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Fabulous Joe and His Tales of Woe

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Friends & Facial Products [Oct. 25th, 2010|12:33 am]
Fabulous Joe and His Tales of Woe
[Current Mood |contemplativecontemplative]
[Current Music |Brahms: "Ein Deutches Requiem"]

I’ve surprised myself with how well I am coping with my work. Everything seems to be going along swimmingly. However my year group have been lumbered with the Nativity play this year, when I heard this was the case, I was quite excited about it. But the other staff looked at me as if I was crazy. One seasoned and experienced teacher said organising and rehearsing the Naivety is ‘the closest thing to hell on Earth.’ My year group partner held her head in her hands and then looked up; her expression was one of someone who had been sentenced to life imprisonment or given a terminal diagnosis. I looked to another colleague for reassurance, and for the first time I noticed her wrinkled grey face, her look of pity, and the dread in her eyes...like an old man recalling the horror of the trenches and all the pals he lost, the blood, the screaming, the tears, the out of tune singing, the lost cardboard crown, the glitter everywhere...just everywhere.

Sounds like the next half term won’t bode well for my thinning greying hair.

I went into Boots wanting to buy some moisturiser as I was running low. I was browsing around the Clinque section and the lady there told me I had an oily T-zone with rough skin around my cheeks. She also said I needed to start using anti-ageing stuff. Although I know she may very well have been just trying to make a sale and could have been exaggerating...I suddenly realised my vanity had reached a new level. This news that I now, at the age of 24, need to start fighting wrinkles coupled with the prospect of being bald & grey, I found myself looking at ‘Just for Men’ and thickening shampoo...and because of what lady told me about my face, I bought over £50 worth of men’s facial stuff.  I now have a facial regimen...a twice daily 3 step facial regimen.

I also need to go on a diet. Winter is coming and that means unless I buy bigger jumpers, the ones I have when worn will show off my hideous gut without mercy, and I can’t wear a jacket all the time.

Still, I shouldn’t feel too sorry for myself. I’m actually being a productive member of society and am in a relationship...income and sex...once so elusive to me, now familiar friends. JMAK has grown up. Also when I stalk people from school and University on Facebook...I’m quite lucky in many respects. I have a job and am not lumbered with two children by different fathers, the oldest being 6.

It’s very sad coming on LJ, I miss the sense of virtual community. There was once a large group of friends always posting. I check it most weeks and now there are only two or three people who post. MSN is the same...one time you could sign in and there were always loads of people there. Facebook is fun, but it’s not the same.

Then again, I didn’t really make much effort to keep my own LJ going, and I was always blocking people on MSN because I didn’t have the time to chat to them or didn’t want them to interrupt my You Tubing and general browsing.

I didn’t make much effort in real life either. It’s great having Alex here now, but since Dave stayed in Brighton & Chris went up North it was a bit lonely here in Dixie at times. My PGCE friends were nice, but that wasn’t the same as what I used to have...and naturally Uni friends become more distant when you all return back to different home-towns.

How do you make new friends when you’re in your mid 20s and work with mostly middle aged women...how do you strike up old friendships? I’m rubbish at both, and now how do I find the friend I’ve always covered, the gay best friend. Every time I’ve come close to getting one I’ve slept with them, started a relationship or ruined it in some other way.

I want someone to talk about men with, compare facial regimens with, go shoe shopping with, share a bottle of champagne with, bitch with, laugh with, sleep with...no wait....not that.

 I can do all those things with Alex, and I do, but is there anything wrong with wanting someone else to ‘be gay’ with. My straight friends have tried to camp it up on occasion for my benefit, but it’s not the same...how do I find my gay best friend?

I know you’re out there somewhere...probably in Selfridges buying cake or £50 worth of facial products...I’ll find you one day.

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Scratching an Itch. [Jul. 17th, 2010|04:30 pm]
Fabulous Joe and His Tales of Woe
[Current Mood |crappycrappy]
[Current Music |Gloria Jones: Tainted Love]

First published on Facebook:

This afternoon I suddenly got an itch to blog. As my own dear Livejournal hasn’t been updated since ...*checks livejournal* wow November 2008, I didn’t seen the point of blogging, especially as there are only three of my LJ friends that still regularly update and many of the other accounts are also stagnant or deleted.

What caused this itch? Well it was a number of things really. First reason was because today is the first Saturday I’ve had off in over a year and marks the end of my time at the Social Club, which provided me with many tales for my LJ. I could complain about it, but overall it’s been very kind to me. An easy, local job which has kept me going on and off for about 5 years. There were also quite a few laughs, usually at the expense of others, but laughs none the less.

The other reason was because today I had the worse hair cutting experience of my life...and when walking home with a mixture of embarrassment and anger I thought to myself ‘shame, this would have made a classic JMAK LJ entry.’

Well to scratch this itch I’m writing this note, and maybe for old times’ sake I’ll pop it on the old LJ as well.

So I’ve wanted a hair cut for ages but I’ve been working in school and by the time I get back to Dagenham I’m always so knackered I just want to go home. Having a free Saturday I popped out to the shops and to the barbers (although this was delayed by a semi-Lamebook.com moment which caused me to run back home and change my status to avoid possible career destroying embarrassment).

The barbers I go to is run by this Turkish bloke and some other Turks, possibly his sons, but I’ve never been interested to ask. I’ve been going there for a while but I don’t make conversation, as some of you know, I believe the best haircuts, cab rides and sex are carried out in complete silence with as little eye contact and as possible.

However the owner wasn’t there today, again I wasn’t interested enough to ask why.  He is the one who usually cuts my hair. He’s quite old and has been clearly cutting hair for most of his life and I’m always happy with the result. If I had known he wasn’t in I might have waited until Tuesday but I had already walked in a sat down, and it would have been too awkward to get up and leave as he had already acknowledged my presence. So anyway, when he was free I sat down and explained I just wanted my hair tidied up with a little off the top...my ‘usual.’ Well before I could say anything the barber had removed a huge chunk of hair with the razor and proceeded to sear me like a sheep.

Well what could I do? Tell him to stop and walk home with half my head shaved, looking like someone who had stopped taking his anti-depressants? Anyway, later when it comes to the cutting the top of my hair he freezes, and peers at the back of my head. He then calls over to his brother/associate ‘hey, come look at this’. Both then start examining the back of my head and say things like ‘that’s strange’ and ‘it feels odd, not like hair at all.’ One then invited some other random customer to come and examine the back of my head with them, and to touch my hair.

Just to make this clear, this is all happening without any word being said to me at all. I’m just sitting there like a bloody lemon, a lemon with apparently fascinating hair. Finally one of them addresses me, ‘you know you have many grey hairs...look at this one.’ He then cut it off and placed a long grey hair in my hand.

Well I kind of understood what all the fascination was about, it was really long, totally grey hair. But, and this was the disconcerting part, it also felt like plastic. In fact it felt and looked like those clear plastic tags which hold labels on new clothes.

Ok...so fine. Hair isn’t meant to look and feel like plastic...let’s not make a song and dance about it. However the barber clearly thought this single hair warranted a kind of parade around the shop and he did exactly that, he marched around the shop with the hair between his thumb and forefinger, held it far out in front of him and invited everyone to view and feel my weird grey plastic hair.

‘What’s going on mate’ he said in his heavily accented English ‘why does your hair feel like plastic?’

‘I don’t know, you tell me, you know more about hair than I do. Is this a good thing?’

‘Maybe, you have very good strong hair, very manly’

‘Ah, well good, maybe that means I won’t go bald.’

‘Oh no, you are going bald, you going thin on top’


Great....so not only has my freakish hair been shown to all and sundry making me feel like some kind of exhibit in a Victorian freak show (Come see the amazing man who is only 23 but has grey hair which also feels like plastic) but now my apparently thinning hair is highlighted for all. Wonderful!

So let’s just recap: first my hair is cut the exact opposite way I asked it to be, second my grey plastic hair shown to all and then finally I’m told I’m going bald. Unhappy with my hair and made a figure of fun because of its colour and texture, I suppose I had ground for complaint and leaving without paying. But no...I’m just too British and awkward for all that. So not only do I keep my mouth shut, I pay as usual and left a tip like a total mug.

The cherry on top? I come home and my brother says I look like a soldier.

Now I have to live with my awful haircut for about three weeks and come to terms with my grey thinning hair. I don’t want to go grey or bald before I’m 50, but it looks like my follicles are already giving up. I’m going to blame my Irish genes for this, it was inevitable I suppose, most of my maternal uncles are grey and bald. What can I do? Apparently JFK used to tug and pull on his hair every morning to stimulate growth and ensure a healthy thick head of hair, I may start doing that, but then again, we never got to see whether JFK’s hair would stand the test of time...what a tragedy.

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With apologies to around 14% of Stoke. [Nov. 28th, 2008|12:08 am]
Fabulous Joe and His Tales of Woe
[Current Mood |amusedamused]
[Current Music |The Rolling Stones: Brown Sugar]

This week I have been attending a London South Bank University 'taster course' called ‘Men into Primary’ which involved lectures on the positive aspects a male can bring to teaching at Primary level and involved a day at a South London primary. Until recently I had not completely made up my mind about what age I want to teach, but the course has really made me turn towards Primary. Only 13% of Primary teachers are men, and the course really gave me some food for thought.

As great as the course was, I did not enjoy having to be in London by 8.30am -9 am every morning. There is nothing worse then getting up on a bitter cold day, marching up to the tube station and forcing yourself into the packed tube carriage. As soon as the door closes the stink of humanity fills your nostrils and the warm jumper, scarf and overcoat you desperately needed to bare the frosty air and sharp winds outside are now a burden and you are suddenly transported to the height of summer. Who knew the summer that never was this year was hiding all along on the Jubilee Line between West Ham and London Bridge? It also brought back memories of when I was a ‘commuter’ back when I worked for the bank that shall not be named. So overall, it was not a pleasant experience…but worth it, as I found the course incredibly informative and useful…who knows…it could have shaped my future for years to come?

In other news:

Last weekend the local branch of ASDA were having there Christmas party at the club, and lucky old me got to work it. I have never seen so many pissed up, fat, ugly, till monkey, people in the same place, at the same time…and remember I lived in central Stoke for a year. The shift was horrendous, it was not busy…busy doesn’t begin to describe how rammed it was. I’ve seen busy nights before, but all those nights pale in insignificance compared to what I witnessed and endured on Sunday night. However the one thing I noticed which annoyed me the most was that, for a bunch of people who work in a supermarket where queuing is a vital part of ensuring the place can function properly, how none of them were able to queue properly, or respect their colleagues place in the queue…and many were very rude when they weren’t getting served immediately.

But one of the great things about working in a place such as a Working Men’s club is that it is not part of a large multinational supermarket group, which no doubt has rules on how staff can talk to customers. These rules don’t exist in a local club; so when someone is rude or pushes in…you can tell them off and even tell them exactly what you think of them. Not that I did that often, I’m far too polite most of the time…but I can’t help but find it rewarding when I get to shout at ASDA staff and refuse to serve them knowing if the shoe was on the other foot they would be professionally obliged to tolerate a certain level of rudeness from me. Also I get to have some revenge for all the shite customer service I received whenever I am there. 

It is the little victories which make me smile sometimes.


I’m not sure if you are aware of the song first recorded by Richard Harris entitled: ‘MacArthur Park.’ It is infamous for both its ridiculous length and lyrics, but also notable because of a rather funky disco cover by Donna Summer. However these lines from the chorus were particularly appropriate.

“Someone left a cake out in the rain

I don’t think that I can take it

Because it took so long to bake it

And I’ll never have that recipe again


Not entirely sure what the metaphor of the cake is meant to mean, perhaps it stands for a relationship that has gone all wrong. However these lyrics were appropriate for me in a very literal sense, although it didn’t involve rain and I still have the recipe.

Alas after all my preparation for the ultimate Christmas cake, I mixed and baked the thing, it smelt wonderful, only to burn my finger when taking it out of the oven (tea towels aren’t enough….I must invest in oven gloves!) and my wonderful rich, dark and moist cake exploded on the floor. It almost brought a tear to my eye. This was only made worse when Mum then walked in, saw the aborted cake all over the floor and then had to sit down due to a hysterical fit of laughter. Anyway, I made a replacement and I now have two safely stored away, they are all wrapped up and are currently ‘maturing’ waiting to be and iced closer to the 25th of next month.



It is definately worth a listen...if only for comedy value. There is also a Werid Al Yankovich parody which is rather good.

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Rich, Dark and Moist [Nov. 7th, 2008|03:03 am]
Fabulous Joe and His Tales of Woe
[Current Mood |bouncybouncy]
[Current Music |Vaughan Williams: A Sea Symphony]

I’ve been making Christmas cake. I stole a recipe off Delia Smith; she promised it would be a ‘rich, dark and quite moist.’ For me personally, a Christmas cake is not a true Christmas cake unless it is very rich, very dark and very moist. When you bite into it for the first time, the first thing you should loudly exclaim to all in ear shot is “Ooo, it’s so very rich and really moist…and look how dark it is.” Moistness if of course one of the most vital feature of any good cake, if a cake was not moist it would be a biscuit. Being it’s a Christmas cake, it has to be rich. When else are you going to let you hair down and, more importantly, your belly bulge out if not at Christmas? You want the sweetest most delicious cake possible…and with booze in it God damn it! And it has to be dark because…well…erm…it just does, if not only to create a visual contrast with the pure white icing.

When I’d finished all the measuring and mixing (after allowing the fruit to soak in brandy all the previous night) and the cake was finally ready after 4 hours in the oven, once it had cooled I was very naughty and took a little of the cake out from underneath it, so no one would notice. I know I was meant to let it mature and ‘feed’ it Brandy every so often in the run up to Christmas…but it was my first attempt at such a time consuming and expensive to make cake. I needed to make sure it tasted alright rather than leave it till Christmas and be disappointed.

Well even without tasting it I could see it was not very dark, and when I did it was indeed moist and rich…but not moist and rich enough. I want to match the quality, the darkness, the moistness and richness of the delicious iced cakes sold by shops such as M&S. No, in fact I want to surpass that!

So I’m trying another tomorrow, I have loads of fruit left over so I won’t have to spend anymore money. I’ve got a different recipe that asks for the darkest sugar, black treacle and Guinness, to give it that dark colour I demand of my cake. I’m going to be a little more generous with the spices and citrus zest. I’m going to use a VSOP Brandy and not worry about my liver! I want to bite into this unholy-mother of a cake on the 25th December and be half cut. I want my mouth to burn with cinnamon, ginger, caraway and nutmeg. I want to finish the tiniest slice of this cake and before I’ve scrapped the last sultana from the roof of my mouth with my tongue be a in a diabetic coma. I want it to look, smell, taste and even sound good…not sure yet how it can sound good…unless its from the orgasmic like moaning of those eating the cake.

If I am not dead by the night of the 25th December 2008 due to a combination of me swallowing my own tongue whilst in a diabetic coma and from the shock of the sheer awesome and intense darkness, richness and moistness of my Christmas cake…I have failed.

If I do die, my final wish is to be buried with the remainder of the cake, but don’t worry dear friends, it’s a Christmas cake remember…it will keep for ages.

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And you doubted me... [Nov. 3rd, 2008|01:25 am]
Fabulous Joe and His Tales of Woe
[Current Mood |coldcold]
[Current Music |Richard Harris: MacArthur Park]

...oh ye of little faith.

After such an extensive absence, detailing the events of the past months would be time consuming, and not particularly interesting to type or read. So here are the highlights:
  • I saw Les Miserables for the fist time, and now gets all those ‘24601’ references.
  • Went to the Cadbury Chocolate factory and found that there is a gap in the confectionary market which can be filled with Wine Gums coated in Milk Chocolate…seriously!
  • Decided that every time Piers Morgan pens an article or opens his mouth it is a crime against humanity.
  • Started a calorie control diet, and can now fit back into my old brown suit, which means I am now at a 2005 fat level…which is still slightly fat, but I’m more comfortable wearing jumpers without jackets to hide my jelly like bulk. This has also led to the purchase of more jumpers of many different colours, including 4 shades of green.
  • I bought a mountain bike (with a view to aid weight loss combined with the above) and I have taken to secretly riding on the local BMX track late in the evening and during school hours so I am not disturbed in the total joy of going fast down hills; I also don’t wear a helmet because I’m hardcore.
  • Decided that certain TV chefs say fuck far too often, thus reducing its effect as way to emphasise how vital you only use Sicilian lemons when adding that all important zest to Mediterranean pan fried monkfish.
  • I laughed really hard at the scene in Lethal Weapon 2 when the cop who isn't Mel Gibson is in the South African Consulate with Joe Pesci and exclaims loudly "Free South Africa you dumb son of a bitch." I also saw Reservoir Dogs for the first time, but I still like Pulp Fiction better.

That pretty much covers all the really important stuff, but in addition to that I also graduated from University, where you get to pay for wearing a stupid hat and have your photograph taken with a piece of plastic resembling a rolled up degree certificate. I wouldn’t have minded so much if you got handed the actual thing at the ceremony, but no, you have to wait another three weeks for that to arrive in the post; at least at secondary school at Prize Evening you were given your actual certificate by some local businessman or MP. But on reflection, all those 100% attendance certificates and other things from school are total bollocks and worth nothing, all that show was that you were a boffin at school and was sad enough to take pride in being there every day of your sexless and spotty adolescene; your degree actually opens doors for you. I just wish that was at the forefront of my mind this time last year.

…and also…(sorry, just still a little bitter about the whole thing)… the Keele University chancellor wasn’t even someone famous, Emma had frigging Floella Benjamin shake her hand, and Big David had Richard Attenborough. My little brother will even have a better graduation ceremony than me; he has just started a course at Winchester and gets to have his at the bloody Cathedral. Bloody Winchester Cathedral! Instead of a cramped multipurpose chapel were you are given the seat number ‘5 and a half’ and are forced to squeeze between two other ridiculous hat wearing people you vaguely recognise from the Union or that 1st year seminar, therefore causing a ripple effect which upsets the entire seating plan causing everyone sitting at the end of a row having to move to another...

...and it rained.

You’re pretty much bang up to date; I’m still with Alex and am still doing shifts at the local working men’s club (I was no doubt somone evil in a past life, I would say Piers Morgan but alas, he is still among us...and I'll let you decide which one of those situations led me to that conclusion).  As for actually getting a real job I’ve started the application process for doing a PGCE, but obviously won’t be blogging about that in any way shape or form. Rest assured concerned reader, JMAK is still alive and still enjoys the odd Gin and Tonic.
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Ahem... [May. 17th, 2008|02:31 am]
Fabulous Joe and His Tales of Woe
[Current Mood |curiouscurious]
[Current Music |None]

Coming soon, to a friend's page near you.

The return of JMAK!

Summer 2008

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"I have one thing to say...you better work, bitch" [Mar. 19th, 2008|11:58 am]
Fabulous Joe and His Tales of Woe
[Current Mood |nostalgicnostalgic]
[Current Music |None]

Even if I were to give the most extensive and detailed of recaps for the past few weeks, it would consist of one long, boring list of days in the library, and evenings tapping away on a keyboard. Absolutely nothing...and I mean nothing...of any significance as occurred outside of my dissertation work, and there was nothing really very significant included in my dissertation work. I hated the module, I have grown to hate History and I fucking absolutely, positively detest referencing and footnotes. “Oh that source was written in 1993 not 1983? Well I’ll just go through the whole damn thing changing the date...oh no wait, it was 1993 after all! Who cares...does anybody really care...what’s a decade in the grand scheme of things? This is History we are talking about here, decades are nothing...oh and I’ve misspelt the authors name too, well what’s in a fucking name anyway, fuck off and take your pissing 8000 to 12,000 words with you...and shove WebCT up your arse too.”

Still, now that it is all over (and I’ve taken some Valium) I feel much better (well when I say all over, I mean almost over, only one more politics essay and three exams in April left). Although it has only just struck me how little of my University life is left, my last ever taught seminar is tomorrow morning, my last ever two contact hours. Wow, my last ever seminar...it’s difficult to comprehend, it is in my opinion a significant watershed. Back in September 2005, it seemed so distant, but now tomorrow morning I’ll actually be in bed missing my last ever seminar.

Hmmm...although maybe as it is my last seminar ever, ever, ever I should probably make the effort and drag myself in, just to round off my 3 years of contact hours nicely. Where does the time go? Easter being ridiculously early this year hasn’t helped I suppose…it has left less time this term for missing seminars and last minute essay writing. Still a little intense pressure and stress never hurt anyone, well, except people that had heart conditions in the first place…but I suppose it builds character. Yes, it builds a character that knows he can withstand the stress and stupidly puts himself through it every bloody time. Oh yes…he writes out a nice work timetable, and he has the full intention of sticking to it, but its just like every New Years Resolution, give it a few days you’ll be stuffing your face with Cadbury’s chocolate, biting your nails and sodding about on You Tube laughing at clips from Monty Python* and messing about with Sonic the Hedgehog fan-games and ROM hacks.

Its quite a pathetic state of affairs, still the end result is probably only marginally different from what it would be if I took more time. I suppose if I could go back to September 2005 and do it all again, I’d hope that I would take more care and time in my work...still, if I’m going back in time anyway, it would probably be possible to take back a memory/stick flash drive thingy with all my essays from my three years at Keele with me...which would mean that I could be even more relaxed the second time around.

Anyway, I think I’m going to get some sleep. TTFN


Learning the PIANO!!!
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Say What? [Feb. 28th, 2008|10:12 pm]
Fabulous Joe and His Tales of Woe
[Current Mood |blankblank]

Prince Harry

Just said ‘Shit,’ ‘Poo,’ ‘Crap,’ and ‘Slagged Off’

On national television

On the BBC News

What is the world coming too?

Next we will be eating human flesh and fucking everything in sight.
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A Week of Work and KUSU Elections Stuff [Feb. 27th, 2008|02:21 pm]
Fabulous Joe and His Tales of Woe
[Current Mood |apatheticapathetic]
[Current Music |RuPaul: Supermodel]

I am a week into my last ditch attempt to salvage my degree, and I’ve managed to achieve the quota of work, and a dash extra, on all days. Although I will have to make up for it this evening as I did very little yesterday and nothing this morning. I’m actually in a position to write one of my essays, which is an academic first for me because I usually end up doing essays in the last week, and even on occasion in the last day and hours before a deadline. Such a destructive and dangerous habit, why am I only breaking it so late in my University life? I do admire people who can get their work done so early and are not as susceptible to procrastination ...there is a term for it people like that...oh yeah...'bitch.'

The main reason I did not get much done yesterday because I talked myself into not going to the library because there was a SRC that evening (when I was in there yesterday there was one person behind the book shelf who kept on sniffing and sneezing...it was getting on my nerves), a pitiful reason really. Thankfully SRC did not drag on too long, and I also witnessed something I never thought I would ever see. Tory Boy O managed to propose one and second another motion (they were the only two discussed at the meeting) and they actually passed, one with a very comfortable majority. I had to check the weather reports when I got back to see if hell had indeed frozen over. Can it be that his signature on a motion or his speaking in favour of it is no longer the kiss of death? What a shame that this is also happening so late in his University life.

Generally things have been rather dull recently, although we have had three fire alarms in the past month...although they weren’t so much exciting, more annoying. One was caused, I suspect, by someone smoking in their room...no doubt the sock they put over the smoke detector fell off. I only say this because the alarm was triggered in a bedroom (the room number was embarrassingly shouted out so the legal occupier could be identified) and the person who meekly walked back into the building with everyone’s scornful eyes following him to be told off my Keele security I have seen on many occasions smoking outside the doors. It was a particularly cold night that night (hence why everyone had scornful eyes and was ready to lynch the smoking bastard) and I would wager he took the risk of smoking in his room than brace the harsh and bitter weather outside.

Another case solved...surely it will be the jewel in the crown of my personal detective career.

KUSU elections have also been going on these past weeks. The reason I’ve not blogged about those much as I have in previous years is because whoever is elected it doesn’t affect me too much as I won’t be around. Although I do have two firm favourites I want to win and I really hope they will, at the very least, get a decent number of votes. Every single year my first choices never won (except once, because as I said at the time, us slightly overweight homosexuals have to stick together...although even he lost out the second time round). I remember being so disappointed, even if it doesn’t signal the end of the Union as me and some others embarrassingly and wrongly said in previous years...still if they don’t win tonight, I’ll still feel that a great injustice as occurred, because I am confident that they are the best and it annoys me when others don’t recognise that. I still think they should choose Sabbs by some other means...maybe a wine taste off or something like that...on the other hand, you might get some piss head ending up selected...ha!...as if that hasn't happened before or isn't likely to happen again.

Saying that no one this year did appallingly at the Hustings (well maybe one did...poor bastard didn’t have a clue). All the same no one said something so stupid it disgusted me...like saying they believe in aliens, or that getting more women more women involved in politics would be helped by having a handsome Sabbatical officer in charge of Democracy.

The elections also mean that Alex in his role on CAC has been consumed by them and is leaving early in the mornings and coming back late in the evenings...although I’m not the only one complaining that their ‘man’ is paying KUSU more attention then they are us. almostcanon has also suffered with her significant other as returning officer...we are both the official KUSU Election WAGs or rather BAGs (Boyfriends and Girlfriends) except we are not stick thin bitches who are rich and glamorous...yet

Anyway, that’s all for now. Good night Keele, we love you.

PS: Earthquake? What Earthquake?
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Trying to be First Class [Feb. 19th, 2008|01:17 pm]
Fabulous Joe and His Tales of Woe
[Current Mood |energeticenergetic]
[Current Music |Patrick Hernandez: Born To Be Alive]

I still exist...

Yesterday I was working out what I would need to achieve in order to get a 1st in my degree. After working out the classification system and my aggregate mark so far (incidentally all that information was quite difficult to find on the Keele website, their website search engine is total wank), and doing some good old fashioned pencil and paper maths, I came to the conclusion that if I get mark of 70 and above in all my remaining modules, then I will get a 1st overall, even after my tremendous cock ups last year. (I did double check with a calculator before you question my math abilities.)

On the plus side, it seems I can afford to get a few 2.2 results this year and still get a 2.1 at graduation.

So I’m at a crossroads, do I work extra hard and at least attempt for a 1st, or do I carry on as I am, safe in the knowledge that I’m in safe 2.1 territory.

Of course getting a 1st in all my remaining modules is virtually impossible, being realistic, especially in my abysmally boring History module. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t aspire to that goal.

So I’ve set myself a number of personal deadlines and targets, from today until 15th March I have a quota of work I need to get done every single day. I think that if I stick to the plan, I’ll at least be in with in a shot of getting a 1st, and if a miracle happens, I might just do it. But it really will take a miracle, being that marks of 70 and above are few and far between in my collection of results, although I’ve come close on the odd occasion. In essays especially, I always seem to miss that extra something to push me over the edge.

Still, it’s a positive aspiration, and there is no reason I shouldn’t try.

There is a reason why I’m telling you this however. The reason is that it might encourage me further to stick to my plan for fear of being mocked and having this entry thrown back in my face.

Although as a slight aside: If I can still get a 1st even after my massive cock ups last year...and some average results from last term, what does that say about the quality of my degree?

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