Great British Bake Off- Bin Gate

It all kicked off on last night’s Great British Bake off after Baked Alaska sabotage unfolded in front of our eyes. And the British public are livid.

If you managed to completely stay out of the public outrage that unfolded last night, it all stemmed from a contestant, Diana Beard, taking another’s baked Alaska out of the freezer during the showstopper challenge.

When the ice-cream centre of Iain Watters’ Baked Alaska failed to set in the allotted time (possibly unhelped by fellow baker Diana TAKING IT OUT OF THE FREEZER) he threw the remains in the bin in a fit of rage and stormed out of the tent in full-blown fury.

With no bake to present Iain then topped the outrage by presenting a BIN to Mary and Paul. As you can imagine, Mary’s face was an absolute picture.

Ultimately, Iain (my previously least favourite contestant due to his resemblance to an elf), was sent packing by Paul and Mary. However, Iain didn’t blame #DirtyDiana (as it began trending on twitter).

As Iain left the show twitter was at bursting point with #BinGate and #DirtyDiana trending worldwide, signifying how important a small-scale British baking competition is to the core of the universe.

Someone even took the pleasure of changing Diana’s occupation on Wikipedia to “Ice cream melting super villain”.

More controversial than the great custard theft of 2013, bin gate sparked national wrath, showing that what unites the nation is not politics, religion or society, but the disobeying of baking etiquette.

So what can we learn from the scandal? Well the rest of the world now knows that the British public have a terrifying store of anger reserved for baked goods, and Alaska has been put back on the map, having received the most attention since Sarah Palin ran for presidency.

Personally, I was hoping David Cameron would break off his holiday and head straight back to 10 Downing Street to deal with the outrage.

Roll on next week.

Why doing badly in your AS levels isn't the worst thing in the world

Despite it being over two years ago, A Level results day still had me tied up in knots just thinking about it. The sense of panic and uncertainty is one of the most nerve-wrecking experiences.

I’m about to enter my third year of university and so my AS and A level results days are long gone, but I can still vividly remember the nerves.

I didn’t do as well as I had hoped in my AS levels, and so I know that it can feel like the end of the world.

Good news is that it really isn’t. Some even better news is that I honestly think it was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

Why? Because it put a kick up my arse and I started to realise some very simple mantras for life that still keep me motivated even now that I’m at university.

First and foremost it’s important not to lose hope or sight of your dreams. Your aspirations are what will keep you going. As Albus Dumbledore said: “Happiness can be found in even the darkest of times if one only remembers to switch on the light,” and he’s right.  

Everyone thinks that the hardest thing is changing other people’s mentality-how they perceive you and what you do and think-when in actual fact the hardest opinion to change is your own.

If you let other people tell you that you can’t do something just because you don’t have the right grades it’s your attitude that needs to change not theirs. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t, because even the biggest dreams are achievable, no matter how long or difficult the road may be.

Whoever we are here on the earth, we might be princesses somewhere else. Or writers or doctors. Or whatever the hell we want to be that everyone else says we can’t. And guess what? The best feeling in the world is proving people wrong.

Is chivalry dead?

Maybe I’m old fashioned, but holding a door open for a woman to walk through and giving up your seat on the bus are all gestures I expect to be common manners.

Unfortunately the world doesn’t seem to agree with me, and over the past few weeks in particular I’ve found myself disgusted with the poor behaviour from the men out there.

Don’t get me wrong, like in all situations; there are some real gentlemen still out there, but it seems the majority are letting the side down.

Why is it impossible for men to do the, what I consider, ‘normal’ thing? When did all the men out there lose their chivalrous touch? What happened to pulling out chairs and holding doors? Or just buying a bunch of flowers because the girl you love had a bad week?

I blame society- mostly because men can’t be blamed for everything, but partly because women play a role in the death of common manners. If boys do put in the effort they come off as a clingy emotional idiot and all their friends consider them wet.

Well, I’ve got a news flash for you- holding a door open for a woman will go a lot further than your pervy sexist pig of a friend who beeps women as they stand at the bus stop just because they’re wearing a skirt

The other problem is that women have become complacent by agreeing to the bare minimum. For example a man doesn’t let her sit down on the bus and society tells her that because men and women are equal it doesn’t matter.

It does matter.

I’m the first to argue that men and women should be equal and I definitely don’t agree that all women should go back to being a 1950’s housewife who pampers after her husband's every need, but when it comes to decent manners equality doesn’t even come in to it.

Men will always be the physically stronger sex, so it’s only natural for them to show consideration towards women. Yes I can open the door myself and I’m perfectly capable of standing up on the bus, but sometimes it’s just about being nice.

Ok, so I’m not expecting flowers every week or you all to kiss the floor I walk on, although that would be nice. I’m just asking for a man to say, “after you” as I walk through the door, or hold our a chair for me to sit down, and I don’t think that’s asking for the world.

Why Prince George is making me despise the royal family

Babies are annoying, they cry and scream and let out funny smelling gas, and Prince George is no exception.

He might be royal and he might be the future King of England, but if I see or write one more press release about Prince George’s first year on this deranged planet there is a very good chance that I will lose the will to live.

Now, I should probably make it clear that I do not hate kids in any stretch of the imagination, oh no. In fact at one time before I decided I wanted to train as a journalist I had the burning ambition to be a primary school teacher.

Albeit the ambition didn't last very long but nevertheless I did volunteer at my local Infant school once a week which I found somewhat enjoyable.

Of course there were times when I got so sick of being surrounded by children that I started to see smoke. For example when one of the little boys weed on another classmate’s hand, just to see whether it was warm. Head into hands moment.

And I should also make very clear that I am in no way against the royal family. In fact, I even have a waving statute of the Queen in my bedroom. Ask my boyfriend.

However, if there is one thing that is rapidly putting me off them it is Prince George.

Don’t get me wrong, last year I was fully submerged by the royal baby tidal wave, but I’ve since realised that as a nation we could probably do with a reality check.

I mean come on, we’re intelligent Britons but we’re all infatuated with an infant who doesn’t even know we exist… maybe we should all take a long hard look at ourselves and rethink our priorities. 

The Oxfam festival steward experience- Glastonbury 2014

Last weekend was my eleventh year of going to Glastonbury Festival. Yes, I was the weird kid at school that tripped off to sleep in a tent in a field for a few days when I was nine years old.

Me at my first Glastonbury in 2004

I’ve always been keen to support charities such as Oxfam as I think the work that they do is great, and so volunteering at a festival seemed like the perfect way to still go to a festival whilst doing something for a great cause. In fact, Oxfam stewarding raises £1 million every summer.

In 2012 my dad and I tripped off in the camper van to the Isle of Wight to steward our first festival with Oxfam- Bestival.

Stewarding at Bestival in 2012

Since then we’ve never looked back, and this weekend we stewarded our third festival with Oxfam.

We turned up on Tuesday morning to some rather admiring glances as our baby blue campervan was yet to be trashed with mud. Needless to say as the rain poured down later in the week the glances became somewhat green with envy as we cuddled down in our watertight van.

After we’d got our shifts we had a quick walk round the site which is one of the best perks of being an Oxfam steward. Glastonbury is one of the, if not the, biggest festivals in the world but being surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people on an hourly basis can sometimes seem a little claustrophobic.

In front of the Pyramid Stage on Wednesday

Being able to freely walk around the site as the organisers are putting the finishing touches on everything is a priceless feeling.

On Wednesday morning we were up at 5am to get ready for our impending 5.45-14.00 shift. We were put on Pedestrian gate B which meant checking tickets and letting people in and out of the festival.

In our bright orange tabards we trudged past hoards of eager punters waiting at the gates ready for them to open at 8am. I had no idea so many people come a long so early… but I suppose that shows the changing face of the festival.

We were put on the turnstiles and were counting punters into the festival whilst issuing them with their programmes and official guide. There was a lot of waiting around, and the anticipation in the air hummed with both excitement and worry. I suddenly became very protective over the site… “I don’t want these drunken punters ruining it! “I thought.

8am came and we were called into position when the big green gates were opened and the first excited (and probably very tired) punters ran in.

Eight hours slowly passed, my thumb was getting tired from counting people in, and my patience running out after trying to understand countless scousers, but the shift was nearly over.

Pedestrian Gate B- opening the gates

We had all spectrums of society pass through our gate, from geordies in hair rollers to a clearly disabled man pushing his wheelchair full of booze (which had to be the funniest).

The best thing about Glastonbury is that there are so many people you never know who you’re going to bump in to, and letting our friend, Louise, and her husband through the gate was one of those moments. It cheered our shift up though, that’s for sure. 

When our shift was over we dawdled back to the campervan for a well-deserved kip, and went out to explore the now very crowed festival later on that evening.

Thursday evening- tents filling up

Luckily two of our shifts were early on in the festival, and Thursday evening was our overnight shift. Wednesday had set us up for an exciting and fast paced role, but the eight hours between 10pm and 6am the following morning felt like forever as we let around ten people in to the site. 

Cold moment during the night shift

Early in the morning was a little more exciting as people were rolling in from their heavy nights out all the way up until 6am in the morning. As you can imagine, trying to explain to someone who’s partly incoherent and covered in mud that they need to keep their tickets and pass outs safe otherwise they won’t be allowed back in to the festival was a task in itself.

Friday was a day off, which meant a) sleeping and then b) partying… or as much partying as you can do on limited sleep. 

After a lazy morning we headed down to see Rudimental on the Pyramid stage with an ever looming black cloud plus thunder and lightning in the background. Before the set was finished the band were rushed off stage due to a localized power cut.

We decided to head to the cider bus (solution to everything) when the heavens opened. In all my Glastonburys I have never ever seen raindrops as big. Plopping into my cider, which was becoming more and more watered down, we ran for cover but I was already soaking wet.

Drying out clothes in the dance village post rain

Mud 1- 0 Glastonbury.

It was also the day of our first celebrity encounter at Glastonbury 2014, and I have to say I was least than impressed.

 We were queuing to go up the ribbon tower in the park, which looks over the whole site. As you can imagine, there becomes quite a queue as only eight people are allowed up at a time, and my dad and I had planned it perfectly so we’d catch the sunset.

As soon as we got to the front of the line the apologetic steward told us they were shutting it momentarily as Metallica were having a photo shoot at the top. Needless to say we were annoyed, as we’d queued for easily half an hour

.

After exchanging some angered words with the man in charge we got fobbed off with a free (very nice) bar of chocolate, and got a dirty look of Lars Ulrich (the drummer from Metallica) who seemed to be looking down on us peasant fans.

We gave them a miss on the Pyramid stage the next day.

Saturday was our last shift, and we were working 2pm-10pm. We were unsure of what to expect as I was positioned in the Oxfield (the area in which Oxfam were camping) and Dad was on response, which means you get called to an area if they require more stewards.

Saturday afternoon

Luckily the response was coming to sit with the bored and lonely girl by the gate to keep her company. The bored and lonely girl was me.

That Saturday afternoon felt like forever, particularly when we were stood cowering under a tree dripping wet from the continual rain that never seemed to pass: I’ve never been so wet in all my life.

Those eight hours were the worst of the festival, but once we’d finished we were able to go out and see some acts and elements of the site that we’d never have done previously.

Block 9

Sunday was our last day, and as you can imagine I was dying for a shower AND not having to put wellie boots on just to go to the toilet (ah simple things).

We had a great day walking round the festival but by 10pm everything had got a bit too much, and with worry that we would struggle to get the campervan out of the mud logged field I left with a heavy heart, but safe in the knowledge that it wouldn’t be the last time I would get to visit Worthy Farm.

Big Brother is Watching You

I've never before been subject to what I can only describe as reality brain washing.

Thanks to my boyfriend forcing me to turn on Celebrity Big Brother in it's early stages,(ok I wasn't pinned down against my will but still, I don't like to admit to it) like a teenager taking her first drag on a cigarette I was hooked to the explosive and, yes, some what actually entertaining drivel that has made it's way into my religious nine pm ritual.

How I hear you ask? I often ask that to myself, but my poor, shrivelling as we speak, brain is addicted.

There is something strangely entertaining about watching 12 people who believe themselves to be "celebrities" take part in stupid tasks that must have been dreamt up by someone who has serious mental issues whilst we, the common public, have a good old laugh at how much of a complete nob head they are making themselves out to be. Yes, Lee Ryan I am talking about you.

In a way the sheer act of going on a programme that brands the contestants as celebrities is near enough an admission of either being a one-hit-wonder, a nobody or past it... and of course in dire need of the money, *cough* Linda Nolan*cough*

This year's Celebrity Big Brother has been branded as the most successful series to date, and has been extended due to its popularity... I take solace in the fact that I am not the only one who has been sucked into George Orwell's 1984 nightmare.

Perhaps big brother is watching me after all...

Grateful Christmas charity collecting...Not.

At this festive time of year we're all encouraged to think about others less fortunate than ourselves. It's in December more than ever that I feel almost on the verge of guilty when I walk past vendors selling big issue with bags full of shopping and say, "no thank you".

Now, we can't possibly give to every charity ever made, but which one do you give to and why? Is it whichever one is standing on the street to harass you until you give in and give them the sodding two quid to shut them up? Or do you give to the same one every year out of the kindness of your heart? I had an experience yesterday that I was much appalled at, and I wanted to share it with you all.

Now, before I start, I must state that I in no way am saying that charity is a bad thing. I'm all for charity. You only have to read my previous blog posts regarding my volunteering for Oxfam for two major festivals for the gory details. However, I was some what shocked at the series of events I am about to describe.

I was walking up to the local infant school where I was coincidentally undertaking my own charity work by helping accompany 360 four to seven year olds walk round Wollaton Park lake all in aid of When You Wish Upon a Star (told you I'm not a charity snuffer).

On my way up I'd popped into the shop across the road to buy a bite to eat before the walk and as soon as I walked in was stopped by a charity worker behind a table who started his cause with, "I'm not trying to sign you up to anything". I politely listened to the man drone on about paralympics and sport within the disabled sphere for a good five minutes. You can't say he didn't try hard, however asking me what sport I was interested in was a bad line... "none" I answered.

Anyway, after the spiel the man handed me a little badge that I could buy to support the charity, however doing the charity work of my own I had come with only two quid and a pair of gloves to my name, 50p of which I had spent on a co-op finest quality croissant. Oh how guilty I felt now for that.

"I'm sorry", I replied, "but I have come out without my purse as I'm walking for Wish Upon a Star."

"I have one pound fifty", I said, handing the change to the man.

The man turned to his colleague with a look that can only be described as total disgust.

"Well I don't like to sound ungrateful" he said as I waited for the but. It never came, but he swifty pulled out a leaflet showing me how much wheelchairs for playing basketball in cost.

Ten pounds this man wanted me to pay for that little badge.

Now, I don't mean to sound up myself but if you're a charity surely you should be grateful of any money you get. I didn't want the sodding badge, neither did I really have any interest in the charity (no offence). I was more interested in paying this annoying noise in my ear off so that I could get on and do the charity work I had already arranged to do.

I offered the £1.50 which was politely refused by the man after telling me they're here all week if I wanted to pop back in with my bank card. How much did he think I was willing to give!

I finally walked out the shop with a feeling of guilt and annoyance- and I'd only gone in to buy a croissant. Why should I be made to feel guilty? I was willing to give my last pound to that charity and he turned it down. I'll be donating that pound fifty to the school's when you wish sponsorship money instead.

Safe to say I'll be avoiding that shop like the plague for the next week.