Snazzy.

Right well I've just eaten a pizza that tasted of cardboard. Nom. Nahht.

I think I'm in a bad mood. Can't really tell. I'm still relatively optimistic but I'm running round being bloody cynical about bloody everything.

It became apparent when I walked into the meeting today and somebody moaned about having their sweets confiscated in the library.

Before I had even thought about it I was mocking her by talking about how I was sure there are prisoners of war who realize life isn't so bad as to have had their sweets taken off them.

Comedic genius I know.

Between me and Hannah Charlton, we have managed to put together a flyer for the lacrosse club.

I helpfully suggested that the flyer should have something snappy and witty on it as to reflect my absolutely hilarious personality and banter (why are you laughing?)

Anyway I thought that a good idea would be to put on these posters...

"LACROSSE... HAVE YOU GOT THE BALLS"

It then became apparent that it didn't quite have the same effect for girls...

"LACROSSE... DO YOU HAVE A VAGINA?"

A sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.


Nobody really uses the word "snazzy" anymore.

We should definitely use it more often.

Snazzy is such a snazzy word it makes my snazziness look even more snazzy. BOOM

That's a lot of snazzy for one sentence.

I think it's fair to say that that was one snazzy sentence.

The snazzy alliteration in that last sentence made me look even more snazzy.

Snazzyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.






...so yeh moving on.

The show is back on tomorrow. I expect you all to listen in. That is all.

So long and thanks for all the fish.

Adam.


A day without sunshine is like... well  night really.








Oh wait! Take me out.

Not literally. With a sniper. I want to die in my sleep like my mate.

Not screaming, like the passengers on his bus.


So yeh take me out is back on our screen. With even more laughs etc. Funfunfunfunfun.

With it came much annoyance for me.

There was this girl called Wen who was a serial dater. To which she added "girls gotta eat"

Well done dear you just sent the feminist movement back 40 years.

The show also comes with a spinoff entitled "take me out: the gossip"

Basically you find out more about the girls that will be assessing the poor males who put themselves on a very public platform in order to hopefully get a date.

Felt sorry for the guy with the snake. Then again a snake is not really known for it's woman-attracting qualities.

Apart from the notorious trousersnake.

But yeh I'm ending it here.

Stop reading.

Seriously stop reading...




...seriously move onto a previous blog.







...you still here?

Sleep, or the lack of...

I am supposed to be sleeping right now.

Although my bed has a cardboard box, a guitar case, a guitar, a sleeping bag, a couple of cans of Pepsi max, a notebook and a polystyrene plane on it... it still looks rather inviting. I suppose I could spoon the cardboard box and guitar and shove everything else away with my feet and fit right in there!

But I probably won't.

University has well and truly stuck it's middle finger up to my sleeping patterns.

I'm going to take this opportunity to say hi to all the people that viewed from Russia over the past month! Nearly rivaling the readership of England! So hello all 2 of you!

I joke I joke. But seriously it's great to see that my generally incoherent ramblings are being (hopefully) enjoyed overseas! Get in touch people! I want to hear from you!

Anyway I have a topic for today... (I do?)
Yes you do! (Oh well that's good to know... please! lead on!)

Okay I will then!

In my grand old age of nearly 19 I swear I have borrowers infesting the house.

They keep taking stuff and leaving it exactly where I left it. Highly annoying.

For all those who have never heard of the borrowers you really need to watch the film.

(They really do. So yeh keep going)

I really don't need your permission to carry on you know. This is my blog too.

(Sorry I'll be quiet... *hands in pockets and whistles while tidying up around the place*)

Right where was I when I was so rudely interrupted by the alternate personality I have invented purely for the purposes of this blog?

I haven't a clue... it's not like I could look up the page or anything...

...why am I listening to 50 cent?

I am feeling so ironically g right now. I could grab the gun I really don't have, ride slow in the low rider I don't have and refer to everybody as brother all the time. Which, seeing as I'm not Jamie Oliver, I don't do.

(But Adam you pretty much covered the fact that you aren't exactly "gangsta" material in your last blog. Surely you haven't run out of material! THINK OF SOMETHING ORIGINAL BROTHER!)

Yeh I can totally see your quietness is going REALLY well...

...wait did you just call me brother?

(Yeh I did yo g diggy dawg mothertrucka)

...right okay then. 50 cent is evidently having a bad influence on my alternate personality... next I'll be rapping about how the ghetto of Cheshire is a really hard place to grow up.

(Guns don't kill people. Rappers do.)

Oh dear... it's started. It's going through the goldie lookin' chain period as my wit and my suppressed gangster personalities wrestle for control of my head. This is going to end well...

...wait what are these blue midgets doing running around?

Turns out I'm not on acid.

Liam Smith has mentioned that he's got the smurfs in his head.

I wonder how my "absolutely g" side will deal with the urge to paint myself blue and go live in a mushroom?

(You wanna play rough? Okay! Say hello to my little friend!)

So Scarface eh? I suppose that will do

Lalalaala sing a happy song...

Lalalalalaa smurf the whole day long

(*The sound of machine gun fire*)

Well that was over pretty quickly. Turns out smurfs don't react well to an under-mounted grenade launcher... who knew?

(Hello darling... did you miss me?)

Well it looks like my wit has regained control of my consciousnesses while "I'm so g montana" was reloading.
Please ignore the dress. It does that a lot.

Adam

Looking forward to being back at uni with everyone like the Flat 6ers, Liam Smith, Eric Ling (who's blog you should defo check out! He's following me on here so click away!), Leanne Cheshire, Hayley White, Chloe Rudd, Ste Thomas, Tom James, Conor Callaghan and the rest of the course as well as everyone who should be on here. Please excuse the fact that you're name has been missed off I am dreadfully tired!

(Squidge <3)

I guess I should let my fantastic wit have the last word as it has won this evening...

(... or maybe you should go f...)

...perhaps not.

Two thousand rappers.

Right well I should be hopefully reaching my 2000th viewer this time round. When you are reading this just check down at the bottom where the reader count thingy is. If you're number 2000; let me know! It would be nice and not creepy whatsoever.

Presupposing that more than 12 people actually read this anyway.

 I hope so. I get more viewers in the holiday time. Seeing as it's vaguely around holiday time now hopefully people will be very bored, see that I've written a blog and read something other than increasingly bitchy statuses on facebook.

 I mean I like to think that these blogs are vaguely interesting/absolutely hilarious but obviously it could be the funniest blog in the world yet would probably be pretty pointless if nobody read it.

 Anybody listening in to me writing one of these will probably hear sniggers and snorts as I laugh at my own jokes.

 If that isn't sad enough I do occasionally get bored and re-read these. Just to remind me of how funny I actually am.

 Brb. Going to get my new hat.

...
...
...

 Back :D Exciting times!

Anyways moving on... Guns don't kill people... rappers do.
(completely related I know; I'm listening to it now.)

It's quite funny because we have these rappers that are professional etc. though I think I've found the winning answer for these.

It's simple maths really.

You take:

A hard life in the ghetto + money + "pussy" (though I'm not sure what cats actually have to do with it)
Gold chains, false teeth and several bullet wounds are optional but not required.

So I'm decided to move to a council estate, win the lottery... and buy a cat.
See you in the charts motherfuckers! (It's also important that I swear all the time too. Helps the badboy image.)

I need to drop all usage of spelling and grammar as this is perceived as "cool" and "with it" (or maybe "kwl" and "wit it yo brap, g, re-fucking-load {got my swearing in there})

 Or maybe not...
Maybe I could be Andy Murray and rap about having fans etc.
Or I could be the worlds first grammatically correct rap-person with "sweet rhymes" such as the number 1 hit "i before e except after c".

 Or maybe not that either.
The truth is that I will never make it as a rapper. 
Nor do I really plan to.
Too many women. Too many guns and I don't plan on taking Emily to the candy shop. 

I guess the rap scene just isn't ready for me yet.
However in the words of the artist known as "Phil"
"yes, well, legibility and correct punctuation might not be "street"... but that's how I roll, motherfucker."

MC Adam Legg.

"Alright stop... collaborate and listen" - Miss Davies.

On the road to driving godness.

The more observant of you will observe with all your powers of observingness (that is a word) that I am still not driving.

This, I have decided, is not my fault.
Nor is it the fault of my uncle, who, over the year that I've been driving nearly, has been a patient, albeit brave, teacher.

It is the fault of the hazard perception test.

It doesn't actually specify what a hazard actually is.

And if for example a caring member of the British community felt that four hooded teenagers doing a crack deal at the side of the road is worth about 5 million clicks that he feels is not only a hazard to the lives of the yobs involved but all those around them.

You never know. One might suddenly burst into a crack fueled rage and decide he is infact invincible and the bonnet of my car is a good thing to test this newfound power against. I'd count that as a hazard.

Or the fact that the trees your driving past could be the home to a wide assortment of vampires/ninjas/lost old people who could, at any moment, jump down and assault your vehicle with fangs, discs and worthers original.
I'd count that as a hazard too!

What if the sheep, innocently passing in front of your car waved on by a farmer who really does nothing for the stereotype) had rabies? You could be in risk of catching a disease that is potentially fatal if the crazed sheep somehow broke into your car and attacked you.

Have you ever seen a sheep run? You wouldn't be able to get away. It'd keep coming and coming and coming. And then you'd have rabies.
I'd say that's a hazard. Rabies, in the past, has been considered to be quite hazardous.
 
  All this is apparently incorrect in the world where a car turning out 5 miles ahead of you is the dawning of the next Apocalypse. 

 Its just that I like to plan ahead for these things.

  All you people who are laughing and don't will one day fall victim of an invincible teenager, a fully armed old person or that you didn't quite lock your doors quick enough to stop that crazy ball of wool from infecting you with rabies.

You were drawn in by their cute propaganda of Sean the sheep and Timmy time. You might even be old enough to have been influenced by menace-to-the-street Larry the Lamb. They are coming. The sheep will rule. LONG LIVE KING COTTON



 ...sorry I don't know what quite happened there. However my sheep bite is burning....

Adam


BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA... wait, what?

Btw who will be the 2000th viewer? baa.

A close shave.

 I should be reaching my 2000th view sometime soon.
It might be with this post...
most likely it will be the next!

Or maybe not at all! WHO KNOWS?

IT COULD BE YOU! *mysterious music*


Anyway back on track. What I actually wanted to come and write to you about was the end of Movember and all the goodness it bought with it.


I had just come back from doing some editorial work for the university newspaper when I was told by Jade that it was nearly midnight! EXCITING TIMES!

I rushed into my bedroom to ready my razor.

Here's what my mind decided to happen. Bearing in mind my life, in my head, is a musical.

I entered the room.

We're leaving together... and still we stand tall
Coz maybe they've seen us... something something something...
ITS THE FINAL COUNTDOWN
lala la la
lalalalalaaaa
lala la la
lalalalalalaaaa

Something along those lines anyway.
Not with all those people in the background though. That's just a little creepy.
I think if I was shaving and someones face popped up in the mirror screaming the final countdown at me. I'd probably cut myself.

Which, surprisingly enough, hurts.

Plus when you cut your face. Does it stop bleeding? No it bloody well doesn't!
Numerous rolls of toilet roll stuck to my face later... It's still bleeding! Not helpful when your late for something... like the line for time keeping. The irony would've probably killed me.

Anyway clicking play on the video of my life I am currently entering the bathroom...
I grasped hold on my razor and held it in the air!

AAAHHHHHHH DA BINNN YAAAAAAA
DAABAADEE DABBA DAAA

I barely resisted the urge to wake the whole block up by screaming "BY THE POWER OF GREYSKULL" at the top of my voice.

Apparently people don't like being woken up by battle cries! Who knew?

My shaving skills were like Barry Scott on the Cilit bang advert. BANG...

...and I'd cut myself three bloody times!

Numerous toilet rolls later and I'd managed to clot the gaping wound which was at least the size of the rubber on the end of a pencil. THAT BIG!

Despite the war wound that I currently carried on my face I battled through to shave. Earning man points along the way by not crying.

I'm a big boy. I'm a big boy. I'm a big boy. 

WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Smoothness... mmmm... my chin feels nice.

Moving on at a reasonable pace.

After my entry about dancing last week about my dancing skills earning me the title of "white gangster" last week.

(A title I really want Bruce Forsythe to come out with on strictly come dancing

"Didn't they do well?

Those moves reminded me of when I was a white gangster...

When I was hip to the hop and 'down with the kids'

Seeing you dance makes me want to put my baseball cap on backwards and listen to snoop dogg")

I WON A DANCEOFF.

I'm feeling cool and "safe" already.

Infront of the whole Students Union Bar my pub quiz team had drawn with another team.

Anyway I went out

I busted some moves

and a hip.

And won.

Gotta love drinks vouchers.

Will see if I can try and get a video up at some point

Anyway I'm off to do my radio show

8-10pm www.frequencyradio.co.uk

THE LEGG UP

Adam xxx

Smart/Casual

Dinner Jacket - Very Smart

Naked - Very casual.

Going out wearing nothing but a dinner jacket... now that's smart casual.

Saturday Night (hand actions)

Okay so maybe I don't post quite as often as I used to on this blog.
This is mainly because I'm too busy being absolutely hilarious on radio instead...
This actually means while technology is advancing I'm actually becoming more old school as the years go by.
On that note it might be appropriate to inform you that I will be communicating my next blog to you by smoke signal. Have your sacrificing knives and animal skin drums at the ready because it's going to be a wild night.

I thought I'd get back on the old blog, stretch the typing fingers and don my intelligent-look glasses to tell you about how I managed to end up being referred to as "white gangster".

 I mean it was probably bound to happen. With my gold chain, bouncing car and the fact that I go around calling everyone "bro" had to get someone's attention.

 The limp and the drugs I've been selling to the feline underground as well probably turned a few heads.

 But alas no! My dear readers, it was not to be!

The thing that got picked up on the most is the way I dance.

From the age of about 4 I was always determined I would not dance like my Dad. You know the whole "dad dancing = social suicide" sort of thing. However after my Dad got first dance with a bride at a wedding (that wasn't his own) I decided that probably wasn't such a bad thing.

 My girlfriend, for those of you who live on the moon she is called Emily, hates it when I dance. Well I say hates it when I dance. She hates it when I move and dance. She is quite happy for me to stand and click but apart from that dancing for me was a nono!

 I wouldn't say that I have really ever been a confident dancer. I was okay at the Frank Martin Disco parties with loads of cheesy music, especially the macarena, at which I am a self-professed pro.I am also alright at the foxtrot (I think that's what it was anyway) after I danced with Gareth's mum at his sister's 18th.

 However; put me in a club I am absolutely clueless.

Girls seem to be fine at dancing. They mostly do their own thing and look like they genuinely fit into their surroundings. Acting cool and mostly keeping their eyes closed. Which is a mystery to me.

Guys seem to do a lot of shouting, a lot of hugging and a lot of jumping around as if they've just had an electric shock up their arse.

And then there's me. I would be tempted to quote the lyrics "stuck in the middle with you". Except there's no "you" there's just me. So I'm just stuck in the middle with me really.

Anyway your stood there; fighting to keep your space in the circle with everyone barging in-front of you, while trying not to look overly keen about trying to look like you fit in.

 Then you realise. I have as much idea of what I'm meant to be doing as the guys who kept grabbing girls arses around me in the expectancy that a girl is looking for just that classy sort of lad.

In times of need like this the middle class part of my mind puts down it's guardian and pipe and gets on the case.

 "West side story!" It says; "that's perceived to be a 'cool' musical and there's dancing on it! Result! Now you don't want to seem to keen so just stand there and click your fingers. Remember; Emily hates swaying."

"Everybody will be really impressed with your fine aptitude for theatre and your knowledge of musicals will make you seem really manly to protect you from the muscly guys that you happened to be really scared of."

 I am never listening to my middle class side ever again.

Needless to say I found myself very awkwardly clicking along to dubstep. This is surprisingly hard. As aparently West side story and electronic dance music don't really mix that well. Who knew?

In the end I decided to follow suite. I ended up jumping round and shouting and hugging like every other guy there and had a rather good time of it!

And there we have it. Successful night of trying to fit in sorted. Now I'm off to play oblivion.

Adam. xx

Never trust spiritual leader who cannot dance.  ~Mr. Miyagi, The Next Karate Kid, 1994

Swimmingly dear, just swimmingly.

Hello dearest readers

Remember me?
While I've strayed into the dizzying heights of audio entertainment I have often thought it was high time I posted another post in this wonderful blog of mine!
I've just been discussing the word "swimmingly" with a good friend of mine Winnie Southgate, who is going as Winnie the witch to her Halloween thingymebob which I thought gave me some rather good material to stick in this blog.

University is great too. Thanks for asking.

Gawd. People sometimes. So bloody rude.

Anyways the thing we were discussing the word swimmingly. That's where I was. I think. Maybe. Who knows?

Back to reality (oops there goes gravity), yes swimmingly.

Generally used in the phrase; "it was all going swimmingly but..."

There's always a but isn't there! Nothing can ever just go swimmingly.

It's like "the party was going  swimmingly apart from the two ambulance crews and a fire engine attempting to douse the huge flames that had already engulfed half of the guests" you just don't get things just going swimmingly.

You don't get a swear word before it either. Nothing goes "fucking swimmingly".

Frankly it just sounds wrong.

Like "fucking spiffing". It's just too posh for such vulgarities. (Yeh, vulgarities, it's a word, it's what 4 weeks of english language gets you. Don't push me or I will wack out another)

Anthropocentric. You bought that on yourselves.

But anyhow the word "swimmingly" is an interesting word.

Especially, as I often did on my Kayaking weekend away (My attempt at trying something manly *makes manly grunt and flexes pathetic muscles*) when you've just fallen out of a boat.

In this case, if things are going swimmingly, it's generally considered not to be a massively great thing. In this case there is no but. Unless you've just urinated in your wetsuit. In which case everything is going swimmingly but there's a nice warm tingle that makes everything seem like it's going to be okay.

Apart from the rapids. But hey. C'est la vie.

Going back to manly sports *manly noise, flexing of muscles* I've taken up 5-a-side.
Turns out I'm shit at football. Who knew?

Well that was brief. I was fantastic. You were mediocre.

This is dedicated to everyone who is missing me back home. I miss you too. Most of you.

Adam x

Note to Amy Johnson, I was not mentioned in your blog as people you are missing who have moved to university. I expect a full and public apology. Maybe then you'll go under the category "most of you" ;D