In Summer, many people decide to embrace its corresponding sun by taking a cool, well-deserved dip at the seaside. However, the only dipping I’m doing this season is in the parameters of a sink where the waves are soapy and the seaweed is actually left-over cabbage.
Despite my recent upgrade in obtaining full A-Levels, there is no better place to start the path of careerism than at the bottom and in my case that bottom is a plug hole.
Though it may not be exactly glamorous or requiring much in the way of skills, I feel that I have, nonetheless, acquired a great deal of wisdom during my shifts as a washer-upper and this post will disclose these nuggets.
#1 Whisks are now your mortal enemy
With all those small edges and tight corners, these otherwise essential kitchen tools are a profound nuisance to wash. Needless to say they don’t only succeed in stirring soup and Yorkshire pudding batter but also a great deal of anguish during my soggy duties.
#2 Bubbles become a hair accessory
If you have ever imagined that a certain white foaminess would bring out the colour in your eyes then this is undoubtedly a plus! It is impossible to escape the stray suds so one must learn to embrace this otherwise unique and acquired look.
#3 Wrinkly hands
By the time my shift is over my hands look more like the ruins of a tiny volcanic eruption than actual human limbs. Forget face-lifts, if only my tips could afford a permanent ‘hand-lift’!
So perhaps my hours of labour haven’t exactly left me tremendously enlightened, but it is an experience nonetheless!
Behind my brave, courageous and intrepid exterior (Hah.), I am undoubtedly a total and utter wuss.
And it is, by the standards of health and well-being, a serious problem as it affects my day-to-day life.
For example, if my school bag feels like it’s being weighed down by one or two more bricks than usual, I will purposefully ‘forget’ a folder, and maybe a textbook or three, to save my shoulders from the fiend that is gravity. This has left me with a polished reputation of forgetfulness but of course, the truth is only worse!
My phobia of toads also brandishes me with a title of chickenry; those little slimy legged balls of yuck can turn me (a 5 ft 9 example of evolution’s ‘peak’) into a screaming, heart-racing picture of fright.
I was so terrified of my exam results last year that as soon as I sat down to collect them I turned the pile of papers in front of me a little damp with my spiralling, uncontrollable tears! Needless to say, the teacher giving me the results also looked a little scared.
So lets just say I think I’ll be steering clear of any ‘no fear’ merchandise; unless I give in to the wonderful art of irony.
(Did anyone else notice the number of rhymes in this post? Perhaps the poetry life chose me after all!)
As a British citizen, modesty has become almost a second language to me. Here, if you even find yourself wanting to share the news of your pet squirrel’s second place in a grooming competition, you will be labelled a snob and have your name removed from every scone-party guest list accordingly.
Well, it’s something like that.
This has proven to be a real issue lately as I am taking just another step into adulthood via the creation of my personal statement.
Basically a C.V., the personal statement is every egotist’s paradise as you’re expected to write around 500 words that should somehow convince another human being of your excellence.
This is the time when occasionally walking your grandma’s dog becomes ‘volunteering for the elderly’ and playing a game of cricket for your school when you were 12 becomes ‘having an active role in the school’s sports team’.
But just as I thought I was running out of things to write myself, I just happened to stumble upon this beauty…
… looks like I’ll be bouncing my way to university!
For those of you who have not become exclusively dedicated to news of the Royal baby, you may have heard the recent controversy regarding David Cameron’s plans to restrict pornography in the UK.
My Facebook and Twitter feed, for one, were certainly outraged over the decision which I certainly disagree with, however, it mainly strengthened my anger towards a different policy that the Conservative party are also introducing.
In 2015 it will be compulsory for schools to study a Shakespeare play and here lies the Conservative’s small, yet evident, contradiction.
Shakespeare is known for many things; his heartfelt poetry, being a magnificent playwright but also having a tendency to be a little raunchy here and there.
In fact, there’s a 300 paged book entirely dedicated to the scrupulous amount of sex that lingers amidst Shakespeare’s legendary lines.
So on the one hand we have to protect children from sex by forcing an entire country to become censored by default, but on the other hand we also have to force what is undeniably sexual down the same children’s throats in order to somehow protect their education?
I understand that I’m being a little pedantic here in comparing Shakespeare with porn (please note that’s not what I’m doing!), and you’re probably thinking that children won’t even understand the innuendos and questionable lines.
And that’s exactly where my frustration lies. Where is the logic behind forcing children to study Shakespeare when even students at university level can find it difficult to read let alone critically engage with?
By forcing the study of plays that my as well be composed of an entire different language, you are denying pupils their right to study literature.
I’m not for a moment denying Shakespeare’s importance, but when there is an entire world full of literary masterpieces it simply makes no sense for pupils to be constrained at all.