Living Dangerously.

Aloha, Konbanwa!
So, I had my driving test today.

Checking the weather reports from the Met Office in advance was a great experience and mentally helped me prepare myself for the upcoming test - as every single day of the week was clear from severe weather, except Wednesday; the very day I was supposed to be proving my ability to drive and simultaneously not plough through members of the general public and their property.

Already images of a rainy-day-crash-derby had entered my mind, I figured at least Studio8 would have exclusive interviews and first-hand experience of any chaos I may cause.
But, the weather turned out to be a fantastic aid to my driving, effortlessly assisting me by; fogging up the glass, making the mirrors near-unusable and possibly worst of all, pouring through the window, immersing me in what felt like an experience at sea for two.

Though, while I didn't crash, I didn't pass either. Super-Yay. Living on the edge.

It could have gone alot worse; with the death toll reaching a whole person or with the totalling of my instructors car.
But realistically, seeing as I went home with a sheet saying I'd failed, in retrospect it could have gone alot better too - By passing, driving into a pot of gold or sexy lingerie party.

However, continuing my long-standing tradition of failing with finesse and epic style, I managed to attain a Dangerous Fault, signifying I'd placed us in an actual near-danger situation. Plus points, for me.
I'd like to take the opportunity to point out I didn't see anyone who was inconvenienced by the admittedly bizarre right turn I conducted that resulted in the Dangerous Fault, but I wasn't going to complain as the examiner seemed like the sort of character who could grab the wheel and make sure his Dangerous Fault was justified like a lovely man and I thought I best not annoy him because it might put a downer on his day. Boo.

Still. The best drivers pass the second time.
And, incase I fail the second time, I'd like to state now that the best of the best drivers fail twice.

***

In other news, as of the First of this month, I have been deemed a "significant risk to AdWord Advertisers." Personally, I think that statement is a little melodramatic to say the least, I would admit "significant risk" if perhaps this was a blog plotting the general downfall of Google Incorporated, it's financiers, shareholders, affiliates and partners.
But it is not.

Still; kudos to Google. You make me sound like a terrorist.
So hey, not just a threat to your roads kids, but a danger to your multinational Internet corporations too.

Sam.
Mood of the Day: Terroistastic
Listening To: Lovers In Japan - Coldplay
Current Theory: Rain Increases The Chance Of Failure In All Events, Except Drowning
Quote of the Moment: "Well ya'know isn't that how a shop works? You SELL what's on display, otherwise it's not a shop, is it? It's a house. " - Jack Dee on DIY Stores
Joe Quality Assurance Rating: 7/8 [Enjoyable]

Some Recent Happenings.

Aloha, Konbanwa.
Yesterday, I found myself walking around five miles from the city centre to Joe's house. I don't tend to move that much in a day, so don't ask me why, I just sometimes do stupid things.

Though, something I'd noticed on the way was although massive music festival, Escape in the Park was blaring away in Singleton, no-one seemed to actually be inside, rather it became rapidly apparent Escapee's had chosen to sit in awkward places anywhere and everywhere, casually getting wrecked.
It was worrying to find that lunchtime had barely passed us by and people were already far from sober, highly intoxicated on various alcoholic beverages and the rare heat of the Sun. We were lucky enough to accidentally cause interaction with a trio of such people:

Picture the scene, myself and Joe are making our merry way to his house, but, behold!
Some tasty looking scones were scattered across the pathway, so I innocently kicked one, watching in trivial amusement as it rolled it's little way along the promenade. A voice bellowed from my left:

"Oh! Oh! Don't kick my scone!"

I looked over to see a can-clasping drunk, obviously angered at my scone abuse.
I was totally unaware that scones were a protected species, though I'm left asking myself if he didn't want the scone to be subjected to members of the general public, why did he throw it on the floor?
Why don't you come and eat it?

I laughed it off, hoping I wasn't about to be jumped for smacking a Scottish snack.
I carried on walking with Joe at a slightly increased speed, in the distance one of the others shouted:

"He's walking away! Make him acknowledge you!"

No, no, don't make me acknowledge you.

But pathway-dwelling, scone-throwing drunkards aside, Joe pointed out to me that along the route to Mumbles, various installments had been constructed to form an assault course. Obviously for some bizarre reason the City Council thought it would be a fantastic idea for those members of Swansea who just cannot curb their urges to exercise. Just like their brilliant idea to implement bending buses, causing the epic strangulation of the transport system - But that's another story.

Essentially, each little fun filled installation, has a different physical task to perform, depicted by a small plaque, I couldn't help but take a picture of this one, because I'm childish and found it hysterical:

Children passing by are graphically taught sexual acts.

After arriving at Joe's unharmed and dousing my stomach with iced drinks, I continued with my weekend in the usual fashion, waving at fluorescent pink clad lasses and pirates from the window aswell as fattening up with stolen goods from the kitchen, sleeping, actually attempting to finish Zelda and overseeing Joe's retro session of Pokemon on the surprisingly still functional Game Boy Color we dug out of the cupboard.

Good stuff.

***

Totally from topic, but I thought purely for the memory, this was worth an "Honourable Mention" - I recently had the wonderful pleasure of assisting in putting together Jonny's new desk.

You see, when I am invited to Jonny's house, it's never because we're good friends and he just wants someone to babble with, oh no. No, I'm invited to Jonny's to relieve boredom or to assist with secret tasks that I don't know I've entered myself into yet. It's like walking through his front door is a legally binding contract.

So, I'm called over and as I walk up the stairs my eyes caught a glimpse of some boxes, I shot a fleeting look at Jonny, I already knew what was coming.

"Sam! Seeing as you're here, want to put together a desk?"

It ends with a question mark, but it's actually a statement.
So, we took the boxes to the attic and our roles immediately assigned themselves.
I took control of logic, such as what fits into what, because if Jonny was left to his own devices to put the desk together himself, his new room would look like an art gallery installation with parts of shelving embedded a few inches into the walls.
Jonny armed himself with the power drill and a German accent.

Now, being the driving force behind logic for the day, I opened the first box, expecting the first couple of pieces and perhaps more importantly the instructions. However, I was greeted with a series of MDF slabs each with a small lettered sticker to identify them. There was no sign of a flimsy, pictorial coated guide which would somehow, through its poor English and ambiguous directions leave us with the finished desk, and for a terrifying moment, I thought that we were about to be left to put three large boxes worth of various sized MDF pieces together with only the two dimensional black outline of the completed product on the box as a guide.

But, we found the instructions - logically stored in the last box - and to be fair, they were much better than your regular IKEA instructions - Which are essentially, two dimensional black outlines of the product where the only hint of help is a confused looking comedic character smiling whilst clutching what appears to be a direct dedicated phone line to IKEA, which never seems to be included in the box within the midst of Allen Keys. Thank you, IKEA...

Progress on the desk was kept going with sheer determination because neither of us wanted to lose to a pile of lettered MDF fragments and after around three hours of Jonny shouting in German, trying to overpower my Russian accent, the desk was complete, minus one screw.

Another triumph.

Sam.
Mood of the Day: Deskily-Tired
Listening To: Before - Vicious Delicious
Current Theory: Desk Building Is More Time Consuming Than Previously Thought.
Quote of the Moment: "Hey Agitha, why don't you come up here and meet my Dominion Rod?"
Joe Quality Assurance Rating: 9/8 [Super-Epic]*

* Whether Joe is too afraid to rate this blog with anything lower than a seven, or if the blog is actually pretty good is up to you.

A Window Of Opportunity.

Aloha, Konbanwa.
Just thought I'd share my latest epic acheivement...
I call it entering without breaking...
After finding myself locked out from my own home, I climbed through the smallest window on the house to avoid the situation beating me.

And who says that I'm eating too much crap? I think I'd be brilliant in a heist.

I will never lose to a locked door.
That is all.
Sam.

A Brief Insight Into The College Work Ethic...

Aloha, Konnichiwa...
Y'know, I nearly thought that come last September, I was going to get it together and actually do some work. I even pondered how the world would be if I did my projects and portfolios during the day rendering myself actually able to sleep, the required number of hours of sleep in the night.

Though, it was never going to happen.
And we all knew it.

...I dropped Computer Science to avoid what I genuinely thought as a long-winded waste of my time and energy for a piece of paper that would only be misunderstood by an employer as "Can use the spellchecking function on Microsoft Word and add up his weekly shopping list of muffins and other tasty treats on Microsoft Excel."

...Maths was like a reunion, with ex-Comprehensive Student Cai joining myself, Lisa, Chris, Ashley and Dan in a classroom that resembled Woodall's GCSE Math classes by the day.

The tutors had changed,
The work had changed,
But we certainly hadn't...
We spent most of our lectures babbling loudly, arguing, reminiscing in our Secondary School stories, hurling sweets at each-other, insulting and demoralizing Chris, cunningly stealing and hiding Ashley's stationary and generally not doing any work, while probably distracting and entertaining other members of the class.

...And then there's the Media BTEC; where I don't do any of my design portfolios in classtime, leaving it all for the night before the due date where my body automatically prepares itself for a long night of Sam-Work, a method where tasks are slowly completed whilst multitasking on MSN, iTunes, various websites and the TV. This slow pace provides maximum quality from one long, concentrated session of effort. The current record is around fifteen hours with my final Photography piece being uploaded on time at 9:35am on a Saturday.
It's exhausting, but totally worth it.

***

Introductory aside, the depressive storm that is "The Summer Exam Season" has blown over the college once more, having completed its task of swallowing up social lives, happiness, inducing a generic atmosphere of life-ruining-fear and wasting what precious sunlight we have here.

I, was one of the "lucky ones" escaping with just three Maths exams to sit; whilst other people I know had nearly ten or twelve, sometimes up to four in the same day. I'd rather them than me.

Though, you'd think that having just the three exams would allow me plenty of time to get full marks in all of my papers and to be honest, if we were talking about any other student, you'd probably be right. Unfortunately for my results sheet, I spent my time either calming the nerves of stressed out exam students or totally wasting my time around the house doing next-to-nothing, a particular favourite pastime of mine.

Lisa's evidence photo to prove to Pure Maths lecturer Jo that work was actually done at our Starbucks trip.

After a short revision session at the Borders-Starbucks-Combo-Store with Lisa, I did infact attempt to revise the evening before the three-hour-double-exam-session by spreading Math notes over my bed and taking a temporary bout of unconsciousness whilst lying on top of them in the hope I could absorb some of the notes via osmosis...

Please note to yourself for future reference this is NOT, repeat NOT an effective revision method.

The first exam of the two was fine, I could have done better, but I definitely hadn't failed, so I was feeling pretty upbeat and confident, and rightly so, surely the next exam would be on a similar level of difficulty, right?

WRONG.

Let's run by that again.

WRONG.

I'm not even sure what it was about the paper, everyone agreed it was hard and much more complex than most questions we had seen in the past papers for sure - Though our lecturers seemed relatively unphazed by it.

Put it this way, if an exam makes seven people you know burst into tears, something, has gone wrong. Perhaps the writer of the questions got a little bored with the stream of news reports claiming that British Students are doing "too well" so the exams must be getting easier and wanted to create a challenge, a plan which obviously escalated.
Or perhaps he was in his garden shed, lighting up a converted bubble pipe to smoke a friendly flowering plant... For "medicinal" purposes of course, to soothe the arthritis in his soul-wrecking pen-wielding hand.

Creating exam questions whilst under the influence? Batting away hallucinations of integral signs and oversized cheesegraters so you can break students down with your crazed Mathematics?
Shameful.

I sat amongst the rest of the hall, who, at the time, all seemed to be coping, scribbling at a rate that would hurt your eyes if you stared for too long, while my mind attempted to create alternate ways to answer questions, dig up methods from October, ignore songs that were stuck in my head and remember how to add and subtract correctly. It was intellectually-numbing to flick through and realize I couldn't answer most of the paper, but I did plough through, attempting a couple of low mark questions here and there, picking up a few little marks to at least reach an E, which, after some time became futile.

So, I sat back and took some time out to stare at the questions that baffled me before deciding to change tact on the exam. I think I was looking at it the wrong way, it seemed like the sort of exam I should be doing "outside the box", by say, not doing it at all.

Perhaps the examiner isn't looking for answers to these questions?
Perhaps, our good friends at the WJEC are looking for an irrelevant essay relating to "Observations Of An Exam Hall Through The Eyes Of An AS Mathematics Student".
At least, that is what they'll find at the back of my paper this year.

I was somehow - as Mira; a totally chilled out Math lecturer put it - "inspired by the situation" to write about what I could see around me, the little habits people have in an exam. Literally just a page of floating thought mixed with some Sam-type-humour as well as general distaste at the current educational system which is nothing new.

"It's funny how people tap on their calculators in the hope it'll magically unlock some auto-answer function to gain the answer they're after. The thing is, I paid seven pounds for my calculator and was expecting it to help me in some shape or form. It hasn't, I've just tried tapping it and it doesn't work... That's seven pounds I could have spent on something else... Like cake, or some other tasty food."

[...]

"It's okay though, I'll resit the exam in January. I'll be there along with the Oxbridge candidates who didn't achieve a "high enough A", because obviously the best grade someone can be awarded doesn't really count anymore, we'll just have to invent a new alphabet to map the "Just A's" and "High A's" onto."

[...]

"Ah well. One out of two isn't half bad... Well, technically it is. But still."

Sam and Lisa celebrate a spectacular practice exam failure. We saw it coming.*

I figured, if I was going to fail.
I may aswell fail epicly.

But regardless, I've just returned from another college-related Friday, at a location, none other than, the college. A good day in all I'd say, a little bit of Statistics revision in the morning, followed by an early brunch of chips before it had even turned eleven - Don't give me that look, I can eat whatever the hell I like, whenever I like, you're not my mother**.
Myself, Lisa, Vicki and Jess then did a little spot of revision before I disappeared to annoy surrounding college go-ers and "Fellow Stats Fiend" Nadine.

By this point I was excitedly anticipating the the wonderful Statistics Exam, I'm the type of person who enjoys the challenge of exams, which I'm pleased to report, didn't follow the same mathematical-massacre of the second Pure Math exam, and went perfectly.

Happy days.
Drinks Muffins on me!

Sam.
Mood of the Day: Statistically-Proud
Listening To: Flame (Instrumental) - Crustation
Current Theory: P(Good Stats Grade) = 0.9
Quote of the Moment: "I Learnt It Off Casualty" - Sophie.
Joe Quality Assurance Rating: 8/8 [Epic]

* Though, in our defence. We'd actually got full marks in the questions we'd completed, it just took us the entire lecture to get those questions done. I think this is just a case of two brilliant minds and a mishap of time management.

** Mum, if you are reading, for your mental stability and safety, I'd suggest not coming back to this blog.

Another Comeback.

Aloha, Konbanwa.
Faint cheering echoes in the distance. The few who are left appreciate the great return of Sam to the empty world that is the Revived Realm of Babbling, which, by now, should really be the Re-Revived Realm of Babbling. But if you came here to moan about technicalities, perhaps you'd rather check out any other blog than mine. Your hit has already been counted, it's up to you.

It's once again been a long time since my last post, the blog seems to be a seasonal thing, with more blog-time going on during Summer:

Now of course, I don't want to bore you with every tiny happening since last year because we've all got better things to do, I have toast to make, TV to watch, college work to pretend to complete and fat to gain sitting in my chair basking in nothingness.

So I'll keep it - as Joe advised me - "short and sweet".
Which, as cliche it is to say, I've always thought as an odd saying... Short and sweet...
This is useful when I'm catering posts and other textual work to an audience of dictionary-eaters.
Because their complex diet includes words and wow, they should stop eating them, because they're "Oh so sweet." On the other hand, I could stop typing and they'd be thin. Another world problem solved? Tough.

Edit: Though, Joe, who has been temporarily appointed as my Quality Controller has just told me the post isn't long or detailed enough. So I apologize if this has become a full blown life story sized post.

So, casting your mind back, we left off in August of last year with GCSE Predictions flying around in all directions and everyone in a general panic of imminent failure - Where at the moment they receive their results, a vortex would appear and swallow them into a permanent crummy job where they will spend their time attempting to make ends meet and shouting at a dodgy sky box whilst their children will play outside like the other kids, enjoying favoured UK pastimes such committing arson, terrorizing old people, heavily drinking Red-Bull-White-Lightning-Combo's and creating more spawn.

Though... Surprise Surprise, no-one failed. The world didn't end.

And obviously, myself and Bev kept our promise and hit Starbucks before heading for our grades half an hour late, clutching our still warm beverages and muffins - Dedicated 'til the end.
Although, the very reason I like to spend time at Starbucks may JUST be the very reason my bank account is empty, but hey, who's pointing fingers?*

The Starbucks Resultees... Resulting.

You may or may not be interested in the final grades but this is my blog and I can do what I like. So, here they are incase you were running some sort of worldwide sweepstake in which case, I'm expecting a share in profits - and best of luck to you, here we go:

English Language: A
English Literature: A
Maths: A
Science: A\A
Geography: A
French: B
IT: A*
Drama: A*

I'd somehow managed to get away with using literally, three or four totally made up quotes in the Literature exam on the basis of "...that sounds like something that character would say."
Aswell as passing off some terrible Rollercoaster-Related story and a rushed magazine article feigning enthusiasm in exercise for teenagers as A-grade material.

I spent about ten minutes or so dancing in circles around my Drama teacher waving some jazz hands of glory as just weeks before she'd told everyone in "Team Fish's" "Fish! The Musical"** would fail due to our obvious lack of effort.
Which, thinking back may have been a fair enough comment... We spent the first few months of the given time to create our final piece making up fake scenes that we'd never actually use in our play whilst at the same time entertaining ourselves such as the lovingly named "Mental Home Scene" where Tom and myself rocked back and forth on chairs muttering past wives names and insulting passers by, or the "Audition Scene, Version One" where we got James to sing the line

"I feel pretty... Oh so pretty... I feel pretty and witty... And gay."

We were entertained.
It's impressive we managed it, considering our script was written just over a week before the final piece was due onstage and we thought all hope was lost after we never actually completed a full run through of the script before the exam.
However; we pulled it off, received a standing ovation on the Open Evening and managed to pull nearly 100minutes of unique Studio8-Style comedy out of the air.

And I achieved the A grade in Maths required to shout back "Who's On Track For A C Now?".
My Math teacher is still using me as an example of how not to treat the course... Handing in coursework the day it was due, sleeping during class, hiding under tables, attempting to steal cooling fans, shouting out the window, talking to Russians hiding in the ceiling and so on...

French was probably the biggest surprise though, the pass grade percentiles must have been a joke... I mean c'mon, I threatened to leave the Oral Exam, it was THAT bad - The horror of which, is revisitable here.

All in all, pretty good for someone who spent each morning of his terminal year oversleeping and running in casually late, by an hour.

***

After a short few weeks spent at the beach or at Joe's; continuing my duties of eating all of his food and screaming random words with the "Mc" prefix out of his McWindow, the college fiasco began... With forms, interviews, tests, more forms, too much walking around and the loss of my record file causing the whole process to repeat again, with more walking I was in college, taking Interactive Media, Computing and Maths.
Though, I later dropped Computing because the amount of coursework for 30% of the course was mindblowingly stupid and at the pace I like to work, it was not a viable option to stay on all three courses. I spent the next three months avoiding my Ex-Computing-Lecturer, who I didn't actually speak to since dropping the course, this type of impressive avoiding-ninjary involved diving under tables, jumping down stairwells, hiding behind coke machines and other overly pointless cover operations.

Though as it stands; college as a place to hang out has turned out to be pretty amazing, with a whole bunch of new people to generally embarrass myself infront of:

Sam fights Matt for his shoe infront of the terrified common room onlookers.

College, as a place to work however... Is for another day.
I'll leave the world sink in.

Sam.
Mood of the Day: Return-ful?
Listening To: General Sounds of an Open Window
Current Theory: Summer = Blogging.
Quote of the Moment: "I think the world leader has no friends" - Joe, on the thirteen second time at the top of the Mario Kart leaderboard
Joe Quality Assurance Rating: 7/8 [Enjoyable]

* I am. Damn Starbucks and their overly priced but damn tasty choice of iced and hot beverages including their tasty range of cakes to eat in or out on the street in front of tramps and onlooking urban-birds.

** For those wondering by the way, Fish! The Musical, despite the name, was not a musical. But I'll leave the long explanation for another post. It really is a long, bizarre story.

Quick Exam Result Prediction

Aloha, Konbanwa!
With exam results day edging closer and closer myself and Joe were today discussing results.
So I figured I'd post my predictions, we'll see how accurate they are in just two more days.

English Language: B
English Literature: B
Maths: A (*)
Science: A\A
Geography: A*
French: C
IT: A*
Drama: A

Mr Joe predicts he will fail English. I laugh at his foolish negativity...

I dreamt I failed everything except Drama and Geography. Though, I can't really take that dream as upcoming fact, as the grade system in this dream was pretty twisted:

A B C D E...
Followed by the fail grades:
T U T E G X A...
Amongst other letters.

My results were also enclosed with a book, which I had actually written and published, about how to revise. Though, flicking through, it was actually full instructions to burn all work, sleep in class and generally do no actuall revision. The final chapter was detailed steps to build a "Grade Editing Machine".

Sounds like something I'd write.

Sam.
Mood of the Day: Dun Dun Duuun Happy
Listening To: Rusted Root - (Send Me) On My Way
Current Theory: Failing a GCSE isn't all that easy.
Quote of the Moment: "She's got ginger hair... She's not a real person" ~ Boston Jonny

(*)An A or A* means I can shout at my Maths teacher with a sense of overpowering glory: "WHO'S ON TRACK FOR A C NOW?!"

The Multitudes Of Things...

Aloha, Konbanwa.
Well with the dawn of my GCSE exam results just mere days away, I thought I would leave you lovely people with a post about the many, many multitudes of things I've been up to the past few weeks. Short, vaguely interesting post then.

The first thing that comes to mind is the MusicMix gig, you see Joe had been spending a week in Cardiff at an event called MusicMix, where, he learnt to be cool and along with the rest of his group, wrote some pretty damn awesome songs for the final show, which I was kindly invited to.

Now, I've been to Cardiff once, to see Rhi, so I was lost as soon as I stepped out of Joe's dad's car, but after walking around pretending to be a stereotypical American tourist and narrowly missing getting hit by a Cardiffian bendy bus, which I'd like to add would have been an awesome way to be hospitalized, we found the St. David's Hall Auditorium. Myself and couzin Ki averted the suspicious gaze of security as we ran upstairs, I looked incredibly conspicuous running around with a tripod, especially seeing as I wasn't really supposed to be filming. But still, I took some awesome footage and pictures:

Take that Bev. You may be The Photo, but mine are still pretty damn good.

I spent most of the gig screaming applause for every single person who walked onstage as well as shouting at the presenter, lines such as "I like biscuits, biscuits are nice..." can be heard on the filmed footage even though I was hiding all the way at the top of the auditorium. Ki also dared me to run with my arms flying in the air past the front of the stage, so I did, screaming "I'm my own one man Mexican wave! Woooooo!".

After separating Joe from his new rockstar chums, we made our way back to Joe's, for the usual weekend of shouting, dancing, eating junk, drinking chocolate filled milkshake creations as well as singing obnoxiously out bedroom windows at unsuspecting passers-by. But of course it wouldn't be a proper stay at Joe's house if I didn't make an arse of myself in front of Alice's friends or some other poor girl...
To fulfill this task, I discussed my future wedding with Jade, where I eventually came to the conclusion that no girl could ever survive tolerating me for the eternity of our marriage. So instead, I would hold a grand farce wedding, where there would be no bride, barely any congregation* and no real church as I'm thinking Hawaiian beach.
The brilliance is, this set-up would allow me to keep the presents and giant cake to myself, you see you can't buy love, but a ton of free gifts and cake would probably help you live without it for a little while longer.

The day after was cleverly spent walking around the coast and promenade taking photo's of the annual raft race, with no shoes or socks for about three hours, because I'm dedicated and rather stupid.

Yes Bev, my eyes are 16% Carl Zeiss Lens Glass. That's why my photo's are awesome.

The rest of the holiday has been filled with debit-card-declining-attempts to book tickets to various countries including Australia, New Zealand, Tokyo and Portugal. Oh c'mon, it was worth a try...

Well, must go, the Magic8 Ball predicted Epic Sex with Hayley:

The Amazing Sam says:
Will Hayley have Sex in her cupboard with Sam?
Magic 8 Ball says:
It has been foretold.
The Amazing Sam says:
Will it be epic?
Magic 8 Ball says:
I see that it will be epic for an extended period of time.

Can't let fate down now can I?

Sam.
Mood of the Day: Happily-Rewinding-Rewind-BreakItDown!
Listening To: Regina Spektor - On The Radio
Current Theory: Vol. of Cake Is Directly Proportional To Happiness.
Quote of the Moment: "Well, if I was going to throw Heathrow in chaos. I'd do what everyone else does and book a flight." ~ Mock The Week

*Though you're free to come. Bring a gift though.

Good Morning Illegal Dune Campers!

Aloha, Konbanwa!
I've recently returned home from "Probably The Best Camping Trip Ever Recorded In The History In The Universe". I'm sure, being an avid fan of my life you have been needing an update, so here it is.

I left couzin Joe's for my adventure after spending pretty much the entire night annoying dear Alice and friends, but that's for another day I guess...

I was repeatedly informed by various phone calls and texts to meet all my lovely people outside the headquarters of evil, better known as the supermarket giant TESCO. I arrived to see Rhi, Bev, Becky, Rach, Jamie, Joel, Mr Joe, Bulb and Matt circled around a cluster of sleeping bags and rucksacks and carrier bags. We looked incredibly conspicuous, like some sort of teenage-terroist-team. I noticed a security guard sat on a bench not too far from us, trying not to make it look like he was spying, though, in fairness to him, he did nothing while I sang to the air conditioning vent or while we tried to kill each-other with trolleys, I do have some amazing dodging skills...

Myself, Bev, Mr Joe and Matt disappeared to find some cheap sunblock at any store that was open. We returned to the troop with a few bags of cheap 2-for-1 soft drinks, a large box of dissolvable Anadin Ultra's and the assorted sunscreens. I chose the safe SPF50, because my natural skin defence has been slowly and carefully destroyed over the past four-five months by every dermatologist's friend, Isotretinoin*.

The bus dropped us off at a crossroads a few million miles away from the beach, so we made the dangerous trek down the small, winding roads, through fences and over dune after dune, until we finally arrived at the beach, where I instantly ran to the sea. It had been awhile, I had missed my home the waves.

"Sam, do you have spare clothes?"
"I hope so."

Moving back to that suncream for a moment, I kind of regret buying the strongest formula they sold, as it was more like thick glue than sunblock, like some sort of Copydex; would have required tools to spread and even changed my eyebrows as white as humanely possible, along with the rest of my face, though, at least I was now protected against the heat and light created by a large solar explosion.

Think of it like, new and improved, whiter than white Daz, but for your skin.

After an hour or so in the sea, myself, Mr Joe, Joel and Jamie set off to the tallest, distant dunes to do some sort of demented long jump to our plummeting deaths, after which I ended up drinking Pepsi, running down the steepest dune into spiky grass and helping the others construct a "perfectly formed" woman out of sand to become a potential love interest for Matt.
Though, I don't think she was quite his type, being made out of sand and everything, as well as her disturbing "Bulb-added tunnelerized lower anatomy", which I'm not going into here, if you care so much about it, you sand-pervert, take a look at Jamie's blog; Here.

Here's a picture of her wonderful, fake, sand-botoxed face, before her mouth was turned into a long tunnel and collapsed:

She looks happy.

Slowly yet surely, darkness soon cast a gentle, sweeping hand over the beach as the sun arced away into the distance. We set up the tents under the shade of the sunset, with the infamous cake tent returning, kindly put up by Becky. Though, this time round the cake looked more like shite and scared the hell out of me and Bev. As well as this little conversation I had with Becky early in the morning:

"Hey Becky!?"
"Yeh?"
"What are these little hook things around the tent?"
"Oh, they should be in the ground..."
"Oh right, fantastic, six out of um... Six of them aren't secured. No worries!"

The drinking began, one can became two, two cans became four bottles, four bottles became two boxes of cookies and other such games, the usual, basically.
Though the constant reminders on how much closer to "midnight skinnydipping" stopped, it hit twelve and the brave few of us made our way to the beach and stripped down to nothing next to a random washed up log and then sprinted down the sand for the sea.

And bloody hell, was it alot further than I first thought. Damn tides.

I looked back, to see if any of the others had dropped dead yet, the distance between me and the rest grew further, I could see distant and faint outlines of fellow naked-people behind me as I hit the sea and headed for waist deep water. It was unbelievably warm, which was odd, seeing as it was midnight on a Welsh beach. Was it the hotness of beach girl? Was it the excessive volume of drink? Or was it some unknown magic-moon-related-heat?...
Who knows, but it was amazing.
After we'd all shouted and Hi5'ed and hugged in the safest way possible, I remembered how I earlier attempted to carry The Bev to the moon, but was soon crushed by the dawning realization that I could not reach it simply by walking. So giving up my new dream of being the first man to not only walk to the moon; but to walk there naked, across the sea, we raced back. I don't think I've felt my legs burn so much but I was determined to win.

I did indeed reach the shoreline first, and with a smile of glory and pride, I then collaped, naked, face down in the sand in front of Becky, screaming:

"I f***ing won dammit!"

I regained a small amount of composure, not that there's much to regain walking around naked on a public beach in the beautiful silver moonlight.
On the way back, far in the distance we heard shouting and dogs and some sinister looking shadows, someone asked me:

"Is that the Police Sam?"
"I don't know, but if it is, I'm all fine for getting arrested. But not naked."

We were later informed us it was just "some poor couple" who thought with the help of their barking dogs they would assist in attracting out attention to the log which I was already heading for. I still found it odd that these people had come all the way to walk their dog around the beach at midnight.

So, we returned to the dunes, fully clothed, to continue the usual, deep, life related chatting on a small edge, each of us acting like a radiator to someone else. Time drifted by like the waves of the sea and I soon found myself in a tent with The Bev, now we could have both fallen asleep perfectly, if not for Mr Joe; who had previously decided to sleep outside, on a soaking wet towel, with dew on his face finally awoke and tried breaking into my tent, though, clever me tried to get rid of him by holding the door's zip shut. After an intense five minute struggle, I realized Mr Joe would probably die outside if not for me, Bev and our magic-Cat-Face-singing-warmth, so I let the dew-soaked Irishman in, still, it was probably one of the most stupid decisions I've made, ever...

You see I forgot how badly this git snores. Think of a truck, racing a train, whilst gunfire is going on either side of the track and bombs land in the distance, Joe could still blow them all away. Except for the bomb I guess, but that's ok as I have my SPF50 suncream to protect me from burns and radiation poisoning. I got about ten minutes sleep max through the whole night.
So to take revenge I steadily punched him in the face, the side of the head, slapped him and jumped on him as the sun slowly rose, as well as having Bulb drag him out of the tent mid-morning while I shouted "I should have left you to die outside!" and other lovely phrases such as:

"Mr Joe, for the love of god, the love of the world, for just everything including my sanity and need to sleep, please SHUT THE F*** UP!"

As semi-terrible, yet hysterical as my "night's sleep" was, it was a fantastic morning to "wake up" to:

Wales does have its beautiful moments.
What a sight to wake up and fall down a dune to.

Of course, nothing says good morning like that view, two Anadin Ultra's fizzing away in a cup of sandy water, an expensive creamy-jam filled scone and a cheap, sickening bus journey home, only to fall asleep on the living room floor.

What a campout.

Sam.
Mood of the Day: Beachy
Listening To: Rupert Holmes - Escape (Pina Coladas)
Current Theory: I Need To Go To The Beach More
Quote of the Moment: "F***" ~Everyone.

*Often marketed as "The Fun Way To Induce Suicide", "Death Pills", "Happy Capsules", or in North America, "Accutane".

Finally Home... Special Long Edition!

Aloha, Konbanwa!
You better read it all. I sat here and mentally regurgitated this for YOU.
Now I'm sure that you've been sitting there, in your slightly-comfortable chair for the past few days, occasionally eating, constantly refreshing this page, wondering to yourself "Where is he? Where is my fix of babble?"...*

Well wait no more. I have almost all of the interesting details, you could even consider this a special edition, in fact, now it is, that's going in the title.

Well, dear reader, I've been up to numerous things**, to begin with I've been away character-developing with Tom for Studio8's sitcom, 'Delivered'. I could give you a seemingly unimportant snippet if you like? Yes?
No. It'll spoil all the surprises.
If you're a hardcore Studio8 fan, you'll come to the screening, not because you're a fan just because you're a cheapskate as it'll probably be illegal to charge entry, even though I'd love to see your face when I inform you the money goes towards trips to Starbucks and pots of Jam very important Studio8 related things (Like pots of Jam).

I also disappeared to couzin Joe's once again, for a weekend of singing out windows, eating toast, destroying Joe's relationships, social image and morale as well installing wireless routers.
As well as taking "scenic" images such as this:

Yes, this was just to show off my amazing new tee.

So was this.

So, I returned near-home***, to a social-gathering with Mr Joe, Bev and briefly, Anna.
There was little to drink, quantity wise; Bev had a Strongbow, a Stella or two and some "blue crap" which simply tasted like lemonade, just, it was 4+% vol.
Now, this would possibly be enough to get one of us tipsy, if not for what Mr Joe brought...
An innocent-looking bottle, containing a stinging concoction of Whiskey, Vodka, lemon juice and god-knows what else.
I remember singing Modest Mouse songs while swinging in the park, semi-dressed. I also remember eating chips, staring at the sky.
I love the chips from that place:

"Your chips are amazing!"
"Sam, you're shouting."
"Thank you!"

Ah, a good night.
For those interested Mr Joe also offers an extended, shoe-uncut version of events, HERE.


So, again changing the subject, a talent of mine, today I had a "recruitment day" at Argos, as part of my futile attempt to become employed for the Summer and pay for the endless stream of needless crap I tend to buy.
I began the day in a lucid dream in which I was desperately trying to turn an alarm off, waking up, I found the IKEA clock by the side of my bed was the culprit of the noise that had found its way into my dream. I whispered obscenities while turning it off and carelessly fell back asleep, only to wake at 10:30, the time I was supposed to be leaving home for the bus to town. A positive start.
I arrived at Argos, dead on 12, joining a quiet, nervous room, in which possible job candidates were dotted around sofa's and various chairs, biting their nails with scowls on their face.
I scribbled my name onto a sticker and slapped it to my tee-shirt, which depicted a giant, screaming chocolate chip muffin, the perfect choice of clothing for an interview.
A Polaroid-picture of me was required, I thought I'd pull a face, but one of the hot girls was looking over, I at least wanted to give off the illusion that I was sane before I ruined it by speaking.

Silence ensued.

I began to think that we'd be abducted, one-by-one to a dark, dank room with a blinding spotlight, to be interviewed "under caution" and pushed to breaking point only to be told we were too weak for the hectic, warzone-esque scene of a catalogue store.
However, after drinking some much needed water we were led away to the 'Staff Training' room, the door of which automatically slammed behind you****.

It was rumoured that perhaps we'd have to describe a product, I discussed with Mr Joe how that whole process could go:

"It's... A wok.
You could, cook bacon and eggs with it...
On an hob thing...
You could also beat people with it...
And, as it's Teflon coated, their blood won't stick to it..."

Perhaps we'd have to role-play with an angry customer?:

"Ok, I'm an angry customer."
"Good for you?"
"Um, yeh. So, this thing I bought doesn't work."
"You think this is a repair shop? You think I can fix this? I SELL the product, this is Argos."
"But?!?"
"I didn't make it, I don't know how it works... Send it to the manufacturer, this isn't a sales problem..."

Anyway, the tense air lifted as we were greeted by some of the store staff, after introducing ourselves via others and filling in a few catalogue-number-related-test-sheets we came to the final challenge, where three teams must build a bridge out of mega-blocks, using the least bricks possible plus this bridge must also fit a team-member underneath.
So, we began building with one of my brilliant plans, then realizing although it was sturdy, we were using way too many bricks compared to the others, one of the staff pointed out:

"You've used alot of pieces there..."
"Well, ours looks alot grander and prettier than the others, it's also very sturdy."
"The workers won't get wages though... You spent all the money on the bricks..."
"It doesn't matter, it's a communistic bridge, it's all equal and fair and they are all just happy that the bridge is there for them, they're a happy communist community."
"I see."

With ten seconds left, realizing we'd still used many more bricks than the other two teams, I quickly grabbed some mega-block men that came in the bag and chucked together a 5-brick bridge:

"And, Team 2, how many bricks have you used?"
"Five!"
"..."
"You see, the rules stated that a member of the team had to go under the bridge, now I have elected these mega-block men to join our team, therefore, a member of the team is passing under this bridge, built of five bricks."
"What's that behind you?"
"Oh that? It's just the 28-brick prototype... *Whispering* Kick it over. Kick it over."

I have a feeling I have left a lasting impression. Whether it be good or not, is something else entirely...


Moving on, this week I also found out that I have a "very rare personality" and that only 3.8% of people have a similar one, which was quite an interestingly-nice find. Oddly enough though, as small as the chances are, I've known Rachael nearly all of my life who has the exact same result as me*****. We're magic you see.

Talking of Rach, she reminded me of "one of the funniest things" I have ever said in Maths.
Our teacher was just chatting when I shouted across the classroom:

"Sarcasm is great Chris... Just like you..."

The good old days... How I will miss Maths...

Sam.
Mood of the Day: Happily-Here
Listening To: Simple Minds - Don't You (Forget About Me)
Current Theory: I'm Never Going To Get Employed
Quote of the Moment: "Sarcasm's great Chris... Just like you..."

*It's fine, honestly. It happens to the best of us.
**Operation: Fill-The-Holiday-With-Stuff-To-Do-To-Avoid-Boredom-
And-Not-Waste-It-Away-In-Bed, working at optimum levels.
***After making fun of the fact Joe was at school, by sending him there with a note I'd written at 3am. Haha, it never wears out.
****The phrase "Don't let the door hit you on the way out" came to mind.
*****That's ENTP, one of the 16 possible results with the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, now, to avoid sounding like I know what I'm talking about, I'm going to say: "Peppered Firecake Sandwich".

22

Aloha, Konbanwa!
So, it's Night 22 of the holiday. I'm proud of myself, I feel that, so far, my holiday has not been wasted. I even woke up Pre-Midday today, a bizzare and rare event. I then ate my breakfast of two packets of "Maryland Choc Chip 'n' Hazlenut" cookies*.

I was greeted by Bev, digitally, not physically, she spent her morning trying to, as I put it, "Scare the crap out of a retard":

Thanks for that Bev...

So, I Spent the day at town today in an attempt to fill every few days of Summer with some sort of activity, although I'm hoping The Sun will actually enter the sky stage before the curtain closes, I want to go to the beach, to the waves.

Seemingly the new terroist target is between two small villages, probably with a maximum population of three, as the bus journey, for five minutes was "guarded" by two police officers...

It was an eventful day, we had a fantastic lunch in a random cafe we found where we noticed that not only can none of us add up correctly but that Jonny and I have the rarely found skill to make a teapot sing.
It's odd, finding myself in a cafe, like we're all on some sort of "cafe crawl", getting smashed on cups of tea and large slices of chocolate cake, stumbling around stealing salt-shakers.
It was nice though, and I don't think I've seen Tom that happy since the Real Belgian Waffle in Bruges.

We then rushed to our private showing of Ocean's 13, where I once again pretended to be a student to gain the £2 discount, a close one this time. We caught the late-afternoon showing, where apart from us, the cinema was deserted. We spent the adverts hiding from each-other and arguing over which of the 200+ seats we should sit in. The film itself was fantastic, one of the best films I've seen in the cinema for awhile, you can tell when a film is good, me, Bev and Tom don't make fun of it.

Note to Self: Studio8 should show 'Delivered' and 'Sam and Tom Today' in the cinema.

Waiting for the bus home with Bev, Becky and Tom could only be described as interesting.
I heard this noise of something being tipped on the floor, accompanied with the loud laughter of some tracksuit-clad locals, I looked over to see that one of them was standing there, "taking a leak" on the floor. Wonderful. I can only thank fate that I could only see the "stream" thanks to the layout of the pillars in the retro bus station.

One of them then came over and stood inches away from me, I wasn't sure whether he wanted to punch me, so I smiled, he then spun around and asked Tom if he wanted some drugs. He then began babbling about how he wanted to take Becky and Bev out, treat them to some good Italian food** and all they want, he didn't quite get to finish his offer as he was interrupted by his friend on a bike, who not only seemed to think he was on a motorbike, also seemed to be having a identity crisis between himself and the crazy frog. Fairplay to him though, he could ride a bike damn well for someone who seemed permanently drunk. Though, I'm sure the cuts on his face were probably from falling.
We sat around, just laughing as he stared at the wall, his pedal-bike stationary, bobbing up and down shouting "Vrrrm, ring, ring, ding, brrm!" We were told not to anger him as he "runs over people's heads with his bike".

I wasn't sure whether to be scared or in hysterics...
We chose the latter.

They then returned to their stop, where the crazy-frog-bike-human hybrid jumped into a trolley and was pushed at high speed down the station, his trolley aimed for a wall.
I couldn't help but clap when we heard the well known giant-tuning-fork-shattering noise that we all know a trolley makes when you ram it into something, such as a friend, another trolley, a car or a brick wall.

While all this was going on, out the windows, in the bus manouevering bay I could see someone carrying a bright red traffic cone chasing a rolled up advertisement behind some of the buses. It was all like some huge orchestrated show, part of me was sad to see the bus home pull up to safely escort us away.

As our bus reversed to leave, the police pulled in, I figured it was to begin a high-speed chase with the crazy frog imitation, who had now disappeared. We could just imagine the live chase on the news.

"Channel 8 News has now linked to a live audio feed of the chase:"
"Mrrrm! Ring, ding, ding, ring! Hahahaa!"

"This is going in the blog".
All in all, another awesome day.

Sam.
Mood of the Day: Happily-Fulfilled
Listening To: Toploader - Dancing In The Moonlight
Current Theory: People are afraid to comment my blog.
Quote of the Moment: "I think I'd make a good terroist..." ~Graham

*Which is, 101.3% of the Recommended Daily Allowance of Fat. Whoops, but as me and Jonny say "Doctors know nothing!".
**Now here's a "chav" with some class, although perhaps it's some sort of Italian special at McD's, who knows.

Yum.

Aloha, Konbanwa.
Just sitting here, watching House, dressed in my retro-caveman clothing status* enjoying my hearty, healthy lunch, consisting of:
A mountain of butter laden toast, with 60mg of Isotretinoin, the world's favourite acne and soul-destroying drug, quickly followed by 1000mg of Flucloxacillin, possibly the best, and most tasty antibiotic so far; as not only is its smell an alarmingly interesting compound of petrol, paint, magic markers mixed with a hint of egg, it comes completely free with headaches, stomach pains, shivers and numbing of the thumbs. That's good value.

I feel like a cat. Or some no-thumb-man.
At least I'm not like, some huge piece of walking bubble-wrap anymore, I guess?

Perhaps the dermatologists are just prescribing everything and anything to see how far I can hold out before the medication kills me off... Abit of a demented sweepstake, perfectly legal in the NHS I assume though, after all, you get what you pay for, which, in my case, is everything for nothing.

However, this would explain why one of the nurses used to dislike me, I guess she thought I would flake out and kill myself after being unable to cope with all these "Hard-X-Core-Pills\Death Pills" and that would lose her some sweet cash. That's standard patient protocol you see.
Then of course there's another nurse who keeps telling me "You're doing so well", with a smile.
If we were to extend that thought trail for a moment it becomes: "You're doing so well Sam, we've never given any living person this much medication before, you're making me stacks of cash."
It would also show why a consultant and doctor wanted to get involved in my "case", so they could get their latexy-gloved hands into a slice of the backhand "How-Long-Until-Sam-Dies?" sweepstake cash pot.

If they are running such an event, I'd like to at least be involved, I could do with the money...
I bet that the hospital will run out of pills and close down before they can kill me.

Sam.
Mood of the Day: Pumped-Poison
Listening To: The Hoosiers - Worried About Ray
Current Theory: Chocolate Is Not Suitable For Someone On Pills
Quote of the Moment: "If There's Any Justice In The World, He'll Be Struck Down... Strike Him Down! Strike Him Now! ... Any Good Mother Would Have Smothered Him In His Sleep..." ~Jonny, Regarding An Emo

*Oh wouldn't you like to know? ... Fine, boxers. Happy now? You ruined the air of mystery.

My Weekend...

Aloha, Konbanwa!
I return from another visit to couzin Joe's house, which is one of my ideal ways to spend a weekend; eating incredibly unhealthy amounts of caffiene, cholesterol and chips, watching Bleach and assorted films, vocally re-dubbing YouTube videos, kicking Joe's ass on the Wii, ruining Joe's life and property, hitting Joe with a curtain rod* and singing "I love you baby" to girls walking past his house.

This week I worked on damaging Joe's online reputation, so while Joe chatted away on MSN downstairs, I had the brilliant idea, along with fellow-couzin Ki, to log-into Joe's Bebo** account and deface it, secretly, upstairs on the Wii, because we're lovely like that, and might I say, we did quite a good job of ruining his social status:

Click To Enlarge

Of course, sending an e-mail to his future-girlfriend-to-be containing the above evidence was another pro decision of awesomeness on my part.

I'm incredibly childish, I know.

Sam.
Mood of the Day: 1-Upped
Listening To: David Grey - Babylon
Current Theory: Coco Pops Should Be A Rock Band.
Quote of the Moment: "That's Rich Coming From Someone Who Plays Starcraft, Jonny"

*It was self defence, he threw one at my eye.
**MySpace Bebo; "A Place for Friends Vain 13-Year-Olds to Dress Up Like Prostitutes"

Good Morning Campers: The Expose

Aloha, Konbanwa!
Warning, This Post Is Written By The Resident Drunkard, Sam.
For Becky's Version of Events, Click Here.
It was a cold morning, although I had managed to fall asleep next to the sidewall of the tent, where the rainwater-condensation-combo pooled into, though. I was in good company...

So yes, we went camping this week, despite so many signs from fate telling us we were all to die, yet, we're all alive, well physically. There was the ominous falling tree, the inquisitive "WHY" number plate and the fact it was to be THE wettest day for 50 years.

Of course, we then had "The Tom; the lost phone, the low battery and lost keys saga" which ended up with Tom being driven to our secret location after missing the bus. Whilst myself, Mr Joe and Bev attempted to check out a local inn to pass the time. After sitting down and looking at the menu, we came to the horrible realization that the price, for even a small plate of chips was extortionate*, for we had mistakenly wandered into some, hushed, posh pub... We had to establish a plan to get ourselves out:

Bev came up with the unused "Let's just get up and run" technique while Mr Joe, with a sly, smug smile leaned forward and whispered:

"I've got it... You two, are a ravenous couple and run off to the bathroom with each-other, while, I, am an important business man who must make an important phone call.."

No, I really don't know either...
So, basically we ended up storming out of the place, with me loudly shouting
"Well, if he isn't coming here, we'll leave!".

Tom eventually arrived, to find us sat opposite the offending restaurant, alert and ready to run from some sort of angry Mexican chef and his prized, oversized IKEA knife set.

We returned to camp, where the lovely Becky, Rach and Jamie had set up the little Glastonbury of our own. Just, without the thousands of other tents, serious mud problem, stack of weed and live music... So, I guess, not like Glastonbury at all**.

Yes. I'm sorry the picture is not better. I was hardly able to take a beautiful one at the time.
I believe I fell into the grass to watch some stars after this, so ner, to you.

However though... From this moment, the few hours afterward, when the first, offending can was cracked open, normal time and energy, sober time and energy is disrupted by an evil, terrible substance, in the form of cans of Strongbow, Stella, Smirnoff*** and some other liquids secretly brought in regular looking, concealed plastic bottles... Oh, aren't we the rebels?...

I remember everything though, I never forget what happens. I remember the sun setting, I remember the sky's billowing grey clouds shifting away to "Hell" for the night. We talked for at least 4 hours. It was pretty perfect.

I remember the night, I remember staring at the stars and singing, very loudly.
I remember falling into thick reeds and screaming random words, as well as attempting to speak Japanese.
And other such moments like when I found myself running back to camp after hearing fireworks, screaming:

"GET DOWN! THE HUNS ARE COMING!
I HAVE 54p TO GET US TO SAFETY!"

...Yeh. Well, screw you too.

You want more absurdity? How about Mr Joe's "Blue eye"? It's cause?
A high-speed, low-range, light-weight, inter-tentary ballistic weapon, in this case, a BITESIZE TWIX. You think I'm joking? Take a look:

And you thought the calories were what was bad for you Mr Joe****...

Of course, the worst catastrophe, occured beyond any measurable scale...
Where, an innocent, fantastically-awesome tasting cake was destroyed into thousands of cake-dust-fibres and cake-blobs that resembled what can only be described as something a cat would eject from its little kitty face. It was also in my hair (Yes Joe, PROPER cake hair) and stuck to the side of my jeans. Evidence of the evil, cat-cake-mashup seen, below.

We're just thankful it was cake...

Friends, this is the life.

Sam.
Mood of the Day: Pitched-Up-Tented-Tiredness
Listening To: The Mario Football Strikers Charged Menu Tune
Current Theory: Ice Cream Improves Brain Logic
Quote of the Moment: "That's not very communist of you..."

*Which seems to be the buzz word of my life recently, apart from words like "Sandwich", "Microwave" or useful, well known phrases such as "Oh f***".
**If you came for a blog that made vague sense and you are now upset with the service you are receiving you can call: 0900-No-Body-Gives-A-Damn-Start-Your-Own-Blog-And-Try-It.
***Usually marketed under the secondary brand name "Lemonade".
****And WOW Mr Joe, your snoring, is UNBELIVABLE.

Final Health Warning:
According to dearest couzin Alice, who has been locked away in her home, you can now, comment YOURSELF on the evil, soul-destroying "social network" MySpace.
I guess that means you can now hold conversations with your former self.
I think Alice has a new pastime...

Oh dear...

Aloha, Good Morning.
I though I'd just pass on the results of a sleep-related test I took a few minutes ago...
It's not looking good..

Your answers to the Epworth Sleepiness Test indicate you may be significantly sleep-deprived. You may wish to consult with your physician to discuss futher investigation.

Sam.

Flash!

Aloha, Konbanwa!
So, just came home from Starbucks, pretty early, less people than usual...
I could barely afford my bus ticket, or the large hot chocolate with cream, yet I still go. There must be something clinically wrong with me.

Being incredibly poor I checked in with the job-world, Borders said there should be some jobs going in August and TESCO told me to drop in my CV. Consider it done.
See now I can work in TESCO undercover and get my burnt out toaster back. Inside job and all that.

Of course, the highlight was walking to the bus stop with Becky and Matt where a large white limo went literally screaming past, with three girls hanging out the side window, flashing us.
So, I screamed and waved back, it was as if they thought it was a bad thing for us? Well they're not my breasts are they?

Obviously, that's the effect I have on the ladies... A change from the usual screaming and crying.

I think Becky speaks for all of us:
"That made my day."

Sam.
Mood of the Day: Suitably Caffeinated
Listening To: Lou Reed - Satellite of Love ('04 Remix)
Current Theory: Water is 94.7% Evil
Quote of the Moment: "...Because one day Sam, you'll look clean..."

Extra Special Message:
Happy Birthday for Lydia. She can have sex with me now. But shh. She doesn't know she wants to yet.

Currently, You Don't Have Enough Credit...

Aloha, Good Morning.
Day 3 of the holiday, it's 13:22 and I'm eating my breakfast, chocolate ice-cream.
I must admit, so far I'm pretty pleased with myself, I've actually been getting of my ass and going places, such as Rachael's house to eat biscuits and Tom's house to watch house and well, TESCO.

Because TESCO is the place to be.
No, seriously it is.

So, Tuesday, I found myself at TESCO attempting to script for Studio8 with Tom and Bev whilst co-eating trifle stolen from the managers table, we have a contact in the catering and cleaning department you see. Wonderful stuff.

Leaving TESCO, with the joy of theived-jelly in our stomachs, we walked back to Tom's when the sky, decided to crack open and not just pour rain, but really POUR rain. Our effort to hide under some cruddy little banzai tree failed, leaving us to take in the beauty that was the rain. It was amazing.

So, in true Studio8 style, photographer Bev pictured us presenting our Late-Afternoon Weather Show.

I'm supposed to be getting some sort of job, for money and that because, when you struggle to pay £1.14 for some chips, you know you're hitting a new low.
The thing is employment seems like a great idea on paper but not so much in reality...
I guess we'll see how that works out. I'm still living on the dream that Borders will call me anyday now...

Well, inevitably I was going to take another crack at the exams, I couldn't let it slide by once more, people keep asking me when I'll get the results back, as if they contain any real importance such as high blood sugar.
Well basically we've all gotta wait a good two months for the results, mainly because the examiners mark about one paper a day due to their arthritic hands and obsession for television soaps.
We all know they'll end up marking our work with a series of tea-cup rings and microwave-spaghetti stains, leading to everyone receiving the wonderful, "prestigious" A*.
Yet, we both know that F stands for "F***ing-Fantastic"...

According to T-Mobile, I "Don't Have Enough Credit To Make A Call" and my balance is "Zero". Well, thank you very much T-Mobile, for your poor, poor signal coverage and extraordinarily-extortionate tariff, I'm probably paying £1 per text now.
I don't need you T-Mobile, I'll start my own network, see how you feel then? Hey?

...I'll just E-MAIL everyone instead.

Sam.
Mood of the Day: Microwaved Rain, Soaked in the Warm Glow Of Happiness
Listening To: Motion City Soundtrack - The Future Freaks Me Out
Current Theory: I'll Never Get A Job.
Quote of the Moment: "SO TOM, WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE CURRENT WEATHER SITUATION?"

The End of Another Chapter, Or Something

Aloha, Konbanwa!
Wow... I stepped out of the school today with the knowledge that I'll never be officially attending it again.
I finished my final "exam", Drama. I wrote the least out of the entire year, but it's AQA, turning up got me the A*. Still, it was odd, I scarwled "NO MORE EXAMS XD" onto myself upside-down, pretty well, may I add and smugly paraded around, yet I can't say I felt overwhelmed with any sort of feeling of happiness or relief.

I'll miss it though. It was an awesome five years.

So, Summer. 14 or so weeks of lying on my arse, hopefully every now and again churning out some brand new stuff for Studio8. Or, as my dad demands, get myself a job...


Ah, if only life was as easy as it was two weeks ago, where I, Becky and Tom nearly choked to death eating a large chocolate cake as fast as we could just so no-one else could join us. I used my magical power to quickly and effectively snap the spoons and souls of anyone who tried to steal our precious chocolate.

It was the same day I discovered the destructive buying power of TESCO. I noticed a small LCD television placed above the lemonade on the drinks isle, it played elevatorish music and pictures of the country...

EVERY person who walked down that isle picked up two bottles of lemonade... It's a terrible conspiracy. I wan't fall into that trap, not for your damn lemonade.

Sam.
Mood of the Day: Tomato
Listening To: Nothing Much
Current Theory: I Have Nothing To Do
Quote of the Moment: "No Matt! This is the Studio8 Cake!"

Quick Tee-Related Post

Aloha!
I designed a Tee for Threadless!
It's incredibly low score will be shown below if it's approved =)



Sam.

! Update !

Yeh, so, my tee wasn't approved. Shut up. Obviously my work was too amazing or whatever, for those interested, here is what my design looked like:

And, yes. It is copyright. Steal it, you die.