The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

But when you talk about destruction, don’t you know you can count me out.

2010-11-11T04:54:00.000-08:00

I was part of the Sheffield delegation. 600 of us joined the march at around midday. Everybody was in good spirits, but that didn’t stop bitter slogans being chanted by the assembled students.

There was a carnival atmosphere as the march started slowly progressing along its route. The further you travelled, the more lively the protest was getting. Students had climbed on top of bus stops and were leading chants, ‘No ifs, no buts, no education cuts!’, and hammering sticks on the top of the shelters.

Passing Downing Street was the first time I spotted a police presence. Despite huge crowds, there were a limited number of Police Officers. Those who were present observed the crowd in a relaxed manner.

A further casual police ensemble stood along the pavement bordering The Houses of Parliament. Many groups had chosen this the place to make their voices heard. Protestors cheered along to the drums. The crowd was impressive, peaceful, hopeful and smiling. A few people were encouraging a sit-down protest, but the vast majority drifted by.

Marching on, our throng was met by a swarm of fellow protestors running to join the crowd. Someone had a boombox as big as a car. We headed on past the Victoria Tower Gardens, with a little more room for manoeuvre.

As I got nearer to Millbank, it became obvious that the mood here was different, more aggressive. Protestors had occupied Tory HQ just before 2pm, and a bonfire had been started outside. Despite this, there was still a notable lack of police presence.

Chants could be heard coming from protestors outside and inside 30 Millbank. ‘Nick Clegg, we know you, you're a fucking Tory too’ and ‘Tory scum’ proving to be most popular. As more protestors fought their way in, the riot squad turned up, the first significant response to the action unfolding. Protestors began to disperse. Many, like our Sheffield cabal, had coaches to catch.

52,000 students marched to fight cuts to our higher education system that will create a two tier structure and stop poorer students attending university outright. We have been betrayed and disgusted by Nick Clegg. We have had our fear of the Tories confirmed.

While Millbank for pundits evokes the eighties, the students protesting against the cuts today aren’t feeling the same odd nostalgia. The majority of us were not yet born in the eighties or were more worried about how yellow and edible a particular building block was than the ruthlessness of the Conservative government.

We are worried about now. We are worried about the very real threat to our universities at the hands of the Tories and Liberal Democrats.

This national demonstration was about reminding the government that they are not unaccountable. If they lie to us to gain power through the ballot box, then we will take to the streets.

Until the trouble started, I was feeling happy and excited about what we were doing. A few hours later I’m feeling disappointed and frustrated. I hope that people realise what really went on today, and feel proud and inspired by our country’s students. The actions of 200 provocateurs isn’t the story, you could find more impressive hooliganism at a rowdy football match. The story is 52,000 students from across the country, marching together with one voice.

No ifs, no buts, no education cuts.

James Ashford

Other blog news.

2010-11-01T08:58:00.000-07:00

Check out http://jamesashford.tumblr.com/post/1450962565/girl-youll-be-a-woman-soon for news on when I met Robin Ince.

x

Side Project

2010-10-27T19:24:00.000-07:00

In order to limit amounts of drivel on this blog, which is more for writey type things, I have created this:

http://jamesashford.tumblr.com/

It's very boring, but please follow/read/share.

University life..

2010-10-12T02:24:00.000-07:00

When I wake at half past seven in the evening, my jumbled mind tells me that I am missing my morning lectures. The smell of cooking crawls down the corridor. I reach for my phone and after letting my tired eyes adjust, realise with relief that it’s still Sunday.

Of course, you would expect such mistakes at the end of a busy freshers week. This, however, is a fortnight in to university life. After two weeks at a leading British institution, I am at least five hundred pounds down, hungry, tired and probably pregnant.

At university, especially in a city like Sheffield, it’s impossible not to be confronted with hostility to the Tory cuts. Everybody I’ve talked to agrees that money for education going the same way the milk went is a bad idea, but there isn’t a sense of panic in the air. Nobody really knows what’s coming, because nobody has lived under a Conservative government since they were 5.

Most of the people I’ve met approach their personal finances with the same detached attitude. We all moan about being poor students, but at the moment it’s more a romanticised struggle than a harsh reality. Maintenance loans just about cover accommodation fees, and living can be done on as little or as much as you can convince your parents to part with. Depending on your course and financial situation, you can also get bursaries and grants to help fund your excessive drinking and mystery meat kebabs.

I’m aware that university means another step towards being self sufficient, so I did the brave thing and got a job. Unfortunately I can’t brag about valuing labour and boast a determined work ethic. My job is that of the ‘model’. This involves standing at the front of a shop that is much too cool for me and saying ‘what’s up’ to customers. If you’ve ever been to Hollister or Abercrombie and Fitch, you’ll know what I’m talking about.

There is another aspect to money management at university. It’s the tuition fees. You never really think about them, because they go straight from Student Finance to the university. Having to pay any money back seems a distant and ridiculous notion that shouldn’t be entertained for a long time yet. If tuition fees were to go up and become an urgent concern, it would undoubtedly have a regressive effect on who could and would go to university.

Living away from home is how I imagined it would be. Brilliant, but you do miss the cat. And maybe your mum, sometimes. Big changes affect people differently. I refuse to believe that something is happening until it is in full swing, or has actually happened. University up to now has been a series of parties with a few lectures thrown in. It feels more like an experiment than a lifestyle.

James Ashford, 18

University of Sheffield

http://bit.ly/dA31Y7

Weird Scenes Inside the Gold Mine

2010-09-11T17:01:00.001-07:00

BeautifulPeople Network is pleased to inform you that the majority of members on BeautifulPeople.com found your application very attractive and granted you membership.

Welcome to the BeautifulPeople community!

And so here we are. I'm proud, ashamed, but most of all genuinely overwhelmed by how hot some of these people are.

James and Donovan: Wall to Wall Highlights

2010-09-02T13:48:00.000-07:00

James Ashford > Donovan Mike: The world will know freedom when the cattle run free.

Donovan Mike > James Ashford: I hope you wore protection; That's quite a kettle you've got there.

James Ashford > Donovan Mike: The two who were shirtless put their hands up. Ken and Ralph nodded their heads solemnly and climbed into the intestine. The mission was only just beginning.

Donovan Mike > James Ashford: And now, at least, I know not to offer milk the next time the pirate knocks. The clocks will fix themselves.

James Ashford > Donovan Mike: He knew now there was only one thing left to do. He closed his eyes and leaped into the bowl of custard. That was the last thing he remembered until the balderdash found him

Donovan Mike > James Ashford: As the Russians rounded the corner, guns blaring and lunchboxes clenched white-knuckled in sweaty palms, Mabel wished harder than ever that she had never given birth to that waffle-iron.

James Ashford > Donovan Mike: He heard it again. He was sure someone was following him. Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of it. The stable had taken chase at the last corner, and it was gaining by the second. Howard had less than a second to react. He hurled himself into a passing pomegranate and held his breath.

Donovan Mike > James Ashford: It was towards the end of the meal when I realised the table was being ironic. I took my custard and promptly left.

James Ashford > Donovan Mike: He nodded curtly at the waiter, who immediately dropped his trousers and threw himself from the balcony. It was at this moment an explosion erupted from the library, showering the room in torn orangutans. Through the smoke and debris, Sidney caught a glimpse of the maître d’ disappearing into a fridge. He loosened his belt, and followed him in

James Ashford > Donovan Mike: ‎'Alpha'. He said it aloud. 'Alpha'. 'Alpha..alpha...ALPHA..ALPHA!!' He screamed the word until the tears sprung from his eyes and began hitting the page like bullets hammering against an old car.

He knew the answer. Old Riley was no ordinary donkey.

Donovan Mike > James Ashford: Marcus sped down the corridor, the broom hot on his heels. As he reached the dead end, he whirled, his whisk lancing out towards his wooden assailant. It was then that he noticed the pickled onion sandwich in the broom's left hand. Marcus slowly removed the sachet of custard from underneath his bowler hat, and started to pray.

James Ashford > Donovan Mike: Henry twisted left, then ran around the shaboowa. The boolas were getting closer and he didn't have chumpo to raloof before they closed in upon him. He had to make a decision. Eat the raffle cake or shoot the fairy. He closed his nogoos and prayed to goolan.

Donovan Mike > James Ashford: Noggin sat slumped in the boneyard, a hand pressed against his swollen head. The dustpan in front of him reached out one gnarled hand, the word 'sorry' crawling across its cracked lips. When the mop's axe descended, Noggin shuddered at the sound of splintering plastic and yoghurt started to stream from his fractured nose. Satisfied that the dustpan was dead, the mop gave Noggin a last lingering stare before hurling itself into a nearby pain au chocolat. Cradling the broken corpse of his friend in his arms, Noggin began to rue the day he spilled that pot of clotted cream.

Donovan Mike > James Ashford: Stop poking me and just fuk me L0l u no is tru! :P puffta (LMAO) mwah xX‎

James Ashford > Donovan Mike:

fuk me now
fuck me reel
fuk me ard
fuk me lo'
fuk me all fkin nite
...ere we goo
hooo

Results.

2010-08-18T16:25:00.000-07:00

IT'S been a while since I last let you know what was going on in my life, head and face.

I went to France, ate some ludicrous cheeses and swam a bit. Then I went to London, where I was chillin' in the Express newsroom for a week. Did some articles for the Daily and Sunday Express. Didn't manage to sneak in any subliminal messages of love and liberalism.

I'm currently sitting in my conservatory in my Harry Potter pyjama bottoms, with The Beatles singing Please Mr. Postman. My bitch is making some kind of pasta-pesto disaster in the kitchen.

The reason I give you a brief modern history of my life up to this point is that tomorrow my life is going to change. I'm not getting married, getting shot or getting anybody pregnant, but tomorrow I will be getting my A Level results. It's not quite as seminal as the afore-mentioned experiences, but it is still going to have an impact on life as I know it in the somewhat near future.

I have accepted a place at the University of Sheffield to study Journalism. I like Journalism, and I'm interested in learning it as a discipline. As good old Plato said 'If a man neglects education, he walks lame to the end of his life.' And that doesn't sound too attractive to me.

Tomorrow, when I get my results, I'll have a clearer picture of what to do next year. If things have gone well, I'll be going to Sheffield. If not, I'll be leaving for Mexico as soon as I can get myself a poncho and grow an amusing moustache. After that, who knows.

Mr Pashley

2010-05-21T08:38:00.000-07:00

Today I heard the very sad news that an ex-teacher of mine, Steve Pashley, had died suddenly last night from a heart attack nobody could have seen coming.

He was one of the only teachers I've ever had who showed unwavering passion and professionalism. He never missed a day off work, he put his teaching first every time. I was lucky enough to have him for Drama throughout my time at Priory and English in my GCSE years. His teaching style was wildly different to any I'd encountered, or have encountered to this day. He didn't treat us like school children, he treated us like academics and performers, and wanted to stretch our minds and imaginations. He always succeeded.

Many students will know him not from his work as a teacher, but for his work as a director. It would be impossible to find a teacher who gave more of their free time to the students than Mr Pashley. He worked hours and hours for months and months on productions; Grease, Oliver, Our Day Out, The Crucible, Les Mis. He spent even more of his time on the 'Eisteddfod', which later turned in to the 'Pro' shows. He enjoyed the challenge, and it was brilliant to see how much they meant to him. Being in the green room round the corner from the hall, having Mr Pashley usher you out to stage, and pat you on the back on your return, felt like so much more than a school production.

There are so many memories, it would be impossible to try and name them. His enthusiasm for literature, drama and life shaped me as a person. I know that it did the same for so many others.

When it's someone like Mr Pashley, you can't help but take notes. Here is a collection of some of my favourite Pashley quotes:

'I'm not God.'

'Stop hedging - just bite.'

'Being self depreciative is very attractive. Look at Mrs Pashley.'

'I've always been ugly, it's never worked against me.'

'I was actually an electromagnetic test inspector for three years.'

'It's got to be an A* with orange card!'

'He was like a pizza preparation guy.. ['macho' voice] or a 'PPG'!'

'It's just - off the wall.'

'The Lidls of this world have their place.'

'Do dogs love each other?'

'We live in a global world.'

'I mean, have you ever smelt a small baby?'

'I came from a very yorkshire, working class household.'

'All his language is very ugly..very gauche.'

'Jane [Eyre] is certainly an ogre. She's the lowest of the low..she's an orphan. Like Oliver Twist. You couldn't accuse her of being frivolous..Jane wouldn't wear lip-gloss.'

'It's a hard life as a servant.'

'It's a scalpel, not a bread knife we're working with.'

'It's tighter than a crab's anus.'

'I call myself Pash in those little affectionate moments I have with myself..nobody else does.'

'Oh, pithy.'

'I'll produce my didgeridoo in a minute.'

'Built for speed, not comfort baby.'

'I'm a lust rocket gagging for you.'

'Can you feel the man in the daffodils?'

'Get Pash-onate about these poems.'

'I've never seen anyone looking so grim as you did the other day..I'm brutally honest aren't I?'

And he was honest. But always with that bit of affection, and always with a smile.

In the times I've seen him since I left Priory, he's always shown an interest in what's going on in my life, and always offered his encouragement. A few weeks ago, he popped in to my work -wearing his motorcycle leathers, naturally. We chatted about looming A levels, his dogs and the family. When he went off, he reminded me to keep him up to date with what I'm up to. I promised that I would.

Mr Pashley will always be remembered. He truly was an inspiration and an individual. I know that every person who knew him will agree in saying a massive thank you. We owe him a huge debt, a debt he would have wanted us to pay back with hard work, confidence, fairness and fun. All the things he taught us were so important.

He once said that when he died, he didn't want to go to heaven, because he didn't think they'd let him ride his motorbike fast enough. It was an example of his typical 'tongue-in-cheek' joke that we'll never forget.

Thank you Mr Pashley.

Disappointment.

2010-04-24T12:21:00.000-07:00

We've all been there. You eagerly anticipate a new album after hearing a killer single, only to find the same killer single, surrounded by deeply unpleasant noise on either side. You think you've found the girl of your dreams, and it turns out she's actually a bit of a racist with a slight moustache. You stockpile mephedrone, and the government makes it illegal. You make a new friend on the train, and it turns out he's trying to recruit you for Al Quaeda.

Some of these examples might seem a little extreme to the average Joe, but if I've learnt anything it is that my name is not Joe. Disappointment is everywhere. It is part of our everyday lives. Some feel it more than others, some have more reason to feel it but don't, some have less reason to feel it but do.

Disappointment often comes from great expectations. For children, it is the guilty feeling of anti-climax after you've opened your presents on Christmas morning. For young adults, it is the realisation that perhaps you're not guaranteed a place at the university of your choice. It is the the sinking feeling when you open your envelope on results day. For adults it is not getting the job you said would never happen, but secretly felt just a little bit of hope. Disappointment is infectious and it is powerful. It plays and frolics in our deepest psyche, because it shatters our highest hopes and builds resentment for our loss of naivety. It can be disappointment in something, or worse, in someone.

The most soul destroying blend of disappointment is disappointment in oneself. When you make a mistake that you can't quite believe, and that you don't quite understand. The disappointment that leads to regret. The regret that makes you want to hit your head on something repeatedly, but you don't, because you feel too sick and empty. Disappointment is the kind of feeling that holds hands with guilt and fear and anger.

The ability to cope with disappointment can shape a person. It reflects their character, their stability, their maturity. It has become an obsession for motivational speakers, and the subject of historic utterances.

Disappointment makes the news. We were disappointed with our MPs. We're disappointed with the Catholic Church. We'll be disappointed when England are inevitably knocked out of the World Cup. It's everywhere, but we don't really understand it. To be disappointed in oneself is to feel guilt. Sometimes we need to feel guilty. Sometimes we can feel too much.

To put it simply, disappointment is when things aren't quite what you hoped for. But as with most feelings, it is difficult to truly define. And as with most feelings, disappointment will pass.

2010-04-21T13:44:00.000-07:00

America

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for murder.

America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over from Russia.

I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.

Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a Chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underprivileged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.

America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our filling stations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm near-sighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

Allen Ginsberg

Ode

2010-04-17T16:50:00.001-07:00

We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy

Meant to be my status but turned out to be much too long

2010-04-15T16:08:00.001-07:00

Labour...

Scrapped section 28 and introduced civil partnerships.

Brought overall crime down by 45%.

Put more people into college and university than ever in history.

Introduced the smoking ban, banned tobacco advertising and raised the smoking age to 18.

Equalised the age of consent.

Introduced devolution to Scotland and Wales.

Created NHS direct.

Introduced stricter standards on school meals and banned junk food from school vending machines.

Helped secure the 2012 Olympics.

Banned hunting, the 'sport' of watching animals gore each other to death for kicks.

Introduced the UK Film Council, which funded films like Oscar-winning Man on Wire as well as In the Loop and This is England.

Invested over £20 billion in social housing.

Reduced teenage pregnancy rates by over 13%.

Signed up to the Social Chapter of the Maastricht Treaty, guaranteeing workers' rights.

Introduced free TV licenses for over 75s and free bus services for over 60s.

Introduced Armed Forces Day to pay tribute to British servicemen and women.

Decreased homelessness by 73%.

Introduced freedom of information act and data.gov.uk, allowing unprecedented levels of information and records to be shared with the public.

Introduced the young person's job guarantee.

Increased health spending per person in the UK.

Halved the number of households without a bank account in just 4 years.

Narrowed the gap between the richest and poorest through tax benefits for those on the lowest income.

Introduced EMA.

Increased the number of university places.

Introduced the car scrappage scheme.

Extended opening hours for GPs.

Introduced 16,000 new police officers and 16,000 CSOs.

Removed most hereditary peers, with a plan for a completely elected House of Lords.

Helped hugely in the Northern Ireland peace process.

Guaranteed a free nursery place for every 3 and 4 year old, extending this to 2 year olds.

Made us the first country to have legally binding commitments to challenging climate change and carbon emissions....

It's nothing really.

Washington, DC.

2010-03-06T14:49:00.000-08:00

This is no ordinary story. This is a story of a foreign land, medical emergencies, exhibition, fornication, anti-segregation. This is the story of 63 English men and women in Washington, DC.

To be in DC, we had to get to DC. The Shrewsbury Sixth Form crew set off for Heathrow at 7.15 am on Monday the 22nd February. The journey was one rich with anticipation. Arriving at Heathrow, we gathered into groups and began discussing with zeal what the next week had in store. We were expecting around 15 students from the Queen Elizabeth College, Darlington. After a short while, they came towards us. Two young men were wearing top hats.

Liam, an uneasy flier, told us he was satisfied with the absence of 'muslims and babies', so we boarded the plane. I was too excited to sleep, so worked my way around the seats for 8 hours chatting to like-minded revellers. Horrendous food. We struck up a game of poker with our dollars, but were quickly told to stop. Apparently it was 'illegal', although I'm pretty sure we were over international waters.

Touched down in Dulles airport and travelled by coach to the hotel. Coach driver was an enormously fat African American, and thus an instant hit with the young people of the Midlands. We got to the hotel without incident and headed to our rooms ready for an early start. The sleeping arrangements were two to a bed, single sex rooms. Me and Liam found the situation difficult to get used to.

The next day we had the privilege of meeting Bernie Sanders. The most progressive member of Congress, an independent and the only one to call himself a socialist, he was well received by our liberal gaggle of students. We discussed Obama, third parties and most of all - healthcare. Anywhere you go in Washington, and probably America, you will talk about healthcare. After we split from Bernie, we headed to the Old Post Office for lunch then on to the Washington Monument. Quite high up, some nice views. No sign of Washington himself though. Disappointing. Got some snaps outside Barack's crib and headed back to the hotel for a cheeky takeaway/fondle.

Wednesday was a gas. I can't really remember what we did. Bummed round the Capitol [sic] Building. Went to go see Abe, who was chilling out. Recreated the old I Have a Dream speech and that scene out of Forrest Gump.That night we ate in Zorbas, a Greek restaurant. I would sum up both service and food as 'shit'. We were meant to be going back on Thursday, but as college president I demanded on behalf of the students a tastier alternative that didn't give three people food poisoning.

Thursday was an educational day. Saw a debate between the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence and the National Rifle Association. Being the afore mentioned liberal ragamuffins, Glen Caroline of the NRA got more than his fair share of the questions. Although we were surprised to hear that Ladd Everitt of CSGV saw shooting intruders in his home as an acceptable option. Next we saw Hilary Shelton, Director of the Washington Bureau of the NAACP, probably the nicest man I have ever met. Ever. After a spot of lunch we went to the Supreme Court, where I bet someone ten 'bucks' to shout 'Clarence Thomas is a prick'. They bottled it. We nipped over to the House/Senate where we had gallery tickets. Nothing happened, although I did get a young man to wave at me. We were asked to leave soon after. Nice dinner at TGI Friday's.

On Friday we had a talk from the National Abortion Federation. All very lovely, rational and intelligent people apart from one nutter on the end who seemed to love abortion a bit too much. I was suspicious, but decided not to press the matter. We went to the National Museum of American History, where I was essentially forced into role-playing one of the Greensboro sit -in protesters. Some people took it too seriously, and I was on the receiving end of some quite racist abuse directed towards me and my sister (pictured below).

Woolworths got their commupence.

Saturday was a solemn day. We visited the Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia, home to the Kennedy graves and Tomb of the Unkown Soldier. I got a bit too into the changing of the guard and began loudly singing The Star Spangled Banner and crying patriotically. Emotions were running high, so we went to Georgetown for some therapy of the retail kind. Bought a few 'threads' and tried out my cute British accent. Scored.

Sunday, what a day. National Holocaust Museum in the morning. Very harrowing. In the afternoon we visited the Potomac Mills shopping mall, affectionately known as a shit hole. Still, bought a few more bits of clothing and ate McDonalds. In the evening we went to the Capital City Brewing Company, where we presented Dave, our beloved teacher and leader, a book on Lenin to rapturous applause. I made a speech that reduced several people to tears.

Monday morning, we visited and heard a speech from the Democratic National Committee (also known as the 'we love Obama whatever he does even if that is nothing' Committee). They got a bit shirty after a few students, myself included, lampooned Obama for running on a much more progressive platform than the programme he was putting into place. Went to some museums in the afternoon, Natural History, Air and Space and nipped in to the National Art Gallery, where Liam wandered around asking quite aggressively 'where the fucking Mozarts' were. No hint of irony. Regrouped opposite the Capitol.

And so, the week drew to an end. We journeyed to the airport, exhausted but fulfilled. Cracked a few jokes, got a cavity search. Got on a plane, plane landed, got driven home on a coach.

I'd say that was that..but there's so much that I can't even begin to explain. An incredible week.

Kool and the gang.

Not forgetting:

Knackers
Harry Brown
Constant penis exposure
The smack head on the Metro
The 'we're' gonna have a vote' man in the Senate
The cool guy in the lift when we met Bernie
The constant security checks
Breakfast
So much more..

If you want to see a more detailed version of this blog, or have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact me, because there are some things which are too illegal to share on the 'internet.'

ps. There was a proper fit bird. Nice.

Votes 'n' Hoes

2010-02-16T07:09:00.000-08:00

I’m watching a lot of my friends turn 18. It’s a coming of age; boy to man, girl to woman. But to most teenagers, coming of age means being allowed into clubs and smirking as you flash your ID at the Co-Op. For most people turning 18, the last thing on their minds is who they’re going to vote for in the next General Election.

Political scandals are everywhere but then, they always have been. MPs have been fornicating on desks, claiming cash for castles and organising cover-ups for as long as anyone can remember. But recently it’s all been a bit more prominent and people seem to have decided that every single politician is evil.

Labour is the party of government and have taken more than their fair share of the heat. Instead of Labour, some will vote for fascists, some will vote for Tories and some won’t vote at all. And all because someone spent money on having their duck moat cleaned. Do young people care if an MP has a second home? I don’t think so.

When college students pick up their EMA every week, they don’t think about the government’s role in providing it. They don’t think about how the government introduced the minimum wage when they get their pay slip. They don’t think about how politicians created the NHS when they break their leg playing football. They don’t look at our doctors and nurses and make the connection between immigration and having people to work in our services and help the economy.

Politics is everywhere but it seems corrupted. Not in the obvious “they’re all bastards” way but in the way most people see its function. Politicians can work hard and still get things thrown at them. Labour is promising a referendum on voting reform if its wins the election but our votes count now.

Here are my top ten tips for people voting for the first time in the 2010 General Election:

1 Start reading a newspaper. Not a tabloid. Lampoon tabloid readers.

2 Do your own research. Are you carrying on in education or looking for work? See what each party would really do for you, don’t just rely on soundbites and headlines.

3 Debate with your friends. Some people spout off without stopping to think. Question each other.

4 If you don’t vote, you're rejecting democracy.

5 Think about why you should vote. Remember what people went through to get the vote in the first place.

6 Put bunting up outside your house. Give election day a carnival atmosphere. Consider purchasing a novelty hat.

7 Your vote counts as much as anyone else’s.

8 If you support a party, help. Go canvassing, give out leaflets, stand in the town centre handing out candy floss, paint their policies on your naked body. Try combining these for further success.

9 Don’t vote for a party that will kick the economy when it’s down, remove the Human Rights Act, cut taxes for the rich and neglect public services. I’m mentioning no names.

10 Encourage your friends to vote too. If they don’t vote, they can’t complain.

Washington #1

2010-02-15T12:51:00.001-08:00

It's Monday 15th February, and that means a week until we leave for Washington DC.

I'm going to be blogging my experiences throughout the eight days that I'm away. I'm also going to be blogging for the Sixth Form website. I toyed with the idea of having a filthy version and a censored version, but then I decided that college must learn to handle the truth.

With four people to each single sex room, but just two beds, there's going to be countless rude and amusing homosexual anecdotes to come back with. By the end of the week it's going to be like some kind of bawdy 70s sitcom. As our college is known for encouraging same-sex relationships, the fact my girlfriend is coming on the trip is irrelevant. I'll be sharing a bed with Liam Taylor, who has promised that he is 'definately sleeping naked'. Liam was known as the 'dominator' when he was in prison. In East Africa.

As well as SSFC students, this year we'll be taking some people from the Queen Elizabeth College. I'm sure they'll be absolutely charming.

Throughout the course of the week, we'll be meeting Sen. Bernie Sanders, watching a debate between the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence and the National Rifle Association, touring the Supreme Court courtroom, visiting the National Holocaust Museum and eating at TGI Fridays. I can already see the potential for several hugely embarrassing and offensive incidents that will probably get some or all of us deported.

We have a very informative booklet.

Updates soon, stay tuned.

Sam's 18th. An overview, in pictures,

2010-02-12T11:37:00.000-08:00

Sam Druce, beloved friend and drummer turned 18 yesterday, a Thursday.

This is what happened.

Sam welcomes people into his house.

James and Sam enjoy some light-hearted banter.

Drunk people fornicate.

Sam gives his schoolboy sweet smile.

James tries to escape the nutter with the face.

Mary smiles happily at the camera, whilst Holly makes her famous 'Timeout - I'm horny!' gesture.

Men from various ethnicities share a moment of intimacy.

James takes a moment to chill with the vagina owners.

Sam has a cheeky birthday tipple.

Sam begins to gather tipples.

The Druce family welcome James into their bosom.

James and Holly smile at the camera.

And my favourite..

Thank you.

Exploring Shakespeare.

2010-01-26T14:46:00.000-08:00

'Exit, pursued by a bear.'

And so, Antigonus comes to his grisly demise, chased off stage by an angry bear who rips him to pieces then eats him. There is debate amongst those who study Shakespeare as to whether he would have used a theatrical device, such as a man dressed in a bear costume, or indeed a live bear from one of London's many bear baiting pits.

There is an argument which says Shakespeare's country roots had given him the rare and special gift of being able to control bears without resorting to chains, or even spending a great deal of time taming the animals.

John Fletcher, who collaborated with Shakespeare on works such as Henry VIII, published a brief study of The Winter's Tale, one of the only contemporary accounts on record. Contained in his report were a number of illustrations. These are the only real clues we have in revealing the mystery of the infamous bear.

One of the most well known of his sketches, is the 'Disco Bear' drawing.

This early impression of the scene when Antigonus is chased from stage, is often surprising to some. There certainly are shocking elements of the portrayal. The most striking detail is that Fletcher has included two bears in his drawing. This would suggest that Antigonus was the victim of more than one beast.

The connotations of this change the way we view other characters in the play. If there were two bears, this would challenge the Clown's account that 'the bear tore out his shoulder-bone'. He clearly only acknowledges a single bear. He repeatedly tells his father, the Sheperd, that there is only one bear.

The 'Third Gentleman' later in the play reveals that Antigonus

'..was torn to pieces with a bear: this
avouches the shepherd's son; who has not only his
innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but a
handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows.'

After the alleged bear attack, when describing the events to his father, the Clown says that the victim 'cried to me for help and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman'. The Clown expects his audience to believe that he had time to find out this information while Antigonus was being attacked. It is mentioned in the Third Gentleman's speech that the Clown took items from Antigonus' body, robbing his corpse. Fletcher's sketches reveal that he is lying about the number of bears. This is an act of treason, as the Clown has obviously continued his lie in front of the King.

Fletcher argues that with all these arguments considered, it is possible that the Clown is responsible for the murder of Antignous. This throws Perdita's 'innocent' upbringing into disrepute - a girl raised by treasonous, murdering thieves could not be the angel described by Florizel, Leontes et al.

In this first sketch, the bear at the forefront of the picture appears to be wearing a party hat and holding an alchoholic drink and a number of small unidentified pills. There is a human underneath the bear that appears to have either been trampled, or seduced into willingly performing inter-species fellatio. The second bear is holding the first in a 'conga' style fashion, a popular dance move in Shakespeare's time and present day. The scene is completed by a solitary disco ball hanging above the three figures' heads.

However, Fletcher's drawings become even more astonishing.

In this sketch, there appears to be a family of bears. The figure, incredibly dressed as a native American, is intended to represent Antigonus. He is holding a bow and arrow, and fighting off one of the bears. This drawing suggests a number of things. It helps the case for an innocent Clown - the bear is illustrated as the main aggressor, with no sight of the Clown at this point. However, it would still mean the Clown lied in his account, claiming there to be only one bear.

Fletcher's last illustration of this scene is perhaps the most unbelievable.

From his accompanying notes, we know that in this drawing, Fletcher intended to represent the period momentarily before Antigonus' unfortunate entrance and subsequent death. Once again, there is more than one bear, a total of nine being visible in the diagram. There seems to be two bears standing patrol, one of whom who has recently parachuted into the woods. A further six bears wait in the back of the truck, and another can be seen sitting in the driver's seat.

All the bears appear to be armed, a number smoking cigarettes.

Fletcher's accounts command critical acclaim in studies of The Winter's Tale, Shakespeare and Elizabethan and Jacobean theatre. To truly understand Shakespeare's work, we must look to Fletcher to educate and enlighten. You can order your copy on Amazon, or get it from any popular bookstore.

A Levels

2010-01-13T11:23:00.000-08:00

It's January, and for many Sixth Formers this means exams. I have one in Politics and one in History, a resit.

Last year, I took the British History and Nazi modules. The exam was weighted toward the British. I'd studied the Nazis at school, and knew it pretty well, but always had trouble with the British.

OR SO I THOUGHT.

When I got my results back, saying I had a D in one paper and a B in the other, a C overall, I assumed I had ballsed up the British. I decided to resit the module.

The exam is tomorrow.
I have just learnt that I got the D in Nazis and the B in British.
I am resitting the wrong exam.

This is kind of bad news. A chap might get a bit down if it wasn't for the help and encouragement of his friends.

Seeing as more than about two days revision is a luxury for someone like me, I decided to find out if I could resit the Nazi module next week, and emailed the exams officer. [Click to view]

Why did I think it was on Friday? [Click to view]

I'm meant to be the college President. What a dunce.

Unsuccessful? I'm going to eat your liver.

2010-01-05T12:49:00.000-08:00

Dear Mr Ashford,

Your application is no longer being considered by University of E****r for Philosophy and Politics with Study Abroad (4 years), VL5F because either they have decided not to offer you a place or your application has been withdrawn. The reason is given below.

Your application has been unsuccessful

Due to competition for places

If you want to have feedback about this decision, you should contact the university or college concerned direct.

OH REALLY?

To: admissions@e****r.ac.uk
Cc: ANYONE ELSE WHO WANTS A FIGHT.
Subject: This shit just got real.

Dear Admissions Team,

Thank you for your recent letter informing me of your decision regarding my application submitted through UCAS on the 17th December, UCAS #10********2. Unfortunately, the decision you made was 'unsuccessful'. UCAS advised me that it was acceptable for me to approach you and ask why this decision was made.

SO COME ON, YOU BASTARDS, LET'S HAVE IT.

Perhaps I'm being a little unfair. You did give me some reason, didn't you, prune? Let's look at that again, shall we?

'competition for places'

That's about useful as wrapping a wet tea towel around a family goldfish that is already dead. WHICH BY THE WAY, YOU HEARTLESS BASTARDS, IS WHAT I HAD TO DO TODAY. YOUR SHITTY LETTER REALLY HELPED WITH MY POOR MOTHER'S SOBBING.

I mean, come on. My dad even went to your university. Have you never heard of the 'old boys network'? Did I have to fucking cross reference it on my personal statement? Did you want me to drop subtle hints about the team colours of the fucking cricket team? Jesus.

I don't know if you've ever applied to university. But what they do, is send you an email telling you that your UCAS status has been updated. After waiting about a month, after everyone around you is getting offers, you might get such an email, you'll probably feel elated. You might go and tell your mother who IS STILL SOBBING, before you even log in to bastard UCAS. Oh how my sister laughed. How the tears rolled down her cheeks when the colour left my face and my eyes glazed over. It's just lucky my dad wasn't in to cane me, or go about beating me round the head and neck with an old belt.

Maybe my grades just weren't good enough. They certainly matched your typical offer, if a little low on the range. A lot of people would say I only have myself to blame. I laugh at their ignorance. Have you ever played, or even heard of, a game called Call of Duty? Didn't think so, MATEY. If it's any consolation, I will be sending an even more strongly worded letter Activision's way.

Listen. I wasn't going to send this until I'd cooled down. But I just watched quite an emotional episode of Dr. Who and it set the blood boiling again. I hope we can be friends.

Yours,

James Ashford
President and Governor, Shrewsbury Sixth Form College 2009-2010
Member for Children Action Committee for Shropshire County Council 2009-2010
Entertainment and Music reviewer for the Daily Express
Close friend of Ron Weasley

Recently..

2009-12-21T16:12:00.000-08:00

I had my work 'do' last night. We all had a pretty good time, but there was definitely an air of disappointment that Fat Old Anal Lady didn't make an appearance again. I'll explain another time.

Recent search terms for my blog:

- ashford shagged minorities
- ashford shagged roflcopter
- james ashford started off gently
- james ashford finds watermelon disappointing

And my personal favourite:

- I heard James Ashford enjoyed shaking off a ginger kid

I'm pretty sure this is a fix. If not, then someone has learnt about my shameful past.

Started a new band today with Charlie Moore and Sam Druce. Just doing a few covers, eating a bit of chicken, you know how I roll. I'll post exciting gig news and tracks soon.

I'm going to Washington in February, so get ready for frequent posts about the hilarity that you can guarantee on any Ashford associated trip, business or pleasure.

Latest review published today. Have a look online: Little Red Review.

à plus x

Josh's Birthday - A Summary, in pictures.

2009-12-06T11:46:00.000-08:00

On Friday the 4th December, Josh Nolan became 18, and thus, a man. Here's what we did to celebrate:

First of all, there were some spectacular contributions to the 'lying down game'. We started off gently, me taking a position on a cabinet in The White House. It almost toppled, but I stayed strong. As can be seen below, there were a few impressed onlookers.

Next, we took the obvious step of Josh joining me for the cabinet position.

Spurred on by the stirring images of French revolutionaries behind him, Josh clambered to the highest cabinet.

We were all pretty shagged out after this, but we had a glorious effort outside the White House, with James and Sanchez (minorities) supporting Joe (white male).

But then, Josh wanted more. We looked around for a bit, until we spied an ultimate challenge:

It wasn't easy. It was mossy, it was wet - but he did it. When asked how he did it, his answer was simple, humble and moving.

'I flew up there in my roflcopter'.

In all the commotion, i'd forgotten to eat any Pick 'n' Mix for about ten minutes, so my blood sugars were getting low. We decided to grab some lunch, and bring the gang along for Birthday festivities (drunkenness).

Some say it's irresponsible to drink at lunch time when you have college.

DRINK WAS NICE.

After a few 'lager beers' and 'pear cider drinks', we went to the toilet to empty our respective bladders and review our respective offal. I won't say what happened immediately after this picture, but I'm sure you can guess from my wry loook and hand placed all too much 'zipper ready'.

When we got back, we decided to pose for a bit.

Unfortunately, the bell in our conforming minds rang, and it was time to head back to college. Luckily, our college is literally eight seconds away from our beautiful pub/bar/cafe/resteraunt Monty's.

After college, we had a few hours to get our acts together, scrub up and begin the nights triumphs. Josh was to have an elegant soirée, and formal wear was a must. When I got to the party, with fellow chum Sam, we found the place rife with alcoholic consumption and hop hip disco dancing. It didn't take long before we were amongst the fray.

There were a few emotional speeches at the end. Josh was wearing a hat and a roflcopter tee, which was pretty sweet.

But, dear readers, the sole reason I wrote this was not just to share Josh's birthday with the 'internet'. That was important, but another motive drove me on. It was to share the picture below. To hope that somewhere, someone would see it and that they would understand more about life...

WHOAH.

ps. Sat next to a fit bird at lunch. Nice.

The Stratford Half Marathon

2009-11-17T10:26:00.000-08:00

A wise man once said to me 'The measure of a man should not be taken in feet and inches, but in marathons and sweat'. Looking back to that day, a day that has stayed in my mind for three score and twenty years hence, it hit me that I had a responsibility. I had a responsibility to my wife. To my kids. To my friends, to my tortoise Allan..but most of all to myself. I had to run, and in doing so, realise who I was.

In other words, I've signed up to do a half marathon. The Stratford one as it happens, on the 25th April. Running isn't really my bag, in fact strenuous exercise in general gives me the willies. But I've got six months, which is long enough, to get fit enough, to run enough.

Besides..we've done it all before..

The Federals review..

2009-11-12T08:51:00.000-08:00

By James Ashford

The Federals are noisy, they’re catchy, and to put it simply, they’re easily the best British band for years...(Read More)

Lessons I've Learnt At Work - A collection of the best advice I've recieved from the supervisors at Starbucks.

2009-11-07T11:15:00.000-08:00

'That's what she said' is never an 'appropriate response' to a customers order.

When a customer asks what time Starbucks closes, it is 'irresponsible and childish' to reply 'hammer time'.

Singing 'stock my fridge up, smack my bitch up' within earshot of customers is 'never acceptable' in the workplace.

When a customer cannot decide between two beverages and asks for advice, looking them in the eye and saying 'What would Jesus do?' is not 'in fitting with Starbucks regulations'.

Singing along to Spandeau Ballet's 'True' does not make up for 'gross negligence' whilst mopping, whether the performance is complete with actions or not.

It is 'inappropriate use of equipment' to practice curling by launching a mop bucket down the disabled ramp, then rapidly scrubbing in front of it.

That's it so far. But I'm always working..

What's going down in President town?

2009-10-23T14:16:00.001-07:00

As you know (unless you don't), I am the President of Shrewsbury Sixth Form College. This is quite a hectic job; late nights, furious meetings and chillin' in my empty office.

You can see me and Sana, our female president, chairing a meeting whilst I eat pom bears and pose for photographs. [Above]

Having an office is pretty cool. It's fairly big, smells like paint, and it makes me feel like a big shot. Local cool-cat Wendy, our new yoof [sic] support person is in the office next door. She shouts at me when I lock it, and shouts at me when I forget to lock it. Her office is much more impressive, and is well stocked with tea, ginger snaps, condoms and chlamydia tests, all of which come in handy on a Thursday lunch time. She also has a fairly large plant and some comfy chairs. So we just sit in her office really, cos I don't have any comfy chairs and I can't even dream about acquiring a nice plant.

A few nights ago, we had an open evening for prospective students and their parents, and I was told to man a 'College Council' stall for everybody to come and look at. There would be free food. However, when I arrived, I was dismayed to see that because I was technically 'very late', I had missed out on the buffet. I managed to hide some cold pasta in a prospectus, and headed to my stand. Half the board behind my empty table had pictures of college council officers and some wildly interesting pie charts. It's worth noting that through a fair voting system, I managed to blag it so that almost every single officer is a either a close friend, female and hot, or in the case of Josh, both.

It's fair to say that my friends aren't the type of people who turn up for open evenings, and it wouldn't be unfair to say that none of the lazy bastards showed. It also wouldn't be unfair to say that I forgot to tell them we were having an open evening, a crucial job in the end, yet one I skipped over when chatting to the Deputy Head. The manning of the stool would therefore be a solo mission as Sana was having a 'family meal'. The other side of the board (that I have neglected to mention until now) displayed lots of candle pictures and interesting posters to do with Amnesty International, and also lots of photos of the college summer expedition to Zambia.

When I am faced with candles, Elephants and keen-looking parents, I can do only one thing. In my defence, I was bored and lonely. I started off telling parents that we found an elephant (gesture vaguely to picture) on the college car park, and had to inform the authorities. By the end of the night, I was telling vivid storied about the Elephant Vs Hippo fights we have in the hall on the first Friday of every month. Gesturing to the amnesty pictures, I would defend my stories by saying we weren't being 'cruel' (as one naive, dimmer parent suggested), because we use candles instead of electric light which scares the animals.

The best bit for me was when a well spoken woman asked me about the amnesty leaflet with

'DICTATORS

FASCISTS

MURDERERS'

emblazoned across it. I casually responded that these were the words that most frequently appeared in a survey of students asked to describe the staff.

I will leave you with some final words of wisdom in the form of a poem.

While I joked and jested
with bald or breasted,
And I sighed or wept,
or spied and leapt
'pon many a gullible visitor;

I remembered then,
as a young a man walking,
asking questions of students,
laughing and talking,
That the world will pounce,
on those who permit it:
Stay strong, my lad,
when the truth is omitted.

Ps. Here's me with a fit bird again. Nice.

Bit of the old music reviewing.

2009-10-06T15:21:00.000-07:00

Few reviews in the Express.

Kid Harpoon - Once

Skint and Demoralised - love, and other catastrophes

Theoretical Girl - Divided

V Festival 2009

2009-10-06T13:25:00.000-07:00

I'm quite aware I am writing this a month and a half after the spectacle that was V Festival Chelmsford, 2009..but it just has to be done. It has to be documented. I managed to score a pair of VIP Louder Lounge tickets for V Fest, and decided to take my long suffering best mate, Josh Nolan. We purchased an awful lot of alcohol, a £3.00 sleeping bag and a large teepee, and headed off on the train to Chelmsford. I don't think either of us believed we would get in, until we actually did.

After going through some ruthless security checks (some blokes asking us if we had any weed to share), we started to pitch our tent. It was bloody difficult, mainly because it was a teepee. But being strong young men, and spending at least a hard-working hour, we completed it. It may not have looked much, but to us it was a castle. It was our home. But then, who should come along..but Gareth Gates. Well. We weren't having that. We pulled out our tent pegs and ran with the teepee in our arms down the path, mumbling excuses to Gareth about needing to be nearer to a burger van.

We pitched our tent again, quicker this time, having already just done it once. We unloaded our massively heavy rucksacks into the teepee, bottled up some vodka in water bottles, and headed to the backstage lounge
.

Pretty soon, we were very much out of our depth. We were just a pair of idiots who had stumbled into this arena, to gorge ourselves on free burgers and drink as many free orange bacardi breezers as we could fit in our stupid faces. So that is exactly what we did. After consuming quite in incredible amount of free 'girl drink' in about an hour, we headed out to see some bands. I would like to tell you more about the next 10 hours, but i simply have no recollection. All I can do is rely on photographic evidence, hearsay, and the word of Dermot O'Leary.

I should mention, every time someone asked us "So..how did you get VIP?", we'd just shrug and tell them a string of lies about playing in a small tent the next day. We were so convincing I believed it and started worrying at around 4am about our performance. But that is for later.

So much happened that day, and memories are so hazy..Heading back from the main arena to the Louder Lounge, me and Josh saw a ginger kid coming our way. Being drunk, and definitely louts, we joked to each other about him being 'Ron Weasely'. We even shouted it at the poor bastard a bit. Then he got closer. And he looked a lot like Ron Weasley. And then, of course, it was Ron Weasley [Rupert Grint]. Well, we had a chat. I don't know how it happened, or what we said, but I think we became firm friends. We arranged to hook up later, and carried on our drunken waltz to the VIP area.

Several drinks later, we journeyed to see Pete Doherty in some tent or other. Now, dear reader, I was too 'hammered' to understand what was going on, but I can say with some degree of certainty that we caught quite a bit of the Sunshine Underground and they were bloody good, and yes, I danced. Trying very hard not to set fire to/fall on to anybody around me, I struck up conversation with a friendly looking woman next to us. It turned out she worked for V, and after being victim to a bumbling charm offensive from James 'Hugh Grant' Ashford for a few minutes, she soon let me in to a few secrets. Amy Winehouse was to join old Doherty boy for a sing song. I bet Josh (something filthy) that she would appear (he hadn't heard the V lady, he was chatting up a girl whose boyfriend was right next to her), a bet Josh lost, and I won. Handsomely.

After this, we headed back to the Louder Lounge to rendezvous with Ron. It was both mine and Rupert's birthday on the 24th, [V was 22nd - 23rd], and we had promised him gifts. On the way back, I distracted a lady shop assistant while Josh tried on/wandered off with an impressive hat. This was to be Ron's gift.

We headed back, and met Ron at the gates outside the Louder Lounge, which was closing for the night. We went for a little stroll, showed him the teepee, and gave him his hat. He bloody LOVED it.

Sometime shortly after meeting with Ron, my nose began to bleed (I'd taken a blow to the face during P.Doherty's performance of What A Waster), and it was messy to say the least. Though he did what he could, Ron was causing more problems than he was solving, with his witty charm and schoolboy smile. We sent him to bed, and headed inside the teepee for a night's kip.

God only knows what happened in that teepee. The undressed women we found in the morning didn't speak much English. Josh was dressed as a pirate, I was in tribal gear.

I don't know.

So don't ask.

We finally got up, and crawled out of our tent. By now, we were getting to be pretty well known around the VIP camp. Nobody knew why we were there, they just knew it felt right. We stumbled to the showers. Hot, warm and a god send in the freezing 8am chill. At least they would of been. Instead, me and Josh stripped off and washed our selves in freezing cold water from the large metal sink right next to the queue of people waiting for a shower. After brushing our teeth and dressing, we headed back to the teepee. Cheeky little Rupert was waiting outside to see what we were up to.

He was loving it. Yeah, they're my boxers on the teepee.

After shaking off the ginger kid, we went for a stroll. It was deserted. So we ate watermelon.

By now, we were feeling pretty rough. The watermelon had been disappointing. We decided the best course of action was to head to the free bar, and get off our collective faces. So that's what we did. By 11am, we were drunker than a very lightweight dog who has just had several pints of stronger-than-average beer.

We were sitting in the little VIP bit, when the proclaimers did a private little show. So we met them. And David Tennant, who was really nice.

Basically. I can't remember Sunday. We saw quite a few bands, including MGMT who were absolutely phenomenally good. We saw Ron again. We got our teepee involved in a drugs bust after a mix up involving horses, sugar lumps and large deposits of ketamin.

At midnight, it was my birthday. Which is why I don't know what happened again that night.

Then we woke up. And it was home time.

We learnt a lot that weekend. I'll always remember it as a special time. There were good times.. the free food, the free drink, the VIP lounge, the teepee, Mylene Klass, the girls we found in our tent, David Tennant, the Abba tribute band, the dancing, storming the arena for MGMT with hundreds of angry fans..But don't forget, there were some hard times too..the grainy watermelon, the sick feeling when our alcohol levels dipped, the frequent nasal bleeding, the awful return train journey, not being able to shake off ginger boy Grint..but hell..overall, what V was..was an experience.

Thank you to everyone who made this possible.

Ps. We shared the taxi back to the station with a REALLY fit bird. Nice.

Personal Statement for UCAS

2009-10-06T13:17:00.001-07:00

Everybody is going crazy at my college at the moment, trying to write a personal statement for their UCAS application, to get in to uni. Being lazy and disorganised, I thought I'd leave mine a few weeks later than was advised. However, in the end, I sat down for about three hours and forced myself to write one. This is the result of 180 minutes of labouring.

'Just' add one egg and water.

2009-08-10T12:21:00.000-07:00

Well, it's my dad's birthday tomorrow, he is going to be older than he was previously. To celebrate this occasion, I decided to buy a cake for him. I will admit that despite a natural flare in the kitchen, when it comes to baking cakes, I have a few problems. I usually fall at the 'eating all the cake mix' hurdle. This time however, I used my wits and purchased a 'chocolate sponge mix' from Sainsbury's, which claimed all I had to do to create the perfect cake was add water and a single egg. I bought 2 packs, anticipating a cake-mix-eating disaster.

It all started well. I found a relatively clean bowl from the cupboard and poured the two packets of mix in. Next, I had to add 3 tablespoons of water to the mix. I have no idea what a tablespoon is, so I just popped the bowl under the tap for a bit. Then I had to go and get 2 eggs from the fridge. Unfortunately, my planning hadn't been as good as previously boasted, and I had forgotten to buy eggs. It was too late to turn back now - the water was in the mix, and father needed cake. I faced a difficult decision. Scrap the whole cake making process...or try it without egg. If dad doesn't get home-made cake on his birthday, he can do terrible things. With this in mind, I journeyed down the 'no egg' route.

The instructions informed me to add the egg(s), and a further 2 tablespoons of water. Recalling my past culinary experiences, I was pretty confident that a lot of water, with roughly the same volume as that of an egg or two would suffice. I added the water, and began to beat the whole mixture with a fork. Despite it's now runny consistency, my arm soon tired. I stopped whisking to gather my thoughts, then began beating at the mix once again. However, my gallant efforts soon ceased, and I lay down my fork, beginning the search for two 7" sandwich tins. The best I could find was a sort of rectangular baking tray. It was quite big, but having used double the mixture, I thought it was ok. I popped the mixture into my (pre-heated) oven, gas mark 6, and waited for 15 minutes.

After about ten minutes, I harked some distant shouting, from the general direction of the kitchen. Mother was saying something I couldn't quite make out, but it sounded like she was cheering my 'fucking stupid cakes' on.

Soon, the nail biting 15 minutes was up. I headed for the kitchen.

A pleasant aroma filled my nasal passages as I strolled boldly past my mother into the kitchen. I picked up a tea towel, opened the oven, and lifted out the tray. There was my cake. As I picked up the bubbling, crusted mass, a solitary tear trickled down my cheek. It seemed to be saying to me

"Friend".

I took a spoon from the draw, and plunged it straight into the shallow pool of cake. This was not the 'sponge' I had been tricked into believing it would be. Instead here lay a creeping mass of chocolatey goo. I closed my eyes and thrust the spoon once more, this time into my waiting mouth. It tasted good. I had another spoonful, and another, chocolate clogging every passage. I knew I had to stop. If my cake was this good already, what could even longer in the oven produce? I put the mixture back in, and headed to the waiting room, clutching my hands together. I waited and waited until I could wait no more, nine, ten minutes or so, and ran back to the kitchen.

As I pulled the cake out for a second time, it sank, as if it were breathing a heavy sigh of relief. I took my testing spoon, and entered the cake's womb, scooping out a spoonful of pudding. It was now mousse like in texture. On the outskirts of this great structure, the once thumping and festering edges now stood proud and firm. I rushed the cake back in to the oven, and retired once again.

Sitting waiting, my mind recalled the sinking cake as I pulled it from the oven. It seemed to be an entirely different life to the scamp it had been at just 15 minutes old. However, I did not allow myself to be distracted. A full fifteen minutes later, I headed to the kitchen, knowing it was perhaps for the final time.

Names have been changed to protect those involved. Any resemblance to persons real or fictional are purely coincidental.

Like a china shop in a bull.

2009-08-09T14:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, [08/08/09] was a glorious day.

The Striplings have got a final line up, with Josh 'Roland' Nolan and Alex 'Alec Baldwin' Bowen [bass and drums respectively] joining James and Joe. With this exciting development, Josh and Joe arrived at my house about 17:30pm, for our first practice before we had to arrive at the gig at 19:30. We didn't really know what we were going to play until about 18:30, so had an hour going over a few covers before setting off. Well about, 45 minutes, cos Joe had to do his hair. The four of us [Alex came round to listen to one of the songs he was going to be drumming to..he'd never heard it before] piled in Joe's mini, with various bits of drums and two guitars in bulky cases.

We turned up at the Bull Inn about 19:45, set up, had a drink, said hello to people, Joe went to go and dump his car, all that stuff. Took to the stage at about half eight. We started with Rock & Roll Queen [The Subways], which went pretty well, and it was good fun cos Joe got to scream. Breezed through I'm Going Down, which we went more electric style for. More Bruce than Florence. Actually, I think most people think that is our song, and to be honest, I've stopped correcting them. Next we did Teenage Kicks, which was nice. I got to play with the G String a lot. Ha. Did our old favourite, Town Called Malice. Josh 'forgot' his bass solo, but we sort of just plucked away and it all worked out. Finished with Are You Gonna Be My Girl [Jet], which was probably the best. I liked it, nice to play on guitar. Stunning backing vocals from Roland.

The Insults followed with a great set, as you'll come to expect if you go to a few of their gigs.

Ended the night with pear cider and a few sambucca shots in the beer 'garden'. It was quite convincing, even had a few palm trees.

http://www.myspace.com/wearethestriplings

love love love x

The Striplings

2009-08-05T07:46:00.000-07:00

Me and some mates have got together to form The Striplings. We've done a couple of covers, and we had a gig last Friday which went well. We're playing again this Saturday locally.

Have a look :D

www.myspace.com/wearethestriplings

Colle President

2009-07-18T08:13:00.000-07:00

After fighting a noble campaign, I have duly elected as President of Shrewsbury Sixth Form College. I’m not sure if it was lying about being African-American, happily mocking swine flu or my incredible good looks that swung it for me. Here are some of my campaign posters:

The Great Shrewsbury Snowfight of Feburary 3rd

2009-02-03T13:03:00.000-08:00

The Great Shrewsbury Snowfight of February 3rd was a battle fought on February 3, 2009, waged between an army of pupils led by Shrewsbury Sixth Form College and nearby Shrewsbury School. The battle was fought at what is now The Quarry, Shrewsbury in Shropshire, England, just feet away from the two colleges.

Background

In 2007, there had been a previous, smaller scale snowball fight between the two sides, leaving rivalries amongst them. It is generally and historically accepted that this was a Shrewsbury School victory, with more casualties being conceded by Shrewsbury Sixth Form leading to their eventual retreat. The two colleges are famous for their rivalry in extra-curricular sports such as rugby. There is always a strong element of class discrimination between to the two colleges, and this was reflected in the 2007 skirmish, and the 2009 Great War.

Battle

The battle itself was only declared the night previous to it occurring. This was done so over the internet, with Facebook groups being set up to organise the troops. [1] The groups were joined by many people, but still less than a quarter of the final figure. The battle was arranged to commence around 1.00-1.30pm, lasting as long as it was necessary. A small clan of Shrewsbury Sixth Form College pupils, around 30, were quick to be mobilized and headed toward Shrewsbury School before a proper formation could be decided on. It was at this point that they were ambushed by around 120 Shrewsbury School pupils who chased them down the embankments adjacent to their college [2], and across the Quarry's Porthill Bridge[3], back in to the Quarry[4]. It looked like all was lost for the Sixth Form college at this point, until over the hill came 100-150 additional fellow pupils. A vicious battle ensued, with snowballs flying from both sides. There was occasional movement of forces so as to move to areas with fresh snow. As the battle developed, SSFC was gradually encircled after several loud charges from Shrewsbury School's pupils. At this point, directed by many shouts and chants of the men around them, the SSFC pupils rose up against the encircling Shrewsbury boys and drove them, stage at a time, down to the bottom of the Quarry, and finally over the bridge. Looking like a certain triumph for the SSFC pupils, chants were heard from both sides, Shrewsbury School favoring 'Where's your caravan?' and 'You're poor'. However, SSFC sung resoundingly back 'We get paid to, we get paid to, we get paid to go to school!' referring to the highly acclaimed EMA system. It was at the peak of these chants that Shrewsbury School, newly equipped with snow from the opposite fresh embankment, charged at the SSFC warriors. There was a stand off on the bridge that lasted for around twenty minutes. Shrewsbury School used a three-man catapult against the unmovable SSFC men. Eventually, the catapult, and the bridge were claimed by SSFC and the Shrewsbury School boys retreated to the sound of 'Cheerio!' echoing across the fast-flowing river.

Aftermath

The aftermath of the battle was of course tense, with the Shrewsbury School boys promising to be back for more. Injuries were nursed in the college's bathrooms, and the bruised veterans discussed their accounts fervently in local coffee shops. With more snow expected, and revenge being sought, further clashes seem likely.

Further Information

There was a police presence at the battle.
Chants include:

-"Where's your butler?" SSFC

-"Where's your caravan?" SS

-"Cheerio!" SSFC

Notes

Article by James Ashford, and posted to Wikipedia on 03.02.09

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Great_Shrewsbury_Snowfight_of_Feburary_3rd

Good links:

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=48621948540&ref=mf

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=46514769753&ref=mf