No one has ever laid down the rules on how to correctly be a student. Tax payers think students are tax dodging ‘young adults’, ex-students think they are jealous and future students will strop until they finally become one.
The simple point of fact is that no matter how you’re perceived as a student, it is what you put into your experience that truly counts.
Let’s start off with a few basics, they can easily to sleep in till lunch, eat breakfast for tea and drink the house dry. They attend lectures once a week and regard channel E4 as the equivalent to the BBC News.
Once they have finally dragged themselves out of the lairs then they can really begin the day. One can imagine their day to be very hectic, what with all their extra curriculum activities (stealing road signs, cones and various other night reflective objects) and keeping the local kebab shop in business, the life of a student is not to be snubbed.
In order to be the very best student a student can be they must follow several simple guidelines…
Firstly: student discount. See it, sign it and get it. Life is not complete without some form of discount and tight fisted, money holding persons that they are, any discount will be welcomed. So get hold of a student card and start flashing it.
Secondly: food shopping. Just because Tesco value food looks like it has been reared on the ugly farm does not mean it is not edible. With a pinch of salt and a sprinkling of pepper they should be Gordon Ramsey-ing it before they know it. Before long the British economy will be booming thanks to students and their low standards of food.
Thirdly: sleep/ sleep deprivation. Students don’t sleep. They are not nocturnal, they simply don’t sleep. Think Twilights Edward Cullen but without the blood curdling thirst. Although sleep deprivation may sound like terminology from doom, it will become a student’s best friend pushing the boundaries of human function to the extreme.
This brings us to point four: ProPlus. Never underestimate the power of a student and a packet of ProPlus, especially around the exam period. The reason students can look like they haven’t slept in day is probably because they haven’t. These Proplus wonders can add hours to a student’s revision timetable and lets face it, they wouldn’t strive on pulling ‘all nighters’ to work if they couldn’t achieve it.
These are but a few guidelines to encourage the students of today to maximize their university experience. It goes without saying that they should firstly, before obtaining their student discount cards, enrol on a degree course they find interesting.
From one student to another, if they want to enhance their path in life, gain an extra qualification or simply learn more about specifics then choosing an interesting degree will certainly help.
At the end of the day isn’t that what students go to university for?
Thursday, 10 June 2010
Tuesday, 1 June 2010
Talented Britain
Britain is famous for many things, roast dinners, David Beckham and two very good looking princes. However, none of these are responsible for the millions of British viewers that will be tuning into ITV at half 7 each day this week.
So without any further ado, I give you Britain’s Got Talent (BGT.)
Last night sparked the first of the live semi-finals and like the rest of Britain last night, I took my dinner to the T.V and sat partially ogling the hosts Ant and Dec (which one is which??) and debated with the rest of my household who we thought would go through and who would sulk off stage.
As the show started Piers, Amanda and the worryingly mesmerizing Simon Cowell (and let’s face it he shouldn’t look that good in a suit!) graced our television sets as the decision making judges. They sat down, the audience clapped and the little men with the signs at the front of the stage said ‘silence.’
The acts rolled by, a Bollywood dance group, a little girl who had a voice of an angel and young guy who also had the voice of an angel (is this show X Factor?), a dancer who used a floating ball as a prop, a slightly tangoed cruise ship entertainer, a singing knight chopping wood, a guy who likes to swallow things and a gymnastic group full of topless men.
My money was on the gymnastic group called Spellbound. Yes, nice men jumping around with their six packs on show may have been a deciding element, but their combinations and routine was flawless. So much so that it almost resulted in my housemates and I attempting to pull off some similar moves. Thankfully we decided for the sake of our living room windows it was probably best we did not try and ‘prove’ that we could each do a double round off. Besides, our landlords would probably kill us.
So as it got nearer and nearer to results time and our urges to injure ourselves by getting our feet wrapped around our heads (you laugh now…but you should have seen it!) subsided the suspense grew. Only two of the eight acts could go through to Saturdays live final and I was determined Spellbound had to be one of them.
But why did I choose that exact time to go and whack the kettle on? There was a sudden shriek of excitement from the lounge and like a bullet I ran to room, my love for Spellbound increasing and the fact that they would be great to see perform at the Royal Variety beaming on my face.
However, as things go I probably should have seen the chair, or the flipped over corner of the rug, or the big-fat-slightly less hairy than usual-slug on the floor. Instead I attempted a Linford Christie esc move, caught my foot on the chair, landed head first on the rug, arms in the air and narrowly missed the ultimate squishing of our beloved resident slug.
I had pulled off a spectacular spellbinding fall and Spellbound were through to the final. It was the perfect end to what could have been a disastrous night for women and slug alike.
So tonight when the clock strikes 7:30pm once again I will be in front of the T.V cheering for Britain, along with the rest of the country to discover whether as a nation we have any talent or if we should just stick to making roast dinners.
So without any further ado, I give you Britain’s Got Talent (BGT.)
Last night sparked the first of the live semi-finals and like the rest of Britain last night, I took my dinner to the T.V and sat partially ogling the hosts Ant and Dec (which one is which??) and debated with the rest of my household who we thought would go through and who would sulk off stage.
As the show started Piers, Amanda and the worryingly mesmerizing Simon Cowell (and let’s face it he shouldn’t look that good in a suit!) graced our television sets as the decision making judges. They sat down, the audience clapped and the little men with the signs at the front of the stage said ‘silence.’
The acts rolled by, a Bollywood dance group, a little girl who had a voice of an angel and young guy who also had the voice of an angel (is this show X Factor?), a dancer who used a floating ball as a prop, a slightly tangoed cruise ship entertainer, a singing knight chopping wood, a guy who likes to swallow things and a gymnastic group full of topless men.
My money was on the gymnastic group called Spellbound. Yes, nice men jumping around with their six packs on show may have been a deciding element, but their combinations and routine was flawless. So much so that it almost resulted in my housemates and I attempting to pull off some similar moves. Thankfully we decided for the sake of our living room windows it was probably best we did not try and ‘prove’ that we could each do a double round off. Besides, our landlords would probably kill us.
So as it got nearer and nearer to results time and our urges to injure ourselves by getting our feet wrapped around our heads (you laugh now…but you should have seen it!) subsided the suspense grew. Only two of the eight acts could go through to Saturdays live final and I was determined Spellbound had to be one of them.
But why did I choose that exact time to go and whack the kettle on? There was a sudden shriek of excitement from the lounge and like a bullet I ran to room, my love for Spellbound increasing and the fact that they would be great to see perform at the Royal Variety beaming on my face.
However, as things go I probably should have seen the chair, or the flipped over corner of the rug, or the big-fat-slightly less hairy than usual-slug on the floor. Instead I attempted a Linford Christie esc move, caught my foot on the chair, landed head first on the rug, arms in the air and narrowly missed the ultimate squishing of our beloved resident slug.
I had pulled off a spectacular spellbinding fall and Spellbound were through to the final. It was the perfect end to what could have been a disastrous night for women and slug alike.
So tonight when the clock strikes 7:30pm once again I will be in front of the T.V cheering for Britain, along with the rest of the country to discover whether as a nation we have any talent or if we should just stick to making roast dinners.
Sunday, 30 May 2010
Café world
The area where we lived this year is about as civilised as a spam factory, but it does have one amazing quality. This place of wonder, the ultimate Thursday morning cure, the secret to student Ville…the café!
For a beautiful price of £3.50 you can get a full fried breakfast and drink, it may not be heaven, but it certainly isn’t too far off. I would like to think that if the world collapsed (or Chester self- combusted) then the café would be the venue all the survivors end up. A little piece of edible heaven.
Our house has always gone there after a night of, shall we say, vigorous, none eating and welcomed the rewards of comfort food the following day. So this week’s visit was no exception.
However, there was one difference. It was the last time Becky, Claire and I would all go together. As we all sank our teeth into Chester’s best bacon ensemble there was a definite feeling of grief. The baked beans that coated the fried egg just were not as ‘Heinz’ as normal.
And even the white plates that constantly spin on the lino table cloths were not making us as goofy as usual.
What had happened?
There was bound to be café’s all over the globe and they could probably offer everything our little one here did.
It seems this is yet another string-to-the-bow of tissue needing memories that are arising.
What I do know is that it has turned my brain into English breakfast mode; wonder if we have any bacon…
For a beautiful price of £3.50 you can get a full fried breakfast and drink, it may not be heaven, but it certainly isn’t too far off. I would like to think that if the world collapsed (or Chester self- combusted) then the café would be the venue all the survivors end up. A little piece of edible heaven.
Our house has always gone there after a night of, shall we say, vigorous, none eating and welcomed the rewards of comfort food the following day. So this week’s visit was no exception.
However, there was one difference. It was the last time Becky, Claire and I would all go together. As we all sank our teeth into Chester’s best bacon ensemble there was a definite feeling of grief. The baked beans that coated the fried egg just were not as ‘Heinz’ as normal.
And even the white plates that constantly spin on the lino table cloths were not making us as goofy as usual.
What had happened?
There was bound to be café’s all over the globe and they could probably offer everything our little one here did.
It seems this is yet another string-to-the-bow of tissue needing memories that are arising.
What I do know is that it has turned my brain into English breakfast mode; wonder if we have any bacon…
Death by Dyson
Suddenly in a matter of days our house has turned from student heaven (bottles on all surfaces, ants, dust and left over pizza boxes) into a domesticated housewife’s lair.
With only two out of us five girls still living here, it was oddly rewarding to whip out the hover and give the house the clean it needed. But as with most university related things at the moment it made my heart go ‘twang.’
Yesterday Claire left uni and we (Becky and I) watched her drive away, leaving the pair of us sniffling and a little bit teary.
So when I got the hover out this morning for a bit of spring cleaning and the same effect happened, I was more than a bit worried. Crying over a hover is probably a condition for a psychologist. Or some Dyson loving ‘fetisher.’
On the plus side the house once again looks new, but sadly on the downside the end is getting ever closer. I Might just have to stay clear of any hovers or similar cleaning equipment for the time being. Gutted.
With only two out of us five girls still living here, it was oddly rewarding to whip out the hover and give the house the clean it needed. But as with most university related things at the moment it made my heart go ‘twang.’
Yesterday Claire left uni and we (Becky and I) watched her drive away, leaving the pair of us sniffling and a little bit teary.
So when I got the hover out this morning for a bit of spring cleaning and the same effect happened, I was more than a bit worried. Crying over a hover is probably a condition for a psychologist. Or some Dyson loving ‘fetisher.’
On the plus side the house once again looks new, but sadly on the downside the end is getting ever closer. I Might just have to stay clear of any hovers or similar cleaning equipment for the time being. Gutted.
Saturday, 29 May 2010
The morning after
I will admit that my life is not amazingly exciting, and half the events in it should be written down and shared and the other half, well, who needs to know the entire list of my food shop.
Anyway, with a grand total of a few weeks to go till I leave Chester for good the day-to-day events just keep getting better.
This is probably one of these things that should remain in my head, or written down and forgotten about…but let’s be honest, where is the fun in that?
Last night my housemates and I embraced our usual SU Friday, complete with cider and black (my increasing levels of testosterone never seize to amaze me), music that would make my Nan cry and text messaging that will undoubtedly leave to a back ache the following morning.
Being single in university is a necessity, relationships are for the faint hearted and easily pleased. Which is why nights out which end in midnight rendezvous are disasters waiting to happen.
After weeks of happily scouting the male talent of Cheshire, constantly shaving my legs and loving being ‘me’ again, I was a little surprised when the last guy I dated popped up in my inbox. (No pun intended.)
Four hours later I woke up in his bed trying to figure out A. why I was there and B. where my clothes were and C. how I was going to explain this to my housemates. Either way stepping inside his front door was probably a rookie mistake.
All it took was one sentence to alter the relatively good opinion I had of him. After waking me up and doing his manly thing he suggested I leave before it got too busy outside. Not only was it raining but he let slip he was too drunk to drive me home, so it would be ‘walk of shame’ time.
Five minutes previous I was sleeping and now I had to try to convince the residents of Chester that looking like a tramp at half 8 in the morning is a fashion statement.
Also after seeing Sex and the City 2 yesterday this experience was a little too much Carrie Bradshaw for my liking and it seemed crazy that after the best break-up in the world it all went ‘poof’ in a matter of verbal diarrhoea.
This may be more evidence that men are well...men and for every good chicken there really is a bad egg. But then again, if you can’t have your eggs sunny side up in the morning when can you?
It is common knowledge that first impressions of a person leave a lasting mark, but last impressions leave a crater in your mind.
So it’s back to bed with a nice cup of tea and start writing a non-man blog. The big wide world awaits and with KG’s on my feet and a smile on my face what is the worst that can happen?
Anyway, with a grand total of a few weeks to go till I leave Chester for good the day-to-day events just keep getting better.
This is probably one of these things that should remain in my head, or written down and forgotten about…but let’s be honest, where is the fun in that?
Last night my housemates and I embraced our usual SU Friday, complete with cider and black (my increasing levels of testosterone never seize to amaze me), music that would make my Nan cry and text messaging that will undoubtedly leave to a back ache the following morning.
Being single in university is a necessity, relationships are for the faint hearted and easily pleased. Which is why nights out which end in midnight rendezvous are disasters waiting to happen.
After weeks of happily scouting the male talent of Cheshire, constantly shaving my legs and loving being ‘me’ again, I was a little surprised when the last guy I dated popped up in my inbox. (No pun intended.)
Four hours later I woke up in his bed trying to figure out A. why I was there and B. where my clothes were and C. how I was going to explain this to my housemates. Either way stepping inside his front door was probably a rookie mistake.
All it took was one sentence to alter the relatively good opinion I had of him. After waking me up and doing his manly thing he suggested I leave before it got too busy outside. Not only was it raining but he let slip he was too drunk to drive me home, so it would be ‘walk of shame’ time.
Five minutes previous I was sleeping and now I had to try to convince the residents of Chester that looking like a tramp at half 8 in the morning is a fashion statement.
Also after seeing Sex and the City 2 yesterday this experience was a little too much Carrie Bradshaw for my liking and it seemed crazy that after the best break-up in the world it all went ‘poof’ in a matter of verbal diarrhoea.
This may be more evidence that men are well...men and for every good chicken there really is a bad egg. But then again, if you can’t have your eggs sunny side up in the morning when can you?
It is common knowledge that first impressions of a person leave a lasting mark, but last impressions leave a crater in your mind.
So it’s back to bed with a nice cup of tea and start writing a non-man blog. The big wide world awaits and with KG’s on my feet and a smile on my face what is the worst that can happen?
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Vampire's and Twitter go neck and neck...
A second time spinner that has stemmed from no longer being a student is Twitter. Not only is this another device to broadcast more drunken opinions, but it is also the home of a twitter page called ‘the single woman’.
This page is terrible, forever telling single women-such as myself- that being single is ok. Constantly bombarding me and followers alike with sweet and meaningful sayings/ lyrics and quotes inspiring to help the single woman get through her lonely day of self loathing, and ensuring her that happiness is only round the corner.
What this is really doing is convincing females (or attempting to), that the reason he cheated was so we would find our true love. Highly unlikely.
However, being the romantic optimist that I am, I love it!
Granted he may not smell as fantastic as a vampire, but he may be the first guy you see tomorrow or the guy across the street.
I guess you do have to learn from your past, it must all happen for a reason right? But when is the right time to shut the door: “If he was dumb enough to walk away, you should be smart enough to move on.” Personally that sounds more like a critical statement than a form of literary encouragement.
So perhaps the end of Chester uni is the time to close the lid on the search for the ‘perfect man’ or should it read the ‘perfect male student?’
As a female I’ve laughed, cried and had my heart broken by men these past three years. Even wanted them dead. But one thing is for sure, every single one of them is different and every single one of them brings out something new in you.
There will always be the one that got away, the ‘what if?’ one. The one who would catch your breath and vanish your inhibitions with a single glance.
If uni has taught me anything it’s that you have to go through the bad ones to get to the good ones. And one day you will take that chance and it will be worth every pervious hesitation you’ve ever had.
This page is terrible, forever telling single women-such as myself- that being single is ok. Constantly bombarding me and followers alike with sweet and meaningful sayings/ lyrics and quotes inspiring to help the single woman get through her lonely day of self loathing, and ensuring her that happiness is only round the corner.
What this is really doing is convincing females (or attempting to), that the reason he cheated was so we would find our true love. Highly unlikely.
However, being the romantic optimist that I am, I love it!
Granted he may not smell as fantastic as a vampire, but he may be the first guy you see tomorrow or the guy across the street.
I guess you do have to learn from your past, it must all happen for a reason right? But when is the right time to shut the door: “If he was dumb enough to walk away, you should be smart enough to move on.” Personally that sounds more like a critical statement than a form of literary encouragement.
So perhaps the end of Chester uni is the time to close the lid on the search for the ‘perfect man’ or should it read the ‘perfect male student?’
As a female I’ve laughed, cried and had my heart broken by men these past three years. Even wanted them dead. But one thing is for sure, every single one of them is different and every single one of them brings out something new in you.
There will always be the one that got away, the ‘what if?’ one. The one who would catch your breath and vanish your inhibitions with a single glance.
If uni has taught me anything it’s that you have to go through the bad ones to get to the good ones. And one day you will take that chance and it will be worth every pervious hesitation you’ve ever had.
The end of man as we know it.
I know I haven’t written a blog here for a while, but there has been a genuine reason. Last week I finished uni, forever!
Getting my head around this has been a huge challenge, one which admittedly has not yet sunk in.
Either way, writing this blog ‘the end of uni’ would be the first hurdle in accepting the truth.
So to put it in pure Coussens style I have decided to divert this topic with a reoccurring theme that has been present throughout my university life…men.
With all this spare time I have managed to finally attack my ever increasing list of books to read before I die. Yes, I am one of those sad people that can occasionally block out the world and read a book cover-to-cover in a matter of days. Not surprising being an ex-English student.
Anyway, first on the list was Twilight. I could write book reviews till the cows come home, but this book drew me in more than any guy I’ve ever known. And it got me thinking; are there men out there who are as irresistible as the allusive Edward Cullen?
I will be the first to admit that over these past three years of university I have dated as many men as I have completed Journalism assignments. In short that equals out as quite a few dates.
A few men never made it past the first date; some only just made it to the destructive forth date of doom and a minor two I actually fell for. I have been cheated on, cheated myself and done things that would make my Grandma turn in her grave (thankfully I no longer have that car.)
So it poses the question, are there men out there who can send you giddy at a single smile? Whose mere presence leaves you unable to keep your hands off them and who will take you home and tell you how edible you smell?
Rippling six packs and physiques aside, do we women have to look to the fictional characters to prove that love exists? Or do these made-up-males just make it harder to see the real men in front of our eyes?
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