Amy Kilvington

Amy Kilvington

22 Student Writer Redhead

 - By Amy Kilvington

Over the past few years, various social events have presented the primped and preened members of the male species: the metrosexuals. I’ve been aware of the phenomenon for some time, but was never in a rush to formulate my own opinion. I was conscious, but not anxious. I’d seen them around, donning their low-cut tops and bleached hairstyles, but despite their extravagance I’d never spared much thought about metrosexual men.

 - By Amy Kilvington

It hit me like a bolt of lightning. There I was, tootling on home in my little blue car, easing the frustrations of the A1079 with the joyful tunes of Capital FM. I was singing along, as you do, imagining myself as a multi-platinum selling rock star, and ignoring the fact that I was out of time, out of tune, and have no observable singing talent whatsoever. But I powered on through, and then I realised.

Music turns us into arseholes.


So we’ve all heard the horror stories. The young girl meets up with the cute boy she’s been talking to on Myspace, and he turns out to be a 60-year-old man. The teenager starts dating the lad she met online, only to find he’s already got a string of girlfriends (and is actually a girl in disguise… weird). The college boy is wowed by the blonde bombshell that’s showing an interest on Facebook, and then discovers his love interest is actually an overweight, middle-aged mother of two. The media regularly makes us aware of the dangerous consequences of internet dating, with people being abused, imprisoned, and sometimes murdered. The obvious problem is that you have no clue who is actually on the other side of the screen. People can say whatever they want, and be whoever they want, and you’re none the wiser. Often internet dating can be damaging; people are misled and exploited, left confused and humiliated with bruised egos and broken hearts. But let’s not focus too much on the serious side of it; the TV and newspapers manage it sufficiently.


student (n)

a person who is studying at a

university or other place of

higher education

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, a student is someone who studies. It’s kind of obvious. It’s the title we all adopt when we move to university, furthering our education and broadening our horizons, all the while excited by the fact that we can now introduce yourselves as ‘students’. But now, with grateful thanks to the wayward individuals of Student’s Past, it’s no longer just a simple title. It’s a valid excuse.

 - By Amy Kilvington

When you’re approaching the end of your undergraduate degree, you have several options. You apply for an MA, or opt for graduate schemes, or travel the world in the hope of self discovery. You might be one of the irritatingly organised few, smug with the assurance of a position at the company of your dreams. The most likely situation, however, is to join the masses of hospitality or retail, where you’ll skivvy for six pounds an hour while you decide what you want to do ‘when you’re older’. These are the typical situations: further education, money making, or life experience. Being the conventional individual that I am, I chose the Masters. My housemate Jo is doing the same. Other friends are travelling and applying for undergraduate jobs, continuing to live the student life while they ponder their options. And there are a lot of options. Too many to choose from, really. But I also have a friend whose options are limited. Her path has been decided. She’s not going to be an academic or a traveller or a skivvy. She’s going to be a mum.

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