...And the whole filthy process begins again

BLOODY HELL!

Dear Readers

Punk rock has the power to change the world,
It lies in every single punk rock boy and girl,
So don’t let anyone tell you you’re not worth the earth,
These streets are your streets, this turf is your turf,
Don’t let anyone tell you that you’ve got to give in,
Cos you can make a difference, you can change everything,
Just let your dreams be your pilot, your imagination your fuel,
Tear up the book and write your own damn rules,
Use all that heart, hope and soul that you’ve got,
And the love and the rage that you feel in your gut,
And realise that the other world that you’re always looking for,
Lies right here in front of us, just outside this door,
And it’s up to you to go out there and paint the canvas,
After all, you were put on the earth to do this,
So shine your light so bright that all can see,
Take pride in being whoever the fuck you want to be,
Throw your fist in the air in solidarity,
And shout “Viva la punk, just one life, anarchy”
The King Blues - What If Punk Never Happened

We haven't blogged in a while. That's the best I can do on low inspiration.
- a.

GET A LOAD OF THIS SHIT

It's been common knowledge for some time now that I'm a fucking awesome singer, so I thought it was about time I got my name out there, you know? Anyway, so the video attached is my rendition of James Blunt's 'Goodbye my Lover' Peace Out. (PS: The sound's a little dodgy, so it sounds best if you listen to it from just your left headphone.) Further Peace out.

Do I wear too much leather? Does this mean anything worrying?

So I've spent the weekend up in the Lakes with those people I happen to live with, (you know, I would have put 'annoying' or 'God awful' in there, but believe it or not, they do seem to have grown on me,) and its natural beauty stays as -erm- unchanged as ever. That's just the problem though...it's just the same as it ever was. Same hills and trees and shit. Christ- We even stayed in the same room in the same hotel we stayed in three years ago, and it still has the same bloody bedspreads! Nothing in that place ever alters. It's like a time-warp for badgers slate and walking poles. Even The sort of people you get in the Lake District fall into three basic categories:

1. The Fleece Brigade "Hello, nice to see you fellow citizen of the world. I have come from down south for a jolly old stroll" WARNING: Avoid at all costs. Identifiable by the latest titanium insulated hats, maps in a little plastic container and heavy duty rucksacks. They are the hardcore ramblers and yet, do not really belong in the Lake District, but posses an enthusiasm most would consider borders on the mental illness front.

2. The Harris Tweeds "PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER GELL, IT'S ONLY A BIT OF HORSE SHIT" The Fleeces aspire to be this, but true Tweeds are subtly different in that they're normally more middle class, red faced and can be seen halfway up a mountain with nothing but a flat cap, a walking stick and a hip flask to their name. Tend to sneer at anyone who doesn't have to punt through miles of shite to get downstairs every morning.

3. Heels and Handbags "What do you mean there isn't a Starbucks for twenty miles?" I fall into this category. Those unfortunate souls who didn't know what the hell they signed up for and try to ghyl scramble in four inch heels. They like the Lakes for its many 'I saw you coming' shops, but believe, ultimately, that mountains etc. are best viewed from the bottom.

Right, so I went a little off topic there... structure-wise this post is abysmal...How the hell am I supposed to get to leather from here?

ANYWAY, LEATHER.

So it's no secret, I love leather. I love wearing leather, it's warm, it lasts forever, improves with age and never goes out of fashion. Maybe I love it so much because it's so much like me...

To properly illustrate my point, I'm just going to list the leather items I possess:

1 jacket
2 pairs of calf length boots
1 pair of ankle boots
1 Handbag

Now see, when written down, this doesn't seem like a lot. But when worn together...well that's when it starts to get a little odd.

So I stroll into Lakeland (The shop in Ambleside that specialises in leather items,) wearing my leather jacket, a pair of calf length leather boots and a leather handbag over my shoulder, and yet I still feel the compulsion to buy- a frankly GORGEOUS, by the way- pair of leather gloves. They were red and beautiful and they had them in a size 8 and the stitching on them was just AMAZING and they were all soft and they looked reaaaallly good, and...and...

Ok, so do I have a problem? Why this love of leather? Am I some sort of closet dominatrix? Do they do counselling for that?

OH GOD HELP.

RIGROGANOFFNESSERZ'S BLOG

Hi guys! :D
After saying that I'd leave it alone, I've decided to go back to
IFITMATTERSATALL.BLOGSPOT.COM
in an attempt to collect my thoughts.
Of course, I'll still blog on here - even if our reception is pretty awful...
So, if you don't follow me, go ahead. I've missed having my own blog.
- a.

To (not) do list:

Since the list is ever growing, I thought it prudent to chart our many future ventures. You know, all of those ones we'll definitely do at some point:

-Write all those songs and shit
-Write our Oscar winning film about the human struggle of two women who simply want to wash-up by hand in a dishwasher dominated world.
-Start our kitchen utensil based hair-styling business.

There's more, right? I can't remember.

Liking the new background.

God, my posts are getting a bit stale...I need some self-indulgence to lighten it up a bit.

Want to lose weight?

Don't use a rowing machine. 45 minutes and 1000 strokes later, with the tension way up there, and apparently I've only lost 40 calories. Oh, and my hands smell of rubber. Surely there's a flaw in that machine.
Thank god I'm not using it to lose weight, or I'd have keeled over by now.

- a.

Bitchin' In The Common Room

Jeheesus. Some people are ridiculously two faced. Aren't we supposed to be "young adults" here, guys. Right now, I'm in a lonely free, and there's some serious bitching going on. Half of it is done by someone who was bitching with the other side earlier. Fuckin' ell.

And Beth just did a dance in my direction.

ANYWAY.
I'm looking forward to the weekend. I have very little in the way of work to do, so I'm whapping out the rowing machine. That's right, I'm starting a regime and everything. Happy days!

- a.

I HAVE NOTHING TO BLOG ABOUT- official.

Shall I tell you why I have nothing to blog about? My entire life revolves around Keats, Hamlet, cake and sleep. I have no time for all the sexual escapades if the sort which certain people *ahem* seem to think are an intrinsic part of daily life. NO WAIT- I'm forgetting...for sexual stuff of any kind to happen, (let alone the athletics my theatre class apparently get up to,) I must be able to make a man aroused. Silly me!

Speaking of men becoming aroused, (or rather not, in this case) I feel I must log a certain incident of this afternoon. I know I made a big deal of it at the time, but I'm sure we'll forget it in a month or two. I feel I must add permanence to this bit of comedic gold by posting it on the Internet for all to see. You know, this is the first time I've felt embarrassed in ages. It's a big step. I feel I must write it in script form:


BETH, a veritable hulk of a girl, has just finished Mrs Wells' English Lit lesson, and is more than happy to be going home for the afternoon. She skips up to MATT BENSON with her usual air of randomnimity and spouts the first random shit that comes into her head.

BETH: MASTURBATE!

MATT BENSON: (laughs)

BETH: Oh, that sounded like an order.

MATT BENSON: Yeah, I don't tend to do it on command.

BETH: (without thinking of the implications) Oh well, think of me when you do.

And what's worse, Matt Benson might actually end up with this mess popping up in his head while he's trying to have a bit of 'me-time.' I bet I've given him some sort of complex.

Never, in my entire seventeen years on this earth, have I ever felt it necessary to use the term 'fuck my life.' Well, here I am losing my FML virginity.

FML.

Is This Hard To Swallow?

Let me begin by saying happy new year to you, our two and a half readers. I understand that I'm 8 days late, but y'know, better late than never...
Actually, my 2011 didn't exactly get off to an electric start. It seems that I am immune to the effects of alcohol. I drank a lot on Friday - and nothing much really happened. And to add to all of that, I had to see in the new year to the mediocre whines of "baby you're a firework".
Does Katy Perry just string words together in a desperate hope that they'll make sense, and then spout something about them meaning so much? More to the point, is Russell Brand deaf? Well, there had to be something wrong with him, right? Nobody's perfect, etc...

Of course, January 1st doesn't really mean a lot to me. Everybody's got this "new year, new me" attitude that I really don't understand. Everything that happened in 2010 is going to follow you, so other than a calendar, what's really changed? It's not as if anybody actually keeps to their resolutions.

Anyway - I've become quite the recluse recently, and after the exams I aim to get out more and whip out my ukulele. Jacoby looks like he needs a bit of love.

- a.

This is why I shoudn't be allowed the music of Damien Rice and Sting.

So Mrs Wells is piling on the homework, and here I am slaving away. I'm writing about a poem called 'The Eve of St. Agnes,' and discussing whether or not Porphyro is a voyeuristic villain (check out the alliteration there, why don't you,) or whether he's just so desperately in love with Madeline and idolises her to such an extent that he doesn't see anything weird in hiding in her wardrobe, watching her undress and shagging her while she's only semi-conscious.*
To be perfectly frank, I do not give a flying shit. I don't like Keats and his arty farty attitude. I don't like Romanticism. There. I've said it.

I hate the use of 'poetic licence' where moonlight shines through the stained glass window and casts its colour onto Madeline. The beauty of the image is somewhat eclipsed by the fact that THAT CANNOT PHYSICALLY HAPPEN! Why not write about beautiful things that are actually feasible? This annoys me rather irrationally, as you can see.

So what's all this study leading to? Well, **an A-level in English literature, then ***a place in university, leading onto ****a job that allows me to provide for myself and possible family, and then inevitable death.

This begs the age old question: What's the point? Our whole lives are planned ahead of us. This structure is the backbone of society, and if we don't conform, we're...scratch that: what else is there to do but conform?

At least this structure gives us something rather than nothing. I'd rather be working towards some achievement, no matter how small. It's either that or living an even more pointless existence. In the end, everyone has the same aim in life: to better oneself. It all comes down to whether you die on the streets or in the warmth. You can only hope to die in a better position than you were born.

So, ultimately, life is futile. We build little houses and societies around ourselves, but for what purpose? We do it because there's nothing else to do.

To sum up, I'm going to steal a line from our good friend Morgan Freeman:

"Get busy living, or get busy dying."

Me Footnotes

*I will say one thing for Porphyro, however. At least he comes out of the wardrobe and reveals himself to Madeline. At least Porphyro doesn't keep leaving anonymous messages on Madeline's formspring and refusing to facebook message her. I mean, even if it's a piss take, I reckon Madeline might agree that it's gone a little too far now, so wouldn't it be better that Porphyro just swallows his pride and messages her if he isn't taking the piss, lest she think that he is and be rather hurt?

**That's if I haven't stabbed Mrs Wells, the entire class and then myself before I have the chance.

***That's if David hasn't banned everybody who doesn't have a double barreled name from attending.

****That's if university education actually counts for anything at all.

YOUR BETH WANTS YOU!

I'm in serious need of advice. Am FREAKING OUT.
Blog readers, (pretty much Arran and Roz) check out my formspring.

http://www.formspring.me/Bethellbert

WHADDA I DO?