As a journalism student and inspiring writer, its pretty much expected of me to have a blog. But, although I’m your usual facebook checker, fetlife follower, and active on several forums, I put off starting a blog for almost 6 months now. I know that theoretically speaking, I could post general rubbish about basically anything, but a blog about me that anyone would actually want to read? Reality check: I’m not a secret prostitute with a double life as a research scientist, I can’t cook anything even remotely resembling a Julia Child recipe, and although I would love to trade One Red Paperclip for a house or my own private island, lets face it, it has already been done.
I needed a niche, a story, a catchy title. Blogging about being a foreigner in London seemed to obvious, a student, to boring. Besides, I’m almost never in my flat and don’t lead much of a typical student’s life, anyway. I hate living in halls. I hate how my flatmates steal my milk and put pizza in my toaster, hate the constant 7AM fire alarms after just crashing in a tiny twin bed a few hours previous, hate the R&B music currently blasting out of the flat next to mine (how can a repetitive strain of “Ink my whole body I don’t give a motherfuck” possibly be classified as music?) Hate how you cant sign in guests after 8:00PM, and how I oftentimes feel like I’m living in a metal and cement prison. (My view out my window is the lovely and inspiring site of the residence courtyard, identical blocks complete with massive dumpsters and chavs huddling over their cigarettes.)
But enough on my views of halls. I’m not very active in student activities either, I’m afraid. I belong to no groups, try and avoid as much as possible going out to places like Ministry of Sound, Fabric, Egg, or, perhaps worst of all, our hole in the wall Student Union. Even mid-range clubs like Tiger Tiger, OnAnon, and Zoo lost any possible appeal (although I do have to work in them), and only occasionally will you find me there on a student night, and only when I knew a promoter can get me in VIP. I’m not posh. On the contrary, I believe raving in grimy goth clubs is one of the best ways to spend a Saturday night. I just don’t enjoy “dancing” with several hundred sweaty, drunken, non-interestingly dressed students and bankers shoved in my face, some guy grabbing my ass or girl falling on top of me (and not in a good way). Sorry, but I get enough of that at work, and there’s no way I’ll be putting up with it without a paycheck.
So in summary, I might not be a good cook, trader, or student. But I do have a wallet with membership cards for both Metparties and Slimelight. (One gets me and friends free entry to any Mayfair club, the other gets me into London’s longest-running and largest gothic/wave venue.) On any given night, I could be somewhere like China White or Funky Buddha, barelegged and in heels, at a table I didn’t pay for, drinking grey goose and talking to royalty from places like India or Italy, all of which didn’t cost me a thing. Alternatively, I could be raving on a smoke-filled floor with a cage dressed in PVC and knee-high demonias. Recently involved in the fetish scene, I could also be in a jacuzzi or dungeon in Portland Place.
What I have is adventures, alcohol, sex and crazy friends, along with some pretty awesome clothing. And, quite hopefully, the makings of a story.