Help...I'm an adult!

Yesterday, I was seven years old and collecting beanie baby toys from happy meals. Today, I’m 20 years old and collecting copious amount of debt with student finance. Can somebody please explain exactly how this has happened?

I know they say time flies when you’re having fun, but come on. I can’t be the only person to notice that recently time seems to have boarded the Concorde, and is flying faster than ever before. I’m now over half way through my three years at the University of Reading, and to think that there is now less time between now and my graduation than there was between now and moving into halls on the first day of fresher’s week terrifies me to my core. In the space of what feels like a few days, I have had to learn how to cook all my own meals, wash my own clothes, unblock the sink, change a lightbulb, pay utility bills and, worst of all, remove spiders without screaming for my Dad (although I have to admit, the spider issue does still cause all kinds of problems). This might not seem like a massive achievement to a lot of people, but when you find yourself in a situation where you have to make an instant transition from teenager to adult, the little things do come as a bit of a shock. 

Until recently, I was absolutely terrified of using the phone. Since starting university, I’ve had to use the phone for everything from booking taxis to chasing up job applications, which has slowly but surely helped me to overcome my phobia. I’m finally turning into one of those people that can’t bear to let their bedroom get into a complete tip. I’ve learnt how to manage my money, and how to say no to things I can’t afford. I’ve also learnt that when things don’t go your way, you can’t just bury your head in the sand and expect life to just fall neatly fall into place around you, because 99.9% of the time, it won’t – if you really want something, you need to work to make it happen. 

That said, I know I’m still far from being a fully qualified adult. I still don’t know how to stop my towels from going crunchy after they’ve been washed, and I still do stupid things like putting my dinner in the oven and forgetting to switch it on. The other day I managed to leave a 3000 page textbook in the local Co-Op. But the basics are definitely there. And although I’m ever so slightly terrified of leaving uni and entering the real world, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited at the same time - I’m looking forward to starting my career, and eventually moving out into my own place. Which is lucky really, because if the last few years are anything to go by, the next stage in my life will come around quicker than I dare to imagine.

To Gym, or not to Gym?

Ok, so I’ve been told that my previous posts have been too rant-orientated (Tom Bayne, if you’re reading this....you’ve been grassed right up), so I thought today I’d blog about a more cheerful topic. 

The weather is finally creeping away from the sub-zero, so-cold-you’d-step-over-your-grandmother-to-get-back-inside temperatures of the last few weeks, and the countdown app on my phone is telling me that it’s a mere 133 days until I get to hit the Egyptian beaches. Which, lovely as it is, has stirred the same panic inside of me that I imagine the majority of girls are also currently feeling: I NEED  to get fit for the summer! 

Those of you who know me will know that, despite eating like a pig and doing next to no exercise, I’m lucky enough to have a relatively skinny frame. What you probably won’t realise is that, whilst there isn’t a whole lot of me, what there is = pure jelly. What’s more I’m horrendously unfit, to the point where walking up a gentle slope will render me short of breath. And this is why, after returning to Uni in October, I decided, for the first time in my life, to join the gym.

I’ll admit the girls had to pretty much drag me to my first session, but once I was there and had managed to suss out how to use the equipment (I only fell off of the treadmill once – impressive, eh?), I actually quite liked it. The second time I went I found it much harder; the adrenaline rush of trying something new for the first time having worn off.

The breakthrough came when I finally got around to compiling myself a gym playlist. I’m sure that ‘Get Ready’ by The Temptations and ‘Disco 2000’ by Pulp aren’t don’t often crop up on work out playlists, but I find that they really help to motivate me, or at least to distract me from the feeling that my heart is about to explode and my legs about to drop off. In the past week I’ve been to the gym three times, and can honestly say that I feel so much healthier for having started to go more regularly. I’ve also started to notice a small improvement in my muscle tone; areas such as abs and legs are gradually starting to appear a tiny bit firmer. Yay! 

The moral of the story is that no matter how anti-exercise you might be, give the gym a go. You’ll feel better for it, and if you’re a stressed out student like me, it’s a productive way to take a break from assignments. Tag along with some friends for the first few times, compile a playlist of songs that you ACTUALLY like as opposed to stock work-out music, and don’t worry if you can’t keep up with everyone else to start with, you’ll notice an improvement in no time. 

Happy blog done - normal service will be resumed shortly...

Sun, Sex and Disgraceful Parenting

Since it first aired last year, I’ve become slightly obsessed with  the BBC3 show Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents. For anyone that hasn’t seen it, the programme follows groups of teenagers on clubbing holidays, films their drunken antics and then plays the footage back to their parents, who, unbeknown to their kids, have been stalking them all week from a relatively safe distance. Whilst I wholeheartedly agree that this setup is a TV goldmine, I end up launching into the same old rant every single week...how dare those parents invade their child’s privacy to that degree?

Invariably, each episode begins with the teenagers proudly explaining to the cameras how this holiday is going to provide them with some much needed independence and escapism, and how they’re pretty sure their parents would not want to see what they are about to get up to. The parents, meanwhile, rattle on about how they’re pretty sure that their darling son or daughter wouldn’t dream of getting drunk or having casual sex on holiday, and that they’re only taking part in the programme to ‘improve our relationship’, or to ‘gain a better understanding’ of their child. 

Predictably, the minute the teens touch down in Malia, Kavos, Ibiza or whichever typical 18-30s destination the show is featuring that week, the drinking begins, and standard holiday behaviour ensues. The following day the parents sit and gawp at footage of their sons and daughters groping strangers, being sick, exposing themselves, and eventually tottering home with an equally drunk member of the opposite sex. Which begs the question: why, oh why, would any parent want to put themselves through that? Surely, deep down, they must have known what their kids would be getting up to on their first mates holiday – because they probably did it all themselves thirty years ago. 

I simply cannot comprehend how any good can come of this process. The teens embarked on holiday believing that this was their first slice of freedom and independence, only to be dragged immediately back down by prying parents who clearly aren’t ready to accept that their children are children no longer. Everyone featured on Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents is over the age of eighteen, which, last time I checked, makes them all adults. If they want to go out, get smashed and have a good time, what right do their parents have to stop them? By age eighteen we are each entitled to our own life, and if we don’t wish to share the intimate details with our parents – let alone millions of BBC3 viewers – then why should we? One mother on this series of SS&SP entered her son’s hotel room, and checked his bedclothes for semen stains. In what world does she think that this is acceptable behaviour, and not a horrendous breach of her son’s privacy? The whole concept of the show makes me extremely uncomfortable. Which is probably why I’m already looking forward to  next week’s episode.

Standard Valentine's Day Rant

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been anti-Valentine’s Day.

 I don’t like the way that buying twelve red roses on the same day of each year is hailed as being the ultimate romantic gesture when it’s actually the most unoriginal idea in the world. I don’t like the tacky teddies holding hearts saying ‘I love you’. And I definitely don’t like the public displays of affection that accompany all of this clichéd gift-giving. 

Another of my many pet peeves regarding Valentine’s Day is the way that, for some strange reason, it’s the men that are supposed to shower pink champagne, truffles and roses down upon their girlfriends, whilst women seem to get away with buying their man a card. How is this fair? Why is it always the men that are expected to do the spoiling? Ladies, is it not enough that he buys you gifts on your birthday and Christmas, and perhaps a chocolate egg at Easter? If you’re the type of girl that has always loved Valentine’s Day then great, swap as many extravagant yet completely unoriginal gifts as you like, just don’t expect to be able to sit back and accept all of your goodies without giving something back. And if you’re the kind of guy that just LOVES chucking your money down the drain on a bunch of overpriced roses that are going to be dead within a week even though you know you’re going to get bugger all in return, then I guess that’s just your choice.

And it’s because I frequently burst into rants such as the one above that I feel like a hypocrite when I admit that, actually, my boyfriend and I did celebrate Valentine’s Day this year – albeit in a very low-key way. We bought each other cards, exchanged small thoughtful gifts and indulged in the Waitrose Valentines Meal for Two (which turned out to be an absolute steal after his employee discount – score!). Perhaps I’m being small-minded and unromantic, but I don’t really see the need to go more overboard than this – which is lucky really, because my student budget definitely wouldn’t stretch further anyway.