Coursework: Survival on Red Bull and broadsheet newspapers

I've spent too much time doing coursework. Of course, there is never too little time doing coursework, because coursework should be perfect, and that requires a lot of time.

Nevertheless, I have put untold hours into rushing the coursework. The time of year I don't think I ever work so hard.

Have I plugged my newsblog for journalism? http://news-for-frank.blogspot.com. Its fortunate I can blog, because this was the easiest piece I've had to do.
It did mean reading the papers and scanning for the stories I was going to blog about, so I've survived off reading the happenings of the world in the papers.

So I've also been up til the early hours, I'm talking about 2am, and it has a devastating effect on my beauty, because I've looked a state for the past week. A funny hot water cycle also means I haven't had a shave either.

To add to this, I've been doing the dance training I do every week.

• Sunday (this is why Red Bull has been mentioned in my blog title), Red Bull came to U.D.S to promote their breakdance classes and they brought two crates of cans, so I took as many as I could.
• Wednesday I was tired. But I packed some Red Bull that I took on Sunday, and I was on some other shit with memorising the [first] routine. I mean, normally at a professional level I have trouble remembering counts, but I actually did alright.
• Matt gave me the sound system for Thursday's class, and its a heavy fucker. Hauled that thing home.
• Thursday, ha! A deadline for my newsblog, so I headed to uni to hand in my cover sheet. All the way to Ealing, with the system over my shoulder, and we never had to hand in a cover sheet. I hadn't read the email properly. So I had to haul it all the way to Staines via public transport. Later that day my shoulders and calves (why?) were aching me.
• Friday was another deadline and the previous night I had drunk the remaining Red Bull to stay focused! I'd like to take the opportunity to thank my film studies tutor for extending my deadline (and the Academy for this speech...)

On the way home I was at the paper stand in Tescos deciding which paper to buy with my remaining coupons.
I don't like Tescos much, as some of you may know, but I knew I could use expired newspaper coupons at the self-service tills which would result in a loss from Tescos, so who cares? It backfired though, and the till said to "seek assistance" on the screen. It wasn't the voucher because they're identical in every way to the ones in date. Procedure, I guess.

Some foreign-accented assistant came up and typed a code into the till, but then told me it was cash only. I only had my card on me and 20p in my wallet. I couldn't believe my luck when she took 5pence from the till and paid the remainder of my cost! I killed two birds, using expired coupons and a further 5pence out of Tescos' oversized pockets! Beat that! I'll probably have Tescos on my back now, ha!

Anyway, I flicked through it (The Guardian) and onto G2 magazine to see Peaches Geldof had a whole one-side page to her name! Why is Peaches preaching?
I'm annoyed because of having the contacts/agency and fame she has being the daughter of Bob, she isn't the one going through a journalism degree to get her name in the paper! Why is she doing it? And why am I reading it?!

The footnote said she was covering for Andrew Chancellor. At present I am getting into reading columnists so I can identify with each of their styles and opinions. Now, off the top of my head I can't think who Mr Chancellor is, but his surname alone suggests he is a man of high profession!

I never said the article was shit though. Yes, I agree with what she is saying about MySpace. But Guardian readers don't need to know about what a celebrity's daughter thinks, because Guardian readers, in my mind, are not active MySpacers! Her thoughts are better identified to being commissioned by Mizz, or a tweenage publication.
I don't care much for her dog either, because the way she wrote it too girly, and men read G2 as well!! Getting a dog is not responsibility, getting a goldfish when you're five is, because at five the carvings of responsibility are drip-fed to you by your parents trusting you to take care of another creature. Responsibility is not putting your puppy on the table in Subway - why do you think people look at you!?

I just get so mad when I see stuff like that. You're just 18 and you're writing for the Guardian. I don't have time for this!