Philippa Barnes

Philippa Barnes

Aspiring journalist for BounceSin, currently stumbling through life in Leeds. Likes reading, dancing and sangria - but not the hangover.

What’s not to like about summer? Hours of lecture-free freedom jam packed with holidays, picnics in the park, beer gardens and barbecues. The link between these things? As the temperature increases, layers of clothing will instantaneously decrease. When that occasional 20 minute glimmer of sunshine breaks out from behind the perpetual clouds, it sends us into a frenzy of ripping off cardigans, rolling up jeans and mad dashes to Tesco to pick up disposable barbecues. With all this excess flesh on show, you inevitably find yourself in front of the mirror wondering if that t-shirt’s shrunk in the wash or if you've just had one too many takeaways during exam season.

Picture the scene; its 8pm, you’re sat on the sofa in your PJs, finally finding out who’s won that episode of ‘Come Dine With Me’, when you receive a text containing the immortal words; ‘you out tonight?’ Here you have two choices, put your slippers on and open up another bag of Malteasers because Free Willy 3 is on, or crack open a beer, down a few pro-plus and get your gladrags on for the crazy night  out ahead. Which sounds more appealing?

The world’s most pierced man has a total of 453 piercings; he’s definitely got some catching up to do though as the world’s most pierced woman has over 6000. But it appears Elaine Davison does not actually enjoy getting her piercings done, as she quoted to the Telegraph, ‘I don’t enjoy getting pierced, but to break the record you have to get to a high level.” So she’s punctured her body over 6000 times, many in bizarre and rather inappropriate places, just to get her name in the record books? What record will she go for next? The world’s most ambitious woman or the world’s stupidest?

 

Take a moment to imagine a world without books. Perhaps a library would just be a single room filled with USB ports where you simply plug in your Kindle and borrow a digital copy of Wuthering Heights, without having to worry about someone shooting death stares at you for flipping a page too loudly. You would no longer be able to feign the appearance of being a perfect student to your parents by having a full (if slightly dusty) bookcase in the corner of your room. Instead all your books would be stuffed into a piece of plastic. With the ever increasing sales of Kindles worldwide, this is a world I can potentially see becoming a reality.

 

After weeks of hard revision/procrastinating by watching ‘Come Dine With Me’ repeats, I had finished my first exam of the year. With the prospect of a ten-day gap until my next one in front of me, I decided to give myself the rest of the day off to relax, have a bath, watch a (non-intellectual) film and generally chill out until my next excursion to the library. My plans for a sensibly relaxing evening were instantly shattered by a text inviting me to my friend’s end of exams house party. Normally I can’t think of anything worse than going completely alone to a party where you only know one person, but it was difficult to say no to one involving a hot tub and copious amounts of vodka jelly. So that evening, I bit the bullet and decided to go it alone, with the hopes of a few drinks in a hot tub and meeting some nice new people at the same time.

 

On a dimly lit dancefloor where the flashing lights don’t fall on one person for more than a second or two, I’ve been finding it tricky to find myself a man. My biggest problem isn’t seeing through the obligatory fancy dress of student nights, to see if the guy behind the badly put together pirate outfit is in fact like Jack Sparrow or more like Captain Pugwash. It’s not that I’m like the Kate Middleton of Hull University waiting for a Prince to whisk me off to Kensington Palace. I realise that the odds of this happening are pretty low in a place some people consider as ‘the second worst place to live in Britain.’  

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