Fresher murmurings

It's me, I'm alive.

I haven't entirely given up on my dreams of writing a blog so rich and fulfilling that you will all be tricked into thinking I lead an interesting life. 

I've been busy freshering about for the past couple of months. It's been the hedonistic experience I'd hoped for,  but it's not all hangovers, halloumi and hash (browns). Yes I said halloumi, it's the middle class student's staple food don't you know.

I occasionally do a bit of work. Occasionally. I'm currently the member of a million societies that I never go to. I'm the least flexible person the yoga society has ever seen.  And yes Amnesty International,  'it's better to light a candle than to curse the darkness' but my room has electric lighting and netflix. My housemate will kill me for writing that. Don't worry, I'm sure I'm going to hell anyway.

I feel like I had my do-gooder activist phase at the age of about 14 and got it out of my system. Sure, I do my bit, I sign petitions, I write angry letters. Hell, I even watch the news. But I'm not even passionate enough to join Brand in his wordy dreams of revolution. When did I become so damn sensible? I'm old before my time.

In the wise words of Frank Turner,
'If the revolution doesn't want me, I don't give a shit.'

In all honesty,  I genuinely feel like this semester I will turn my life around. I'll be the overactive visionary I've always dreamed of being. Déjà vu anyone?

Dear Scotland,
don't leave us baby.

We might just have to all move to Scotland. Scottish people are hilarious, I feel like my satirical heart belongs there. In all seriousness, without Scots, the British are just so uncool. Let me demonstrate:

England:

Wales:

Northern Ireland:

Then Scotland:

No pretensions, no bullshit. Don't leave us to the tories. We may take the piss but we love you really.

Also, our flag would look so ridiculous without you.

So today we woke up to the insufferable twat Richard Dawkins forcing his opinions down our throats again.

Richard Dawkins, Our Lord, Our Saviour. Let him into your heart and he will show you the way. First man to reveal the secret that religion is sometimes oppressive. Shock horror.

I really love to hate Dawkins. I imagine that if I knew him in real life I would find his bluntness hilarious, and would just take his brash attitude with a pinch of salt.
But, alas, I don't.

You would think that by the age of 73 he would have learnt to consider that you can't just go around saying that date rape isn't quite as bad as rape at knife point. What about date rape at an under 18s disco? What if you're allergic to roofies?

Of course I'm over thinking it and we all know what he means. It's probably scarier at the time to be raped with a knife against your neck than to not realise it's happening. Probably. At that exact point in time.

What I mean to say is that for an intelligent man he just doesn't think. When you have a voice that reaches thousands of people, I think it's really important you don't just ridicule and make sweeping generalisations.
For example, before tweeting a view such as his aforementioned opinions about rape, he should think about the wider picture. Each individual copes with trauma and suffering differently, and it is quite possible and probable that the fear of not knowing your attacker makes daily life more of a struggle. The two types of rape, in my opinion, are equally as abhorrent.

Today he shocked us with yet another thoughtless statement: when a woman tweeted that she would have difficulty in deciding the right course of action if she was to become pregnant with a Down's syndrome baby, Dawkins replied, 'Abort it and try again.'

I'm sorry, what?
Another middle class white male telling women what to do with their bodies? (I heard you all groan: sorry, not sorry)

'It would be immoral to bring it into the world if you have the choice.'

"If your morality is based, as mine is, on a desire to increase the sum of happiness and reduce suffering, the decision to deliberately give birth to a Down's baby, when you have the choice to abort it early in the pregnancy, might actually be immoral from the point of view of the child's own welfare."

Of course there are arguments for the abortion of Down's Syndrome babies, I'm not arguing otherwise, but to imply that people with Down's syndrome cannot have a life worth living is judgemental and incorrect. His argument for utilitarian values has little weight, as we all know that the life of someone with Down's syndrome can be happy and fulfilling, and the happiness generated can outweigh the suffering of those around them. It also undermines all the efforts of families and friends of people with Down's syndrome, as if they are cruel and immoral for letting their child live, which is certainly something that they do not deserve.

It's about choice and personal opinion, which should not be dictated by Richard Dawkins.


However, I really recommend you watch this. Particularly if you think that deeply religious Americans are one of the best forms of entertainment. I really hope this blog ends up in one of his videos!

As Johnny Cash said, 'Life ain't easy for a boy named Sue'.

Well, likewise, life ain't easy for a girl named Slaughter.

Unlike the eponymous Sue, I haven't acquired that endearing American attribute of a love for whiskey and guns. I'm more of a Baileys and death by cheese kind of gal. Don't worry, I don't plan to use words like gal very often.

I did, however, 'have to get tough or die'. Receiving Christmas cards and birthday invites addressed to Emma Snorter up to the age of ten means that you learn you can cry and wish you were a boring Smith or Jones, or you can suck it up and pick holes in other people's flaws. Honestly, if I know you, I know all of your character defects. Make your move.

I feel like all new bloggers probably have a small reason for starting out; maybe they actually have something interesting to say, or like myself, simply hope that Kevin McCloud will read it and fall head over heels. Or that Tim Dowling will take me under his 'guardian'ship. Uhuhuh.

All I can say with certainity is that I have little to no idea what I will write about or how often, but I hope it will be entertaining and that occasionally it might be interesting.

Although all of you that read this one post will probably know everything about me, I feel that I should do a little bio.  I'm nineteen and studying English Literature and Philosophy at the University of East Anglia. It feels so wonderful to say that. After screwing up my A levels, (which I still maintain Gove personally sabotaged after my year group went crazy on the local free school), I was offered a foundation year studying an amalgamation of humanities subjects including literature, philosophy, history, politics, history of art and a language. I honestly thought it would be a means to an end, but soon realised that it was actually beneficial and more importantly, really interesting. Just do one, it's only an extra nine grand. I like to tell myself it's not real money. Just little zaps of electricity passing between student finance and the uni, comforting David Cameron's genetic predisposition to worry about all that state school riff raff tainting his canon of pure Tory blood. Bless his little cotton socks.

As you may have guessed, I'm not a fan of the bloodsuckers. In his autobiography 'My Shit Life so Far' (Maybe that's what I should have named this?), Frankie Boyle describes a scene where he imagines the queen dislocating her jaw to swallow orphans whole. I believe similar cirumstances play out at Tory meetings. Condom head Cameron (See cartoonist Steve Bell) , sheds his slippery membrane to reveal an equally phallic ponce who collects the weekly group of free school students selected for the cull, devours them, and then excretes out a fresh batch of Tory youth. Rumours have it that it's considered an honour by many parents to have their child gulped by a member of the upper class.

Am I getting a bit opinionated? Let me ease your inner Tory and lead you down a less confrontational path. I'm probably just jealous of you because I will never be able to double-barrel my name. Slaughter sounds awful with everything. Unless I marry my friend Kate Mann.