Maybe when you were at university and dreading the real world, maybe like me you ended up doing a Masters because you couldn’t quite face it yet, maybe you travelled to the outer edges of the world to escape or maybe you’re sat there right now thinking I’m a graduate, now what?

I have just finished a one year placement, I need a job, but the only ones I can find seem to be companies expecting a hell of a lot of work for no money whatsoever. Dangling the carrot of ‘hey you may possibly get a job’ in front of the donkey of despair.

Wear this ridiculous hat and let me ride you, then I might possibly give you a job.

Worst of all, they make you compete against all the other unemployed dregs of society just for the chance to bring them tea everyday for the next three months. Sitting upon their mighty thrones laughing at you for even daring to think you should be paid for doing a job.

This is the world of the unpaid internship.

In two words: Fuck them.

Internships are made for people with money. ‘Oh yah I totally completed a two month internship at Vogue’, did you really? Well I had to pay my rent and lived entirely off lentils for the last four weeks.

It wouldn’t be too bad, if we weren’t all grasping for some way to heat our homes over winter, but there is nothing, nada. Most jobs you have to jump through thousands of hoops just to get to the interview, I once filled out an application form for a Sales Assistant at Boots which included a psychometric test.

It’s Boots, you’re a chemist, even a psychopath could ring up paracetamol and shampoo every day.

Do you have a Boots advantage card?

Nick Clegg has come out to say he is championing against this pathetic industry, but my hopes aren’t high. A man who has now been characterised forever as a self loathing, sad teddy bear who has bitten off more than he can chew, is not someone I trust.

http://www.prweek.com/uk/channel/PublicAffairs/article/1098175/nick-clegg-champions-campaign-end-unpaid-internships/

Nick Clegg is sad for you.

Unpaid internships are the scourge of the job seeking graduate. Ever wondered when you’re going to become a real person?

As far as they’re concerned.

Never.

Today however is an exception because I have decided to write about writing, to be more precise my writing.

I’ll let you into a little secret, I’m pretty shy. In fact I am sometimes cripplingly shy. Its not so bad as it sounds, most people see shyness as some form of rudeness or in even odder cases a person who is wise but does not wish to share all their thoughts with the world. This may be true in some cases, but not in mine. I am an introvert, I don’t want all attention on me and that’s that. The end.

After that revelation, it may come as a shock to discover that I actually love talking and I love people. People are brilliant. They are funny and interesting, they are surprising and most of all so wonderfully human (I’m going a bit Dr Who here aren’t I?).

The problem is add the whole shy I don’t want to approach strangers thing to the whole everyone is great, let’s all chat thing – it all gets a bit confusing. This is where the wonders of journalism come into play.

Currently, after slogging away for a year at Salford Students’ Union, I’m back finishing my Masters in Journalism. This task involves interviewing around 20 different people on subjects from the reopening of a community pub to the sparkly new world of Media City. See, there are two things you need to be a journalist; you need to like stories and you need to be able to listen (you also need to be able to write, but that should come with the stories bit).

I spent most of my Masters fearful my shyness would stop me getting a job, that I’d never be able the stories because I wasn’t (sorry about this term) ballsy enough. Then I realised, that’s not what’s important. Sure you need to be able to have a bit of confidence, but you’re more likely to get a decent story by being a bit more relaxed and interested in what the person is saying, than a pure extroverted arrogance trying to sell a sob story for a quick buck.

I have in the last two weeks interviewed around 10 people, and they have all been lovely. They were welcoming, they were interesting. They gave the quotes that make you smile as a journalist. They talked because I was willing to listen.

Now Salford may not have the best reputation in the world (or the North West for that matter) and its pretty easy to see why. The place is grey, seems to be constantly covered in menacing grey clouds and when the sun does come out it bounces delightfully off the grey towersblocks onto the grey pigeons below. Even the people seem to wear a extraordinarily amount of grey tracksuit bottoms.

But, looking past the grey, there is colour and it is in the people. In my years living in Manchester, the people in Salford are some of the most welcoming and generally nice people I’ve met. They look past my strange North Eastern twang, they are happy to talk about anything from the weather to gang war. (Yes I have had an oddly jolly conversations with a shopkeeper about gang war in Salford during the 90s).

My shyness will live on in me forever, sure I am more confident than those confusing teenage years and I don’t even talking on the phone too much, but its there lingering in the background. That won’t stop me writing though, because you don’t need to be an extrovert to realise people are generally nice and will talk to you about anything.

What the hell is that thing?

It was Saturday, my boyfriend lay lazily on the sofa next to me, I flicked over to BBC one. It was Dr Who time. The second episode of the new series; awash with terrifying monsters, a mysterious child in a spacesuit and former US president Richard Nixon.

Halfway through, as the team investigated a extremely creepy orphanage overrun with the forgettable Silence, my boyfriend looked at me and said “Do you have any idea what is going on?”

The problem was, not an inability to comprehend basic plotlines on his part, but the fact he’d never seen an episode of Dr Who before. In fact the only reason he was being forced to sit through it was my insistence to see the next installment, and the second episode in a two part special was probably not the best introduction.

Fast forward to this week, I switch on BBC iplayer to catch up on the next episode. The name Neil Gaiman flashes up on the screen and as my boyfriend and I are both fans, I texted him to tell him of this. Then in reply I recieved  ‘Tell if me if it is accessible to non Dr Who fans’.

As I watched the unfolding action, the doctor’s TARDIS is transferred into the soul of a woman, Rory nearly dies (again), Amy cries because Rory nearly died, an Ood who I was pretty sure was called Mathew until I realised halfway through they were calling him Nephew: it suddenly hit me, has Dr Who become completely inaccessible?

So he travels around space fighting Smeg fridges?

I didn’t begin my Who obsession until quite late, adamantly refusing to watch like a surly teenager. Then I caught some repeats, and luckily I landed on two of the best episodes in the first series ‘The Empty Child’.

The first outing for Stephen Moffat, who has taken over for the past two series, even in my cynical mindset I couldn’t turn it off. An adventure of mystery, fear, but with dabbles of humour sprinkled throughout. I quickly caught up on everything I’d missed, from Eccleston to Tennant, spending hours taking it in.

When I heard my favourite writer Moffat had taken the reigns, I was overjoyed, gleeful to know what he would do with the time travelling hero. The introduction of Amy Pond, who far outshines Martha and whatever Catherine Tate’s character was called, a new doctor, what could go wrong?

Well nothing went wrong; it was great, as it had always been. The only problem, would anyone who hadn’t spent hours tucked up in bed drenching themselves in Dr Who get it?

The buzz surrounding the Doctor’s return, all those years ago was huge. Russell T Davis did a stellar job, as a big fan himself he took all the old elements and weaved them into a new modern day Doctor, but what made it work so well was the stories remained separate. They required no prior knowledge, beyond what you have picked up over the years; he’s a time traveller and the big blue police box is the TARDIS (oh and it’s bigger on the inside).

Bigger on the inside. If you know what I mean. I mean it's actually bigger on the inside, what were you thinking?

Now it seems that there is less for the causal viewer and with this new series, people attempting to work out what the hell is going on are left at the wayside. If you haven’t watched it by now, then this is not for you.

This is a shame, I long for the days when an episode would be wrapped up in an hour, when the story arc was mentioned fleetingly per adventure.

I know many older Who fans will say that this is the norm, that stories would go on for weeks in the previous incarnation’s of the Doctor, but that isn’t my Doctor Who.

I just wonder, what has the Doctor got to offer to the newbies?

Top five standalone episodes:

For the newbies out there, here are my top five standalone episodes:

One: The Empty Child and the Doctor Dances – Series 1, episodes 9 and 10

Moffat’s first two part special and possibly my favourites of all time (sorry Blink). The story follows a strange boy in a gas mask who is terrifying the local neighbourhood during the WWII Blitz.

Genuinely unnerving in parts, Moffat shows he is one of the best writers out there.

Two: The School Reunion – Series 2, episode 3

Featuring previous sidekick’s Sarah Jayne and K9, even if you have no idea who they are it doesn’t matter.

Written by Being Human’s Toby Whitehouse, Giles from Buffy is head of a school which has some odd goings on. Despite that description, it is great and there is one line delivered by the headmaster which left me in stitches for days.

Technology apparently starts to look very 80s again in the future.

Three: The Girl in the Fireplace – Series 2 episode 4

Another Moffat episode (notice a pattern emerging?).  I could go on about this episode for ages.

Forget Rose, Martha or Amy Pond, I truly never wanted the Doctor to be with anyone more than Madame de Pompadour.

Sexual tension and emotional insanity abound, also there’s some clockwork robots and the Doctor wandering around with his tie round his head.

As standalone episodes go, watch this. It doesn’t matter if you never see a Doctor Who episode again, just watch this. Watch it now!

Hey handsome.

Four: The Idiot’s Lantern Series 2 episode 7

There are two things I like about this episode; Mark Gatiss (League of Gentleman) wrote it and it’s about television.

Set before the Queen’s coronation, strange things are happening to people who’ve bought a bright shiny telly box to watch it on.

Nice, simple story, with enough scaremongering to stop children wiling their lives away on crap TV (for at least half an hour anyway).

Five: Blink – Series 3 episode 10

Dr who, terrifying children since 1963.

There are many things great about this episode, but one of them is that Martha isn’t in it too much and the Doctor doesn’t spend his time strutting around the place thinking he’s god’s gift to well time travel.

The episode which made a generation of children refuse to go near any statues for the next couple of months. If you haven’t heard of this episode then you truly have been hiding in a TARDIS shaped hole.

Just remember, don’t Blink.

As I attempted to describe Being Human to my friend, I realised it sounded a bit naff “It’s sort of about this vampire, werewolf and ghost who live together” is as best I managed before trailing off, aware I had made it sound like a terrible sci fi sitcom or something teenage girls would get a kick out of. Believe me; it is so much more.

Being Human is something incredible, a drama tucked away on BBC Three, with an incredibly loyal fan base and some of the best storylines to hit our TVs in the last decade. It is one of those gems, which when you start watching you automatically want to tell everyone about and you keep thinking “Why did I not know about this before?”

For one thing, it is extremely British; it holds a quaint yet sharp and monstrously dark British humour that most prime time sitcoms have yet to master, I’m looking at you ‘Not Going Out’. And believe me it is dark; there are scenes so harrowing you wouldn’t believe the BBC agreed to show it. Blood splattered across the sets, people mauled to death.

In the second series you sit and watch a man buckle in a compression chamber as stony eyed scientists slowly increase the pressure, blood bursting from his veins as he begs for his life and that’s just in the first episode.

However these are not the reasons it is brilliant (though they are part of it), Being Human is one of those rare finds where it has yet to hit a low.

I will admit I have only made it through the first two series, but I plan to embark on the third through the wonders of iplayer.

There is not a storyline or episode that isn’t compelling, the characters are so much deeper than they appear and with each new tale peels another layer. They are monsters, trapped in a terrifying cycle, and it continually begs the questions – who are the true villains, as you begin to root for a vampire with hundreds of kills under his belt or a werewolf who continually endangers his own and others lives.

TV guides rave about Dr Who or drool over Sherlock, but as this is hidden over on digital and most definitely cannot be shown before the watershed, I wonder if it has been overlooked. Maybe the initial premise does not appeal, I could understand, when you hear the words vampire and werewolf; the automatic response to switch off and assume the words Twilight and Edward Cullen are about to be uttered.

This is no Twilight, if Bella had been involved in this world she would have begged crying to go back to Forks where the vampires sparkled in the sunlight and the werewolves could change on whim.

Though Being Human has entered high on the top cult viewing, I just hope it will not fade into the distance. Forget all preconceptions you have about vampires, werewolves and ghosts – you’re about to be mesmerised.

Twitter is kind of Pokémon in the sense you have to Catch ‘em all, but instead of small Japanese monsters, you are catching people and there’s far too many to actually be able to catch them all.

Some people have more advantages than others, for example if you are a celebrity then you automatically acquire hundreds if not thousands of followers immediately, its sort of like buying a really powerful sword in an RPG – they don’t have to try as hard, but still get better results (video game analogies all over the place).

Most of us are just lowly peasants wandering around with a wooden dagger and a pathetic shield made out of cardboard, therefore we have to be quick witted. We must use our most valuable resource to get what we seek; our brains and our friends.

This is where #ff comes in; we are humble travellers wandering around the internet so resort to banding together against the powerful celebrities in an effort to gain more followers, who in turn help us find even more. Unlike many video games though, there is no real end. There is no point when we say; that is enough followers, I no longer need to tweet. Kind of like the Sims, we just keeping having more and more Sim children until we eventually turn it off and watch TV.

Then it doesn’t even stop, leave your twitter for an hour and suddenly hundreds of tweets have appeared, the trending topics have changed, everyone knows stuff that you don’t know. You must get tweeting again. Twitter and #ff tap into that part of the obsessive part of the human brain; the continual need for and to impart information, and rather than just to a gathering of your friends listening, now the whole world can!

That is if you collect enough followers though and so the cycle keeps going.

http://theoatmeal.com/comics/follow_friday

I always wish it was, when friends of mine know of obscure tracks buried deep in the internet and beyond the pages of NME, I just sit in silence hoping I don’t get found out, that my musical naivety isn’t revealed to the world. I murmur along to lyrics, nod happily to tunes and grin faux enthusiastically when someone is describing a band I have vaguely heard of.

It’s not that I don’t listen to music or enjoy it, I have favourite bands, I love going to gigs and festivals; it’s just everything that goes with it. The knowledge of the next big thing, or accidently liking a song past its acceptable sell by date or more accurately sell out date.

I find it hard in company to admit I quite liked a song because of its catchy tune and I hadn’t really thought about the lyrics or the meaning behind them. It is perhaps why I will never be truly cool (though I’m sure there are many reasons for that).

So how you may ask does this fit in with the White Stripes? Well when I found out they were splitting up I felt a twinge, a deep feeling inside reminding me of my teenage years listening to their albums, and I realised that maybe I’m not as immune to music as I think.

The White Stripes have been part of most of my formative musical life, from watching the lego Jack White scream Fell in Love with a Girl on MTV2, hearing the unmistakable bass line of Seven Nation Army or jumping around drunk on £2 VKs in a dingy club at university to My Doorbell.

And now as I flick through their videos on youtube, I find myself singing along without realising I knew the words.

The White Stripes walked that perfect line between popularity and cool, even with bestselling albums and songs that were regularly played on commercial radio stations, no one could ever say they had sold out because they never did. The music was as raw and as beautiful as it had always been. Jack White was as crazy as ever and his relationship with his sister/ex wife Meg even more so (if you don’t understand the reference I’d look it up, there was no incest in the White Stripes).

As Jack moved onto other bands he dominated them. I once saw the Raconteurs play live and all you could focus on was an incredibly tall Jack White towering above the rest of the band both physically and musically.

It is perhaps what is written on their website as a final goodbye that describes it best; “The White Stripes do not belong to Meg and Jack anymore. The White Stripes belongs to you now and you can do with it whatever you want. The beauty of art and music is that it can last forever if people want it to.”

Even I, who will grumble when the topic of music comes up, stare blankly at new bands with no clue who they are and will sit slightly bored watching acts I’ve never heard of, can say that the White Stripes do belong to me and they have been with me for so much of my life, and like the best things I didn’t realise it until they were gone.

According to my Twitter Sources, she has basically been loud and opinionated on the topic of twitter, because if there is one thing people on the internet like to talk about, it is the thing that takes up most of their lives… the internet.

Now I will admit when I was first introduced to Twitter, I stared at it, thought well this is just facebook without the ability to stalk a stranger’s holiday photos. Posted the generic ‘I have no idea how to use Twitter’ first status and left it at that.

I then came back, followed Stephen Fry (because he likes Twitter apparently) and my friend. Posted some more nonsense and again left it. Months went by, where it lay dormant, I didn’t check to see what people were saying and I didn’t post anything myself.

I, at that point may not have completely agreed, but would still be on the same wavelength as Janet Street Porter who described Tweeters as ‘moronic airheads’ and ‘desperately trying to validate their own existence’.

Now, I do not agree. As much as most people over the age of 35 believe that Twitter is a mindless, pointless activity; they couldn’t’ be more wrong.

Yes; there is the pull of celebrities, the belief that the barrier between famous and ‘real’ people is being lifted. Yes, there are morons who talk about their lives endlessly or how much they love Justin Bieber.

However there are morons in real life who talk about their lives endlessly and how much they love Justin Bieber and if you don’t want to hear why they and a 16 year pop star are meant to be together, don’t listen.

What there really is though is people and solidarity. People supporting others, news being spread across the globe. In seconds a horribly homophobic article by a Daily Mail writer can be subject to mockery by millions, and even more incredibly an entire nation can speak out and tell us why they are standing on the streets of Tahrir Square.

Those who are terrified by the internet, act like it is a monster trying to steal their children or even worse think it’s still horribly uncool. Those people are the real morons. They cannot see that the world wide web is more magical than anything we have ever experienced, and does more than print journalism, TV and radio put together.

Janet Street Porter may have some loudmouthed opinions about Twitter, but we should treat her like Justin Bieber fans of this world – let’s just not listen.

Everyday I will post a blog about a topic that is trending that day. I will be joined in the pursuit by@ajlanghorn who has a much snazzier blog than me, so I will just have to try hard to make my content good.

Hope you appreciate the blood, sweat and tears of this year’s February Blog challenge.

Peace out.

It, like most room’s owned by girls stumbling forth into independence, had absolutely nothing distinguishing about it. Photos of friends hung on the walls, quirky fairy lights donned the bedside table, the bed sheets were pasty pink to show they were a real ‘girly girl’ – a paint by numbers of halls accommodation, but there was one thing that caught my eye.

Among the hilarious postcards and posters stolen from smoky clubs at midnight, lay a list. This list in bold letters screamed the words; GOALS. There in blue felt tip, this girl had laid out her entire life.

This was no ordinary set of plans to try and make it through the term; a scribbled to do list starting with do essays on time and ending with eat less. This was a carefully set out path from one year to two years to exactly what she wanted to be doing in five years time.

Five years marks a lifetime when you’re 18.

Now I am the opposite; I have a diary that lays dusty and unused in the back of a cupboard. I make plans, but normally within the next few months and often they are just one time events; gig on Thursday, go for drinks with so and so on Saturday, trip to London in February.

I have by my own admission fallen into almost every educational facility and job I have ever been part of. That is not to say I have not worked hard, or wanted these jobs – I just never planned it. My life is an ongoing mystery as to what will happen next.

And I quite like it that way. I think goals are a brilliant tool of motivation but I always wonder how helpful they are. Ambition is undeniably an incredibly important and impressive trait, but to corner yourself into one place seems almost frightening to me.

The reason I bring this up, is the dreaded New Years Resolutions. A list of annual goals we all make and break in a week; they seem to exist to make us feel like failures so that when 2012 eventually rears its head, we can sit back and grimace at our failings of the previous year’s commandments.

This year I have no resolutions, I have no set goals. I only have ideas, I have plans and I have ambition. I will not set it in stone. I will enjoy myself and realise that a year is a long time. Five years even longer, because sometimes trying to predict your own future will only end in disappointment.

I remember the panic when you read the essay question and realised you didn’t turn up to any relevant lectures or indeed have any clue what they were going on about.

I also know that I didn’t once have to re-sit or fail a single module.

Therefore for all those struggling to make it towards the final finish line, here’s my guide to writing an essay in one night:

Make it original

A trick I learnt very early on is that if your essay title is original, it can boost your marks by about 10 a time. Mainly because if you’re writing an essay on Hitchcock every other hapless soul has done the same thing and probably done it better.

Make sure there is no comparison.

This is also helpful when you turn up to the Library two days before deadline to realise every book has already been taken out – pick a completely obscure subject and you’re sure to find a dusty old book at the back of the shelf somewhere.

You don’t need to know what you talking about – that’s what the first chapter is for

The first chapter of any book is your friend; it tells you everything you need to know. I gave up caring if 50% of my references came from pg 1 to pg 4; it never seemed to affect my mark.

Read it, reference it, done.

INDEX

After the first chapter, you’re other best bud is the index. Thumb it, find the chapter, open up on a random page, find a quote and just bang it in there. The best thing about these sorts of quotes is that you don’t even really need to explain them, as they are apparently self explanatory.

You can write whole paragraphs based on this premise, honestly the best way to get your word count up.

Caffeine is your friend and mortal enemy

A cup of coffee will keep you going when you feel yourself starting to drag; several cups will have you clutching the computer keys like a crazed maniac possibly crying.

I wrote essays so hyped up on this legal drug that I genuinely don’t remember writing them at all, this is not advised and should only be done in worst case scenarios.

For gods sake don’t drink

Ok so I know some people who seem to prefer the method of getting down to work after a tipple, but for everyone else avoid it. Don’t go out the night before, don’t drink while writing, just avoid it.

Alcohol is for afters (though I may advice you not to go out immediately after finishing, handing in an essay with a red wine hangover tops as one of worst experiences I had at university).

Don’t sleep until it’s done

My method was to always work until it was finished. I never slept and did it the next day. The day before you have the whole night, in the morning you have a couple of hours normally on hardly any sleep.

If you have to take the caffeine route, it is preferable to panicking an hour before deadline.

Food

Just eat and eat and eat. Get as many snacks as you can. It will get you through, this is not the time to be healthy, this is the time to finish a goddamn essay and monster munch is the only way through.

Work with others

I was incredibly lucky to live with three others all on the same course, all with exactly the same deadlines.

I don’t know if I could have done it without the hourly breaks, walking into each others room lying on each other’s bed and just grimacing at how your analogy of the Wizard of Oz was heavily lacking in content.

You end up racing each other to the finish line, if they are on 2,300 words and you’ve barely made it past 1,500 you will get a move on.

This is also helpful when you have no idea how to start and they let you sneak a peek at their introduction.

Just blab on

This is the one time in your life where you will be praised for writing far too much.

As long as it makes sense and it has a coherent enough structure, just blab. Turn that sentence into a paragraph, quote twice as much as you need to, analyse everything to death.

Celebrate afterwards

Once it’s in; celebrate. Drink yourself into a stupor, sleep for 24 hours and never ever read it again

This guide is for those of you who like me like the drama of the last minute essay.

For everyone who is aiming for a first then do not follow this; research your essays, hand them in two days in advance, get a good night’s sleep and don’t listen to anyone telling you how to scrap it together in a night.

Good luck. x