A picture speaks a thousand words. (Ooh watch me now!).

So, as I've mentioned recently, I turn 20 in May. To me this feels very very old. It only feels like two minutes ago that I was 15, it really is scary how fast time seems to go as you get older, when you're younger you always seem to think that you'll live forever. Today's topic is - Age.

I think it's kind of scary how much I've changed over the years. My Nannan still refuses to believe that I'm nearly 20, she laughs when I tell her because she's so convinced that I'm joking. So with this blog, I thought I'd take a trip down memory lane, and also contemplate how much the future still has to hold.

 So this is me as a baby, around 18 months old I think. I mean, come on, how attractive is that face I'm pulling? I am genuinely surprised that I never won any beautiful baby competitions. At least back then I wasn't conscious of how I looked for the photograph, I just wanted to pull a stupid face and hold my hairbrush evidently. Sometimes I think it would be good to be that carefree again but when you're a baby you can shit yourself in public and no one bats an eyelid, so there's my point proven.

And here is me as a toddler. According to my mum, in this picture I'm dancing around the garden to 'Do you love me'. I remember I actually used to love that song, I used to be in fits of laughter at the mashed potato reference in the lyrics. No idea at all why. But up until last year I wouldn't even dance in a nightclub. I also used to adore that Minnie Mouse outfit, even though now on later reflections, I do look like I'm wearing pyjamas. Nice.

And here I am aged 6. This was definitely the start of the bowl fringe days. When I'm a parent I am gonna make sure that my children have nice, unridiculous hair and a decent fashion sense, my Mum however obviously used to dress me up and laugh at me. This is also a rare photo in which I'm smiling. When I got older I became more and more self-conscious of my, what I call, 'ventriloquist-dummy chin'. When I smile my chin forms two lines at either side, making it look like someone could just attach a stick to it, pull it, and I'll be their puppet. I'm also not keen on my teeth, because I think when I smile and bare my teeth I look creepy like a Chucky doll. So my recent photos tend to be me either pouting or looking mardy, even if I'm actually having the time of the life.

So, fast-forward 10 years and here we are on my 16th birthday. Gone are the days of happy, smiley photos, and here I am, looking like I'm observing an execution, when in fact I am actually enjoying my birthday gathering. And it seems quite strange actually, that appearance wise, nothing has changed that much. I have (Lily Allen was big at the time) the bowl fringe yet again and awful clothes. Bright pink jeans? What was I thinking?! I grew through childhood and early teens trying to fit in. I wore a Reebok hoody throughout year 7 just so I'd fit in with the chavs at school and they wouldn't pick on me. It didn't work... they still grew to hate me. But when I got to around 14 I wanted to be different, the last thing I wanted was to look like everyone else.

School was all about popularity, but those so-called 'popular' people from my year at school are all now either on the dole, stuck in dead-end jobs, or parents to several illegitimate children. It kinda makes me proud in a way that as I grew up I decided against conforming, I thought, hang on, I actually do have a brain and I'm gonna use it. It seems through my life I've always been popular with boys but girls seem to take one look at me and decide they hate me. It's slightly improved as I've gotten older and I have close girl friends, but I still get girls always taking an instant dislike me, and I honestly have no idea why. I always got told 'it's because they're jealous' and in theory they probably are, but there's really not all that much to be jealous of. I'm an average girl with average grades who wears very good make-up, and if the time is taken to know me, I am also a very nice person (if I'm not tired, hungry or hormonal).

Now skip forward another 2 years and here I am at my 18th birthday party with my friend Oli. And notice the big cheesy grin. It wasn't even forced, I was genuinely happy and content. Being away from the social pressures of school, starting college and meeting some, what I believe are, friends for life, really does change a lot of things. Even if I was so drunk this night that i walked out of the toilet with my dress tucked into my Bridget Jones knickers, and pulled, and had the embarrassment of flashing my big 'sexy' pants to a guy, it was fun.

And here I am at Baker Street Station, London in October 2009, waiting for the tube to go to my Fresher's Ball at Pacha. I'd been living in London for around 3 weeks when this photo was taken and it really was the experience of my life. Even though uni life at Westminster didn't work out for me, I have no regrets that I did it. London is just the most amazing city, I miss it so much at times, but in comparison to how much I missed my family and friends while I was there it doesn't win. I've not been back since I left last May but I know I need to, though I am partly scared that I won't wanna come home again if I go back. But I met some amazing people in this amazing city, and going to see them is on the list of my priorities. 

Although the Fresher's Ball itself wasn't brilliant, the highlight of the night was seeing Mutya who used to be in the Sugababes (she was my first celebrity spotting in London, let me off), and I got followed around all night by a 'grinding dancefloor guy', and an Archers and Lemonade cost £8(!), this photo pinpoints a very happy moment of my life. 

This trip of nostalgia has opened my eyes to a lot of things, and that's to not care what you look like or what other people think. The most important thing is to just care about what the people you actually give a shit about think, and just focus on enjoying the moment. Life really is too short.

Awful tragedies happen every single day, to people younger than myself, and it really could be any of us, so just make the most of what you've got. In the words of the great prophet Gary Barlow, things can only get better.

And to end... I can mash potato!

Roses are red, violets are blue...Fuck you whore. (Men are like bogeys, I never seem to pick a winner).

So today's date is the 9th of February which means the worst day of the year is looming....Yes, Valentine's Day.

It has recently come to my attention that I am nearly 20 years old and I have never had what you would call a serious, functional, normal relationship. It either ends around the 1-month stage, or is a crazy fucked-up version of a 'relationship'.

I seem to get questioned a lot by various people about why I don't have a boyfriend or why I have no luck with men, and I never really know what to say about it. So, I've sat and thought long and hard about why I can't seem to be able to do the normal relationship thing, and the obvious conclusion was that there's something wrong with me. Then I thought hang on a minute, no, I'm lovely. I have to live with me every single day so I know for a fact that I'm perfectly lovely and nothing short of a perfect girlfriend to be honest. The problem is the men I'm attracted to, I'm like a magnet for arseholes and weirdos. During these nosey and often patronising conversations I also came to the scary conclusion that I'm ready to settle down. Don't worry, I'm not talking marriage, kids, mortgage, I'm talking a nice boyfriend. A boyfriend with prospects of being a future-husband, Dilf, and boring car owner. I've been there, done everything and got all of the T-Shirts.

The weird thing is, because I've had a quite a few boyfriends and can be a bit of a flirt, whenever I meet someone they always become paranoid that I'm gonna cheat on them. I've never cheated on anyone. I've had it done to me a lot of times but that's a different story. But, basically, my theory is, a person is more likely to cheat if they've not had a lot of boyfriends and girlfriends before because they think they're missing out on something. And because I know what is out there (a lot of knobheads), if I meet a nice guy then I know there's definitely nobody better who's gonna come along, and I'm really not missing out on anything.

I don't really go on nights out that much and the thought of going out every single week like a lot of people do just scares me. I am officially old.  Unfortunately though this prevents me from 'pulling'. Though the only men I meet in nightclubs are drunken, creepy, verging on rapists kinda guys. I find it hard to meet guys at uni because to be quite frank, I always look like shit at uni. Waking up at 6am and attempting to do my make-up on the train isn't the best look for me. And I've tried meeting guys through facebook, they're either not as fit in real-life as they are in their pictures, they turn out to be really short or have a girly voice, or just plain weirdos.

I've always thought to myself 'Rachael, it's ok to be fussy, you're 19 years old, you're funny, you're intelligent and drunk people mistake you for Pixie Lott', but Valentine's Day is always the day where I wish I'd make an exception.

As soon as I walk into Tesco it hits me, an overwhelming sense of nausea as I see the cards, teddies, chocolates, flowers, balloons and wine. The tag line should be 'Valentine's Day - The one day of the year invented to make single people feel like absolute shit'.

I've only actually not been for single for one Valentine's, and that was with the 'most serious relationship' guy. We hadn't been together for very long at the time but this defies the point of what he gave me. I decided to treat him (and myself) to a night of pro-evo, a takeaway, Ben & Jerry's, WKD (yes I went out with a guy who drank alcopops, don't judge) and very skimpy underwear.

He gave me a huge Me to You card, it was lovely :) apart from the fact that inside the first line said - 'To Amy Rachael'. Humph. His excuse was that he'd left his ex-girlfriend to be with me a few weeks before and he'd already bought and written inside the card which had cost him the huge amount of £4.50, and to add insult to injury, was my present. He had very kindly sellotaped a Cherry Chapstick inside of the card because, and to quote, 'last time I kissed you I noticed your lips were a bit chapped so I thought I'd get you a thoughtful present'. You couldn't make it up could you?

I also received a present and card off a different guy a year or two later, which was quite sweet. A card with my name spelt wrong and a cuddly gorilla holding a rose. Except the guy in question was someone I'd broken up with a few weeks before because he was still shamelessly obsessed with his ex-girlfriend. So...the gorilla became a cat toy.

Valentine's day itself is just a pointless cliche. But if you spent it like I did last year sat in Pizza Hut (I love Pizza Hut, take note guys) in central London, listening to 'All by myself' and staring at rainy Baker Street like I was in a crap Hugh Grant film then it does kind of hit a nerve.

I also think I'm mentally scarred for life from a primary school incident. I was in year 3, and I was 7. My mum had bought me a card making kit from Avon and I got to work making a valentine's card for the boy in my class that I liked. I thought he was cute because he had big ears like a monkey. I spent a total of 3 hours making this card. It had hand-drawn hearts, crepe paper, feathers, glitter and diamante. And I even put a drumstick lolly inside of it, I was so proud, even signed it 'guess who'. I slipped it into the drawer of the boy in question and waited for him to find it. He had no idea who it was from, up until break time when my 'friend' told him it was from me and I had to endure the humiliation of him going 'eurrrgggghhhh!', pulling it out of his bag and ripping into tiny pieces in front of me. Aaron Taylor, if you're reading this, you owe me shitloads of glitter and glue you heartless prick.

So, as you've probably gathered, I am definitely not a big fan of Valentine's day. But that's not to say that I'm not quite upset at the fact that yet again I'm gonna be spending it alone.

If there's any of you out there that have never seen '500 Days of Summer' then your homework for today is to watch it. That film pretty much sums up my big 'relationship' except I'm Tom and my ex is Summer. And one of my favourite scenes from the film is the one involving the first part of the title of this blog. Enjoy.

So I am now about to venture to Tesco as I need supplies of cat food, ice cream and batteries for my vibrators so wish me luck as I try not to vomit all over the Valentine's displays.

Cheers to the freakin' weekend, I'll drink to that. (Tequila. Lemon. Vom).

Ok...So I am nearly 20 years old now so I've been drinking legally for almost 2 years now (and many years illegally before that). Today's topic is - Alcohol.

Even though I'm young and single (which by society's standards means I should be out every night) I only really seem to go on nights out once a month at most. This is mostly due to me being a poor student and the fact that my group of my friends I've known for a years have mixtures of commitments, so finding a night where we can all go out is usually difficult.

I feel like such a boring old woman when I say I'd find it boring to go out every week but I really would. Getting ready to go out itself is a total pain in the arse. Thanks to the invention of facebook and its tagging function, I feel like I can't wear the same outfit out more than once in the same year, which causes the same dilemma every time of 'what the fuck am I gonna wear?!'. Added to the fact that as I've gotten older I've become slightly more high-maintenance. My extensions have to be in, my false eyelashes have to be on and my nails have to be painted. I'm only fake tan away from being on Snog, Marry, Avoid according to one of my 'lovely' friends. Gone are the days of being 16 when I could go out round Pontefract on a Tuesday night in hoodies, skinny jeans and converse with no make-up apart from lots of black eyeliner (everyone had an emo phase right?).

And of course, one of the most vital parts of a night out is drinking. Now I'm not really a big drinker (again, I am aware that I'm weird). Don't get me wrong, I love getting drunk as much as the next person but only if the occasion fits. I drink lots when I go out, but I rarely drink in the house, and I never ever drink alone. I know a few people who can happily sit in the house alone and get through a bottle of whisky in a night. Sorry but what is the point? It's just a waste of money and a very pointless and worthless hangover the next morning. You can't really get drunk and then laugh at yourself falling over can you?

I remember my first ever experience of drinking alcohol like it was yesterday. I was 11 years old, in year 7 and staying over at my friend's grandma's house with her. Now my mum's really laid back but this girl's parents were very liberal to trust us with 6 Bacardi Breezers each. I think even now after 6 alcopops I'd be on the floor. So we sat and watched Popstars: The Rivals as the members of Girls Aloud got voted through (yes, that does make me feel extremely old), and slowly but surely got tipsy. It was fun until I found myself hugging the toilet for 2 hours and her Dad then picking me up and taking me home. Ooops. 

I've been in a few drunken states at times, I'll admit, but now I'm older and sensible I like to be in control. There's nothing worse than being sick and falling over is there? I very often have to babysit my mum when she comes in drunk. I remember an occasion when she came in at 2am and fell up the stairs 3 times, couldn't get her dress off and when I tried to help, slapped me and called me a lesbian. Apparently you never learn...even at the age of 42.

I'm quite disappointed in myself at what a boring drunk I am, by the end of the night I'm always at the bar getting a pint of water and then hitting the takeaway to fill up on greasy food. The last time I got really drunk was months ago when I went out with my ex. Turned out the £1 jagerbombs were not a good idea. When we got in I had to watch him throw up pure jager into the sink, all over the dishes, and then stumble up the stairs while I drunkenly tried to clear up his sick before his Mum saw it. Fun times. Oh and not long after that I went out, didn't even drink that much, went to go to the toilet, in the queue, and knew I was gonna be sick. I made a mad dash for the sink closely followed by a random woman who grabbed my hair out of the way and rubbed my back whilst I threw up in a very classy fashion. You'd never see blokes doing that for each other would you?

Now the only time I really let my 'sensible, old woman' persona drop was on my first ever girls holiday to Malia last year. You've got to though haven't you?

I was the wildest I've ever been in my entire life, and to be honest, I'm proud of it :)
I actually agreed to go a foam party. Now anyone who knows me knows that is very out of character for me. I am the queen of safety, if anything has a slight risk factor I will avoid it all costs. I also despise getting wet (immature jokes expected), and my most well-known phrase is 'I won't like that'. I never try things, I just decide on the spot if I'll like them or not. Like I decided that Ginster's Fiery Cheese tortilla wraps were gonna be disgusting, and oh my god, they are orgasmic. I would recommend everyone to try one. Anyway, i used my 'I won't like it' phrase about the foam party and eventually agreed to go but said I'd stand at the side and not go in the foam. Well, erm, that kinda didn't happen.

Pre-drinks of Glenn's vodka with Fanta fruit twist in the apartment mixed with various cocktails and fishbowls along the strip had got me more than a little bit drunk.

And so we arrived at the foam party and guess who ran straight to the front? Yes, moi. And after a few minutes I got the mindset of 'my dress is wet, I might as well take it off' so I turned my boobtube dress into what I can only describe as a belt. Pants were out and baps were out. I was rolling round in the foam topless, letting random guys drag me by the ankles along the floor not giving a shit about broken glass or anything. My friends were like 'yeah Rachael's definitely pissed cos for the first time ever she's not bothered about health & safety'. I'm still slightly shocked at my behaviour from that night, bearing in mind that I'm the girl who up until just over a year ago was too self-conscious to even dance on a night out, but there's nothing fun about being shy is there?

All the way through school and college I worried that I didn't talk enough, now I'm at uni I worry that I talk too much. I just think life's too short to give a shit what other people think, it's always the things you don't do that you regret. Like until recently I'd never dare make the first move with a guy, I worried that I'd come across as desperate, or even worse, get rejected. If I like someone now I tell them, I mean what's the worse that could happen? And if they're not interested then sod them, there's always someone out there that is.

And the same goes for drinking, yes hangovers and excessive drinking are not clever, but learning to become a confident version of yourself through alcohol and being able to stay the same when you're the sober is the best thing I've ever done.

We don't need no education. (I got the power...point slides).

Well, as you know, I am a student so it only seems fitting that my next topic should be university.

I currently attend Leeds Trinity University College, and I am studying for a BSc in Forensic Psychology, and from what I've gathered so far, it's not bad. In fact, it's brilliant if you compare it to my last university. Yes, I have been to two different universities and due to dropping out of the first shambles of an education establishment, I am currently retaking my first year.

Now my old uni was quite a well-known, even prestigious, central London university. On paper and in the prospectus it was brilliant, but in reality it was a big bag of shite. The entry grades for my course were BBB, I got BBBB. Now I know that these grades of mine are pretty average and not exactly Oxbridge standard, but I  worked my little arse off for them and I'm proud of that. So when I got to said university and discovered that only about 5% of the people on my course had actually achieved the required grades, I was a little bit disappointed. Some people had even been accepted with as low as CDD. I'm sorry but what is the point of even setting entry requirements if you're just gonna let anyone in?!

Also, the uni was big, unfriendly and impersonal. Reception staff were rude at best, lecturers cared more about money and reputation than the students, and my lectures were taught in a shabby room that contained just rows of tatty chairs with no tables, meaning that you had to balance your notes on your leg, in a listed building on one of London's most iconic streets, and was constantly having construction work done on it so lectures and seminars were constantly interrupted  by the sound of banging and drilling. When I'm paying over £3k a year to be at a 'top' university I would at least expect a table to lean on.

Now as I was living 200 miles away from home I stayed in halls of residence. These again were located in the heart of the capital, and cost me £148 a week for a room that resembled a shoebox with an 'en-suite' bathroom (it was a toilet and a shower in a cupboard) and a kitchen/dining room shared with 5 other people. Now I met one of my flatmates within the first few hours of moving in and stayed friends with her for the rest of the time I was there, but I just wish I could say the same for the rest.

I made friends with another girl that lived there too but she moved out and left university after a few months (not that I can blame her, to be honest I wish I'd gotten out sooner), but the 3 guys I lived with can only be described as arseholes.

On the first day I met two of them. Let's call them Country Boy and Apu (namely so for his Indian accent very similar to that of The Simpsons' character). My first impression was that Country Boy was a nice guy. I'd only met Apu briefly as he was going for dinner at The Ritz with his parents. Yeah, exactly.

The next day Cliche Indie Guy moved in. My first thought was 'wow, he is fit'. That night was the halls welcome drinks in the SU and after way too much alcohol we ended up in bed together. Bad, bad idea. This 'arrangement' carried on for a few weeks until I found myself doing his washing and cooking his meals. Hence him soon afterwards saying that he felt like we were an old married couple.

In order to be civil though, I accepted the invite to go to a random house party with Cliche and Country. It ended with Cliche pulling a Swedish prostitute, me swigging straight vodka stolen from a stranger's fridge, being the 'crying girl at the party' in an upstairs bedroom whilst a couple shagged on the bed and a beardy man gave me a tissue (for my tears of course) and leered at my breasts, me drunkenly screaming at Cliche and telling him exactly what I thought of him (which was that he was a spoilt little rich boy who thinks he can treat people like shit, and I hope he'd caught HIV off that little Swede whore), and then me stumbling into a cab at 2am and not being able to remember my own address. And the next morning, when I emptied my handbag, I discovered that I had also stolen some fridge magnets which spelt out the word 'poo'.

But anyway, me and Cliche, and Country for that matter (the two of them had some gay bromance going on), never really saw eye to eye again for the rest of the year. I clearly had feelings for the prick and seeing him bringing different girls back every night didn't exactly makes things easier for the first few months. In fact, by the time it had gotten to the last term, I'd made several complaints about him to halls management as he'd always 'coincidently' decide to have a party  in our kitchen the night before every single deadline of mine. And if I politely asked him to turn the music down I'd get the reply of 'suck my cock'. Nice.

And Apu...Don't even get me started on Apu. In the first week in halls my iphone got stolen. I'd only had it 5 months as it was a birthday present, and I absolutely loved that phone. The sat-nav on it was getting me around London and my whole life was on that phone, my numbers, my photos, my music. So...I'm in the kitchen with my flatmates and I leave my phone on the kitchen table whilst I pop into Cliche's room for 10 minutes. I then return to the kitchen to find that the door to our flat is propped open, our kitchen is full of randomers and my phone is nowhere to be seen. Now, it was Apu who had opened the door and had invited all of these strangers into our flat, so it was his fault that my phone had got stolen, and that it wasn't covered by insurance because the door was open, so therefore it was his responsibility to buy me a new phone. He insisted that he couldn't afford to replace it but he gambled away £550 at the casino the following night.

Now, imagine being 200 miles away from home, your first experience of being completely alone, and your phone, your only primary contact to your family and friends, being taken away. It was heartbreaking.

Don't get me wrong, I did have some amazing times in London. I met some lovely people and made some great friends, and I love that city so much. But the university itself, a place where lecturers take a month to respond to an e-mail and still don't know your name after 6 months, ruined my experience, along with with my wanker flatmates.

As much as I miss London, I'm a strong believer in fate, that things, no matter how shitty they are, happen for a reason. And I think I've done the right thing moving back home and going to Trinity, but I am glad that I got the independence and experience of living in the best city in the world.

At the end of the day, whichever uni you go to, whether the lecturers give a shit or not, if you get tables to lean on or not, they're all a huge rip off. I didn't expect to be paying over £3k a year to watch someone prance around reading off of a powerpoint presentation. I'll be honest, I did expect more for my money. But I suppose you have to make the best of what you've got right?

At times I get severely stressed about my workload and just think that I'm not cut out for uni at all. But then again I think, why let it get me down? I'd rather come out with a 2:1 at the end of it and have had a good time, rather than get a first and have had no life at all.

Because really, what good is it being clever if you don't know how to handle your Jagerbombs?!

I've never voted tory before because I have a heart. (What a load of Eton Mess).

Now I'm the first to admit that I'm not an expert on this subject, but here it goes, Politics.

At the present we have a huge-foreheaded wanker as Prime Minister who was technically never elected. Now how is that fair? And the deputy is a cheating, spineless liar.

This is Britain. We should have a fair government, we don't though do we? It's things like these that kinda make me wish I was American. Obama is just so cool and likeable, Cameron is just so posh and punchable.

Like this morning I got rather miffed at the fact that my monthly travel pass has gone up from £62 to £67.50, yet my loan & grant which are supposed to cover these costs, has not gone up. Stupid VAT increases....and VAT itself is a stupid concept. Jaffa Cakes are exempt but tampons aren't. Because ask any girl and I'm sure they will agree that periods are a luxury.

At the time of the election I was living in London and when I saw on TV that Gordon Brown was resigning the first thing I wanted to do was jump on the tube, hang outside and just try and offer some support. I loved Gordon Brown, I miss him.

It took me a while to warm to him I admit, obviously he isn't the most charismatic of politicians, but one thing he is which most aren't is genuine. I loved that he called that old lady a bigot because she is one, I love the way he composed himself on the live election debates, I love how you felt like you had the security that he wouldn't lie to you.

And the way he was thrown out of Number 10 was just heartbreaking, seeing him, Sarah and their beautiful boys walking away hand-in-hand. I wanted to give him the biggest cuddle.

Now a few years ago I'd considered going into politics myself, and planned on studying it at A-Level, but I was told by the teacher and a few other people that I was too attractive to ever be taken seriously as an MP. Slightly unfair maybe? I'd say I'm average, I don't look in the mirror and think 'wow, you sexy bitch', but I'm blonde and have reasonably sized breasts. In politics that is bad thing, on page 3 however it's a brilliant thing.

That is what we need though, more women in government. All men are bastards so this is what happens when we have them running the country, it all goes to shit. Now women are magic, we can multi-task and make everything amazing, give us the country and I'm sure we could do the same. We need more women and more working-class MPs to get us through these difficult financial times, as I believe that the working-class appreciate the value of money a hell of a lot more.

All I can say is that I hope David Cameron realises just how much of an arse he  is and calls a general eleection. And if that doesn't happen I say we all march up to Scotland and put Gordy B back in his rightful place :)

And here is a picture of the well missed man and his smile, even Obama loved the cuddly scotsman.

And here is Dave with a puppy. Like him yet? Nah...it doesn't work does it? Look at the puppy's face, even he doesn't trust him.

I got 63 problems but a bitch ain't one. (Hit me...actually please don't, I quite like my face thanks).

I am constantly told that I'm a negative, glass half-empty, always think the worst kind of girl. And you know what? Maybe I am.

As we are all aware (well, the majority of us are aware, I don't want to offend any coma patients that might be reading), it is now 2011. A new year, a new start right? Erm no - same shit, different year is all I have to say on the matter.

So today's topic is... Irritating little things.

I have decided to break tradition by instead of writing a list of resolutions, I am gonna write a list of things that have pissed me off every other year and will no doubt still piss me off again this year. Enjoy.

1. Pop bottles that will not open. You try and try until all the skin on your hand comes off. You pass it to someone, they open in a second. Bastards.
2. Noisy eaters. Open, chew, swallow is how it works. These people clearly think that the process is open, make the most vile noises imaginable, swallow. I even get self-conscious about eating crisps in public in case someone think I'm one of those pricks.
3. Stickers that have been used. Just bleurgh, with all bits of hair and fluff stuck to them.
4. People who push in queues. I've found old people are especially the worst for doing this, they use it to their advantage cos everyone will think you're Hitler if you shout at an old lady.
5. Drivers who do not indicate. Whether you're a driver or a pedestrian this is really annoying. It takes two seconds just to show us which way you're going. Thanks.
6. Men leaving the toilet seat up, aaaaaaargh! There's nothing worse than dying for a wee and struggling to get your skinny jeans down and lacy knickers unjammed from your arsecrack in the nick of the time to find some lazy fucker has left the seat up.
7. Also, people who do not replace toilet roll when they have used it all. My mum is the worst for this, it then means i have to waddle across the bathroom to get another roll. Lovely.
8. The fact that pre-packed sandwiches always have butter or mayo on them. I don't like butter or mayo.
9. Old people who go to shopping centres just to browse in the pound shop and sit on the benches all day. Excuse me, i've been shopping all day, I would like to sit down, I'm sure I'm a lot more tired than you are love.
10. Self-service checkouts. One told me that I had to wait for a member of staff to come and remove the security tag...from my loaf of bread.
11. The fact that Starburst replaced the yummy lemon sweet with the disgusting blackcurrant one. They were the only yellow sweets that I actually liked.
12. Liars.
13. Forgetting about food and burning it.
14. Getting a bit of your vagina trapped in a tampon applicator. Ouch.
15. People who just constantly crave attention. Go on chat roulette and flash your tits or something, don't clog up my news feed with your crap.
16. When my fringe just won't stay where I put it.
17. The fact that my favourite lipstick tastes of crayons.
18. Getting crazy cravings for a type of food and then not being bothered when you actually get the food.
19. When my cat purposely tries to puke on my handbags.
20. Immaturity. (Not in humour however, immature jokes are piss funny, I still laugh at the word poo).
21. My thighs.
22. People invading my personal space. This is my chair, don't put your arms on it. You're like an octopus, fuck off.
23. Patronising people. Unless you can somehow prove that you're smarter than me, then don't even attempt to talk down to me unless you want a slap.
24. Argumentative & violent people. Nothing ever gets solved by shouting and fighting, if you wanna sort something out then sit and talk like adults. Ok?
25. Migraines. The ones where your head pounds, your neck aches and the room becomes all stripey.
26. People who try and guilt-trip you for being angry at them. 'I took off the other night cos my grandma's died, I can't be in a relationship with you cos it's xmas and my grandma died at xmas, I haven't text you back cos I was in a car crash 2 years ago'. Yes those things are awful but I'm mad at you cos you've been a dick, bad stuff happens to all of us but we're not all twats. I'm angry with you for a specific reason, don't bring up something that's completely irrelevant to try and make me feel sorry for you. It won't  work, it'll just make me think that you like using deaths and accidents as excuses for your own selfish, twattish behaviour, which therefore makes you even more of a selfish twat.
27. Premature ejaculation. I know it happens at times guys but do anything to try and prevent it please, think of Jeremy Paxman in a bikini if you must. I'm sorry but there's nothing worse than oh, ohhh, ooooh, ooooh that's good, ooooh, ohhhhhhhhh, oh, ugh, errr, erm is that it?!
28. Bikini sizes. Now I'm a size 8 dress size with 32D cup boobs, this creates a problem. Most nice bikinis are sold in sets. If I buy a size 8 bikini it will fit on the bum but my boobs will fall out, if I buy a size 10 my boobs will just fit but the bottoms will be baggy on my bum. Fail.
29. Insomnia. I have a stupid sleeping pattern that keeps me awake until ridiculous hours of the morning. And the only tv that is on at this time has an annoying sign language person in the corner. Do deaf people only watch tv at silly o'clock or something?!
30. The word 'peckish'. Makes me cringe, eurgh.
31. Pringles. They either have too much flavour on them or not enough. Get it right Mr Floaty Head Moustache Man.
32. Dirty talk. Sorry guys but it is so off-putting in bed. It makes me want to hit you. Just enjoy the moment, don't spoil it by asking questions. It's sex not mastermind.
33. When I have to run (in any occassion). I look like a mad woman because I have to hold onto my boobs or they will pop out of my bra and blind me.
34. When people stand on the back of your shoes. Is there any need? I'm not walking slow, the annoying person in front of me is, and you can clearly see that so standing on the back of my feet won't make me move any quicker, it will make me 'accidentally' spill my drink on you later.
35. Duvet covers. It takes me an hour to change one. The duvet always hunches up inside no matter how careful you are with the corners. Someone get on Dragon's Den with an invention to help this please.
36. Fruit. I love the taste of fruit, I hate the texture of it (apart from apples, you're alright). How can something that tastes so nice feel so disgusting in your mouth? Bananas are all mushy and vile, oranges have little rough bits, peaches are furry, strawberries have seeds...you get my point.
37. Yoghurt pot lids. Why do they always split into two when you open them? It means you have to get yoghurt on your hands. Great.
38. The grinding man on the dancefloor. You know the one, he gets behind you, puts his arms around your waist and starts rubbing his cock against you. And because of the way he's positioned you can't even get a proper look at him, you can just detect that he's a slimey munter out of the corner of your eye. And if you try and escape he remains latched on like some shitty attempt at the conga.
39. People who take an hour to text back but when you're with them they are glued to their phone. How can it possibly take an hour to respond to a text message? You receive it, you read it, you reply. Wankers.
40. People with pushchairs who follow you around Meadowhall purposely pushing it into the back of your legs. It's a baby, not a weapon.
41. Takeaways charging stupid add-on prices. A portion of chips is £1, chips and cheese? £2. Hang on... I can buy a full block of cheese from Iceland for a £1, there's a few measly gratings of cheese on my chips, how on earth can that cost an extra £1?!
42. Restaurants adding ridiculous service charges onto your bill. If I want to tip you then I will, I don't need you to tell me how much to tip you. In fact, if you're gonna attempt to tell me then I won't tip you at all. How do you like that? Ha.
43. Lumpy mashed potato. Just sort it out.
44. Parents who let their children run around and then blame you when their child runs face first into your leg. Oh sorry, I'll be more careful with my legs next time shall I?
45. COD. I mean Call of Duty, not the fish. Guys, get over it. It's a game and i've played it and it's rubbish. Get a life.
46. Girls who flirt with your boyfriend. Whores.
47. Pointless lectures. If you're just gonna read off the powerpoint slides and not give any extra information I could have just stayed in bed.
48. When guys 'accidentally' try and put it in the wrong hole. I know what you're doing and I am not amused.
49. People who don't put kisses on the end of texts. Fair enough if it's like your boss or driving instructor, but if it's family and friends then there's just no excuse for it really.
50. The smell of coffee. The taste of coffee. The fact that coffee is every fucking where.
51. Ice. Snow. Rain. Hail. Any wet and cold weather. Go die. And the wind that takes your breath, you're ace as well.
52. When you go to take a drink and all the ice attacks your face.
53. Taps that purposely squirt the water all over your crotch. Brilliant.
54. Train station barriers. Yes just keep spitting my ticket in and out and don't let me through, it's not like I have a life or anywhere to go.
55. The fact that Primark's started getting cocky. £29? For a coat? In Primark?!
56. When you have to sneeze in the most awkward circumstances. Or even worse when you think you have to sneeze and you do the face and everything but the sneeze doesn't come.
57. People who dip the breadstick, bite a bit of the breadstick off and then dip it again, you know, they dip the bitten bit into the dip. Vile.
58. Dog poo.
59. People who cough and don't cover their mouths. I can see all of your throat, how pleasant.
60. Orange juice with bits in it. So wrong on so many levels. I wanted a drink, not bits of shit stuck in my teeth.
61. Chocolate spread. Chocolate you put on bread? Excuse me while I vomit.
62. People who stick chewing gum under chairs. You disgust me.
63. People who moan about every single thing under the sun and never see the good in anything. Oh shit....hang on.

I cnt sppell 4 shitt cus I iz fick (Now let's all pray to the imaginary magic man in the sky).

This next topic is a bit of a controversial one but it's something that is very personal to me, so here it goes: Faith Schools.

Faith schools in Britain are on the rise. Around 7000 public-funded schools (1 in 3) now has a religious affiliation, and our current con-dem government wishes to increase this. Why? Yes I am aware that David Cameron is a stuck-up prick and Nick Clegg is like the majority of men on this planet; a lying, cheating, two-faced, back-stabbing spineless bastard, but more faith schools is the last thing that we need.

Now as some of you may know, I am an atheist, I don't believe in any sort of God, higher power or afterlife. My view is that religion was created through a lack of education and a fear of death, and is nothing but a large inconvenience that causes prejudice and wars.

However, my grandad, my mother's father, was a strict catholic. When I say strict he went to church every Sunday and forced my Mum, my aunts and uncles to go to midnight mass even when there was 2-foot of snow on the ground. My mum isn't as against religion as me, but because it was forced upon her at an early age she didn't want the same for me so chose not to have me baptised (thank god - pardon the pun). But, because of my grandad's wishes, I still had to go to the Roman Catholic primary school that my mum had attended.

Now I've decided against naming and shaming this school, but it is an absolute disgrace. At the time I was way too young to realise that their practices were very wrong and discriminatory, but I now know that when I have children I will never allow them to attend a faith school. And you know why? Because I want them to have a good education and not be exposed to prejudice and unfair treatment from an early age.

Reception class, pre-5, whatever you call it, is meant to be an exciting, educational first experience of school for a child. For me, it is when the bullying started. Not from the students, from the teachers.

I was never naughty or misbehaving as a child, I was just how I am now, cheeky, opinionated and slightly rebellious. I couldn't read until I was 7. Now, I am quite an intelligent and literate person, so clearly this was through no fault of my own. I wasn't Dyslexic either, my teachers just cared more about prayers and Jesus than making sure I was getting the basic educational needs. Yet the blame was put upon me, I recall my Reception class teacher telling me that I was lazy and an embarrassment to the school. I was 5 years old.

And that's not all. There were only a few non-catholics in my school. I remember one day we had an assembly and they segregated us all and told us how lucky we were to be in a Catholic school, and that this might mean that we might be lucky enough for God to forgive our 'sins'. When I think about it now, what the fuck?!

We also used to have to go Church once a fortnight as a collective. Us non-catholics were made to sit on a separate bench, we weren't allowed the bread and wine, we had to make a different signal with our arms to inform the priest that we weren't catholic and we would instead receive a blessing. Again, what the hell?

When I got to about the age of 9, I started to get really frustrated. I was a geek, I actually enjoyed learning things. And it used to annoy me greatly that valuable education time was constantly taken up by the unnecessary need to say prayers ten times a day. So there came a day when we were having to say mid-afternoon prayers and I just said no. I said no, I'm not saying prayers, it's stupid and there's no Jesus and there's no God so stop lying, I'm gonna go sit over there and read a book instead. My mum was called in to speak to my teacher, and my mum as always actually defended me, and just gave them the reply of 'it's a free country', what a legend <3

I've found that as I've gotten older, I have done everything in my might to rebel against that awful school. We used to have handwriting lessons where we were made to trace intricate calligraphy writing with a fountain pen and practise our perfect joined-up writing, because joined-up writing shows that you are a Catholic. Erm what? That is a load of bollocks. I still refuse to join up my handwriting now as a further 'fuck you'.

We also used to get punished for using the lord's name in vain. 'Oh my god, for god's sake, jesus christ'...if we said anything along those lines we were made to skip playtime and write 200 lines of 'I shall not use the Lord's name in vain, Jesus Christ is great'. If I'd known back then what I know now I'd have told them to shove their lines up their arse.

The final point of discrimination came in year 6 when we had to choose which high school we wanted to go to. It was the norm for people from my primary school to attend the local Catholic high school which was about 7 miles away, meaning I would have to get on the school bus there and back. My grandad was again insistant on me going there, but my mum was more keen on the idea of me going to the normal high school in my town. Lucky we chose that option really as we were informed that if I'd wanted to attend the Catholic high school, my mum would have to pay £200 a year for a bus pass, whereas Catholics received a free bus pass. But it was ok, we were told, because if I got baptised within the next two months I too could have a free bus pass. How unfair is that? Even though that was my mum's old high school she too agreed that it was absolutely disgusting.

I am so glad that I stood up to that vile, discriminatory school, I'm just annoyed that my Mum didn't get me out of that shambles of an education establishment before my primary education was complete as I still firmly believe that I could have done a lot better in school and college if I'd received adequate teaching at primary levels.

I came out with the best results in the school in the year 6 SATs, not bad for a girl who couldn't read and was an embarrassment to the school, but if I'd been taught better from the start I could have done even better and been able to gain a free scholarship to a private high school, which other people of my intellect were given from their primary schools. This still angers me. I came out with decent GCSEs and A-Levels but I was never a straight A student, I should have been though.

David Cameron and Nick Clegg shouldn't have bothered raising university fees if they plan on increasing the number of faith schools in Britain, I doubt there will hardly be any adequately educated students to get accepted into university, especially if they're non-catholic.

It's no wonder I think Jesus is a complete and utter wanker, and so is his imaginary dad in the sky.