Wednesday, February 23, 2011

This merits its own post. I'm going to be a journalist!


(Booo, Chester)
Choices in the south of England leave Jane Jardine conflicted. A weekend spent visiting Winchester and University College Falmouth has presented a difficult decision for the ambitious young journalist.

See what I did there? I did it all like what they done do in the news and stuff. Because I'm going to be a professional journalist and such like. Apologies for the lack of blogging in the last week. It's been a bit mad.

Friday was my Winchester interview, and I left feeling really rather nervous about the whole thing. I went to see Dark Star before getting in the car and bent down close to her little furry schnoz, whispering "wish me luck". She did a fishy burp directly into my face. The day did not improve from here. Anticipating a screen test and three written aptitude tests before lunch, then my personal interview in the afternoon, I was a little thrown when they took a group of about seven of us down to the canteen to read a paper each for half an hour, telling us we'd be interviewed and told to analyse a story. I had The Independent, and chose two stories, one of the BAFTAs and one on the Wikileaks fiasco. I got talking to everyone on the table and we had an excellent (to quote drama terminology) 'group dynamic'.

I'm not sure how much I should say about my interview other than that I think I may have come across like I wasn't aware it was a news reporting course, though I think I impressed when I mentioned I'd been on the Winchester Journalism site and had a look around. I came home not feeling particularly confident but comforted by the fact that I'd met someone else in the New Yorker who had an interest in nerdiness and entertainment journalism.

On Saturday, after sitting through the dismal Carlisle/Swindon game, which we won, but was still dismal, Dad and I drove down to Falmouth. We were staying with friends, and in preparation we spent Sunday on a nice walk in the countryside, followed by lunch and a long game of boules at a lovely pub. That was pretty good.

Monday. The interview process at Falmouth consisted of a morning workshop, a guest lecture and then lunch, followed by a campus tour and group interviews in the afternoon. It all went pretty smoothly, and I ate lunch with a girl from Bristol, a guy from St Austell and a girl who lived literally across the road from the campus. Our group interviews were relaxed yet thorough, we were each asked why we wanted to do journalism and what we could bring to the course, before a debate on the troubles facing modern journalism. I think I did pretty well; the guy from St Austell assured me I'd come across really well.

The best thing about Falmouth was that we were made to feel like journalists right from the off. For me personally, I was made to feel like I could go into that course and stay true to the kind of journalism I want to do, which was something I'd been waiting for.

We couldn't stick around (Dad and I) as we had to get home, so with waves and wishes of good luck, we came home. We stopped once to eat authentic Cornish pasties and drink an enormous coffee each, and got home around 9:30ish. Work rang on Tuesday morning asking if I wanted to come in, but I said no. So I'm working 8:30 to 4:30 tomorrow.

No rest for the wicked.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

I miss my friend Anne. She's gone to Australia until August. She's already time-travelled which makes her infinitely cool in my opinion. Me on the other hand? I'm in bed at 9:45, listening to the Lord of the Rings soundtrack and looking forward to reading some more of my book.

I had a conversation on the way back from work on Saturday that went a little like this:

Me: Last night I watched three Indiana Jones movies and I'm looking forward to getting home so I can catch the end of The Empire Strikes Back. I am going out for drinks though. It's a wonder I have a social life, to be honest.
Temporary Boss For The Day: I'm surprised you're not dead.

Which I thought was a little rude. I love watching nerdy movies. Today I ordered a t-shirt with the words HAN SHOT FIRST written on it and if it wasn't for my interest in (awesome) sci-fi films, Paul would've made no sense to me at all. I don't think there's anything wrong with that. If it makes me happy, what's the harm? It's hurtful to assume because I like to watch Star Wars that must mean my social life is lacking and I must be suicidal.

I make my own fun, thank-you-very-much.

Saturday, February 12, 2011


Valentine's Day. Money wasting extortionate rubbish. However, if someone were to get me either of these, I wouldn't mind so much.

Especially if they had nice feet, hair and shoulder blades.


Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Lettuce. It is not a particularly inspiring food. It's not even the nicest tasting leaf vegetable. It's just lettuce. It is green and crunchy and chucked absent-mindedly into sandwiches and salads. No one cares where it's from or whether it's had a good day or if it's expecting a child. It doesn't matter because it's just a boring, simple, plain old lettuce.

Unfortunately, some people seem to believe that lettuce is the most vital commodity on the planet right now. More so than the Amazon rainforest, or the icy poles home to polar bears and penguins. To these people, lettuce is something to get stressed about. It is something that grants the ability to hurl abuse. Because some people have to wait an extra five minutes for lettuce, that seems to mean the end of the world and impending doom.

Just a note for the future, if you come into my workplace and throw a childish tantrum about how you've had to wait 'ten minutes' for some lettuce that you must have or God forbid your whole day will be thrown into chaos, and want to rip the crap out of the two people working their asses off to serve a shop full of people, perhaps you should have a plan b. Perhaps you could assemble your own baps next time. Maybe you should grow up and realise the world does not revolve around you.

I'll say no more about it, but I'll leave you with the immortal words of Tim Bisley - "What a prick."

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Right, so since my last post I've grown a pair and got onto the tutors. They have my stuff and as far as I know, I'm in for the exam. I also rang the tutor recommended by Anne and my first session thing is on Tuesday at 2. I am fretting about the fact I haven't done any actual maths for about three years or whatever, and I'm probably a lot worse at it than I was then. Which was pretty average to say the least. Ho hum pig's bum. What happens happens and if I make a tit out of myself then I make a tit out of myself, I can't quit.

Thanks dudes for your words of owl wisdom.

Whethere it's due in part to the sugary (and at the time) goodness of the chocolatey fudge fridge cake I made last night, the late night strong coffee, my disturbed sleeping patterns or my stressing over every little thing, my fears that I have some horrendous illness were exacerbated last night when I literally could not stop trembling like a nervous trifle. I got about three hours sleep. Not good. Also not good was the fact I nearly dropped a large egg custard on my shoe at work whilst putting it in a paper bag because my hands were freaking out. It is never a good idea to Google your symptoms, as I could apparently have anything from fatigue to tachycardia to hypoglycemia. Thankfully, it doesn't look like I have prostate cancer.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Tom Petty once said: "Sure as night will follow day, most things I worry about never happen anyway". Clearly, Mr Petty never took a gap year. A gap year seems to be a void set aside for people who weren't entirely sure what they wanted to do this time last year but annoyingly realised when school finished in the summer. It is an endless chasm of paranoia, as you no longer have the comfort of 'just asking a teacher'. Are things happening? Should you chase up that letter, that email? What if I look pushy? Am I being irritating?

On Monday I posted a letter to St Albans tutors which contained a copy of my passport, my GCSE result sheet, a form about maths resits and a cheque for £140, as they requested. I have heard nothing back. Do I call them and just find out if they got it?

What's the difference between news awareness and news sense? I have to sit three written aptitude tests as part of the application process for Winchester and I do not know the difference. Winchester is my number one choice and I can't afford to scew up. The other test is in English, which should be fine. I also have to sit a screen test and a personal interview. NO PRESSURE THEN.

On top of that, I have absolutely no drive to go back to the gym. This is unacceptable. I haven't been in nearly three weeks. I need to keep reading but I don't like the book I'm stuck on and I want to finish it so I can read Never Let Me Go and Nerd Do Well. I haven't sorted out my maths tutor because I haven't got a reply from the main place thing.

Mr Petty, you are a liar. The things I worry about DO tend to happen anyway.

(Gratuitous Indiana Jones to bring lightness to this dreary post. Hot damn.)