Study

So, I had a flash of inspiration (?) and randomly called up my old University and asked if it was too late to get on the MSc Criminology and Criminal Psychology course. Turns out it isn't and erm, I seem to pretty much be on it once I complete the on-line application form. I don't really know why I've decided to do this and to what end but I feel strangely excited to the point that my rational side is like a tiny voice in the dark that no one is listening too. It's been 4 years since I got my degree and all I did was make everyone's life a misery near the end. I'm going to have to get my head back into referencing, reading, oh god, I just remembered the referencing, the writing, research and deadlines. Oh god, REFERENCING. This is what happened when I went for my degree - I had a sudden idea and acted on it. Perhaps this is all for the good but hell, I don't know how I'm going to fund it. I might have to go down to the docks and prostitute myself. Unfortunately, the nearest dock is the Wightlink ferry terminal and the guys on board have only been at sea for 35 minutes so they won't be desperate enough to want to hire me for any more than a few pennies and hell, we all know how expensive education is nowadays!

Plus they might have scurvy. Can you get scurvy after half an hour without a lemon? Probably not OR, how's this - I could offer a lemon/prossie service.

....I'm joshing, I'm joshing. Everyone knows I've been single for so long I've gone a bit wrong and have become too British and uptight to allow anyone to come at me with their winkie!

So yeah, funding the sudden desire with no planning or thought to get my Masters. Y'know what I said about selling the gingerbread Hitlers in order to fund travel to my comedy gigs, well I might have to give up the comedy (won't be able to afford the travel at all now) and use whatever bits and pieces I can make from the inappropriate gingerbread to pay for the study. Do I want to give up the comedy though?

Do I really HAVE have to give up comedy?

WHY do I want to take my Masters when everyone knows I am the biggest buffoon in all Buffoon Town? Hell, I can't take the dog out without returning to find it caked in shit. I can't clean out a bunch of turtles without flooding the house, I can't grill a veggie burger without setting it on fire (and magically still allowing the inside to remain frozen), can't open a container of paint without ending up wearing it and splattering it all around my bedroom and I can't even boil a bowl of underpants without scalding most of the skin off one breast!

That's another story though as is the time, through a series of bizarre events, I ended up stabbing my ear with a metal nail file.

What the feck makes me think I can be a proper person doing important research and study when I should just stand in front of people telling them about the idiotic life experiences I've had. Honestly, what am I thinking? Someone please save me from myself.

Heaven

So, due to the coalition Government and their cutbacks to public spending I've been saved from my ridiculous and nosy Jackboot Army intentions. Basically, I did actually pass that 5 hour assessment but they decided to only take those who'd passed with a much higher score which I missed by 2%. The most hysterical thing is, according to the feedback, the thing that made me lose marks was the fact that I clearly demonstrated that I didn't really give a shit about people and wouldn't say sorry!

SAY SORRY?

SOD THAT!

The role-play scenarios were based around me being a customer services person having to deal with complaints and issues. I, as I think many would, have a problem with apologising for stuff that clearly isn't MY BLEEDIN' FAULT!

....and that's why I must pursue my comedy career. I don't have it in me to be 'nice' to people which I guess is a requisite when it comes to public service. Blimey.

The only problem I have with the whole comedy thing is funding my travel from the back of bleedin beyond.

BUT, I may have solved this problem with a new business idea.

GINGERBREAD HITLERS!!

Everyone who's seen 'em love's em so let's see if the wider population love and buy them. Bought black icing for the uniform today although I think ol' Adolph wore a bit of a khaki coloured suit. I'll call the business Tasteless Tasties and work on a Sadam Hussain (with detached head) and possibly an Osama Bin Laden but that one might get me killed. That'd be embarrassing, a Jahad on me for dissing Osama.

So, Heaven - yeah. I'm writing a new set about how Heaven is going to potentially be a bit shit if we're not allowed to be ourselves properly. My idea of pure Heaven would involve me carrying my shit-list around with me, searching out celebs and people who've pissed me off and telling them that they what they really need to do is to to learn to fuck right off. I'd start with Cliff Richard, the pious bastard. Problem is, a short slightly dumpy girl telling him to fuck off might spoil Cliff's Heaven experience. There'd be questions asked and then the stupid Saints would get involved and who needs the opinion of some 13th Century twat who was probably murdered by people sick to fucking death of all of his bleating about God? They just wouldn't understand that these 'celebs' who get everything and think the world owes them something NEED to be told what for and it'd absolutely MAKE my afterlife if it could be me.

...actually, I might not make it to Heaven after all.

P.S. in the spirit of Pepys I should have documented stuff in the news. I completely missed out on the Raoul Moat thing (gotta love Gazza for turning up to an armed seige with a dressing gown, beer and a chicken), Snooker player Hurricane Higgins was found rotted into the carpet and covered in flies, the robbing bastard banks have made billions of profits but aren't going to be paying us back after we bailed them out of their mess.