So I guess every blogger and his dog’s writing a piece on the UK General Election first television debate. *jumps firmly but briefly on the bandwagon*.

I don’t really think I need to say much myself, as it’s all been said before, however I would just like to leave you with a comment from Victoria Coren:

One of the most enjoyable things about the debate was the way Alastair Stewart shouted the leaders’ names, in order to swap from one to another, and how obediently they responded. (“Gordon Brown! Now David Cameron! Mr Cameron and then Mr Clegg! Mr Clegg and Mr Brown together … Cameron on descant.”)

Once Mr Stewart had the trio reacting with such alacrity to his commands, it’s a shame he didn’t go for the full Whose Line Is It Anyway. I kept waiting for him to shout “Now, in the style of a horror film! Western! Swedish melodrama! Now mention a washing machine!”

Some say only David Dimbleby can handle these debates with style. But I say we should give Clive Anderson a go.

I really admire bloggers who can open their hearts to the world (you know who you are), but I just can’t do it myself. I know some of the many reasons behind why you do it, but I’m too private. Every time I try to post something really personal it gets indefinitely stuck in my drafts folder.

In person? Not so much. But then I know who I’m talking to ‘in person’.

…and yet I’m supposed to be a technology-embracing-internet-friendly geek?! I suppose I am. I’m not really sure any more.

Well… I couldn’t resist. I put it up a few weeks ago, and am fairly sure it’s still there. (If you can’t read it, the top print out is this.)

Always do sober what you said you’d do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.

- Ernest Hemingway

‘He may start off discussing intellectual and technological issues, but give him a few months and he’ll be talking about his cats like everybody else’

Neil Gaiman

(Thank you, ruethewhirl.)

Ivor Gurney: Sleep (Marcus Farnsworth), Wigmore Hall International Song Competition 2009.

Come, sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving
Lock me in delight awhile;
Let some pleasing dream beguile
All my fancies, that from thence
I may feel an influence,
All my powers of care bereaving.
Tho’ but a shadow, but a sliding,
Let me know some little joy,
We, that suffer long annoy,
Are contented with a thought
Thro’ an idle fancy wrought:
O let my joys have some abiding.

(…and all other members of the “Guild of Seamstresses”)

Went shopping in Newcastle today and, after spending an horrendous amount of money on shirts & ties (pretty as they are), I saw this rather nice display:

I lost my phone last night.

A friend and I were walking back to my college Chaplain’s house for fireworks & other November 5th Festivities, and she mentioned how she’d once left her phone behind during a lecture, panicked for 5 minutes, but then realised how ‘liberating’ it felt. She challenged me to 24 hours without my phone, at the same time next week.

Irony would of course have it that on that very same evening I would be stupid enough to let my phone slip down the side of a sofa, & not notice its absence on the way home. Liberating isn’t exactly the word I would’ve chosen. 18 hours later and it has been returned safely to its owner, but I wasn’t happy!

Why am I so attached to it? Does it really give me that much of a sense of security? (This is the point where many older readers will inevitably chip in with a helpful comment such as ‘well, we always managed just fine in my day…’)

Being connected is now seen as a right, not a privilege. Another friend joked “Isn’t it one of the basic requirements for life: Energy, sunlight, H2O, space & internet?”

I almost resent the dependence (dare-say addiction?) on being able to call or text anyone, being able to look anything up on the internet, or check my email whenever I want…

…but probably not enough to give it up for a whole day intentionally.

“Never trust a man who, when left alone in a room with a tea cosy, doesn’t try it on.”

I’ve been challenged by a few things I’ve seen recently about what you can sensibly define as art, or is that not the point?

This piece here prompted it:

…partially due to the fact that it hit the local news, along with the video & story behind it. To cut a long story short, this piece cost him 60 hours community service, and a £600 fine.

As Andy Warhol said, ‘Art is what you can get away with’

Anyway, I know absolutely nothing about art, apart from what I think looks pretty. So, without further ado, I present to you, the masses (is it ‘masses’ if the masses aren’t massive?) some prints from deviantArt wot I would like to buy, and may well have ordered by the time I finish writing this.

Oh, and I’d quite like to get some of my own photography printed too… we’ll see.

Who said student living couldn’t be extravagant?