Wednesday, 30 June 2010

Why driving is not for the mentally inept (ie; me)

I started learning to drive at the tender age of 17, as per usual (in the UK, that is).

I was terrible on my first lesson, of course, having never even got into the drivers seat of such a mind boggling machine before. But driving is hard. And learning to drive has been one of the toughest things I have done in. my. life.

My mind is the type of mind that goes everywhere at once with a single thought. Multi-tasking is difficult for a girl like me at the best of times, so handling a car overheats my brain after an hour or so.

I cannot begin to tell you how much money I have spent on driving lessons in these two years (yes, two) and to be honest, I'd rather not work it out. I think I would probably have a nervous breakdown.

On average it takes a person 40 hours to pass their driving test. For me, god knows how many, but I'd say it was nearing the 100 mark. On the plus side, at least I've had a lot of practise.

It took me five tests to pass. I attribute this large number of tests to my brain, yet again. It seems that I am very affected by the outside world when I drive. The first three times, I was too nervous to concentrate (although I did nearly pass the first time). Unfortunately that near pass made me more nervous about the test as I then cared more about passing it. Talk about your vicious circles.

Eventually I managed to calm myself down enough after my third attempt, where I almost gave up entirely after failing where my twin had succeeded. The fourth attempt was atrocious and doesn't bear thinking about. And on the fifth, success.

I am now the proud owner of a shiny new pink driving licence.

My brain has not yet made a full recovery from the shock of Actually Passing.

Tuesday, 29 June 2010

Why housing at Uni is a nightmare

University is meant to be really fun, right? Right! There's the legal drinking (and smoking if you succumb to nicotine like a cat on catnip), the clubbing, the great new friends and the absolute independance that comes from leaving the parents safely tucked away at home.

What they forget to tell you about are the bad bits. Trying to get up for 9am lectures, the sheer mountain of extra work (ok, sometimes it's a mountain, especially if you leave it to the last minute)and the housing.

My housing, in particular has indeed been a nightmare. When I first went to uni, I decided it would be much more cost effective if I stayed (with my sister) in my mum's friend's house. This was possibly the worst decision I have ever made. Not only was the woman a control freak who liked her house to look like it hadn't been lived in and us to do all the hard work, but it was at least a 20 minute bus journey away from the town centre, where the Uni (and any glimpse of a social life) is.

Next were the halls. They at least were a step up from the constricting world of the suburbs. However, sharing your kitchen with nine other (mostly) disgusting human beings who don't bother to wash up made me almost want to move back. And the noise. If I had a driving lesson in the morning, you could guarantee I would be knackered for it.

The guy next door playing his music till 11, sometimes 12. The drunken people loudly echoing the most annoying sound in existence (the traffic lights right outside my window). Oh, and not forgetting the girl down the corridor with the HUGEST mouth I have ever heard coming in after a night out. Thank god that year is over.

This coming year I am sharing a house with a truly great girl, her male friend and her boyfriend. Believe me, it will be so, so good. The only thing is sorting out the house in the first place!

I never knew true independance would be so hard, not only on your mind but on your money as well. In one meeting, I gave over £300, which seriously dented my finances. I won't even be in the place though the summer and yet I will be paying the monthly rent (with much remorse on the waste of good money). And then there are the meetings, luckily not too hard on my poor brain, where I get confused over how to split the bills and how much money I'll be needing.

So yes, housing at Uni is a nightmare, but hopefully there's a light at the end of the tunnel. At least next time I try for a house, I'll know exactly what I'm doing.

Monday, 28 June 2010

Why you should never get into your boyfriends interests

My boyfriend REALLY likes his football. When I first started dating him, I despised it, as any sane girl should. Now, however, after going to several of his teams' matches and watching god knows how many on the television (with him and his football orientated family), I have started caring. I am ashamed on behalf of all woman kind.

There are a few things a girl should know before they decide to try to get used to their boyfriend's love of football. First of all, it is a highly overrated sport. Second, it is also highly overpaid. Third, who actually wants to see men obsessing over where a ball goes? Its like watching fish swim for 90 minutes, and thats not including the extra time that grates at your soul and the penalties that leave you really wanting to put your head in the oven.

Most importantly, if you find yourself actually caring about what happens in a match (ie; muttering about bad passes, telling a footballer to get up after a less than convincing fall)then watch out.. you will be dissappointed several times during the coming weeks.

For those who don't know, the World Cup happens every four years. And that unfortunately for me, my boyfriend wants to watch every single match in that dreaded competition this year. Now, thats fine by me, because I sit there with my book and read through the ones I don't find interesting.

It's the ones I do find interesting. England in particular. I could now go on for years about the absolute embarrassment that the World Cup has brought upon us. All for the sake of a little ball and a little cup that isn't even pure gold.

So here is a lesson for you all. Before you try to be interested in what your boyfriend may possibly love almost as much as you, think of me, and then rethink your er.. goals.