Lots of problems surround drinking. The media would have you believe this was a new issue, but it's not. I'm currently reading an article in New Scientist discussing how to cut levels of drinking and the connected problems.
One of these 'ideas' is to hike the price of alcohol so noone can afford it. This stinks, somewhat, of the same ideals of prohibition, which history tells us didn't work. It's a rather annoyingly simple idea in my head.
People + Alcohol = Bad People - Alcohol = Good
Things aren't that black and white.
From my point of view, well... I like a drink. If drink was upped in price (as if £3.50 for a pint isn't bad enough) I would, I believe, probably just move on to soft drugs which would be competitively cheaper in price. I wonder how many other people would find themselves driven underground, so to speak?
The blogger backlash from the likes of Doctor Crippen is, to be frank, getting on my fucking nerves.
Fine. John Prescott might've made this up to help shift more of his new book, god knows things more cynical than that happen on an every day basis, but what if he's not? If he's not, Doctor Crippen and his ilk are further pushing the idea that only young, skinny women suffer from eating disorders, which is a view that belongs in nowhere else other than the bin. I could dig up relevant statistics if I could be bothered, but I have read from several sources that more men and more older people are suffering from eating disorders like bulimia. Having a pop at John Prescott doesn't help awareness one bloody iota!
Anyway, onto the weekend. Well, back to the weekend, actually. I went out drinking, funding silly government proposals as I love to do. I was with quite a heavy-on-the-drink much of old mates of mine but wasn't getting too rat-arsed. One of them and I ended up in this place in my hometown, which is a 'bar' ran by a collective. I use 's as they don't really sell any ale, they just allow you to bring your own stuff and watch bands and stuff. Whatever they sell they do it at cost price and, generally, it's quite interesting. I spent the night crooning to a bunch of admiring girls who were certainly under the age of consent which was more than amusing.
It was here that I think my drink was spiked.
My memory is kinda hazy after said singing and accepting a drink from someone I barely knew. Before anyone shouts at me, I realise how idiotic this seems on paper, but real life is never so black and white. I kinda remember walking the 4 miles home in the rain and then going to the toilet. I brought up the best part of my entire Saturday menu. This was a repeated theme for the better part of Sunday, even when the product of my vomit projection was only water.
Now, I'm happy to admit to having a bit too much to drink. But this night, as tipsy as I was, I hadn't drank enough to be *that* sick. Couple that with the fact that I have memory gaps (I know, another possible side effect of alcohol) and the fact I accepted a random drink, I'm a bit spooked.
All's well that ends well, though, eh? Suffice to say, I have learned my lesson, even if no spiking was involved.
I got to go out and get drunk last night, which was nice. It was made more nice when it turned out I had no money so my bestest friend paid for me. So it's an extra special hangover.
Our nights out consist of drinking, obviously (and this counts as a binge, but not to the irresponsible-tits-out-in-front-of-TV-cameras level) and chatting shit, both of which I love. The verb to roister is one you should look up. After putting the world to rights and perving on numerous women who are, depending on the bars we got to, far too young, we will inevitably end up dancing. Last night, for example, we were tipsy enough that dancing when the DJ was barely unpacked seemed like an amazing idea - and it was for a few reasons.
Firstly and most importantly, it's fun. Second, it's out of the box which is quite hilarious. Linked to that, it also amuses or annoys the DJ in different amounts. And you can get into battles where he or she begins to play songs which they think will remove you from the dancefloor.
Rookie mistake. Schoolboy, even.
So, we go up a gear. The next best reason is that it ups the ante for people who may or may not want to dance. You get pretenders to the throne who are either too unattractive or too untalented to beat us. You also get people who think it's fascinating, which is quite adorable. So we stomp around a bit, having the jolliest of times, and by 11pm, when most people have barely got into it, we fuck off, leaving a massive hole in the night. Last night ended in a cute little gay bar in this city of ours, and - despite the constant debate, apparently, in my group at University - I like girls. So we also got to play the 'dance with girls and have them wonder whether we're interested or INTERESTED' game. Double fun.
So, home at 11pm. Eat greasy takeaway. We then woke up my best friend's housemates and proceeded to debate the merits of spider torture - the captured arachnid in question being HUGE. I eventually negotiated his or her release, even though I don't really like the octo-legged fuckers. Good karma, maybe?
Then we watched Anchorman. And by 'watch', I mean 'quote all of the lines whenever we're not giggling uncontrollably'. Guilty pleasures, eh?
We woke up and played FIFA07, which I think counts as vintage, which the classic 'ouselves as superstars' in action. The wage bill for us four boys has almost bankrupted Chester City, but we're worth it.
Then, with money in my bank account, I took us to a fancy coffee shop and bought us drinks and double fudge something or other. Pricey, but another top notch guilty pleasure. The black coffee gave me the shakes, which have still not left me. These caffiene shakes are exactly what I want from a decent cup of coffee, so I'm pleased. As to add to the expensive hangover, I read my new copy of New Scientist whilst flirting with a hot barista (no pun intended) with a bar piercing between her shoulder blades. Very cool.
I've been stressed and fed up recently, but the last 36 hours have got me joyed up. I'm pleased. I have to attend a clinical skills class tomorrow on medication and injections, which is about five months too late since I've done hundreds already. But if I don't go, they'll take away my bursary. Bloody hoops to jump through...
But, no. Essays handed in, which will hopefully pass. Passed my first maths/meds test. Hopefully I'll have my car sold in a few weeks and I have no money troubles for a while. Hell, I'm even reading research for fun! It is, as the saying goes, all good.
Nadine Dolt-iss might be dangerous if she rubbed her brain cell onto the other one, but she is still a minor annoyance, especially when channelling the far-right zealot views she propagates.
Thankfully, there are people like Unity around to pick their propaganda apart.
One of the more important issues, to me, is simple. So what if babies survive more earlier than 24 weeks? Just because they do, doesn't mean women should be obliged or forced to have them. It's the choice of that individual as to whether they wish to give birth or not. That's not the view of the religious nutjobs out there, clearly, but I'll keep shouting to make it heard, and I'm glad others will, too.
Just a quick note on how pathetic the fundamentalist kids currently on trial actually are. If they hated the West so much they'd be screaming in the dock. They'd be fighting with the bailiffs. More than anything, they'd say they were guilty and say they wished they'd gotten away with it, too (if not for you pesky kids). I mean, come on - they're on video pretty much admitting it! But no. They're pleaded not guilty. Where's their perverted image of a God now, I wonder?
Second point. We spoke more about accepting people's cultural norms (ad nauseum). So, I have decided to keep using the term 'bird' to mean woman. Yes, it's sexist, but it's also part of my cultural heritage. If it's good for the goose...
Today we had a lecture about 'Power and Empowerment'. I foresaw me puking up everywhere, but thankfully it was one of my favourite lecturers so it was alright, in the end.
We got onto the Carl Rogers bollocks idea of: 'When do you feel most empowered? Who empowers you? How do you stay empowered?'*
The above (and below) asterisk information may be quite flippant, but it's half true. I empower, as I believe in myself. Maybe this is a good example of self-realisation in the Maslowe sense. It's certainly concerned with my personal ideas being in step with the image I portray. So, I empower myself. What helps? Being flippant, to be honest. And being in the thick of things. I'm a male nurse working in the adult sphere. I'm pretty rare, and it's a big challenge, and that gets me out of bed every morning more than the 8:30am showing of Frasier.
I stay empowered by frequently challenging myself and never hiding away in a comfort zone. My next ward is elderly Cardiology and Rhumetology. Originally, I wasn't looking forward to the elderly context. It's not an area I particularly love nor want to work in once I'm qualified. But I need to challenge myself, so that shall be an interesting adventure.
I will, as ever, keep you informed.
* My answers: All the fucking time, me and raw charisma were not utterly well in keeping with the lecture's ideas.
The Lords have decided that the idea of immigrants filling employment holes in the country is 'fundamentally flawed'. It's good to know that blind patriotism still exists within one of the most prejudiced houses in the country. Indeed, there are huddled masses of people sitting on the dole, just waiting for an opportunity to do some backbreaking labour that pays less than said dole to further Great Britain.
I am, of course, being sarcastic. Britain has always used cheap foreign labour. We probably will continue to do. In this case (i.e. the modern world) I think people should be able to come from wherever they want as long as they work and pay taxes. It's a dog eat dog world, and if someone who doesn't even speak English as a first language can get a job over some lazy fuckhead from this country, then power to them.
The establishment sending out mixed messages doesn't help, though. Not to sound hypocritical, but I'd prefer it if more nurses spoke English as a first language. But thanks to the government's poor preparation and 'reap-what-we-didn't-sew-from-other-countries' strategy on nurse recruitment, that doesn't look likely any time soon. So less immigrants, except for nurses and who else, I wonder, House of Lords?