Fucked up there, didn’t I?

As if I was going to write another blog within eight months of my last. It took me three years to bother between the previous two. I mean, let’s be fair, managing to set this time aside within a year of the last post almost makes me a serial blogger in my eyes.

Don’t worry, I’ve not lost the writer’s touch. (At least in my own head.)

Anyway, yeah, I’ve turned 30 since the last time I updated this blog so what better way to re-introduce myself to the readership?*

*My own Mum probably wouldn’t even be arsed reading my blog so you probably are literally the only person reading this.

Apart from the absolute ball ache that means this blog’s domain is now hopelessly outdated (obviously took the cheaper route of just adding a mention to 30 in brackets), it is strange to concede that turning 30 has started to make me think more about my age than I have ever done previously.

Should I really be out in the Razz until 4am in the morning? I’m 30.

Should I really be wearing ripped jeans? I’m 30.

Should I really be spending my time playing FIFA? I’m 30.

Should I really still be single? I’m 30.

Should I really be a virgin? I’m 30.

(Ok, at least one of those is a joke).

They say that age is a number but there is something about turning 30 that makes you stop and question a lot of your life choices. There’s no longer that acceptance that you can “get away” with something because you’re in your 20s. For some reason, being 30 has some sort of maturity associated to it that you feel compelled to recognise.

I’m not too sure where this comes from but it certainly feels like a pressure from society as a whole.

I have even extended out my Bumble age range search to 31. Proof, if ever any was needed, that this pressure from society has hit me bad.

I do keep telling myself that it’s only another year and it shouldn’t really be such a significant landmark but there’s no getting away from the fact there is sense of a loss of freedom that came with being an irresponsible twenty-something.

What this means exactly for me, I’m not sure. I’m still in the process of convincing myself that 30 can be perceived as “young” nowadays and I’ve still got plenty of time to become attuned with what society says I should be doing.

Forty is the one to worry about.

Yeah, that’s right, 40. Miles off that. Got ages to fuck about before deciding I’ve definitely played enough FIFA against 12-year-old kids.

And if I’m still going with this writing lark by the time I’m 40 I might even treat myself to a new domain. Something to look forward to there.

For now, though, here’s to continuing to act blindly like a twenty-something updating a blog about being twenty-something. Happy days.



p.s. To confirm, I am not a virgin.

Getting back into writing? (If I can be arsed, maybe?)

Fuck me, I’ve taken a dive here.

Almost three years it’s taken me to update this blog*. It would be great if I could turn around and say it’s because “I’ve been really busy with project X, Y and Z” but the demoralising reality is I’ve probably not been that arsed with the whole thing.

*You’d think any normal person would have just stopped paying web hosting unnecessarily for a stagnant website, wouldn’t you?

I mean, I’m almost not even 20s any more. Maybe that’s why I’ve sub-consciously decided to write this. To somehow justify the existence of this blog while I’m still clinging onto the last shreds of my 20s.

(Either that or I just bought a new laptop and the novelty of it all has led me here. One of the two.)

It’s a bit of a shame really because I had some proper grand plans for this blog originally and how I was going to slag everyone and everything off. Think I just bottled it, to be honest.

This whole thing is unscripted, though, and I have no idea where I’m really going with this other than to say; I’m pretty sure there’s still something in me telling me I’m alright at this writing thing and I should probably do more.

It’s actually quite nice when people do read some of stuff I’ve written in the past (link to another haplessly updated blog that I like to spunk web hosting on here) and make comment that they think it’s decent.

I suppose there’s a chance they could be just saying that not to hurt my feelings, but I reckon there’s some sincerity about it.

And then there’s other people’s blogs that I look at and think “This really is shit. I could do a lot better“.

All in all, I think I’m probably doing this to make myself feel a little bit better about the whole situation. I’m not even sure what I could potentially write about next. I mean, this was pretty much just some ramblings of nothingness.

I’m going to set myself a target. Write another blog before I have to (pointlessly) change the domain name because I’ve hit 30. That gives me around about nine months (I’ve just baulked after writing that line) – which is actually a bit of a challenge considering it’s taken me the best part of three years to sum up the effort to do this.

Stay tuned, guys. You never know.


I’d compare studying at University to eating out at Nando’s*.

You get the hype, you hear the stories and then you realise, shit, how fucking overrated is this?

*(I have to pick up my own cutlery, seriously?)

I’ve never quite got the obsessive nostalgic view people have of University.

In fact, I still don’t; a full five years after graduating (fucking hell, I’m old).

I mean, what really does it account for? Sure, I have a degree (that looks nice on the LinkedIn profile).

But I’ve never been able to shake that nagging feeling inside that says “I paid three grand a year for that, really?

Where does a degree actually get you in life; in your career? It didn’t get me a job, certainly not directly.

And let’s be fair, any fucker can get a degree. It was hardly the height of academia.

Beyond that, there was no pathway presented to me. No “here’s how you apply for jobs“, “here’s what you ought to be applying for“, “here’s what sort of salary you should be looking at“, “here’s how to negotiate a salary“.

No. None of that. More of “here’s your degree now fuck off“.

Oh, you owe us 20 grand, by the way.



In case you don’t know, I “studied” Journalism and Sports Development at University.

Sports Development.

What the fuck is that? I couldn’t even tell you myself**. But apparently I’ve got a degree in it and that makes me qualified, kinda.

All I know is that Sports Development was a series of mind-numbing and seemingly endless Powerpoint presentations that, believe it or not, could be accessed remotely. You didn’t even need to turn up. I could have spent the whole three years in bed if I wanted.

(I gave it a good go, admittedly.)

Three grand a year for a set of PowerPoint slides.

How fucking underwhelming is that?

To be fair, I went to a shit University (hopefully they don’t read this, those late library fines must be through the roof by now). And I suppose that’s my own fault. Though, again, it wasn’t like I was ever presented with any real direction beforehand.

Going to University (or, indeed, college) is just prescribed as “the next logical step”; there’s no actual thought process of how young people should develop or even begin their career.

You’re given your education and booted out to fend for yourself, there’s nothing in-between.

(Bit of a recurring theme going on here, you may have noticed).

That’s not to say the education system should spoon-feed you everything. Of course, there ought to be a certain  amount of “doing” for yourself. Otherwise, we’d all be lazy and incompetent bastards.

But there’s only a certain amount of theory worth bothering with if you can’t actually put any of it into practice.

I look back now and consider what I’ve done in the last three years operating in a workplace a whole lot more worthwhile, beneficial and productive for my career than what University ever gave me; a qualification and a shed load of debt.

Before I slag off the education system completely, I’ll relent slightly; I’m sure there’s plenty of courses out there that offer a genuine foundation of knowledge that will ultimately help form the pivotal building blocks for a relevant career.

I’d be willing to bet those instances are of a premium, though.

I wonder how many people who took the same Journalism course I did are actually Journalists now? Or at least continue to write in one form or another?

(From the small pool who have yet to delete me from Facebook I’d guess it’s none).

Further Education has its purpose, there is no doubt. It just shouldn’t be for everyone. There ought to be more of a transactional system in place that can facilitate the period between education and career.

Oh, and it shouldn’t cost anything. Where’s the fucking logic in that? “Yes, we’ll make people pay for trying to better themselves.”

Anyway, that’s politics for you.



**The definition of Sports Development from sportsdevelopment.info:

“It can mean the development of sport for sports sake and equally the use of sport and physical activity opportunities for the development of society – sport as a social instrument.”

Nope, still no clue.

Are Bloggers (Like Me) Boring?

Contemplate this mindfuck:

I write blogs, but rarely do I read other blogs – or at least get past the first two to three lines.


Well, cause they’re fucking boring.

(Told you it was a bit of a mindfuck)

I’m pretty sure I can’t be the only one that thinks this.

Trouble is, I don’t think people write with enough flair. Or enough of the “I really don’t give a shit” attitude.

They are confined by perceived limitations or self-imposed restrictions on how things “should” be done.

It’s not always possible to write creatively, of course. The news, for instance, really isn’t the place to be going off on unrelated tangents.

But feature writing, blog writing are mediums were people should feel compelled to write freely.

Too often I find myself switching off by the second, third line.

Perhaps it’s just me.

Maybe I’ve got a really short attention span.

Though, I know for sure this is far from uncommon in the modernised digital age we live in where we can find answers to almost anything instantaneously.

People don’t really want to read any more. It’s too much hard work.

Give them a video to watch or, at most, 140 characters over Twitter. They can just about manage that.

It’s more difficult now than ever to keep people engaged with content, or blog writing.

So why write like a boring cunt?

One of the key things, you may have noticed, about my writing style is the “short and sharp” approach.

I don’t like to overload on information for the sake of reaching a word count – or because it looks like I’ve put a bit more effort in.

I like to be direct and to the point. Fuck style guides, my paragraphs are short because I know it’s less likely some cunt will get bored and go back to wanking off to Fake Taxi.

I realise that with this blog post carries the possibility of a large sense of irony and perhaps some hypocrisy too.

Though, if you’re reading this then I’ve successfully managed to keep you engaged (and away from Fake Taxi) for a good 90 seconds of your lifetime.

Either that, or you’re a clever dick who’s just skipped to the end.

Point being to all this is thus; people shouldn’t feel constrained by writing. It ought not to be monotonous*.

Think like a reader. Would you read that shit?


(*Monotonous means “boring”, silly).