in wooing a weirdo! I am, however, positive that there are many other, inconceivable ways to win their hearts and I shouldn’t doubt that imagination will prove very handy in your endeavor.
‘The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind’- Bob Dylan
A childhood typically involves many tortures; whether it’s being forced to wear your mother’s choice of sickly civvies, enduring endless hours in maths class or, in my case, being made to watch football.
Like most children, I was a whippersnapper perplexed by the world. Large numbers and large humans (a.k.a. the ‘grown ups’) mused me to no end. A fundamental confusion that apparently also spread to the Football pitch.
This is because, in my childish silliness, I believed that the players who kicked a ball on the TV were, in fact, robots.
In my mind they were mechanical beings designed only with the ability to repel and attract a spherical object at the amusement of an entire crowd of cheering adults.
Perhaps this minor absence of sense stemmed from the precision of the players; they always seemed to be so accurate and never appeared tired or without fuel.
Although it can be said that I’m not the birdbrain that I once was with regards to this sport, I wouldn’t go as far as to say I understand it entirely.
I mean, grown men in a field kicking around a ball for millions of pounds? I think I’d sooner understand quantum physics!
To one, she was a wife.
To two, she was a mother.
And to an entire nation, she was a leader.
Today marked the grievous end of Margaret Thatcher’s momentous 87 years. Her legacy, however, which still perseveres throughout the United Kingdom, will, undoubtedly, live on in a society indebted to her strength.
Perhaps more worldly recognised as the first female British Prime minister, I feel that it would be fair to say that this was the least of her triumphs. In only eleven years she lead her country to countless victories which leaders before her premiership would not have been prepared to achieve.
It was in 1982 when she led Britain to an unlikely victory in the Falklands, a victory that has been compared even to those of Winston Churchill, and it was also at this time she proved that ‘this lady is not for turning’.
Also notable was her leap towards peace between the countries of Ireland and Great Britain that had been amidst tension for hundreds of years. In the face of strikes and critics she remained strong and in turn led to what would become an end to the ‘troubles’.
Even to this day, however, her critics remain just as fierce causing what is, perhaps, one of the greatest divides in public opinion. Indeed, to some, she was considered evil but, to even more, she is a hero.
Although, what this split cannot deny is how Margaret Thatcher, undeniably, put the ‘Great’ back into Great Britain.
Before setting off to Iceland last summer, my team and I received a rather lengthy list of items that were ‘necessary’ for our trek.
This itinerary included many seemingly plausible items such as socks, boots and a head torch.
However, what the clever people behind this itinerary seemed to forget was; Iceland, in the Summer, has 24 hours of sunlight.
So… not exactly the sort of place where you’d need to drag around an artificial light!
Yet, in the heat of excitement I purchased everything on the list from painfully pink fleeces to Indiana Jones-styled hats and indeed a useless head torch.
Useless, that is, until I gave the neglected item a different purpose.
Now reading in bed at night doesn’t find me awkwardly positioned in order to somehow gather enough of the room’s light to be able to see, rather, I have become my own source!
I just hope my future spouse doesn’t mind sharing a bed with a weirdo.
(And yes, I know that this post’s title was extremely questionable! But it obviously worked pretty well in grabbing your attention ey? 😉 )