Something about.. Luna the whale

It was just another Wednesday evening. Stuck in for the night due to huge amounts of work and lacking amounts of money, we spent the evening - as many others have been spent - flicking aimlessly through our hundreds of Sky channels.

But this evening we came across something special, just by chance. Resting the remote control briefly on a documentary series entitled 'Natural World', we were initially repelled by the voice of the narrator. But, then we caught site of the subject, Luna the whale.

The documentary followed the story of Luna - a lone killer whale separated from his pod off Vancouver Island in British Columbia - who sought friendship from people and boats. 

Luna caused much controversy between those who believed they should give him friendship and attention to keep him out of trouble, and those who believed he should be ignored to encourage him to stay away from people and potentially dangerous boat rudders.

But the determined little whale continued to follow boats and crave the attention of local people - and even dogs! Eventually the documentary maker moved down to the lake to keep Luna company and to keep him away from danger.

However, the touching story had only one outcome - and as my housemates and I became genuine fans of Luna the friendly whale, we were heartbroken when it was announced that he had been killed by a boats rudder.

Literally heart-wrenching. RIP Luna.

Something about.. tattooing a dead pig

I usually have fun and random days when I see my best friend, Josh. And today was no different.

A resident tattoo apprentice, he is hugely helpful when I fancy a new bit of ink, or when I'm looking to do a feature on the art of tattoos. Yes, the aim was to investigate whether tattooing is really art. And to discover this, my aim - as a hugely unskilled and unartistic person - was to learn how to tattoo in a week.

So after practicing my sketching of cherry blossoms - my intended tattoo design which would provide the answer to my question - I turned my kitchen into a temporary tattoo studio.

And unsurprisingly as no right-minded person would want me tattooing my debut design on their body, we got out the best practice material and next best thing to human skin: pig skin.

After a quick shave (yes, we had to shave the pig skin!), I got to grips with the tattoo machine, drew on my design and started to ink.

Needless to say, the lines were shaky, uneven and quite frankly, crap. Josh's were neat and tidy and perfect. Reassuring as he's the paid tattoo artist.

And when side by side it was clear - even to the untrained eye - which tattoo was by which tattooist.

So, in answer to my question: yes, tattooing is an art. And although anyone could learn how to use a tattooing machine, putting it to good use with ink and a design, is quite another story.

Something about.. the day of 'love'

It's here, again. The one day of the year that all singletons dread. And that some in relationships dread.

February 14th. Valentines Day. The day of love, because - according to Geoffrey Chaucer - it is the day when the birds choose their partners. But all that aside, and without sounding like too much of a Valentine's Scrooge, what is the point in February 14th, the day of 'love'?

Don't get me wrong, I'm the typical hopeless romantic, who dreams of the day when my Prince Charming will ride off into the sunset with me. And unlike many who hate the Valentines Day traditions, I am, in fact, in a long term relationship. But I just struggle to understand one simple fact - why do we only show our love and affection on this one day.

If your decision as a couple is to ignore the consumerist hype that is Valentines Day, then you'll certainly be saving yourself a lot of money. Dinner at a restaurant will be double the price, just because of the date. And a dozen roses will require re-mortgaging your house.

So, why not tell your partner every day that you love them? And if you want to surprise them with dinner or chocolates, do it when it's actually a surprise, as opposed to an expectation.

This Valentines was set to be different for me. With my boyfriend going to rather drastic steps to avoid the stress of February 14th (he's travelling in Central America), I decided to make the 200 mile/five hour train journey home from university - in Bournemouth - to Suffolk.

And in stead of Valentines Day, myself and the girls would be celebrating Palentines Day. 

So after dinner at a Chinese and the spontaneous decision to hit the town, we were necking shots at the bar in a local club. And surrounded by desperate singletons hoping to snag a midnight Valentines kiss, we proceeded to have a brilliant night on the dance floor.

And then in true Palentines Day style - as couples all over the country sat down for their romantic candlelight dinners and soppy romantic nights in - us girls sat down for a home-cooked meal with some rather delicious dauphinoise potatoes and rather messy Banoffee Pie.

The point to all of this? If you - like so many others - find Valentines Day depressing/annoying/a waste of time, then find another constructive way of spending this day - because who else do you want to show your love for in this world? Your friends.

Of course, I did enjoy the fact that even after spending 48 hours climbing volcanoes, my boyfriend did call me from across the pond to wish me a happy Valentines Day. Well, something along the line of: 'I thought I should call you because of today and all that crap!'

It's the thought that counts!

Something about.. the end of the beginning

So following in the ever wise and entertaining steps of my housemate and fellow journalism student, Harry Harris, I have decided to begin writing a blog. Although admitting that I am a) not as witty or b) lead as entertaining or interesting life as Mr. Hazza Harris, I would like to share with you all the trials and tribulations of my life as I make the large leap from student to adult. 

> (Read Mr. Harris's blog)

Yes, it's time to grow up.

I'll admit that I thought I was making the biggest move and becoming an adult on the day I waved my parents away standing in a house in Bournemouth with three stangers. It seemed that moving to university was indeed the most grown-up thing I could ever do. But I was, in fact, wrong.

As university draws to a close, dissertation hand-ins creep up and the whisper of graduation grows louder and louder it seems that the big wide world is suddenly right at my feet.

So this is set to be my blog on my experiences as my life as I know it draws to a close, and the world of jobs, mortgages, tax, marriage and all other 'grown up' things lies waiting at my door step.

Here goes..