There's nearly 7 billion people in the world, why do I worry about 1?

Our lives are totally dependent on people; we work around people, work with people, against people...

Everything we do is for, with or because of another person. And, even if we are doing something alone, for ourselves, unless we're locked inside our own houses with all forms of communication turned off, we'll never be doing it fully alone.

This got me thinking, how many people do we see on a day-to-day basis? Those of us who live in a city, or commute to work are likely to see hundreds of people everyday whom we'll never lapse eyes on again in our lifetime. How many people do we meet everyday is another question, how many of these people we see do we actually interact with and spark up some conversation, be it through work or just being polite?

So even if we only met two or three new people everyday (although I would say it's more) and we live for 80 years, taking almost 10 away for our mostly ignorant childhoods, that's 70 years of meeting 2 people every day. This would mean we met, on absolute average, 51,100 in our lifetimes. Yet, there's no way we could name them all, not even half.

Seeing someone is completely different to meeting someone. But on the other hand, no matter how mind boggling it is, in years to come we may cross paths, and become friends with one of the people we sat next to on a train, walked past in the street or were served by in Asda when doing our weekly shop.

When we think about our futures, we think who we will be with and where we will live with who, not what colour our hair will be or what condition our teeth will be in. Because, at the end of the day, being alone is no fun so the majority of us constantly surround ourselves with people whom we can interact and have a laugh with.

There's 6,840,507,000 people in the world; that's nearly 7 billion people. And we won't even see half of them in our lifetimes.

I don't know how many people we see in our lives, but it doesn't take a Rocket Scientist to work out that we see alot.

So I ask myself, when one person says something horrible or does something to me, why do I worry when there's another 6,840,506,999 people in the world?

Just another day.

The news should come with a warning. Or, at the very least, an age rating.

Every day when we switch on the television, or open a paper, it's one bad story after another; attacks, stabbings, robberies or just one more scare-mongering story about the country heading even deeper in to economic crisis. Tell us something new!

Opening the Mirror today, page 3 was somewhat different to that of the one in our favourite 'comic' The Sun. It told a story which made me feel nervous, yet some people wouldn't bat an eyelid.

As I read about Tasmin Khan, the news anchor for Daybreak, I realised that nobody was safe in their career, nor in the world itself. And it's only too coincidental that whilst she worked to present bad news to the viewers, it was only a matter of time before she was at the receiving end of it. She's just one more person to be axed from her career in Broadcast; a career which she will have had to fight tooth and nail to succeed in. And that scares me. They claimed she was 'part of the old show which struggled, so she had to go'.

As I'm fast approaching the real world, it only seems to be getting tougher. It seems like it's survival of the fittest out there; it's a competition for your job, relationships and your livelihood. Even when you've succeeded, at the top of your game, you must ask yourself - 'How long will this last?'

And this is the point that I realise if I'm not going to enter the real world full throttle, full speed and with more energy than Jedward on drugs, then I may as well not enter at all.

New Year. New Start.

It's the same old cliche year after year.

And we all buy it.

I don't have any new year's resolutions, any plans to change myself because its 2012 or any ideas above my station like the other millions of deluded people who think, just because we're in 2012 and not 2011, things are different.

Everything's the same; time's just moved on.

Who are you today?

Recently, I've been noticing how much people change; often within a matter of minutes. It could be that it's dependent on who we're with, how we're feeling, where we are. But sometimes, spending a full day with one person can feel like a a few hours with a few different people.

People are constantly branded 'fake' or find themselves victim to accusations of not being themselves. But, I've started to notice, myself, that people do change; everybody changes from time to time. I change. We aren't all one persona. And as we grow up, we realise that we have to act differently in different situations with different people and approach different things in certain ways.

I look at it as each of us having two personalities; we are two people. There's the person we want to be and the person that we think 'they' want us to be. So, yes, we are acting, but we do it so we fit in and so we feel comfortable. Is that really a bad thing?

Just a few keepers

As I looked around my bedroom, I realised it was unsuccessful in portraying my age. I'd struggle to pinpoint why and what exactly made me think this, but I felt like I had grown up whilst my bedroom stayed in it's 6 years ago state. I'm not sure if state's the right word, because it wasn't so much of a mess, it's just the fact that every space, or empty place on a shelf, was occupied by something I probably didn't need. 

So I began to have a 'quick' tidy up last night, whilst mum and dad watched some morbid drama on the tv. For saying that was on for 90 minutes, and I began to tidy before it started, and finished whilst the next programme was on, it wasn't so much of a quick tidy!

My tidy turned in to a mass clear-out. My tidy resulted in 5 rubbish bags and endless amounts of charity bags and my room looks just about like my room does whilst I'm away at uni; it's tidy and semi-empty, except I'm living in it. 

I had to be ruthless but it was hard. To anybody else, half of the stuff were pointless teddies or useless notebooks, but to me they all had a meaning or place. Each thing was a gift from a special person, or something I'd bought from somewhere as a souvenir. And it might be that that person has died and I'll never receive something from them again. And, that place which i remembered with the notebook may no longer exist, or I'll never get the chance to go there again. 

But, at the end of the day, most of the things were unused dust-collectors and my bedroom had to grow up with me. 

So after 2 hours, there's me, my bed and a just a few keepers. 

Season's Greetings.

Christmas is a funny one. We class it as one day, despite the endless weeks of preparation, stress and expense. It'd be silly to say Christmas began at 1 minute past midnight, the day after christmas eve.

I'd say Christmas was more of a season which begins start-mid November and ends around New Year. Christmas Day is purely the day whereby everything we have done beforehand becomes pointless (wrapping the presents, sealing the cards, etc.) but the day wouldn't be 'the day' without it. It's weird to think of it like this, but it's true! We 'unwrap' everything - it's the day of unveiling.

I'm still not quite sure what we are celebrating at Christmas. Of course, it's all supposed to be about Jesus, but it's more about the food, alcohol and presents to most people. An excuse to get drunk and play Twister. But I can't help but look at Christmas as a year target; we seem to work all year towards Christmas. We save up money throughout the year and we buy little things along the way, throughout the Summer and in to Winter, before we hit December and we panic buy!

Christmas, for me, is like the finale of the year. New Year is just an excuse to be lairy.

Christmas is CANCELLED

The world scares me; it's a big, bad place and, if we spend our time watching the news, we're led to believe it's full of big, bad people.

Studying Journalism, I spend a lot of time studying news and I'm beginning to think there's more bad people in the world than good. Everyday you hear about a murder, or a burglary at the very least, and it makes you wonder what and who we're living with.

I'm thinking about this because of something I heard in the news this week. It's sickened me to the core and I can't find the words to describe it.

Donna's Dream House is a holiday home for terminally ill children and their families; a haven where children can forget about their illness and enjoy some of their last hours in a care-free environment. This is a place where happiness comes above everything and the focus is on 'living, not dying'.

The charity began with a girl called Donna and she had three wishes. They were found in a box by her bedside when she passed away at age 20 after having fought cancer for 4 years. Throughout the 4 year fight, she saw how children were suffering and decided that she wanted to help terminally ill children to live their last days a little more happier. So, in order to fulfill their late child's fairy-tale dream, Donna's parents set up the home and named it 'Donna's Dream House'.

This week, the house had to be closed down. And for a few families, this means Christmas has been cancelled.

Burglars have broken in to the house and set fire to pictures of Donna, causing over £80,000 of damage. Donna's father, Len Curtis, said it's 'ripped the heart out of the charity'. I don't understand how anybody could be so heartless to do such a thing. It's obvious to anybody what the house stands for, from both the inside and the out. The signing on the front and the illuminations in the garden stand for excitement and joy, like the atmosphere which sits inside the house. But all that's been ruined.

Laptops, TVs and cameras have been stolen but it's not about the materialistic items; it's about the house in terms of the charity, the hard work of those involved and its emotional state, not the physical solid state as it stood. The pictures and memories which sat inside the house were priceless and non-renewable. The only thing Len and Barbara have left of Donna was the pictures and her dream house and somebody, with one heartless blow, has been sick enough to destroy that.

Reading the articles about this brought tears to my eyes. I still feel sick. I hope Len and Barbara find a way to get through this and bring Donna's Dream House back up to where it was. This is the type of place we need to help in its fight, we spend far too much time worrying about materialistic things, this is about people's lives and their happiness. Children.

Some things are irreplaceable, like the photos of Donna, but with a little help, we can help Len and Barbara help other people.

Helping doesn't just mean money, it's using your initiative and emotion to make somebody else's life or job a bit easier. Helping is whatever you have to offer.

A new experience...

A few days ago I went to church. Yes, this is a revelation!

Me and my friend saw a poster about a carol service a couple of weeks ago and kept note of the date. Somehow, we didn't forget about it and set off trekking to find it the other morning. We arrived at the local Parish Church in Jesmond to find ourselves in the company of a dozen old ladies. But, at this time, we were in the empty church and it was too late to leave.

We walked down the aisle towards the choir, as we were directed to 'fill from the front'. At that moment, the word 'fill' seemed very inappropriate as the turnout was very poor. But, before we knew it and before we had chance to sit down properly, the place was bursting at the sides with people! We spent the whole time joking about how much busier church was than the nightclubs we had been in the night before. It was mental. Although, it was clear that these weren't the people we'd spent the night before with.

And I didn't expect anything else from her, but my friend spent some of the time creeping round the church looking for what she described as a 'wholesome man'. I can't take her anywhere! However, the only men that I saw were those lighting the candles around the church and at the end of our rows because it was a service lit by only 1000 candles. It's amazing how light it was and we didn't have any lights on... just candles!

I must have been the most uneducated person there - regarding religion anyway! We had to bow our heads in prayer a few times and we sang a few hymns, but I didn't know some of them so had to keep a low key and sing quietly out of tune. And when we sang the Christmas songs that I knew, I sang away like a church regular.

The choir was amazing and the people were so dedicated. You could tell by the way they sang, the way they looked and the feeling they gave off as they sang in a group. It was obviously very well rehearsed because the vocals worked so well together.

It was obvious which people were part of the church and which ones had just gone along to a carol service in a bid to find some Christmas spirit (like us!). Whilst we were there, I found myself gazing at the choir and the local members; admiring the children singing their hearts out in the choir. It was beautiful. I really admire people for believing in something and for something. And in a way, it makes me want to be part of it. It's a group of people who all hold something in common and it's nice to see. Especially the children, spending their day in church rather than messing around the city, causing havoc and wasting their day. I can't really explain why but I felt inspired and it was a really nice feeling.

When we left, we were all individually spoken to and wished a happy Christmas before being given roasted chestnuts and mulled apple juice. It was nice to escape the hectic life of being a student for an hour; the noise, madness, alcohol, parties, work and all the students!

I'm not religious, but it can't harm to give the place a visit a few times a year and show some respect.

Ew, I'm a student. A real one.

Students are constantly receiving bad press. And I never thought I'd settle in to being one.

I'm in my second year now and I'd say I make quite a good student; I'm lazy, handle my hangovers like I used to nurse a runny nose, forget that I'm here to do a degree (I keep thinking I'm on a holiday camp) and eat baked beans. Yes, I started eating baked beans.

Who'd have thought it? Before I came here I was tidy, sensible and I didn't eat baked beans. My day was the range of a normal adult; I'd get up in the morning and go to bed at night (as is expected). But here, we rise at noon and I couldn't even give a time that we go to bed. It can range anything from 10pm (although not too often!) to as late at 5am. My body clock is all over the place.

Sean Kingston had it all too right in his recent song, 'I like to sleep all day and party all night'.

For example, right now, it's 1am and I'm sat up referencing an essay which is in for tomorrow morning. Ok, that's not partying, but I have had all day to do this. And weeks before today! 'Me' 2 years ago would have had it written, printed, proof read and re-proof read a week ago. I don't know how I ever worked without the pressure because now, I can only seem to work with pressure. Whether that's down to my reluctance to do the work in the first place, I don't know, but something is going wrong somewhere.

It'd only take one fail for me to realise I can't get away with it every time. But I always seem to pull out all the stops at the last minute, therefore I think it's always going to work in my favour.

And off I go...[let's hope this isn't the assignment to make me realise]...back to it.

Note to self: You're not at Butlins. You. Need. To. Pass. A. Degree!

Fur Coats and French Knickers; I saw plenty of French Knickers but not so many fur coats!

What a spectacle.

Last night we went to see Ladyboys of Bangkok. And, wow! My chin’s still resting on my chest in shock; I can’t decide what to think of the whole performance.

Having seen Funny Girls, a drag show in Blackpool, I went in knowing what to expect. But how wrong I was. From the moment we walked in the door it felt like a freak show; a good freak show. The set up was very circus-like and it had the edgy feel that you’d expect if you walked in to an episode of My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. But once you were properly inside the tent, you could hardly believe you were actually in a tent. However, after a few trips to the bar the reminder that you were in fact just sat in large version of something you took to Leeds fest last month comes from the dirty, smelly portaloos with a queue longer than the one to get you in to the show!

When the show started and the performers came on to the stage I got myself all excited. I was so excited that I was searching among the stage of women for the drag performers and for a split second felt cheated that for the first act, they’d thrown a bunch of ladies on to the stage rather than the ladyboys that I paid to come and see. But they’d not even reached the chorus before I had a flashback to when the compere had said: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the show is about to begin. Can I just remind you that the Ladyboys of Bangkok is a show of 16 male performers.’

So there I was, mesmorised in a stage which consisted of women who just happened to be men. May I add, they were absolutely beautiful and I couldn’t stop expressing how amazingly good looking I thought they were.  I don’t know many men who wouldn’t fancy them, they’d just not admit it because they know as well as I know what’s lurking south of the stunning face and north of the perfectly toned thighs.

I’m still baffled, and think I always will be, at the sheer confusion surrounding their ‘man parts’. Are they detachable? Are they strapped underneath? Have they been removed? I’ve got so many questions; so many unanswered questions! One woman, I mean man, after the other stripped down to their underwear standing on the edge of the stage with nothing but a nipple tassle and thong. Oh, and a wig! We can all dress up, we can all be someone or something else but when we do so, it usually involves extravagant items of clothing, mounds of make-up and numerous props to distract anyone from seeing what’s underneath the host of monstrosities we’re parading. I don’t understand how these men trick us all in to thinking they’re women with such little ‘make-up’ so to speak; either they’re good or we’re deluded.

Some shows claim they’re for everyone, reckon they have something to suit everybody; not many live up to it. Ladyboys of Bangkok literally does attract all varieties of people; from young to old, gay, straight, bisexual, hen parties, grandmothers, sons and daughters. Every group was represented. Whether they were there for the comedy, the night out, the curiosity or just because the family had dragged them along, the range in the audience made the show what it was. Members of the audience were being picked up to go on stage throughout which for some of us, ensured we didn’t take up the whole seat we were paying for. I was sat on the edge of my seat in fear from the beginning right to the end!

Until today, I’ve always been weirdly and openly fascinated with transvestites but at the moment I’m still in shock with confusion at what I’ve just seen. They weren’t your standard drag performers; it was like something from the future where you’ve a remote to turn yourself from a man to a woman as fast as you’d change from the Channel 4 news to ITV. Part way through the show, a lady came on stage singing about who she really was and as the song progressed she changed from her very feminine dress in to a black, masculine suit. It was like watching two people on stage where the head, adorned in something along the lines of Chanel lipstick and blusher, didn’t belong to the body of the man set before our eyes. And finally the wig was removed and we saw a man, despite the make-up. It was like a real-life sex change, live on stage, in less than 4 minutes. Jaw dropping.

Transvestitism isn’t something I really understand, but I want to understand it.

The Ladyboys were dressed head to toe in glitter and the most fabulous outfits. But me, I was so confused, I just wore a frown.