Social Pariah

*Outside Vanbrugh paradise – it is cold, and wet, and visibility is cruel for a sleepy, squinty, moley little creature like myself, scuttling on my way home… *

Cradling my laptop, dark chocolate Bounty in mouth, I glimpse my hip and trendy DJ chum Nik heading off into the distance…

“Nik!” I call. No reply. Perhaps understandable as my call was somewhat muffled by a mouth full of semi-chewed but oh-so-tasty desiccated coconut. I swallow and brave a second holler at my homeboy. “NIK!”. This time he definitely hears, swivelling round like the Hunchback of Notre Dame in a beanie. Yet, far from the welcome I was expecting, he pivots round and quickens to a trot. Reeling, I am suddenly overtaken by a Mary Whitehouse-esque desire to teach this young ruffian some manners. Never one to take a social snubbing gracefully, I throw caution (and, I might add, a good 10p worth of remaining confectionery) to the wind and spring forward with remarkable dexterity to grab the rapscallion by his handily placed hood. Yoinking him back with a pleasing level of violence I bring the cad directly to my eyeline. “OI! NIK! HI! IT’S ME!” I boom roughly half a millimeter from his face. That’ll teach him. “I’m not Nik.” “Oh.” “Can you let go of my hood?”

*The Guardian Student Media Awards* Time: Midnight.

Alcohol consumed: Everyone else was drunk too you know…

The Nouse team are happily “getting their groove on” when a bright spark amongst us suggests we go and talk to Evan Davis. “Evan Davisss? Nononono I don’t know him, he’s not my friend” I explain to the masses in the centre of a RunDMC-style dance off. “No, he’sss he’ssss um, the guy off Dragons Den” a more quick-witted member of the team cleverly observes and deftly shepherds the still gyrating herd towards said celeb. People begin to approach him with silly, silly ideas. I however, am different. “eehhh Hello Evan” I carefully pronounce, putting my wine down so as to long uber-proffessional. “I..errrr…I was wondering…what umm, what is your advice for an award winning newspaper?” In my head, I congratulate myself not only on managing to remain upright, but also for having come up with such an astute, mature, and obviously work experience deserving question. “I miss my family” says Evan. Hmmm…

*I have just become Editor and decide to reward myself with a little present, a shiny, nifty little Blackberry. Having signed the next sixty years of my life and my internal organs away to O2, I comfort myself. This is not just a phone. This is going transform me. I am going to become suave and sophisticated, wear elegant pop socks instead of no socks, and eat Alpen and exotic berries for breakfast instead of unhealthy, joke foods like prawn crackers from left over takeaways, or Haribo Tangfastics. I upload an impressive list of contacts who I don’t know and can guarantee to never call, and prepare myself for the new persona I am soon to adopt.

“Hi, Charlotte, it’s Mr.X here from Heslington Hall.”

“Ah, hello, sorry if you can’t hear me perfectly, I’ve just got a new Blackberry you see.” (I wait for the gasp of admiration)

“Um yes, actually I was calling because I think you might have sent me a photograph of your foot by accident, and I wanted to let you know.” Oh dear.

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