Sicko.

I don't know about you, but i'm getting sick of all this talk about swine flu. Having a part time job in a doctors surgery probably isn't the best way to get around this problem but the media's handling of the sitch is also making me re think my chosen career path somewhat.

If we believed what the media had told us as a collective then by 2010 we would all catch swine flu, the emergency services wouldn't be able to cope so the service sector would shut down causing us all to die and the world to end. Truthfully, swine flu is no worse than 'normal' flu and the number of fatalities are of a similar rate.

But is the reason for this scare mongering as straight forward as it appears? Hasn't it almost masked talk of the recession? And aren't certain industries benefitting financially from it, from producing the tami flu medication to setting up a national helpline providing hundreds of jobs just as employment rates hit an all time low...

It seems strange that something should come along at about this time which is as newsworthy as a global recession. Pandemic predictions have faded in and out of the media over the years with bird flu and mad cow disease (it's those bloody animals fault i say!) but never have they made such an impact as this.

Perhaps this moral panic will end in a couple of months but another distraction will hit our front pages. Yet again the government have manipulated the public by puppeting the tabloids to distract us from the real problems which exist in our society. If that's the best you can do Gordon, then you might as well stand down now.

So, if you start to feel a bit head achey, have a cough or cold, then don't panic. Perhaps use the time quarentined in bed to think about the real problems we are facing right now, problems which have been cleverly masked by some Mexican pigs.

I ♥ U?

I've been thinking a lot recently about the concept of 'love'. Probably the most dramatic and intense of all the human emotions, i find it hard to get my average sized brain around it. What exactly is it? It certainly makes people act in the most unnerving of ways and do things i'm sure they wouldn't normally do if they weren't under the influence, so to speak.

Christians believe that there are four different kinds of love, like the way you love your family even if secretly you think some members are knobs. Or sexual love where you are purely attracted to someone in well, a purely sexual manner, i.e. they're fit but you find them immensly boring so a relationship is out of the question.

Nostalgia also seems to come hand in hand with 'love' or perhaps more with romance. Her; all curls, rouge and lace. Him; tall, dark and chiselled. Lots of passionate kissing on black and white film reel. Ahhhh makes me swoon just thinking about it.

But how do we fall in and out of love? I haven't had a boyfriend yet which at some stage i haven't thought "Right, this is it Laura, he's the one" and told my friends i'll be getting married and they can be bridesmaids, usually resulting in knowing looks of sympathy at my naiivity. One minute you're in love and everything is in sky HD, just a little bit brighter than usual and you become part of a 'twosome' who do everything together, forever name dropping to dissaproving single friends who secretly can't wait for you to break up so they can have the old, fun you back. The next minute you hate him. Everything about him makes you feel sick and you never want to see him again, until you see him with another girl and your insides turn to jelly, your heart stabbed with a safety pin and the like. Just me then? I doubt it, i've seen enough rom-coms to know i'm not alone.

And why is telling your partner that you love them the most important part of any new-ish relationship? Slip it in too soon and you're clingy, leave it too long and you have committment issues. It's a minefield out there. If i had a £1 for all the people i've told on nights out that i love them, yes that i actually love them, after a few jd and cokes and having just met them, i would be a millionaire by now. Perhaps a slight exaggeration...maybe i'd have a tenner but whatever, the point is why have we built this 'love' up to be some kind of make or break word in our relationship vocab. How do we even know what love actually is? It's not like anyone has ever sat us down and said "look, one day you will meet someone and when you think about the fact that they might be with someone else one day you'll feel as though you've been kicked in the face. That, my friend, is what we call love". Maybe someone should be appointed this job in light of the credit crunch, just to avoid confusion. Look at me saving the economy and helping you love sick lot out there.

All i know is that without love, even if it is pretend because we're never sure what it actually is, the world would be a pretty boring and un-lovely place and we wouldn't want that.

If you have read this lengthy rant then i love you :).








No seriously, i actually do...

And which publication do you work for?

Rather robust woman, greasy hair, poorly 'streaked' blonde picks up her phone and blatantly, without dialling any number in particular murmurs drunkenly down the phone, "meet me at tha basstop, there's sam c**t ere yoor gunna av to tw*t, ee won't stop breavin on me."

This was the end to last night for me. Let's start at the beginning....

I've been working at graduate fashion week for the past two days and it's been my first real time as a 'member of the press'. A small white badge with the word PRESS imprinted upon it entitled me to free food and drink all day, front seats at the gala show and a chance to mingle with the 'slebs at the aftershow party. I could very much get used to this lifestyle as i'm sure anyone could. I've been left revelling in the memories of being sat behind Claudia Schiffer and Erin O'connor, and all because i am now a fully fledged, albiet somewhat flukish, member of the press.

However, when one is on the number 25 bus to Whitechapel on a Wednesday night apparently this newly granted status does not matter much at all or in fact bode well. Jordan and i were stood minding our own business only to be called 'fackin cants' i'd say all in all around 20 times by this absolutely lovely women sat next to us. The crime you may ask? Jordan was breathing on her. I absolutely love London. In no other place in the world would this situation happen i am sure of it.

Still feeling rather woozy from all the free alcohol so i think i'll have a lie down, perhaps go and twat some kids later if the breath on me but i'll see how i feel.

The land where dreams come true...

You know those places, the sorts where dreams are made... for arguments sake lets say Disneyland for example. Well add a bunch of Shoreditch folk, a lot of alcohol, a sprinkling of sand and a dash of salsa dancing and you get Shunt (the 'interactive' gallery/club under London Bridge station). Well i'll tell you something...i've never seen anything like it in my life.

In every alcove a different magical experience awaits, from bingo to pinball. One room had a caravan, a beach complete with sandcastles and even the sea. You better believe it kids. A trip to the little chapel gave every tipsy couple the chance to get hitched, even offering wedding attire and bouquets. Sounds a little bit Glasto doesn't it?

Ten pounds may be a tall order for students but i'll tell you it's the best tenner i've spent in months. Not a pretentious club kid in sight which was the refreshing twist. Having said that who's too cool to build sandcastles and go paddling in the sea? Most definitely not me that's for sure. Now if you excuse me i'm off to wash the sand out of my ...ahem toes.

When it rains, it pours.

Men are like london buses. When you want one it is the hardest thing to track down in the world, and when you aren't too bothered, it's sunny outside and you want to save a bit of cash so you may as well walk, three come at once.

This is my social observation of the week. Horoscopes have regrettably become my best friends.

On the contrary to the headline it has been gloriously sunny here in the Capital this week. It is however highly unfortunate that on the hottest day of the year i am cooped up inside writing this blog and 'revising'. I call it 'revising' because it isn't really. It's just flicking through my notes aimlessly hoping something might stick. Here's hoping.

I am also particularly sad today because it is Darwen music festival, perhaps the greatest thing that has ever happened to Blackburn and Darwen since the 10 hour day. And i am stuck here in oh so sunny London. That doesn't quite sound right does it?

Anyway my books are calling me so i will return with more enlightening tales next time.

Most certainly not the National Front.

Neils Children and Disconcerts @ The Queen of Hoxton 04/05/09


The whole of the moustache club were out in Shoreditch last night to see these two fresh new bands on the scene at a free, yes you heard me right, free gig in the lovely brand spanking new Queen of Hoxton which is just fabulous don't you know. Unusual crowd considering the band were very much british punk which for me was unexpected. I, clad in my tartan dress was very fitting with the politically fuelled tales of backstreet Britain. How very working class.

The Disconcerts were up first and although raising a relatively small crowd they provided a quick travel back in time to the 1970's for their short 30minute set. The lead singer's voice was not unlike Johnny Rotten's, the difference between these young lads and Pistols being that the disconcerts could play their instruments. Very well in fact. The only way to appreciate this music was to po go like it was 1979 and is just what the crowd did.

Towards the end of the set the Queen started to fill up and after the whole place cleared for that all so very important cigarette for the Shoreditch crew, they were back for Neil's Children.



(Before their makeover!)

I've seen this band before but i am pretty sure the lead singer did not look like the little boy from This is England last time??! Clad in docs, drainpipes, shirt and braces the lead singer/guitarist could easily have been an extra in the film. The bassist looked very drawn and Ian Curtis like with his polo shirt done up to the top and the drummer had black and blonde hair sticking out all over the place in a gothic esque way. This band looked like they shouldn't work but they really, really did.

After some heckling from the crowd...is it ok to shout peodophile at a band member nowadays?? I didn't know that was normal protocol! The band got underway. The lead singers cock-e-ney english tones with the fast paced guitar riffs worked so well. It was the sort of set you couldn't not dance to. After a whopping hour and a half without a break(!) i take my hat off to those lads...the room was awash with sweaty looking club kids (mostly with moustaches, when will this trend end?)

What an exellently free night in a lovely venue with some not so lovely people...i'm talking to you creepy guy stood in front of me.

Definitely support these lovely lads.

First time for everything

Blinded by artificial lights, I was thrust forward into a sea of faces. Each face looked upon mine with anticipation and I froze for a moment, feeling the intense gaze of the masses. I took a breath and it cascaded down the microphone and echoed around the room, bouncing from wall to wall in the eerie silence. I was a preacher and this dilapidated community centre was my chapel.

Suddenly, with only a casual nod from me, the bass drum kicked in and the magic began. The atmosphere changed. Youths began flailing to the rhythm which screeched from the vintage Gretch instructing their feet. It was my moment; I opened my mouth and sang the lyrics which I had penned for hours previous to this. Lyrics which spoke of teenage heartbreak, problems with the government, of which I had no control as at the tender age of fifteen I was not within my voting rights, and the narcotics which I had never taken and probably never would. My insides buzzed with the feedback from the crowd. Although anyone past the first couple of rows remained a blur, I could tell from the sway that we had done something right. As one song blurred into another my mind was on auto pilot so that I could best soak up the atmosphere, just in case this moment was to be the only one of its kind.

Although my interior felt perfectly at home up there on that stage, my exterior translated a very different view. Holding the microphone stand as if using it as a barrier between me and those who watched on expectantly, I clung on for dear life in the fear that I may drift away on the dream which was unravelling as I stood. The rush of adrenalin can be experienced or recreated at no other time than when one is performing in front of a captive audience. This feeling again would send shivers down my spine and play havoc with my stomach but somehow in a lesser form than the very first time. First experiences are ones which shall never be forgotten for this very reason.