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.
Monday, 19 December 2011
Wednesday, 7 December 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, 1 December 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, 20 November 2011
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
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
Wednesday, 19 October 2011
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
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
Friday, 16 September 2011
Funky Monk.
It is day 6 in Roeburn Halls and Adam is in his room, in his flat, writing on his blog. He would like to remind the viewers that although this voice is technically meant to be a geordie accent that might be compared to that of big brother; any resemblance is purely co-incidental.
Well dearest readers I will start today's (or rather tonight's!) blog with an apology; an apology to Joanna Boyle. This is because I have promised Joanna that I would do a blog about Greenbelt. However sadly this post has almost no relevance to Greenbelt whatsoever really however I will throw in the odd "UP" reference to keep you amused/ satisfy your hunger for our beloved festival to be mentioned on the blogesphere.
UP fans may want to play the UP drinking game. Everytime I make an UP reference. Take a shot. Simples.
Moving on! Onwards and UPwards (Take a shot).
To say that settling into uni was easy would be more of a lie than anyone who says they actually took a shot at that last reference. If you didn't; go find yourself a million balloons and don't come back until you've got a picture of you on paradise falls (and while you're at it. Take another shot!)
Back to my little adventure. (hmm... a sort of UP reference. Take another half shot on that one; just to be sure) I semi moved in on the Saturday which was eventful after only finishing packing somewhere between 2.30/4am (a bit hazy) so as you can imagine I was the life and soul of the party when I got there.
After my mum had unpacked enough supplies to last me the apocalypse and toddled off with my dad to get me more I got to know my flatmates. What they were like "behind the profile" would be a good phrase to put it. It turns out they are all really nice and I get on with them rather well. However it has only been 6 days, and although you could fly to paradise falls (take a shot) in less than that in a house kept suspended by thousands of balloons (take another shot), I'm not overly convinced they have had enough time to get fully annoyed by every little movement I do which is bound to happen as a side effect of to much exposure to the horrors of living with a sarcastic guy like me.
In regards to people on my course I have made two great first impressions of myself to all of them.
The first came when I was walking to a lecture with James and Rob (his real name is Conor. Long story.) Anyway we got the usual bombardment of people giving us leaflets like they contain the plague when I noticed a guy in what I perceived to be a really good costume. I took a leaflet from him, complimented him saying "nice costume mate" to which he replied "haha well it's the real thing". Not really hearing what he said I laughed and walked on. However something was bothering me so I looked down at the leaflet. The man whom I had just complimented on his attire was actually a monk, dressed in monkly attire, and was giving out leaftlets to the "UCLan Catholic Chaplaincy".
God -1
Adam - 0
After waking up the next morning, dreams littered with images of God smiting me down for harassing a brown robed man in socks and sandals, I looked down and realised that my next lecture was less than an hour away and that I needed to get a move on if I was to actually get there on time. In recent years, and countless times being last arrival of the class, I have formed the concept that I must be naturally fashionably late to everything; (Apart from the time we were given the ability to organise. I pulled a sicky.) That day was no exception. I turned up at the building, already ten minutes late. I wandered round a bit until I found a class. I walked in and then had a sudden realisation that I didn't recognise anybody there! As I backed out slowly and ran away, the awkward turtle was breading like a rabbit, I was then caught up by my classmate James Maisey who revealed that I HAD actually found the right class and that I was, infact, an idiot.
I quickly returned to the class and sat down. Meanwhile the awkward turtle was having grandchildren.
Still, at least I arrived. The lecturer never turned up. Bad times. Ahh well. I'm sure there was a good reason. Uclan are usually rather organised. (They didn't pull a sicky and got a queue jump ticket) for that they get the Ellie badge. (Ahh you thought I'd forgotten! Take a shot and get that Alcoholics anonymous form. You might need it!)
It was the second lecture in two days that a lecturer hadn't turned up for. The head of English turned up for the second part which was good. Again I doubt it's the lecturers fault. The online timetable is apparently less than brilliant at the moment. However, because I'm nice, I will excuse it. We share two things in common. We are both new to the university and we both have our off weeks. Fingers crossed!
Moving on! Uclan is awesome! I've really enjoyed my time here so far and am actually looking forward to the beginning of lectures! Everyone's been very friendly... and yeh... erm... enough said? I can't really say much more than that really. It's been great! Living on my own has been fun so far!
I went shopping today! (This may confuse people but I'm actually writing this nearly 24hours after I first started it.
Impressed? So am I.
I have never been excited in Iceland before. No, I haven't decided that I need to rack up some airmiles and I wish my student loan covered me enough to go to Iceland (well... it kind of does. Getting back would be problematic. So might the essentials. Don't think I'd be up for "best son award" if my parents got an international phonecall from Iceland saying that I'd blown all my money on the plane ride not realising that I might just need food, water, accomodation, socks (I'd inevitably forget them). Then again with my natural talent for fashionable lateness I'd probably miss the flight.
That was an amusing tangent. Back to the story?
... Oh wait you don't have much of an option. LOL.
Anyway as it turns out I actually quite like food shopping. Emily will be happy with this. It's another step on my seemingly inevitable road to domesticated manhood; where we will move to the suburbs, have BBQs with the neighbours, and I'll drive a saloon... hmm I'm quite liking this picture. Got a few things to do first though. It's on my "To do list". Funnily enough things end up on my "to do list" and never get done. Coincidental? I think not my dear Watson.
On Adam's "to do list" no one can hear you scream. Not even a man in a flying house will save you. (Take a shot).
Sitting here to Busted. Gotta love them. Old school.
You may notice that I sometimes make random comments such as the one above. This is my way to deal with writers block. Don't like it? Deal with it.
No... wait... don't leave. I love you really. Please stay. I have cookies? :D
Back to living in the suburbs. I'm sorry Emily that's not going to happen. We're going to get uber rich and live in a zeppelin with lots of dogs (Yes, that's right, take a shot. Your mouth is a little to the left. Got it. Well done). Zeppelins are awesome. Dogs are pretty cool too. (A zeppelin shaped like a giant dog? Genius here I come.)
Wherever I live I'd like to have a big red button. Attached to a siren. This is because big red buttons may be fun; however, big red buttons attached to sirens are EXCITING. (For the record Exciting>Fun)
Big red buttons that have a siren, a do not touch sign and make something go BOOM! Well... you'd better stand well clear and wack Lonely Island on. Things just got messy. (I apologuise Lorraine. That was an inappropriate joke. Please don't create an awkward moment for both you and Eve and ask her what that means...)
I think I have kept you entertained enough... for now. MWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
By the way I might have my own radio show. Gotta love it.
Adam
ADVENTURE IS OUT THERE! (Finish the bottle. Then maybe two more.)
Well dearest readers I will start today's (or rather tonight's!) blog with an apology; an apology to Joanna Boyle. This is because I have promised Joanna that I would do a blog about Greenbelt. However sadly this post has almost no relevance to Greenbelt whatsoever really however I will throw in the odd "UP" reference to keep you amused/ satisfy your hunger for our beloved festival to be mentioned on the blogesphere.
UP fans may want to play the UP drinking game. Everytime I make an UP reference. Take a shot. Simples.
Moving on! Onwards and UPwards (Take a shot).
To say that settling into uni was easy would be more of a lie than anyone who says they actually took a shot at that last reference. If you didn't; go find yourself a million balloons and don't come back until you've got a picture of you on paradise falls (and while you're at it. Take another shot!)
Back to my little adventure. (hmm... a sort of UP reference. Take another half shot on that one; just to be sure) I semi moved in on the Saturday which was eventful after only finishing packing somewhere between 2.30/4am (a bit hazy) so as you can imagine I was the life and soul of the party when I got there.
After my mum had unpacked enough supplies to last me the apocalypse and toddled off with my dad to get me more I got to know my flatmates. What they were like "behind the profile" would be a good phrase to put it. It turns out they are all really nice and I get on with them rather well. However it has only been 6 days, and although you could fly to paradise falls (take a shot) in less than that in a house kept suspended by thousands of balloons (take another shot), I'm not overly convinced they have had enough time to get fully annoyed by every little movement I do which is bound to happen as a side effect of to much exposure to the horrors of living with a sarcastic guy like me.
In regards to people on my course I have made two great first impressions of myself to all of them.
The first came when I was walking to a lecture with James and Rob (his real name is Conor. Long story.) Anyway we got the usual bombardment of people giving us leaflets like they contain the plague when I noticed a guy in what I perceived to be a really good costume. I took a leaflet from him, complimented him saying "nice costume mate" to which he replied "haha well it's the real thing". Not really hearing what he said I laughed and walked on. However something was bothering me so I looked down at the leaflet. The man whom I had just complimented on his attire was actually a monk, dressed in monkly attire, and was giving out leaftlets to the "UCLan Catholic Chaplaincy".
God -1
Adam - 0
After waking up the next morning, dreams littered with images of God smiting me down for harassing a brown robed man in socks and sandals, I looked down and realised that my next lecture was less than an hour away and that I needed to get a move on if I was to actually get there on time. In recent years, and countless times being last arrival of the class, I have formed the concept that I must be naturally fashionably late to everything; (Apart from the time we were given the ability to organise. I pulled a sicky.) That day was no exception. I turned up at the building, already ten minutes late. I wandered round a bit until I found a class. I walked in and then had a sudden realisation that I didn't recognise anybody there! As I backed out slowly and ran away, the awkward turtle was breading like a rabbit, I was then caught up by my classmate James Maisey who revealed that I HAD actually found the right class and that I was, infact, an idiot.
I quickly returned to the class and sat down. Meanwhile the awkward turtle was having grandchildren.
Still, at least I arrived. The lecturer never turned up. Bad times. Ahh well. I'm sure there was a good reason. Uclan are usually rather organised. (They didn't pull a sicky and got a queue jump ticket) for that they get the Ellie badge. (Ahh you thought I'd forgotten! Take a shot and get that Alcoholics anonymous form. You might need it!)
It was the second lecture in two days that a lecturer hadn't turned up for. The head of English turned up for the second part which was good. Again I doubt it's the lecturers fault. The online timetable is apparently less than brilliant at the moment. However, because I'm nice, I will excuse it. We share two things in common. We are both new to the university and we both have our off weeks. Fingers crossed!
Moving on! Uclan is awesome! I've really enjoyed my time here so far and am actually looking forward to the beginning of lectures! Everyone's been very friendly... and yeh... erm... enough said? I can't really say much more than that really. It's been great! Living on my own has been fun so far!
I went shopping today! (This may confuse people but I'm actually writing this nearly 24hours after I first started it.
Impressed? So am I.
I have never been excited in Iceland before. No, I haven't decided that I need to rack up some airmiles and I wish my student loan covered me enough to go to Iceland (well... it kind of does. Getting back would be problematic. So might the essentials. Don't think I'd be up for "best son award" if my parents got an international phonecall from Iceland saying that I'd blown all my money on the plane ride not realising that I might just need food, water, accomodation, socks (I'd inevitably forget them). Then again with my natural talent for fashionable lateness I'd probably miss the flight.
That was an amusing tangent. Back to the story?
... Oh wait you don't have much of an option. LOL.
Anyway as it turns out I actually quite like food shopping. Emily will be happy with this. It's another step on my seemingly inevitable road to domesticated manhood; where we will move to the suburbs, have BBQs with the neighbours, and I'll drive a saloon... hmm I'm quite liking this picture. Got a few things to do first though. It's on my "To do list". Funnily enough things end up on my "to do list" and never get done. Coincidental? I think not my dear Watson.
On Adam's "to do list" no one can hear you scream. Not even a man in a flying house will save you. (Take a shot).
Sitting here to Busted. Gotta love them. Old school.
You may notice that I sometimes make random comments such as the one above. This is my way to deal with writers block. Don't like it? Deal with it.
No... wait... don't leave. I love you really. Please stay. I have cookies? :D
Back to living in the suburbs. I'm sorry Emily that's not going to happen. We're going to get uber rich and live in a zeppelin with lots of dogs (Yes, that's right, take a shot. Your mouth is a little to the left. Got it. Well done). Zeppelins are awesome. Dogs are pretty cool too. (A zeppelin shaped like a giant dog? Genius here I come.)
Wherever I live I'd like to have a big red button. Attached to a siren. This is because big red buttons may be fun; however, big red buttons attached to sirens are EXCITING. (For the record Exciting>Fun)
Big red buttons that have a siren, a do not touch sign and make something go BOOM! Well... you'd better stand well clear and wack Lonely Island on. Things just got messy. (I apologuise Lorraine. That was an inappropriate joke. Please don't create an awkward moment for both you and Eve and ask her what that means...)
I think I have kept you entertained enough... for now. MWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
By the way I might have my own radio show. Gotta love it.
Adam
ADVENTURE IS OUT THERE! (Finish the bottle. Then maybe two more.)
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
Young and camp.
Having returned from my week and a bit of camping (in various areas of the country) i have realised that I have not posted on the ol' blog in a while... though not, I suspect on quite the same level as others I might think of. (*cough* Laycock there is STILL only one post! *cough*) <- quite a lot to say in-between coughs as I'm sure you can imagine!
My holiday consisted of two parts - Devon and Greenbelt. One of which is a music festival and one isn't. I'm sure you can work out which is which.
I suppose I could start with Devon... or do a George Lucas and start in the middle and work from there.
In the spirit of this...
A LONG TIME AGO
IN A TOWN RELATIVELY BUT NOT QUITE THAT FAR AWAY REALLY... I SUPPOSE
ADAM LEGG
My holiday consisted of two parts - Devon and Greenbelt. One of which is a music festival and one isn't. I'm sure you can work out which is which.
I suppose I could start with Devon... or do a George Lucas and start in the middle and work from there.
In the spirit of this...
A LONG TIME AGO
IN A TOWN RELATIVELY BUT NOT QUITE THAT FAR AWAY REALLY... I SUPPOSE
ADAM LEGG
*que dramatic music that sounds suspiciously like the starwars theme*
(I cannot confirm or deny that this is actually the starwars theme due to copyright. However if you thought of the starwars theme while reading this feel free to sue yourselves. Just finish this blog first.)
EPISODE WHATEVER: THE PHANTOM SHOWERS
DURRR, DURRR, DEDEDE DURRR DURRR DEDEDE DURR DURRR DEDEDEDEEEEEE (you get the idea)
Adam Legg has arrived in Devon with the Black's (in the spirit of the douchebags who might interpret this as racism, it is not. My girlfriend is Emily BLACK... her father is Jonathan BLACK, HER MOTHER IS ANNE BLACK... you get the picture) all seems to be going well until they return from the beach.
Adam and Emily go to have a shower but are met with a curious case of facist showerdom.
(By now maybe the starwars music is getting a bit boring for the rest of you who aren't massive fans of the franchise. In which case I suggest "Build me up buttercup". You can accompany it with the idea of me and Emily with classic 80s style cheesy shocked faces if you feel the need. Maybe even some long-johns for me too?)
Can they save enough 20ps to keep clean or will they spin into itchy decay and grow mould in their armpits? ONLY TIME WILL TELL...
Moving away from the starwars nostalgia that I'm sure many of you were feeling during that little piece of variation on the usual blogging. Devon was rather good!
CELEBRATE GOOD TIMES, COME ON! (No prizes for guessing what spotify has just put on)
Back on track (and back to black!) The campsite showers! *Que DUN DUN DUHHHH* *Screaming heard in background* ARGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Anyway these FACIST SHOWERS (okay I've been listening to Billy Bragg a little too much)
Okay well, the showers in the campsite take money before they wash you; a sort of "pass my showerhead with silver" sort of thing. (Not a sort of thong which spellcheck decided to suggest!) You have 4 minutes once the shower decides that your 20p is indeed not fairy currency or a piece of chewing gum and accepts it. Included in this the shower gives you a 1 minute period of grace for you to strip off and mentally prepare yourself for the frenzy that will follow. You do your stretches, jog on the spot, weigh up your shower and attempt to position yourself so NO WATER WILL BE WASTED. The shower demons are unforgiving.
Suddenly you hear a beeping noise and you run in! Only to realise that the beeping noise is someone else's and all the meets you is the cold, bitter feeling of disappointment while the shower laughs in your face! As you walk out, there is another beeping and the shower turns on. The Demons laughing again as they torment you! You slap yourself with showergel and move until the pathetic drizzle your shower gives you. (I was half tempted to start shouting "It's spitting! It's spitting! Everybody in!")
To add to the initial stress of trying to get clean in under 4 minutes you are supposed to listen out for other beeps that indicate intervals of time that have passed. However, to torment you further, the demons of the shower have put all the showers close together, so your shower is accompanied by a series of beeps; none of which you know what it means and any could mean that you are left more soapy and disappointed than a slag at a foam party.
If you are unlucky enough to not heed the warnings of the beeps you might end up in that state. There is a solution though. You can go stick another 20p in the meter outside (cross my showerhead with silver). While this may satisfy the demons of the shower, it does not satisfy the massive queue of unhappy campers who glare at you if you so much as THINK about putting that 20p in. You little bastard.
I have bought myself a straw hat. Emily hates it. I love it.
While we were on the beach I was thinking how a wedding on the beach is something people view as romantic, cute etc. (Sex on the beach has just popped up on spotify. How wonderful.)
However the cynical voice in the back of my mind was wondering about the practicalities of it that might not make it so appealing...
For a start, getting sand on your suit will probably result in the loss of your deposit on it, probably the same with the dresses... secondly the wind blowing sand in your face isn't considered massively romantic either, as the priest having to spit several times over the bride to get the sand out his mouth wouldn't give you a massive score on four weddings.
I will blog about greenbelt tomorrow as I am conscious about how long this one is getting
Talk later,
Adam xx
Hello my name is Russel and I am a wilderness explorer...
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