A Welcome Weekend ‘Wamble.

Monday. 8th February. First post in 3 weeks. The inevitable has arrived.

I’m always thinking about what to write on here. Even now, when my main reason for doing this is just to put another blue box on my insights detail, I can’t think of something to say. This may be because I have officially expended all my written inspiration, and my mind is instinctively going into hibernation for the next few months while exams are on, or it could be that my stepsister is creating a pretend interview with nothing but her iPhone and a selfie stick right behind me.

Looking back at my blog, I realised that there are more fictional, nonsensical pieces that leave people thinking, “Um, what” as opposed to ones that actually allow me to recall current goings on and insight into my life.

So here’s some insight. I’m afraid that this isn’t going to be chronological, but I’ll get to everything in due time.

Saturday 6th February:

So last Christmas, I took the executive decision to choose some shoes, a toothbrush and a Disclosure jumper over a PS4 and Black Ops III. This, as I stated previously, was decided upon executively in order to prevent my insatiable lust to grind through the prestiges of virtual warfare when I should be studying for ultimately more important exams in the coming summers. As well as this, because I had my big boy thinking cap on, I realised that my step-brother had an Xbox and the exact game that I wanted. Why get Father (Christmas) to spend hundreds on an entirely new console, online account and game when I could just leach off of someone else’s for free? My parents brought me up well didn’t they.

However, what I didn’t expect was that the aforementioned step-brother was to be just as glued to the controller as I was back in the glory days of 2012. Every day, all day (all fucking day) he is cooped up in his musty, fart-inundated room, shouting jeers and orders to his friends at the other end of a spit-laden microphone – not one care in the entire god damn world except when his next heist on GTA is.

And yes, I complain. Yes, I am heart-wrenchingly envious of that boy’s reckless abandon to life, but I understand. At thirteen, you are in the last year of having no real academic responsibility. School for a thirteen year old gamer is simply seven hours of relaxation for the eyes before staring at a blanket of flashing pixels for another seven. Games are so good at rewarding their players; every 10 minutes, you will rank up again and with that advancement comes a beautiful release of feel-good chemicals in your brain that subconsciously wills it to carry on. It’s the perfect gaming customer design – bright colours, cool music and plenty of rewards for behaviour (with some blatant DLC options for when the endorphins properly do their job).

The point I’m trying to get across is that although I would like to get him off of his lazy arse and do anything else, I refuse to interrupt his endless sprees of gaming, because I know how glorious it feels, and he might as well enjoy it while he can because he’ll soon realise that school finds its way of taking such beloved luxuries from you. Plus, when he rarely isn’t on it and I have the chance to get stuck in to a good team death, I enjoy the experience much more, it feels more deserving.

So on Saturday, when he was away, I played it all God. Damn. Day. ‘Twas great.

Sunday 7th February:

This day represents the 2 year anniversary of a story that I created. I shan’t go into massive detail of the plot lest it be stolen and someone else makes their millions from it (selfish paranoia is a bitch, I know) but it is basically focused on an alternative system of capital justice in a fictitious, future American era. The idea came to me like most of my stories do – all at once within 30 seconds. I don’t know if this is a blessing or a curse; from one view, I have the basic entirety of a story fresh in my mind in literal seconds, something that I presume many writers would kill for. Yet, at the same time, if you’ve not got a journal handy (which I always do, so I’m good) that story can decay and dissipate in the same time it took to form. So I wrote it down, and as it does, my mind just kept creating more and more layers, twists, and turns to it. I was even so ready to start this story that I wrote an entire first chapter/prologue, which involved a woman being burned to death in an incinerator, lovely no?  (Her face melts and everything, its epic.)

2 years later and it sits in that little green book at the back of my shelf exactly the same as it was when I first birthed it. And I hate myself for that, I really do. I’m going to fuck all modesty off and say that there is some genuine promise to that story, but I never could be arsed to develop it. Even now, I say to myself, ‘When you get time in the summer, you can always develop it. Don’t let that go to waste.’ But all I want to do during the summer is play video games and eat unhealthy amounts of fast food and Galaxy Salted Caramel chocolate. Why do something that takes so much thought and effort when I could just as easily mash buttons and slaughter waves of virtual enemies without even thinking?

I’d like to think that some day, I’ll properly get my head down and spend serious time on trying to get it completed and published – my main excuse is that Darren Brown’s Thin Executioner took him 10 years in total, and I’d bet that at least 3 of them were spent with the story scribbled onto a journal as it collected dust.

Anyway, on Sunday I was in bed when a sudden burst of motivation to write was bestowed upon me, and I found myself thinking of more and more ideas for my 2 year old baby, and the best part about it was that it just kept getting more gruesome. I may have found some low-key inspiration from watching all of the Saw movies recently (John Kramer is a true influence) but whatever it was that helped me further my story did a pretty good job because it seems like my mind is back in gear and ready to justifiably execute more fictional criminals in more deplorable ways than ever.

Friday 5th February:

As I have mentioned previously, I am an official presenter at my local radio station. Since its creation, The Matt and Niamh Show has been one of my favourite aspects of my life and one of my proudest achievements. Only recently, however, has it been a live broadcasted show. We’re on 3 live shows now (with a guest already!), the most recent being my absolute favourite to present and listen back to. Obvious and rapid improvement is being seen in our presenting, so much so that our last show was commended by a few colleagues of ours saying that they were, and I quote ‘perplexed’. Not only are we getting more comfortable with our voices, presence and humour on the show, we are also becoming increasingly more familiar with the otherwise daunting technical desk that lies intimidatingly before you as you start it.

The buzz is ever present. My hands shake and my palms sweat rivers when I first introduce the show, but the adrenaline is a welcome guest, and I’m definitely more calm later on during the show (when Niamh is in charge of the desk and most of my responsibility is limited to talking). To top this off, the support that we receive is more than I could ever have dreamed of. Yes, a lot of it comes from family and friends, but the fact that they still listen by choice is humbling. I could talk more about the radio but I should really be getting to sleep.

If anyone has even noticed my absence, then I’m sorry for not being very active, but I’ve just struggled to think of something decent to write – nothing half arsed will be seen on my page, so periods of disappearance may be required to maintain this, but even as I write this I think of more ideas, so until then, thank you and take care. x










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