Goodbye!

Here we go again, then.

I am sat on a train heading London-wards. Out of the window on my left the sun is creeping up behind the hill in the distance as the train drifts past, while the uplifting tones of Mumford & Sons play in my ears. It's like one of those overly-emotional montages in a soap-opera where the departing character helplessly runs their finger down the window pane, tears rolling down their cheeks. Or rather, it would be like that had Spotify not just rudely interrupted this beautiful moment with another one of their mind-numbing adverts.

This is my first blog since Thursday the 25th of February. It's now Saturday the 13th of March. We're actually in another month now (a much better month, may I add). So it's been over two whole weeks since I last posted you a blog and filled you with wisdom, pleasure and basically lifted your mood to a level you didn't even know existed. For that, I am ashamed of myself. You deserve better.


Saying that, however, I have good reason for the lack of blogs in recent days. Coincidentally, that good reason is also the reason I am currently on board the 16:00 train from Edinburgh to London (again).


You may remember that back at the very end of January, I was sitting on this very train, about to embark on a week's work experience in London with HolyMoly. It's fair to say my week at HolyMoly was above average (read me rave about it here) and, if given the chance, would have done it again twelve times over.

So imagine my delight when I receive an email from Mr HolyMoly giving me the chance to do that week twelve times over with the offer of a three-month, paid internship with them. You have a very accurate imagination - I was, indeed, pretty fucking delighted.

Quite a big step, fucking off to London for 1/4 of the year at the age of seventeen. Hence some (quite a lot) of hesitation over the offer initially. But with the only alternative being bumming around in Scotland's most lifeless town, doing the odd waiting shift at the local café; you will agree that this was too good an opportunity to miss.

So off I fuck to London, to HolyMoly, to independence, to this thing called 'a life' (me neither). I'll make sure I update you (REGULARLY) along the way.

It's getting dark outside. If I were in Hollyoaks, the compulsory 'Chasing Cars' by Snow Patrol would now be rousing behind me as I go.

(Don't) Say Cheese!

Smiling for photos - awkward, isn't it?

On the awkward stakes it's up there with that moment when you cross paths with someone on the pavement and do a little dance with them because you both keep going the same way.

Take a look at this example of an awkward smile I found on Google images:

What. A. Cunt.

It's not her fault though. Unless you're blessed with the perfect lips, cheeks and teeth; the same thing happens every time someone shoves a camera in your face - it's just fucking awkward.

First of all there's the inital panic of how you should position your mouth. Should you open or close it? Should you show the world your teeth or keep them hidden? Should you do a cheesy smile or just go for low-key happiness?

Second of all, once you've chosen your pose, you have to try and hold it while whoever's taking the photo positions the camera and looks for the right button to press. That's the worst part. Sometimes you are just standing there smiling unaturally and unnecessarily for a straight 30 seconds looking and feeling like a twat.

Video evidence


HOWEVER, a couple of years ago I came up with a way to avoid this uncomfortable experience. And I am now going to share it with you...

All you have to do is LAUGH.

Pretend to laugh.

Every time someone goes to take a photo of you, don't fake a smile; fake a laugh. Imagine the photographer has just told you the world's most hilarious joke. Laugh at the hypothetical joke. The people around you may question your sanity; but they'll take back that cynicism once they've seen how natural you look and how awkward they look.

Allow me to present to you the first ever fake-laugh photo:

The contrast between Suzanne's face and mine proves the success of my method.

I'll admit, in some cases it can go wrong. See here:

1. You can see right down the back of my throat.
2. Hannah just looks like a tit.

But, on the whole, it does work. And most importantly, it always makes for a much more natural, much less awkward photograph.

So the next time someone pulls a camera out their pocket and forces the lens in your face, just laugh.

Thanks to me you will never have to fear a photo again.

How do you like your eggs in the morning?

I like mine boiled, fried, poached, scrambled and omeletted.

It was Ash Wednesday, the day succeeding Pancake Day. In the expectation that I would be making pancakes on the one day where you're supposed to, I had purchased two boxes of eggs. However, in a tragic turn of events, no pancakes were made and the eggs were left un-used and un-loved in their box.

Twelve lonely eggs lay there, waiting to be cracked open. I had to take some action.

"I know", I announced to my helpless friends, "why don't we cook every type of egg imaginable?". The proposition was obviously met with wild enthusiasm and agreement and, before long, Ash Wednesday had become 

EGG WEDNESDAY

Shells were cracked, yolks were spilled, tears were shed but, ultimately, eggs were made. Not just eggs; but history.

The egg-making soon developed into a contest. People were prepared to give their lives to win the Egg Wednesday crown.

The contenders were as follows:

Michael for both his fried and pathetically poached eggs

Anna for her omelette

Me for my scrambled eggs

Ellie for her boiled egg

A few thoughts that will probably (definitely) have crossed your mind there:

1.  "Is Michael Chinese?" - no, he's just doing the cuntiest smile ever.
2.  "That is the worst poached egg I have ever laid eyes on" - I couldn't agree more.
3.  "Not a bad omlette - looks a bit like a pancake" - despite its pancake aesthetics, it tasted very pleasant.
4.  "Fucking hell, that is the most beautiful plate of scrambled eggs I have ever seen" - they tasted fucking beautiful as well.
5. "Why is Ally wearing a sun-hat?" - good question - one which I don't know the answer to either.
6. "I like the presentation of the boiled egg" - thanks, I did that.

So once everyone (apart from Ellie, who "doesn't eat eggs") had given each of the eggs a taste, it was time to find the winner of Egg Wednesday.

The voting lines were open. For about a minute. The voting lines were then closed.

The votes were counted and verified, and I can now reveal that... the winner of Egg Wednesday 2010 was:

MY scrambled eggs were the winner of Egg Wednesday 2010. The proudest moment of my life.

What was my prize?

An egg, obviously.

Modern Day Dictionary

cunt
n.

1. Ashley Cole

No one need ask me "so how was London?" ever again

I wanted to write you this blog from a train again. That would have made it ten times more amazing than it is going to be. However, thanks to National Express I spent my train home from London with no electricity, no wireless connection and consequently no charge in either my laptop or iPod. I actually had to read a fucking book for once. However, the tedious train journey home was the only dampner on what was otherwise one of the best weeks I've ever had.

Since my return I've had to recount my week to so many people and, after describing what I got up to at Holy Moly, almost all of them replied with the same sentence: "Oh, I thought you were just going to be making tea and coffee for them and stuff".

Quite the opposite. In fact, I even had tea made for me at one point.

So, it would seem from people's expectations that work experience, in general, is supposed to be dull, pointless and basically slavery. However, my time at Holy Moly didn't live up to that sorry stereotype and I loved every minute of it.

My first task from Mr HM was to update their 'Celebrity Finder'. If you look at the homepage you'll see a celeb A-Z across the top. It hadn't been updated for a while, so my job was to work out which celebrities weren't included that should be. Once I compiled a list of names, I had to start writing their profiles - along with all their news stories, each person has a brief description summing them up.

Researching the lives of the famous may seem like a monotonous task, but I found it to be great fun and, thanks to Wikipedia, discovered some very interesting facts. Did you know, for example, that 'Ke$ha' once broke into Prince's house because she was so desperate for him to produce her music? Did you know, for example, that Pixie Lott was given said name by her mother because she was a "tiny, cute baby who looked like a fairy"? And did you know, for example, that Danny Dyer is nothing but a knob-end?

Well, I guess you already knew that last one.

Anyway, I wrote twelve profiles in total - some are a bit more scathing than others:


Susan Boyle


Michael McIntyre


Danny Dyer

Ricky Whittle


Joe McElderry

Jedward


Mark Owen


Nicholas Hoult


Pixie Lott


Tiger Woods


Taylor Swift


Ke$ha




Having them published to the website was a privilige in itself so, on Thursday, when Mr HM suggested I write an actual article, I was over the moon. Thursday had been quite a slow news day and, with about an hour left of the day, I realised I wasn't really doing anything productive. My offer of assistance to everyone in office was met by silence until Mr HM piped up with the question: "Why don't you write an article?".

I was chuffed that he had the trust in me to slap my own work across the front of his website - especially as he didn't even read it before it was published. First of all I had to find a story Holy Moly hadn't covered that day, but one that was still credible or merited the term 'news'. Next, I had to write the fucking thing.

I got there in the end, however, and eventually came up with this:

My first Holy Moly article  

Friday proved to be a lot of fun - I ended up writing three more articles for the site.


Brittany Murpy's death was an accident, coroner rules
This was a bit of a tricky one. How are you supposed to make fun of the death of a young girl? Unless you're a cunt, it proves difficult. Aside from one or two digs, this was a fairly straightforward article.


Beyonce releases new fragrance, enlightens everyone
This was another tricky one. How are you supposed to make Beyonce releasing a fragrance into a readable news story? It's hard, but I think I managed to make it a bit more exciting than it sounds. And I had fun captioning the photos too.

John Terry dropped as England captain, wonder who he's landed on this time
This definitely wasn't a tricky one. How are you supposed to make fun of respectable family man being demoted from his job? Turns out it's the most fun you could have on a Friday afternoon.


So that's how I got on at Holy Moly. I had a brilliant time and will hopefully return for more in the future.

But if your question is 'how was London?', then there's many more exciting tales still to be told. I'll keep them brief seeing as this has already become the longest blog ever written.

Take Me Out - Watched this television treat for the first time on Sunday afternoon. We were planning on going out for a day in London, but got so hooked on Paddy McGuinness setting the female cunt demographic up on dates that we had to delay our excursion for an hour. It is 100% trash and 100% genius.

Simon Amstell and Miquita Oliver - First celebrity spot of the week. Bumped into my Popworld heroes whilst taking a stroll down Camden. Miquita was a bit of a mess - staggering about in what looked like a pair of pyjamas.

Peter Serafinowicz - When I found out the funniest man on the planet (probably debatable) was doing his DVD signing just up the road from HM HQ, I couldn't miss out. And it turned out to be worth standing in a cold, dark alleyway for an hour. He signed my copy "To Ally (or Alan, as I like to think of you)" after initial confusion over my name. Here's a photo of the pair of us staring lovingly into each others eyes:

Mock The Week - I've never enjoyed this show. It's completely scripted and the majority of panelists get on my tits. However, I went to see it filmed live and it changed my opinion completely. Especially after watching them rip the shit out of John Terry for half an hour straight.

Harry Hill's TV Burp - It was already exciting enough getting to watch one of the best things on TV shot live. But then Mr HM sent me a message telling me to contact his friend (who works on TV Burp) who could take us backstage after and things became a tiny bit more exciting. The show, as you may have seen on Saturday, was hilarious as ever. And Mr HM was true to his word and I enjoyed a very surreal evening in the TV Burp green room in the company of free food, free drink and eventually, Harry Hill.

Matt Edmondson - Special mention to Matt, the person who provided me with the opportunity of work experience at Holy Moly in the first place. He popped into the office to say hello on Friday, just before he went off to make Fearne Cotton's show listenable. You can hear him on Radio 1 every Friday at around midday.

Tom Basden and Tim Key - They are the names of two funny people (two Perrier award winners, may I add). On my final night in London I was lucky enough to see a play starring those two funny people, amongst a number other funny people. The play was called 'Party', written by Tom Basden, and was being recorded as a sitcom for Radio 4. Said funny people made me laugh a lot and I wouldn't be surprised if the radio sitcom eventually makes it's way to TV.

That's quite enough.

Now go home and never ask me how I got on in London ever again.

Fuck the iPad...

I'm on the internet. On a TRAIN!

That's right - I'm on the 12.30 Edinburgh Waverly - London Kings Cross. I am literally moving across land (and the occasional river) at one hundred miles per hour and writing a blog to you at the same time. I know. I find it difficult to comprehend as well. Surely this must be some kind of technological revolution? Or at least a blogging first? Someone confirm that one for me.


Anyway, as I mentioned, I am currently travelling alone at high speed from Edinburgh to London. Before you question why I am going on a one-man adventure to the busiest city in the country, allow me to explain to you the purpose of my trip. I am doing (gaining? experiencing?) work experience with the entertainment reporting website, Holy Moly. If you've never heard of Holy Moly, then click on the link - it will bring you information, amusement and enlightenment. As you may have noticed, Holy Moly is basically a celebrity gossip website. But it's not like your Heat magazines and your Bizarre columns. They report the latest showbiz news in a much more clever, witty and superior manner. Think of it as a cross between Katie Price and Charlie Brooker.


Back to the train. Let me tell you a bit about my companions on this six hour journey: the man opposite me is drinking red wine like some high-class bastard - if only he knew he looked like an unshaven, denim-clad tramp; the man on my left is listening to his iPod - and probably looking over my shoulder watching me talk about him; while the ginger haired teenager in the corner of my eye is eating a tub of pasta with his fingers - somebody get the boy a fork.


That's enough from me just now. It's 14.49, only three hours and forty minutes to go 'til I arrive in London.

I'll let you know I get on, shall I?

(Enter tennis pun about 'fault' or 'balls' here)

I don't know if any of you watch tennis. I don't know if any of you are up at three in the morning. I don't know if any of you are up watching tennis at three in the morning.

Well I was.

Just last night. Or should I say this morning?

The tennis didn't really interest me. It was Roger Federer. And Roger Federer is a person who, if I was going to insult with a single word, I would call a 'twat'.

What did interest me, however, was the headgear of the ball-boys and ball-girls who appeared on my screen every few minutes.

You will understand why they caught my eye...

As I said, eye-catching.

The Great Twitter Biscuits Debate of 2010

Every day I hear or read of someone knocking Twitter. "It's pointless!", "It's full of attention seekers!", "I don't care whether you're having Corn Flakes or a croissant for breakfast!" are just three of the arguments made day after day by the haters.

But the haters just don't understand Twitter. They don't understand the realm of possibilities Twitter embraces. They don't understand that Twitter can change the world.

In the past Twitter has been used for political campaigning, legal proceedings, powerful protests and life-threatening emergencies. When the US Airways flight 1549 had to crash land in the Hudson River, Twitter was the first to hear, as an onlooker uploaded a photo of the drowned plane and evacuating passengers before any media had arrived on the scene. During the 2008 Mumbai attacks, eyewitnesses sent an estimated 80 tweets every 5 seconds, while Twitter users on the ground helped compile a list of the dead and injured. That's just two examples of the impressive and inspiring influence Twitter has over the world today. However, yesterday Twitter witnessed arguably the most momentous day in its history.

Thursday the 21st of January was the day of The Great Twitter Biscuit Debate of 2010.

And it all started with this innocent tweet from the man known as @adlandsuit:

I proceeded to inform Mr @adlandsuit that I had just eaten a custard cream. He replied with a question. An important question. Yet little did he know that that one, harmless question was about to grip the Twitter world by storm.

@adlandsuit asked me: "What is your favourite biscuit?"

I replied with the obvious answer of custard creams, and instantly we were engaged in a detailed debate about biscuits. And then it hit me:








I knew I was onto something. Had I found the purpose of Twitter? @adlandsuit seemed to think so.

And so The Great Twitter Biscuit Debate of 2010 began.

Before I knew it, the people of Twitter were discussing the pros and cons of every type of biscuit imaginable: from bourbons to digestives, from ginger nuts to party rings. A notable number of Tweeters were publicly claiming their love for a biscuit named 'Choco Lebiniz' - a biscuit which, until this evening, I had never even heard of.

It didn't take long for the biscuit discourse to really take off, with hundreds (possible hyperbole) of people joining in and encouraging others to raise their opinions. The debate was clearly having a profound impact on the lives of some, highlighted by the following tweets:

 

And it wasn't just normal people who wanted to be a part of The Great Twitter Biscuit Debate of 2010. Actual, real, living celebrities wanted in on it too. A whole host of famous names were desperate to join in and provide their opinions on which biscuit rules them all - FIVE in total.

Radio 1's Nihal was the first to chip in with his biscuit analysis:

Next was Channel 4 News anchor Krishnan Guru Murphy:

Limmy took time out from his brand new BBC2 show to raise his view on the pressing issue:

While A-lister Luke Marsden from Big Brother 9 couldn't resist joining in with the debate:

And finally, funnyman Mark Watson from the BBC's 'We Need Answers' and that shit cider advert informed us where his biscuit loyalties lie:

The magnitude of The Great Twitter Biscuit Debate wasn't just down to discovering the nation's number one biscuit. It also unearthed a number of hidden facts about biscuits. For example, did you know that:

Three fresh facts - vital information that I imagine would never have emerged if it hadn't been for Twitter's power to unleash The Great Biscuit Debate of 2010 to people waiting around the world.

It may be brash to describe last night's events as the most historic event of all time; but there is no denying the fact that history was made last night. A crucial day in the history of the world, the history of Twitter and the history of biscuits.

We discovered that Rich Teas are "bland", Bourbon biscuits are "yum yum dipped in tea", Jammy Dodgers are "very dry when not dunked" but - most importantly of all - that chocolate digestives are the nation's favourite biscuit.

You boring bastards.