Loans, grants, overdrafts and being poor

After a two hour long session in a lecture room next to a guy who reverted to the technique of copying down every word that I wrote rather than using his brain, and a student behind me who was determined to beat out the introduction to Phil Collins hit song 'In the air tonight' on the back of my chair every five seconds, I can't say I'm feeling ecstatic about university life at the moment. However, even at this very moment as I feast on crappy canteen food and dry cheerios  I am still paying to go to these lecture rooms that consist of students slumped on chairs pretending to listen to the lecture while they doodle and throw things at each other, a lecturer nearly crying with the passion of his subject and the occasional question and answer time.

Yep. I'm living the high life.

Anyway, today, after trudging back to the Waterfront office, and deliberating whether to trip up the student in front of me, (it was the one who had kicked my pelvis out of place during our lecture,) I decided that it was finally time to pay off my internet bills for my shiny new house and, of course, for my room in my shiny new house.

It cost me just over a grand.

A GRAND. A whole load of money that big just... POOF! Gone in a flash. I had tears of pain in my eyes as I clicked the button to confirm that, yes, I was actually going to give away all that money and no, I wasn't going to change my mind, just so I don't have to sleep in a cardboard box.

And with that sum of money in mind, I wouldn't object to the box right now.

 

www.funnyjunk.com

Now, I know that I don't have it as bad as some students do. I guess I could say that I'm rather lucky with the fact that my parents decided to have me when they did. A year later, and I'd be facing tuition fees of about £9,000. (We'll ignore the fact that I'm Welsh and that my government is purely awesome for the next few minutes)

Last year, as you may well know, (Hi Stalkers!) I started my education at Swansea University. The school talk about student finance seemed a long time ago then - it was way back in July at the end of year 12 and for some reason, it was scheduled for a Friday afternoon, which had followed a week of 'learning'. I can assure you that I was not prepared to listen to somebody coming in from Glamorgan University to reel off a pre-prepared and over-rehearsed speech about university and, 'more importantly' student finance. As she rambled on, my mind, and most of the minds of those around me, drifted to fresher's fortnight, the parties, the alcohol, the societies, the alcohol, meeting new people and possibly finding a bit of independence, (which I am yet to find.)

I vaguely remember being told to apply for my student loan as soon as I had decided which university I wanted to go to and which course I wanted to do. Unfortunately, I didn't listen to a word and I was stuck at the last minute, panicking, trying to remember which bits to fill out and what to put down. Fortunately, my mother is an accountant, (and a damn good one at that), and filled it out for me in ten minutes flat, while making my dinner - the women is a domestic goddess.

Then, I had to change my current bank account to a student one. On this occasion, my dear mother dragged me out of my room, away from my Friends box set and into the bank on NatWest to partake in what I assumed would be a ten minute job. Actually, I turned out to be there for at least an hour, what with my easily distracted persona marvelling at the bank advisers hair and thick welsh accent and the fact that at least a ton of information was being thrown at me about saving accounts, debit cards, overdrafts, all on top of the actual current account. It makes my head spin to think about it now - I wisely passed on my money issues to my mother.

So now, my purse is brimming with cards for this, and that and everything else, and I feel like a business women. Well, on the outside anyway. On the inside, I'm worried about remembering my bank details and wishing it could be a tad easier, especially for me, being a History student and all. (We're very easily confused.) The only thing I did look forward to was getting a free railcard. The disappointment I felt when discovering that NatWest had scrapped that perk of the deal is symbolised in the phone bill my mother used up telling them how useless they were.

Unlike most fresher's, I didn't budget and I actually survived my first year. Like a true student, my finance outgoings were decided on unplanned impulsivity. Now I'm in my second year and looking at the seriously depleting rates of my bank account, I can't help but worry about how I will survive off chocolate animal biscuits again at my grand old age of 20... nearly...

NatWest provides it's answer to my problem with a piece of plastic, called a 'credit card' and a scam to take all my money known as an 'overdraft.'

Handy isn't it?

The tuition fees of over three grand that I pay each year was a lot for me to take in. I've never even seen a fifty pound note, so you can imagine how it blew my mind that universities wanted to take all this money from me that I didn't have. I can only imagine how the incoming fresher takes the news that they have to pay up to £9,000 a year to not attend the lectures and seminars that they're supposed to, but to spend the year drinking their livers into a state of shock and living off takeaways.

This is where the beauty of the 'student loan' comes in. Taking out a student loan for university is like indentured servitude. You will be paying your way to freedom for the rest of your life. You'll soon be living off cereal, (like me), and craving some protein or meat or... well, anything other than cereal. Basically, if you're going to take out a loan, do so wisely - make sure your parents are loaded or that you take out a subscription to online bingo.

But, it can sort of help you out during the poorest time of your life. I genuinely don't think I'd be alive right now, if it weren't for my student loan. With my inability to get a job, the lack of jobs and rent to pay, food to buy and alcohol to purchase and consume to drown out my money worries, my student loan is absolutely vital to my continued existence. While I wish I didn't have to depend so heavily on the government, (especially because it's English), I have to pass on my heartfelt thanks for keeping me alive for so long.

Perhaps I'm worrying too much. I've managed my finances rather well when I've accumulated money in the past, so coping with the virtual money that is now lingering around should be relatively easy. Learning to budget may or may not come in time but until then, pop tarts and animal biscuits should see me through this semester. And if I'm coping, (ish) I assure you that the rest of the student population will most definitely survive.  

Just don't ask me how - I'll let you know when I figure it out. 

Student loans video <---- Watch this - It'll make your poor, empty student lives way more interesting! 

I now pronounce you man and man

If you've watched the news at all in the last few months, (which most of you would have, as poor, unemployed students with nothing better to do), you'll have noticed that there's a big palaver surrounding Scotland at the moment. While I personally feel that they are pilling their issues onto the British government because they're starting to feel a little lonely up there in the north , they have raised one issue which I feel has been avoided more successfully than council tax.

Over recent months, you'll notice that people here, there and everywhere are coming out of the metaphorical closet as being in favour of gay marriage. From Mr David Cameron to Lady Gaga, support for gay marriage is increasingly becoming the progressive modern day cause. While opinion on the subject still remains divided, the Scots have decided to put their feet down and launch a government consultation on gay marriage, which has ultimately, split the coalition. David Cameron tightened his trousers in his happy relationship with Nick Clegg and allowed a free vote on the issue, much to the dismay of the Scottish Church.  

So after a lot of voting and whatnot, Scotland is set to become the first part of the United Kingdom to legalize the same sex marriage through a bill that is soon to be introduced to parliament. YAY! This means that; 

One: Scotland will be breaking out the rainbow flags by 2015 

And two: I now like Scotland a lot more.

A majority of Members of the Scottish parliament have already openly stated that they'll back the bill, so it'll most definitely pass. I'm pretty pleased and happy that the Scottish government have had the ingenious insight to do this. I live in Wales, so I guess my wait goes on. Not that I have a woman lined up to marry just yet.

Anyhow, the reality of this is that humanist celebrants and religious officiates who want to officiate same sex weddings could be marrying gay and lesbian couples by 2015. Although the Scottish Government is thoughtfully intending to include an 'opt out' clause for religions who aren't too fussed on perform these types of marriages, on the part of most people, there is now a very Paul McCartney  'live and let live' attitude in the air.

Interestingly, although unsurprisingly, the legislation has been met with opposition from not only the Catholic Church and the Church of Scotland, but even two - thirds of the Scottish population. On that issue, I have to shower the Scottish with my respect for standing up what they believe in, contrary to whether it's popular or not. American legislators, take note.

The Free Church of Scotland, released a statement on the subject which, when I read, made me a little bit sad. They said that, and I quote, "This is a truly sad day for Scotland, and we urge the Scottish government to reconsider their plans." No offence, but, if you think gay marriage is going to end the world then, err, consult the chart below. At the end of the day, gay marriage will effect homosexuals relationships - not yours.

Now, I have Christian friends. Or rather, I have friends who identify as Christians because being anything else means going without Christmas presents. In light of this, I've decided to respond to an aspect of gay marriage that my friends have brought up on a few occasions.

Let's put it into uncomplicated terms. Why would I, Gemma, an individual who identifies as a Christian, be openly in favour of same sex marriage in the knowledge that  these types of relationships 'displease' God? Why would I identify as both a Christian and a bisexual? Why am I being what The Westboro Baptist Church in America call a 'fag enabler?' BECAUSE I WANT TO.

Personally, I find the whole thing fascinating. There are hundreds upon hundreds of sins listed in the Bible and yet, we have decided to single out homosexuality as the sin that God is most displeased by. As Jesus said in the Bible about homosexuality - "          " . Exactly. NOTHING. We go to the effort and extent to fight against homosexual relationships, to the ridiculous point that we base presidential campaign issues on the subject and feel obliged to legislate same sex marriage. Frankly, I think the fact that the Christian community has alienated us Christians from the LGBT+ community was a big mistake. We could easily have embraced this community and yet, we chose to condemn them at every turn.  

I recently wrote a blog about male feminism which, while possibly causing some controversy, pointed out the fundamental issues of equality. Some argue that the current ban on gay marriage is a question of equality, similar to women having the right to vote or rights for ethnic minorities.  Some have expressed the view that gay marriage would devalue the sanctity of marriage in itself, which, frankly, is just rubbish in my opinion. How on earth could the marriage of two people who love and care for each other deeply be wrong, despite their gender?  I'll admit that gay and lesbian couples are entitled to Civil Partnerships, which are basically a watered down version of marriage, but I don't believe that they consider the beliefs of the couple.

Additionally, married couples are protected by the law - financially, medically etc. Say two people are in a same sex relationship and one was involved in an accident. Their other half would not technically be able to be with them throughout the emergency. Furthermore, most companies don't provide the same policy for same sex couples regarding insurance. Because a Civil Union is 'not marriage', it is therefore not a 'lawful union.' That's the kind of crap that makes me wonder why on earth I happily remain a resident in the UK and keep my mouth shut on this issue.

The fact is that even if the good old Scots hadn't made an example of the rest of the UK by embracing same sex marriage, homosexuality still exists. Whether you are hiding in a cave, surrounded by sketches of pre - historic homosexual relationships, or fifty billion feet in the air, with a gay couple sitting in front, happily jetting off to Barbados for their honeymoon, you can't escape it. So, you might as well deal with it and accept other people's happiness. Just because gay people are so jolly all of the time, doesn't mean that you can rain on their rainbow parade. They just want to be as miserable as you heterosexuals too. 

I need more money and less shit from the government

Like most of the British population between 18 and 25, I should currently be searching for a job. While I like the idea of ensuring that I have the luxuries that only hot water and electricity can supply for my second year of university, this whole finding a job process is bloody difficult. Seeing as I have never had a job, the likelihood of me finding one is.. zilch. So instead of enduring another few painful hours of rejection, I thought I'd write a blog about it instead.

One of the 137,000 searching for a job in the UK

It's rather depressing to be perfectly honest. I am now at the desperate stage where I enter competitions to get some cash. I can't apply to jobs anymore because I can't find my National Insurance number - and even if I did, it would be covered in too thick a layer of dust to decipher.

It's common knowledge that the United Kingdom is in a triple dip recession at the moment, and it's no secret that South Wales is one of the hardest hit places. Being what the English, Scottish, Irish and North Walians refer to as 'a valleys girl,' I know the setbacks of Margaret Thatcher only too well. While most see my living in the hills as a negative thing, I can list some positives. In the recent Olympics, we contributed to team GB winning gold, silver, bronze... and tin and copper and lead. There are many wonderful things about living in the valleys, each as joyous as the next, but, again, that's for another blog.

Ever since the reign of the delightful Mrs. Thatcher, the economic viability of the valleys has been on the decline faster than the outgoings of my bank account. The current government has made some effort to persuade businesses to migrate to South Wales. Those with some sort of I.Q are wise to stay away from our streets with all those unemployed hooligans. Instead, they venture to the big city of London and get ransacked in riots. They were a big deal last August apparently, though I missed it while I blissfully spent my EMA in Disneyland.  The point is, I MISS HAVING MONEY. But I don't go out into the rough and tumble streets of Merthyr Tydfil and rummage through the leftover merchandise that the English send our way, to make up for our lack of sustainable business.

Desperate times. Desperate measures.

For the unwitting humans who reside in the valleys these days, the recession means several things: 
One - Someone, somehow, finds a job that they can maintain that pays enough to allow comfortable living. In the valleys. 

Two - You get out as quickly as you can and move to London to loot a hardware store. 

Three - You realise the mistake your ancestors made, and move away to realise your potential, (which you won't due to the recession.)

Four - You make the same mistake as your parents. 

Or five - You stay exactly where you are, but you don't get as lucky as your mate, Stan the street sweeper, and you live a life on benefits, being dubbed as a sponge and as trash.

While the Tories bang on about the benefits system not being a net, I am one of these people who is a firm believer that it all depends on circumstances. I know lots of people who have genuine need of the benefit system. Heck, if I were not a university student at the moment, I would be on benefits. We can get angry about it, we can protest, but it will not change the mindset of those who readily use the benefit system as a survival tool. It's understandable though; most people are genuinely better off on benefits, than being paid minimum wage to clean up the sick in the McDonalds queue. And sadly, the majority of the few jobs on offer in the valleys fit that exact criteria.

Surely, then, you understand my frustration, when I am constantly applying to jobs I don't even want to do and keep getting rejected while my families household income is depleted by the percentage of the population who simply don't want to work.  Additionally, employers base their perception of your worth as an employee on previous work experience, which, most people don't have because of the lack of jobs. And the lack of job stems from the poor economy, which stems from people not working , stemming from lack of jobs. We're in a vicious cycle. How do these big bad bosses expect me to get my first job if I have no work experience? I wish it was as easy as Norman Tebbit made it sound. .Norman Tebbit 

Unfortunately, I don't have a bike and, I have a heart that is slowly calcifying  and insufficient to do any sort of exercise

'He's on work experience' 

You need to have work experience, amazing grades, your own transport, (which most of us cannot afford), and a degree before you can even be considered to work in a factory slicing beef in Britain. Public transport is an absolute nightmare - getting to Cardiff from Merthyr takes nearly an hour on the train, which will cost you near enough to £8 if you are foolish enough want to return. Naturally, this makes life harder for the average working person or commuter.

Additionally, shops are closing down here, there and everywhere because they just cannot support themselves anymore. Companies are making changes to their full time contracts left, right and centre. People who are in jobs are being made redundant, sometimes without warning, and are left in the lurch by companies who are trying to keep up with the collapsing economy. While the recent Olympics may have added a little extra money into the governments back pockets, I doubt the taxpayer will see as much of it as David Cameron's wife will.

To our government, here's a word to the wise: I may be at university now, but, hopefully I'm going to do well and finish there within the next two years. I'm not excited about going into the world like most people my age should be - I'm trying to stay in education as long as possible to be within a chance of even finding a job as a grocer. I know it isn't the easiest of jobs, running a country and all, but something needs to be done about the rate of unemployment in the UK. I don't have an answer, but if I find one, I'll get back to you. Maybe then I'll finally get a job. As the next Prime Minister. Messing up Great Britain, one piece at a time, in the way only I can. 

Just saying no... to plastic surgery

For you lucky few who have the privilege to know me personally, you'll all be able to agree that I am rather an opinionated person. (If you don't realise this by now, please make effort to get to know me better. Bring me some cookies. Buy me a sambuca and we'll be best friends.) Aside from that, I'm also a rather opinionated person with nothing to do for at least the next month other than read newspaper articles online. And today, I came across a rather interesting one.

Now, I realise that I have already ranted about the government pressuring us lovely British people that we need to generally be better at everything. But this article really bothered me. To all you 'manly men' out there reading this delightful blog,  I'm going to introduce you to a topic that circles women like a shopaholic let loose at a shoe sale. Something which you think you understand, but let's face it, as men, you don't understand much other than the offside rule and eating. So, here we are lads, the one thing you can't fathom about women - Breasts.

Yes boys, BREASTS. Not boobs. Not tits. Not nunga nungas, (though if you do have the chance to watch Angus, thongs and perfect snogging, I thoroughly recommend it.) Looking at breasts in lads magazines isn't going to broaden your knowledge of the subject, though it may distract you from zombie games for five seconds. Pretending to be fascinated by the quality of writing on page three of the Sun won't do it either - and yes we've all been there. Including me.

Different shapes and sizes don't make us different 

Boys, I know it's tempting but let's try not to objectify women, eh?  We have enough trouble as it is, what with all our 'sandwich making', 'ironing', 'cleaning' and shoe shopping to do. I don't think we need  a bunch of lads talking to our chests and not our faces on top of our problems. I'm not saying women are oppressed these days, but I'm not saying that we aren't either. But, that's a topic for another blog.

Now, as I've already said, I came across a rather interesting article today, courtesy of the BBC themselves. The link is just here >> BBCnews - Health. But, as we are the British population and we are slowly becoming too lethargic to even click a button, here's an overview.

So round 7,000 women in England along are being checked for have faulty breast implants. And around 47,000 women who live in the United Kingdom go under the knife privately, rather than with the NHS. I remember once reading that over 300,000 a women a year in the US alone undergo breast augmentation. That's a lot.

Apparently, there has been a major cause for concern regarding breast enhancement as it has recently been discovered that the cosmetic service industry may have been using substandard materials. The materials aren't toxic but, there are safety concerns. The French started the whole thing off, interfering in the way only the French can. Though, to give them credit, they were fully justified to do so in this situation. These PIP implants were statistically found to have double the risk of rupturing.

It isn't even the risk of having toxic tits that deters me from having implants. If anything, I'd have a breast reduction from a D cup to a C cup but, sadly, I am a poor student without a job and with enough common sense not to go through with it. Ladies, we all want to change something about ourselves, but selling off the family pet and taking out a loan with 1746% APR is a bit extreme. Let's all just calm down. Put the kettle on. Have an Irish coffee. And in the words of Uncle Bryn from Gavin and Stacey; "WILL YOU JUST LOOK AT YOURSELVES??"

You are BEAUTIFUL the way you are. You are born with everything you have and frankly, you should be grateful. Like I've said in a previous blog, and a billion times about the world's population, it's the person inside and not the package that counts.

Admittedly, we Britons enjoy pointing out our flaws to not only ourselves, but each other. The amount of times I've asked my boyfriend if my bum looks big in something is ridiculous. Plus, even when I get the answer I want, (ALWAYS a resounding NO, for future reference boys), I'm still not satisfied. We women never are. But that doesn't mean we should go under the knife unnecessarily  to embrace ourselves.

Plus, let's be honest here, nobody wants to end up looking like Katie Price. It isn't natural beauty and it isn't a true depiction of the typical British woman. Breast implants, lipo suction, bum enhancement and face lifts - all of them just make you look like a Barbie doll. I'd rather look like Ursula from the little mermaid and be happy than fear for my face if I get too near an open flame.

Valeria Lukyanova - The 21 year old Ukrainian seeking to be the real life Barbie doll 

Not to mention all the dangers that come with surgery itself. Women often have had to have additional surgery to fix their haphazard breasts, have complained of joint problems and suffered symptoms similar to 'Rheumatoid Arthritis ', (type it into Google and prepare to be put off surgery.) Some women have even had to take steroids to fix the millions of repercussions of cosmetic surgery, which, have negative effects in themselves.

Girls, I'm not saying the fires of hell will burn down on you should you even consider cosmetic surgery. And I'm not saying that some very obnoxious people may even encourage you to do it. I just want to make it clear that this is 2012. Our rights to be strong and independent women weren't handed on a silver platter. The sandwiches and crumpets might've been, but our rights to think for ourselves weren't. Try to embrace your bodies. Don't allow the media to pressure you into becoming something you weren't built to be.

Anyway, that's enough of that from me. If my negative ranting isn't enough to put you off enhancing yourself , feel free to watch Embarrassing Bodies on Channel 4. You will never eat at ten o clock in the evening again.

With my sincerest thanks to my boyfriend, who lies to me every day about my 'beach ball body'. If you enjoy my ranting, I'm sure you'll enjoy his a lot more! 

http://whatdidchrissaynow.blogspot.co.uk/

And they're off...

As I sit here watching the official closing of the London 2012 Olympic Games, I cannot help but wonder what I am going to do with my life when this long and drawn out ceremony finally finishes. I feel like I have eaten, slept and breathed the Olympics for the past two weeks. Including, of course, my fantasies of Tom Daley diving into my eagerly awaiting arms.

As an overview of my highlights of the closing ceremony, I have to say it was quite outstanding to be honest. People were moaning here, there and everywhere within the first five seconds that it wasn't going to be a patch on the opening ceremony.  Quite frankly, it was a given. More than half of the opening of the Olympics was dedicated to watching athletes representing 205 nations stroll along the track, littering flags here and there to trip up their opponents. Admittedly, there was a fair bit of flag waving and strolling in the closing ceremony, but the amount of athletes representing their countries had seriously depleted, which wasn't much of a shock. The real shock lay in the fact that Greece could afford a flag.

The choice of music was... eclectic. It was all going fine until One Direction came skipping onto centre stage. I'm sorry to all you One Direction fans who worship the ground these boys walk on, but putting them on stage in the closing ceremony is like Canada saying; "Hey! Look at us! We're great at Hockey, but here we are showcasing our shameful secret that is Justin Beiber to the world!" Not gonna happen, girls. Ever. We only got an introduction to the Bohemian Rhapsody and we get One Direction songs belted into our bleeding eardrums twice. Urgh. Big mistake, Britain, big mistake.

I loved the fact that we managed to wangle a bit of George Michael into the ceremony, especially after the traumatic year he has had. If anyone, like me, has gone gay clubbing for the evening in Cardiff, then you'll know what I mean when I say that I felt like I had walked into Pulse. Bless him, he had all the ideals that the Olympics promoted; Determination, courage, bravery, doping. You have to have that to stand up in front of the world and sing a crap new song no one want to here. It was the rare 

opportunity for me to agree with my boyfriend who was screaming at George to sing Club Tropicana.

Russell Brand did an alright job, didn't he? Though he is no Gene Wilder. Instead of telling some jokes, he brought his own personal touch of.. madness to the evening. All I'll say on the subject is that his singing can only be compared to Timmy Mallet reading Shakespeare.

To be fair though, the aftermath of Brand was incredible. Who else felt that their childhood's had been relived and summed up all at once when the Spice Girls were singing? My brain wanted to explode in protest to such awesome music. The number plates reading 'Spice', were so creative. I wouldn't have been able to dream that up.

Spice girls on the typical black cabs of London. 

When we think Spice Girls, we immediately associate that little spat they had with Liam Gallagher. Oh Liam... Do the world a favour and ring Noel up. Have a little chat. Invite the dear over for a cuppa or two. Reminisce about the good ol' days when the music industry knew who you were. Have a cry. Have a cuddle. Reform Oasis. That's all I have to say on the matter.

Though when I read that line to my boyfriend, he said he'd rather swan dive into a deep fat fryer than listen to another Oasis album.

Muse - Doing the best impression of Edward Cullen since Gary Glitter

Moving on with the choice of music that makes the rest of the world stop and think, "Did we actually believe this country was great at music and terrible at sport two weeks ago?", Muse took to the stage. What the HELL were they wearing? Look guys, you may have written some songs for the backtracks of the Twilight movies once upon a time, but that gives you no excuse to dress up at Edward Cullen. They're take on 'the dark side' of the Olympics wasn't exactly a tune that could be played when Jessica Ennis won the pentathlon, but there could've been a bit more pomp and circumstance to the affair. It's just the Olympics - no big deal.

Good old Boris made my night though. He threatened the good people of London for ages that he might do something 'crazy' during the ceremony and frankly, he kept to his word. Doing the best version of the truffle shuffle I've seen since watching The Goonies alongside our beloved David Cameron may just well be enough to ensure that we have a Labour government for at least the next fifty years.

BORIS FOR PRESIDENT

Speaking of dancing, who else immediately thought that David Cameron would be absolutely enthralled with the Indian dancing during Eric Idle's performance? Admittedly, I was hoping that the Queen would be blasted out of the cannon to EOL, but dear old Eric is more than enough to make up for that disappointment.

The whole ending that Rio de Janerio performed was alright. After the near miss with Boris waving the flag and potentially repeating 1666, Brazil promised us some samba and a street sweeping dancer. At least it wasn't as bad as our contribution to Beijing. There was also the third worlds version of Will.I.Am, running up an electricity bill with EDF energy at the tax payers benefit. Nice. Surely Duran Duran could've just come on stage and sung Rio to save the time and effort.

On that happy note, I have to say I am quite looking forward to the 2016 Olympics, if we make it past December 22nd this year. Hopefully, team GB will be just as outstanding as they have been in this Olympics, as will the brilliant support they received from the British public. It's safe to say that in years to come, I will proudly tell my children that I watched the London Olympic games. In HD. From the comfort of my sofa, munching popcorn and feeling proud to be British.

For all those who are devastated that they won't be seeing our beloved champion and idol, Mohammed Farah, running until 2016, here's a little something to stop the withdrawal symptoms.

Mofarahrunningawayfromthings

British media making us Britons feel insecure

Recently, I had the traumatic experience of my own mother ruthlessly informing me that I need to go on a diet before I become too large to fit into our new extension.  Of course, these weren't her exact words, as the extension would fit about ten sumo wrestlers inside it, but the sentiment was there.

Adding to that, I just told the wonderful woman herself that I had dedicated a blog to her wise words, to which her reply was, "Yes. So go to the park and get some exercise."

Charming.

Now, I know all too well that I have possibly pilled on some pounds. Since being at home from university, I have probably consumed my own body weight in KFC, McDonalds and snacking on crappy food. Twice over. I'm becoming the next endorser for Woman Vs. Food. Britain style.

Honestly, I have never been one of these outgoing people and I have never really been comfortable in my own skin. We, especially in Britain, are very good at finding our own 'imperfections' - and apparently, mine is my sky rocketing weight.

I'm not saying I'm huge, despite likening myself to The Venus of Willendorf in my previous blog. I'm a comfortable size 12 and whilst I find many things to dislike about myself, I am ultimately happy with that. I'm not one of those girls who wears a size 8 and posts pictures on Facebook with the description reading, "Look how fat I am!" or "I hate this picture!" If you feel that bad, don't post the photo. Stop fishing for compliments and raining on my 'hideously huge' size 12 parade.  If I'm fat, so be it. I like food too much to quit eating it.

According to the media, our 'reliable' government and the general public, people need to be a certain size or shape nowadays. Who do these people think they are to pass judgement and tell us how we should be?

Isn't Britain a multicultural country?  Our country is pretty much built on immigration, and we embrace that fact. We welcome those from other nations into Britain, and we accept cultural differences for what they are. Britain, (grudgingly maybe) accepts difference, be it race, gender, religion or culture.

All I'm saying is, that if we can embrace immigrants into our country, can we not accept the people who already reside in Britain?

Britney Spears showing the World her 'imperfections'

The 'ideal woman'

People, and women especially, have pressure thrown at them from every angle. The big bad media companies are increasingly seeming to take great pleasure in telling us how to look, what to eat, how to act and blah blah blah. The fact is, the media isn't as much the deterrent  as everyone believes.  Teen Mom didn't discourage teenage girls to frolic into the great outdoors and impregnate themselves. Not even the sequel did. So, no, BBC, ITV and every other program out there blissfully putting images of doctors measuring pounds of fat onto my TV screen while I'm happily adding up the calories in my lasagna, I AM NOT INTERESTED. I'm constantly being told that I need to be skinnier, where nicer clothes, style my hair a certain way and generally be more attractive. Have they ever heard the expression, 'it's what's on the inside that counts?' Maybe that should be promoted more often.

Alongside that, the government is installing 'competitive sport' into all schools in the UK. Oh David Cameron. What happened to good old, clean and friendly physical education classes? I hope the conservative government realise that making PE competitive will only encourage children to fight and bully other children who may lack prowess in sports. Well, the liberals may be able to shed some light on the whole lacking in prowess issue.

Basically, I'm saying all this 'media huff', and pressure is absolutely ridiculous. Just embrace what you are, despite how difficult that may be. Accept your curves, or lack of, and just be damn well happy with who you are. At least then I won't have to put up with having my calorie loaded meals interrupted by Supersize Vs. Superskinny.