Well, fuck that.

I noticed last week that I had no title, so I hope the oh-so-shocking and risque nature of this one makes up for what last week lacked. And I've noticed I'm getting into the habit of apologising at the beginning of blog's somewhat regularly; for this, I am sorry. I'm also human, I make mistakes, as do you. But then, I don't think you were criticising me, and my defence of my own imperfections is actually me defending myself against myself (or perhaps God, if you choose to see it that way). Sorry about that. Finally in the list of timely apologies, my blog has apparantly sucked so much, it's now as dry as a camel's arsehole (metaphor courtesy of a lovely little girl from Swansea) Though this metaphor gives rise to the impression that humour can be 'dry', which is a compliment, and you must not make this mistake. Shame on you. Well, maybe it hasn't sucked, but I've been told it isn't quite what it used to be. Sorry, I'll try better next time.

While I appreciate all constructive criticism, the nature of that powerful force is one of pompous self-assurance. The arrogant assumption that you are a better person, because you can be totally shit at something and someone can say "you were shit, because of this", and you reply with "oh I see, I will attempt to refrain from further shitness in future". Well, fuck that. I'm going to be different. I'm going to be totally original and be proud of my mistakes. Or, I'm just going to accept the criticism, change my view twice since the past paragraph, and resolve to be more interesting in future. In summary: there is nothing wrong with standing up for what you believe in, but there is also nothing wrong with accepting criticism, but also you shouldn't just accept whatever people say in some vain attempt to better yourself.

In summary of the summary: life is infinitely variable, and everything is so dependant on context, that no universal laws regarding blogging ettiquette can ever be founded. Therefore, let us eat cake. I like Victoria sponge.

Right, my existenstial and metaphysical moral crises aside, let us move on. The small amount of anger generated by attempting to decide my own views on a subject has been fed by a series of events that have occured to me recently. I am now going to rant at you for the next few paragraphs, so apologies if I'm more angry than witty, but people are essentially crap at life and need to be told of their faults (constructively, of course).

Rant subject one: slow walkers. I am not a slow walker. You may be a slow walker. I don't care. I am seriously getting fed up of having to walk slowly behind someone, when I am perfectly capable of walking faster than a snail. Hold on there Toby, how insensitive, as you were saying about context, perhaps someone has had a bad day and is drudging along? Or maybe they have something wrong with their leg? Yes, I realise this. And I understand completely, and even I walk slowly from time to time, during a leisurely and pensive stroll perhaps. But when I do so, I ALWAYS LEAVE ROOM FOR PEOPLE TO OVERTAKE. I think that's what annoys me more than slow walking really. Slow walking is fine, if that's how you want to go, but please let other people get past you if they're in a hurry. None of this three person abreast on the path business thank you, you can have your conversation about how that boy has no feelings whatsoever and a penis that size of a shrivelled raisin when you reach your destination ladies. Toby needs to get to the library to complete some last minute work. Which brings me to my second subject.

Rant subject two: people talking in the quiet section of the library. No, I'm not a prude, I am perfectly happy for people to chat while working if that helps them, and for people to work together on something (as so often in life we must suffer/enjoy the company of others). But there are places for that, namely the bits near the windows which are nice and pleasant, perfect for pleasant conversation. But when I go down to the basement, to the quiet room, with the separaters between each deskspace, I would like peace and quiet in which to concentrate please. I will say sorry here for sounding like an arse, but seriously people, if you want to chat can you do it somewhere else please? And don't get me started on phone conversations, take it three whole metres away to the stairs where we can't hear you! And finally...

Rant subject three: inane news stories. Almost done. The "story" I speak of in particular is one regarding a certain football player and his adulterous antics. Who. Cares. Seriously. For starters the woman he slept with was his teammates ex-girlfriend anyway, so it's not even that bad. But even if it was, why do I need to know? Updates on Haiti, yes. Information on how the war in Afghanistan, sure. But why do I need to know about footballers? I don't understand it. There are plenty of non-stories like this though, all talked about seemingly to fill up space. And yet, with all this space, you never heard about anyone who has done something good; you never hear about the bloke that donated a large sum of money to a charity, or the woman that gave up her weekend to help a group of disadvantaged youth. Granted they may not be particularly grand of exciting, but surely they're preferable to hearing about a group of "overpaid illiterate borderline rapists whose job it is to herd a piece of leather into an outdoor cupboard". Thank you, Bill Bailey.

Okay, I would like to end as I started, by apolosing for my rants. But they needed to be said. In a (probably pointless) attempts to curb your likely resulting anger transferred upon you from me, have a nice lovely thought: someone out there is happy because of you. Maybe it's a kid with a jumper in a poor country, maybe it's your mum. Doesn't matter, somewhere there is someone. Have a good week everyone!

~ Toby