The ipod; that quintessential style icon that seems to be omnipresent amongst the street walking masses. Whatever did we do before it came along? How did people manage from day to day without their personal playlist being delivered directly to their brain via their ear canals stuffed with little white earphones? I mean, frankly, the thought of having to be in a public space without being plugged in to this slim status symbol is unthinkable…
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First off, who the hell likes Jedward? If you’re nodding your head in utter excitement, then already I’m concerned for you mentally (and physically if you’ve got the There’s Something About Mary-idea on how to keep your hair vertical, all-day, everyday). The Monkees started it all off but today we have subjected too much and too often to manufactured bands.

These little devils are created by the music industry for teeny boppers who are title holders of squealing (making Chuckie seems like a heaven) and are there simply to be bought into as a commodity. They dance like they’re on a strict Red Bull-only diet whilst their musical abilities are ignored; they can polish any old turd in the music studio and then when they are apparently “live”, it’s just a parody of miming frenzies, like watching the drunk at the work Christmas karaoke doo wailing through a Whitney Houston track.
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I know it’s not very original to be saying this now but as much as others seem to rant, moan and complain about it, I am still no closer to understanding people’s obsessions with photographing literally everything and anything they see and do. An obsession that was once reserved for the Japanese tourist, it seems photo-mania has gone international and now you can’t move at a festival, gig, art exhibit or public event for people with their cameras out, instinctively and blinding punching buttons on their tiny camera-phones or huge digital SLRs; a mindless clicking that encourages them not to think, not to imagine, not to feel. What’s wrong with looking at and simply remembering something? What is their compulsive urge to snap everything that moves? It’s like an addiction.
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The initial feeling when you walk towards an empty bike-rack is complete and utter disbelief - did I really leave my bicycle there? Realisation dawns and emotions quickly turn to sadness and depression; I know it’s only a bike but, as anyone who’s ever had anything stolen from them will know, it’s a horrible, horrible experience.

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