Hinckley is the new Iraq.

It dawned on me today that pretty soon I'll be moving up to Coventry to start university, leaving behind the complete nothingness of Hinckley and Nuneaton. For those who don't know where either are, and you don't, it's squat bang in the middle of England. They are two nothing towns, not big enough for anything exciting to happen, and not small enough to know Mrs Pennyapple who works at the local grocers. They're towns where people simply exist.

I've lived in Hinckley since I was seven, and I remember it well, largely because it is exactly the same now. I went to primary school where people told on each other, high school where people threw rubbers at each other, college where people hit each other, and now I'm out in life where walking down the wrong street will get you stabbed by the local inbreds. If you want an accurate idea of the wrong streets, buy a map. Anything marked as a road is a bad street to walk on. So far I've managed to avoid coming home with a bottle sticking out of my left eye because I don't go out in this town for the 'night life'. Night life consists on college dropouts wearing their best Adidas to a pub that serves alcoholic water, with a local zoo escapee hanging off their arm, shrieking at the other girls who happen to have joined their fashion taste in wearing their curtains in the most revealing way. It's not pretty, imagine a walrus in a tutu and you get the idea.

Night life could also include hanging on the street corners of any dark area, but if new to this idea you should turn up in a bloodsoaked outfit with a brick sticking out of your head. It's saving a lot of time of exactly what will happen when you pass those areas, and removing the exercise from the chavs could potentially make them so fat that they won't fit through their front doors anymore. There is of course a huge difference from this in the daytime of Hinckley, that being that it's lighter.

If you want to live here, you won't. If you want excitement here, the excitement delivered is that you'll eventually be leaving here. If you want to be accepted here, you have to be born by your mothers uncles brothers dogs cat, and be married to your sisters brother, and that only happens by plugging your umbilical cord back in and getting back in your mother.

And, compared to Hinckley, that wouldn't be a bad idea.

My wardrobe proves alien existance.

I've woken up this morning in my usual way of thrusting my arms around until I find my phone (Which is pointless, because I fell asleep at 1am, so who's going to have text me between that time), and eventually aimed for getting some clothes.

I'm in no way rich, I have basic Topman clothes that I mostly bought on Ebay, but I have a simple collection of good clothes, and can remember 90% of what I own. Today I opted for a red shirt, as the weather seemed cold and cloudy and I feel the incessant need to try and defy the weather and all that comes with it. However, no shirt could be found. Nor was it in the wash. Nor was it in the ironing pile, and most things tend to be in the ironing pile as nothing ever gets ironed, so my shirt was probably taking its chances between my families never worn clothes, two cats and Bin Laden for all we know.

It was, in fact, nowhere. I live on a boat, there's only so much room to put clothes. My mother has all the signs of madness but has never once thought to use her sons clothes as a flag or duck food or a turban (assumed for Bin Laden I suppose), so hasn't done anything strange with it. But, this idea of clothes disappearing isn't the first case, I have two T shirts I've not seen in months for no apparent reason, and clothes is only the tip of the iceberg as to where the hell half my possessions go.

I'm getting the feeling that aliens steal our random objects and implant into our brains this idea that we simply 'lost' our items, as it's the one case where we use no logic at all. Item A was in Room B, it is no longer in Room B so it is lost, we shall use Item C. Where is our questioning as to where on earth it has gone, thieves are petty but I have a big TV and a laptop in this room, I doubt they want my shirt or any item that people 'lose', that's not the definition of crimes in fashion.

No hard feelings though, if you ever do see E.T. and co swanning around a crop circle in a red chequered shirt, compliment his fashion taste. It's a good shirt.

Thanks Ebay.

Friendships are a fashion accessory.

I've not achieved much more today rather than sit around watching more things hit Formula One drivers, finished my girlfriends mammoth present that if she doesn't like I'm deporting her, and drank enough coffee to give me cancer, or whatever else Radio 2 decides to tell my mother. I did however, manage to scan through my phonebook in an attempt to renew old friendships.

It was at this point I realised, I don't remember who half of them are, or don't want too. There's people I used to dance around in pubs at an underage drunken stupidness, people I'd helped in their biggest time of need or attention seeking, and girls who I was only friends with because I'd quite like to get under their dress. Some, I simply didn't remember at all, they may as well be the chip shop owner down the road for all I know.

Some I had stopped being friends with because we just drifted apart, normally because they were as exciting as waiting for global warming to happen as a giant Youtube video. Some were because of an argument the strength of a napalm strike over something as trivial as owing some money. Others were because I now have a dress to get under, and they can take the proverbial long walk off a short pier, for all I care. Back in the day though, we were strong as rock, we supposed. Well, it's a lie. Friendships are mostly used because you want something, either a girl wanting a quiet girl friend so she can look better to guys, or a guy wanting girl friends to look popular and score tips on how to get his hands under a dress, or simply a matter of knowing they have money, a car, or a more fun life than you do.

I have my close friends now, those purely there because we're loyal to each other and enjoy each others company, even though we don't have the underage drinking or dress molesting, and we look to be as solid as a wall, but even the biggest walls have fallen. It's just good to know we have a wall as great as that big one in China.

And as a bonus, my phonebooks a whole lot smaller.

Formula 1: Massa got hit in the head?

I don't follow Formula 1 a whole lot, to me it's a lot of cars spinning around in circles for a few hours and it always finishes with the same guy winning. The family TV has it blaring out all day, and I do look whenever someone crashes (Hey, it's fun!)

There's a Youtube video I saw last night of Massa, some racer in a Ferrari, being hit in the face at 170kph with a giant metal spring, and flying off the road into the wall. Luckily he hasn't died, he was unconcious with a fractured skull but hospitals are magical places nowadays and he's fine. It's just a bit crazy to watch a metal lump hit a man at high speed. It got people thinking though, and now safety is being looked at once again.

Why then, does something catastrophic have to happen just for people to look at lives? Terrorism strengthened security, but after the events of 9/11. Planes were double checked after Concorde blew up over France, and cars are checked for errors after other cars slap them in the face. Why can we not be checking these things in the first place, I'm sure double checking a plane, checking men for weapons and tightening bolts on a car isn't an unknown practice, it should have been done before.

Someone just needs to be eaten by a lion before they check they've put bars up on a zoo.

Private life, 'Me time'?

First thought comes directly from joining this; peoples private lives.

Nobody knows I have joined this, and I am not the geeky, hardworking, computer know-all that people expect to be writing on the internet for others enjoyment. I spend my life out drinking, achieving ridiculous stunts and spending time with my girlfriend, but it's Sunday morning (still) and none of that will be possible, so why not post on here. It leads me to ask though, what is everyone else doing on a Sunday morning, aside from sleeping.

Are you crashed out on the sofa watching some trolls snarling across the room at each other on Jeremy Kyle, are you snoozing in bed texting people in the hope they'll make a plan for the day, are you browsing Facebook and clicking refresh repeatedly even though you know nobody is online? Or maybe, just maybe, you're writing away to people who you don't even know, just because you hope they'll have some sort of interest in what you have to say?

Who knows peoples real private life, they're 'Me time', but maybe it's more interesting than you expect.

Starting out..

Basically, I'm sitting in a boat in the middle of god knows where on a Sunday morning in the UK, without any real plan to do today. I say that, I actually have many things to do, but as per usual I'll be thinking of anything else to do but that. I need to book Uni accommodation, I need to finish my girlfriends present, I need to sort out my bedroom (the joys of being 19 eh), but no, I shall blog!

And blog I shall, although I don't really see why anyone should read this.

I think up great, I'm told, analogies about life. I spend more time solving other peoples problems than my own, though recently I've had no real problems in life at all, except the need to do the aformentioned. I think that's what I'll fill this place with, little random ideas that pop into my head occasionally, and if you magically stumble upon this and read it, you're obviously really bored.

Ah well, it'll help my Media Journalism course I'm taking next year I'm sure, so enjoy.