Of Mitt's and Men.

So last night I, as a student with nothing better to do,  I stayed up until 4am GMT  watching the BBC's coverage of the American election. And after a long night I can safely say I have no idea why "Four More Years" is such a big deal.

Now I'm not planning to make this a political post, truth is I don't really have enough knowledge of the political landscape in the US of A to do that. But I will say this: judging from the interviews that were aired on the beeb during the wee hours last night, it honestly seemed as though Obama was simply the lesser of two evils. Don't get me wrong, I'm well aware that Romney's campaign was essentially a progression of U-turns and paradigm shifts, and Obama was at least consistent, but still, I can't help but wonder if there might be some people out there in the world with a better political standpoint than either Mitt or Barack themselves.

And even the process itself seems a little bit flawed in America. I know the first-past-the-post system we've got here in the UK really doesn't make sense come election time, but still - how can the actual popular vote have been essentially 0.8% different between the two of them, yet somehow the democrats won by 100ish electoral votes. If you ask me the results look a little bit unfair from where Romney's standing.

I will say this though, it did make for a great couple of hours of television watching "average-Joe" American voters getting drunk in bars across the States.

Matt out.

Return of the blog...

So I guess I started pretty well there for a week and then the heavy drinking nights and numerous presentations took their toll and I've sort of not blogged quite as much as I should have. Anyways, you have my apologies for that, now onwards with the subject of this blog.

So last night I attended my university's Halloween party dressed as a pirate. I should say Zombie pirate, as I tried to jazz up the costume I used at my fresher's week pirate party and make it a tad scarier. Anyways, I thought I'd share a photo with you lucky people, let me know what you think:

Gutted you cant see my knee high boots to be honest...

Now let me tell you, in a student bar filled with roughly 600 people, a sword can be a truck-load of fun. I lost count within the first hour of the number of people I threatened to a swordfight purely as an ice-breaker. It worked  a treat, so there's a life lesson for you.

I love Halloween. It's something about the way everyone (as in society as a whole) has just accepted that for one night of the year it's entirely agreeable to try and scare the heck out of anyone and everyone, and to extort snacks from strangers by threatening to trick them. I guess it appeals to the cynic in me.

Anywho, my parents are down in Cornwall next week, and I've got to admit I am looking forward to seeing them. I am going to make them pay for everything I need for a week and it's going to be glorious (I mean, that is what parents are for, right?).

My next post will probably be about the banter that ensues when the Clemenson clan relocate to Cornwall for a week, so stay tuned...

Matt out.

To absent friends.

First off, the laptop is fixed, and life is once again returned to normal down here in Cornwall. It's nice to be back, and I hope you haven't all missed me too much.

So I just watched the latest episode of New Girl, (which really is very good, and if you've never seen it I suggest you check it out), and I thought one of the subjects it brought up this week probably merited a blog post - Bromance.

I am lucky enough to have a number of guys I know I can depend on. My best friend for the last 4 years recently moved to Singapore, and I reckon it kind of proves that we've got a pretty solid friendship that we're still talking practically every day despite the 7 hour time difference. I'm flying out to see him in April, and cannot think of a cooler place for the two of us to get drunk that the beaches of Singapore. Haha. Luke, if you're reading this - Easter is gonna be bloody amazing.

Then there are all the other guys I went to Magaluf with in the summer on a lads holiday. I cant say I was looking forward to that week in "Shaga", as it's affectionately named, but looking back on it now it was honestly one of the best weeks of my life and experience I cant imagine ever have missing out on. I've lost count of the times since I moved to uni that I've found myself telling people I've gotten talking to stories that started, " well when me and my mates went to Maga...". And that's what I guess friendships are in the end, a collection of moments and memories that bind you emotionally to another person. Maga had plenty of  those moments, and lads, if any of you are reading this: big love to you all.

Then there are the gals in my life I could not live without. If I write too much about any of you here I'll get a little too emotional, and no-one wants to read that - but suffice to say this: G Copp, Dunners, Lozza and Chambam - you guys are always there for me, and that fact has been noted.

And I guess that's where this blog post has come from. I miss each and every one of my friends from back home - the guys and gals I've had 4 years of bonding with. Most nights at least once I find myself getting a little emotional when something I see or hear triggers a memory that makes me think of them. I guess it really is true that you don't know what you've got till it's gone.

And I also know I'm being melodramatic here, and that I'll see you all at Christmas (apart from Luke) for a bloody good 4 weeks of partying Maga-style, haha.

Anyways, I just thought I'd share a little with you about the people who have shaped my life so far - they do say you can judge a man by the company he keeps. I'd like to think the company I keep does me credit; I know I think the world of each of them.

I hope everyone who reads this is lucky enough to have friends like mine.

Matt out.

Boulevard of Broken Screens

So, since I started this blog I've tried to keep it regular, daily in fact. Within a week, I have hit a snag. My laptop's broken. I'm sure no one's particularly bothered about this, and I'm far too hungover still to go into detail about it here but I will be temporarily less frequent in my blogging for the next week or so.

Matt out.

Sunday Nights - a slow surrender.

Well, here we are at the end of the weekend. It hasn't been a particularly good or bad one, so there's not even that much to look back on as the relaxing Sunday evening regimen of talent-show results and toasted sandwiches.

I don't know why, but I thought that once I'd come to university these afternoons would be different. More interesting and full of drinking games and barely appropriate banter. That has not been the case. It seems that the zeitgeist of my generation has been permeated by this belief that Sunday evenings (or in fact, the entirety of Sunday, as evidenced by myself today) aren't particularly good for anything. No one seems to want to go out, and everyone who stays in never seems to do anything worthwhile. Gone 4 o'clock on a Sunday the world might as well be over.

Add to that the constant sense that there was more stuff you could've accomplished in the previous 48 hours than getting blind drunk and doing some washing and ironing and you've basically got a recipe for a couple of hours spent lounging around, feeling depressed and wondering if any of it is really worthwhile. A part of me wonders if psycho-analysts shouldn't rename Sunday, it just feels a little too warm for what the day eventually broils down to. The inevitable revelation that your 2 day break is over and you're sullenly going back to hard work in the morning.

Still, at times like this there's something I always like to say to remind myself that life's worth living:

One Weekend closer to Christmas.

Hopefully that propels you readers through any sunday night angst you may be feeling at this point in time.

Matt out.

Tiredness can kill...

"Any sense of humour you usually have will instantly perish the moment you realise you're living on 2 hours sleep you managed to snatch at some ungodly hour when you passed out fully-clothed on your bed, wrapped in the cosy embrace of half a litre of Jack Daniels..." - Matt Clemenson, 20/10/2012

So yeah, last night me and my flatmate Sheldon stayed in and were trying to watch a pretty intense political thriller when a couple of girls from the flat above paid us a visit. Boy can they drink. Suffice to say after a pretty eventful and embarrassing game of "I have never", a couple of interesting videos watched on YouTube (which were much, much funnier when we were drunk than when we watched them back sober and just though, WTF? ), and a weird incident involving a drunk Norwegian and a large medicine ball, no-one was in a particularly fit state to go for a jog or anything this morning. Getting into bed at 5 was heavenly - waking up at 7 to a world spinning at about 40 miles per hour was not. Not in the slightest. I mean, me and Sheldon had honestly been determined to have a quiet one last night. I guess fate had a different plan - God really does work in mysterious ways.

Anyways, around 2 o'clock in the afternoon, with the hangover still heavy on my head, I remembered I had offered to take part in a photo-shoot for a friend of mine on the beach that day. Uh-oh. I won't go into too many details, but the shoot involved me sitting in a freezing cold rock pool fully clothed, going for a nice little stroll through the also freezing cold sea (still fully clothed here), and then walking back through an empty Falmouth hungry and absolutely cream-crackered.  My lack of sleep essentially meant I was a walking zombie the entire day, and inevitably at about 8 o'clock this evening I gave in and had a 2 and a half hour nap - I don't think my sleeping pattern's gonna recover from that mental night in for a while.

Now readers, don't get me wrong, I had a great time. I just can't see how there are people in this world who make their living this way. I realise a lot of the people who do so are in fact much better looking than me, but still, it's not exactly rewarding. If anything it's sort of degrading. You're not really a person whilst you're being photographed, more of a plaything for the people co-ordinating the shoot. I just don't really get why people would be attracted to that way of life (modelling that is, not photography - which I actually think is a really cool way that humanity has created to express itself). If anyone has any ideas why there are people out there determined to make their living basically pouting at a camera, or if I'm missing the point entirely, please let me know.

I don't mean to sound ignorant, I'm just trying to gain a better understanding.

Matt out.

A little discussion on morality...

I'm pretty sure I'm just like anyone else when I say that I try to be a good person. Don't get me wrong, I'm no saint, but I think I succeed in not being an absolute dick about 75% of the time. I'm not going around kicking kittens or taking sweets from small children, sadly nor am I handing out donations to the homeless or working at the local soup kitchen.

One thing I tend to get a little bit of stick about (in some cases), is my chivalrous streak. It's about a mile wide and completely irrational, but for some reason it just kicks in immediately whenever I'm around a woman for more than a second. Perhaps it comes from being obsessed with the tales of King Arthur and the knights of the round table when I was a youngster, but I believe whole-heartedly that a lady should be treated specially - I'll hold doors open for her, pay for meals and generally treat her with a level of respect I should probably show everyone.

Label me a misogynist if you want, tell me I'm sexist and being politically incorrect - I don't care, I'm going to treat women the way I feel they should be treated. What really annoys me is when girls I'm trying to treat the way I feel she should be treated turn around and tell me I'm being condescending or patronising. I'm honestly not. I just want you to know that chivalry isn't dead. Yes I'm holding the door open for you, but that doesn't mean I don't respect you, if anything it means the opposite. I guess it's just something that gets to me a little bit - I don't like feeling punished for trying to be a good person.

I guess it's just that now, here at uni, I'm realising a lot of people don't share that particular view. I've lost count of the times I've seen guys actually push past girls to get to wherever they need to be, and that's made me wonder: is the world just getting inherently immoral? I mean, take a look at the news whenever you next get the chance, it's starting to really seem as though there are no more good guys anymore. Politicians lie, churchmen lie, even Policemen lie, as shown by the recent Hillsborough revelations. I guess I'm just starting to worry that my parents are right whenever they say "things ain't like they used to be".

Hopefully the world will prove me wrong.

Matt out.

"Boy you was Battle Born..."

Seeing as I'm planning to use this quirky little blog-zone as a platform for my writing, I thought I'd kick things off with a little post on something that means a lot to me, as I'm sure it does most people, my taste in music.

Now anyone who knows me will tell you I'm something of a Killers fan-boy, and they would be right. I can't think of any other band whose entire back-catalogue could be used as the soundtrack to the first 18 years of my time here on this weird little planet. As luck would have it, all of their album releases have coincided with significant milestones in my life. Hot Fuss was released just as I was starting secondary school, Sam's Town was around the time I was seriously getting into drama (and thus beginning the long and agonising process from shy, chubby geek to the arrogant loud-mouth I am today); Day & Age came out as I was entering into my first serious relationship (and was actually the first present I ever gave her) and now the Nevada-based quartet have released Battle Born a week after I've moved 400 miles to a university where I know 2 people out of 5,000.

Obviously, my emotional outline as a person has been at least in part molded by the sense of romanticism and nostalgia that permeates Brandon Flowers' lyrics, and the other day I found myself wondering if I were more into something like mindless drum & bass I'd be anywhere near the guy I am. I doubt it. For me, a song has to have some kind of emotional resonance with you that will stay with you for years, so that even if you were to hear that song in twenty years' time, that flood of emotion is just as strong as the day you first identified with it. I don't know, maybe I'm a sentimentalist, I just like to think that once I've decided I like a song, that song will mean something special and unique to me and me alone.

For example, a while back I was going through a pretty rough patch and I discovered Frank Turner. Now, if you haven't heard of him, go and check out his ENTIRE back-catalogue now - the man's a lyrical genius. One phrase in particular stuck with me throughout the next few months:

"Yeah life is about love, last minutes and lost evenings. 

About fire in our bellies and about furtive little feelings,

And the aching amplitudes that set our needles all a-flickering,

And they help us with remembering, that the only thing that's left to do is live." 

Now I'm sure he'll never see it, but I thought I should write it down anyway - those 4 lines struck me more than any had before in my life, so thanks Frank, it might not be all that significant, but after hearing those words my perspective on life changed a little bit, and that's down to you.

If you're wondering just what affect they had, you're going to be a little disappointed. It's not really something I can explain too much, suffice to say I realised I'd been letting one or two things hold me back from living the life I wanted to, and after hearing this I actively took steps to change that - for the most part I succeeded, but that's a story for another day.

I'm also a massive fan of John Mayer, the Wombats, Bowie, The Clash etc, but for raw emotionality it's gonna have to be The Killers or Frank for me.

Matt out.

Numero Uno.

So today, bored out of my mind, I have decided to take the plunge and start a blog. I'm probably not gonna publicise it very well, and I doubt anyone out there who actually knows me will ever read it - but heck, it's gotta be more entertaining than sitting at your desk refreshing Facebook every two minutes vainly hoping one of your friends will come online and rescue you from the mundane boredom that is your Thursday afternoon. I have it on good authority that adding a blog to your CV is a good idea if you're interested in a career in the media, as it gives potential employers something to gauge your suitability on. Now I know it's going to be many years before I'm doing anything as daunting as looking for a career path, but I figure I might as well start now, the next couple of years' worth of blogging can be a warm-up.