iPhones, girlfriends and flip-flops are all banned on planes

Did you know that among the list of things you’re not allowed to take on planes there’s lithium batteries (found in almost every Apple item since the first ever iPod), aerosol cans (just like the ones they sell in duty free before you fly) and sharp objects. Before you start asking if that includes pens, toothpicks, hair clips or just about a thousand other items you've probably carried onto a plane, it doesn’t. Apparently only knives and scissors are dangerous when it comes to airplanes.

What’s even stranger is that on Delta Airlines you are not allowed pocket knives, now does that mean you can take any knife that won't fit in your pocket? That leaves a lot of knives on the list. Confusing, no? Well, the real confusing thing is that there are several lesser known items that have been left off that really need to be added. I’ve compiled a short list of a few I think we can all agree should never be allowed on a plane.

For example; babies, which are a three fold problem on planes. They smell, they make loud noises and as soon as they reach 3 they end up kicking your seat for the duration of your flight. How about non in-ear headphones? You’ve all experienced this I am sure. There's that one guy with his music blasting way to loud for his own good, let alone the guy sitting 10 rows back from him. I mean the only positive note, sorry for the pun, is that he is going to lose his hearing within 2 years. So at least you can rest easy knowing that Karma is going to kick his ass. And these items are just the beginning. We might as well just throw the following in, after all, I’m sure we can all agree they should be banned; Flip-flops, smelly foods, flasks, FARTING (I mean come on, we’re all in a confined shared space, whoever it is just stop) BO (you know who you are) and last but def not least KELLY PESCOD. Yes that’s right, I've incriminated my own girlfriend, but then she's probably as bad as taking SARS or Uranium rods onto a plane. Even mentioning the word plane can set this poor girl off.

She’s the real reason I’m not so eager to travel back to the UK. It's not the weather, tax or Chavs that litter the streets, it’s the anguish of spending over a day locked in a 2x4 box with the world’s worst flyer.

So be aware when you next fly of the dangers that lurk at over 30,000 feet. The worst is blond, 5ft 5 and most likely popping sleeping pills. 

Anything can be art, even a blog!

http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/2250468/HKBlogart

The story so far.......

I'd like to say it's been easy and that you can leave Uni with a solid degree, or two, several years of experience and a pocket full of tenacity (what dreams are made of) to find yourself swamped with job offers. But this just isn't the case.

There are those that fall into jobs, but more often than not it’s because they know someone who knows someone or their Daddy's the boss. However, it's just not how the world works. And these folks never really last, trust me.

I've spent the last 7 months in Hong Kong, since the start of this blog, networking, interning, groveling, taking part in a world's greatest salesperson competition and even crying on occasion. And I can say with 100% conviction that I have not enjoyed every minute of it at all, far from it. I've enjoyed the majority of moments, but I've also never felt so lost and alone during several others.

Despite all that has happened though, I have made it and today I am more then happy.

I would encourage all those that have a dream to follow it no matter where it takes you or how hard the path is along the way. Reaching a goal, no matter how small, always makes up for the crap you’re undoubtedly going to have to face. As a great man once said "Being very good is no good. You have to be very, very, very, very, very good" (DO).

This is not the end of my blog, as the title states, "life begins at 23". I merely have the opening chapter to my memoirs.

Neglected Blog

I am very sorry for the neglected nature of my blog in recent months. I promised I would update every week. However, I have been busy. lol.

There is good news to come. I promise that!

More stories, and a re-blogging will commence soon.

I am one of the World's Greatest Salespeople, FACT!

You may have heard it on the news, you may have read it in the papers and you may have even seen my video. One things for sure though, my life will never be the same again. The past few weeks have been a real turning point. I'd like to thank everyone involved so far for their support and encouragement.

For those of you that the message has not reached, I've been engaged in a battle of the bricks; blocks of clay have been thrown and small little red lines have been drawn. The revolution has truly begun. You came in your hundreds and supported my work, when really; it’s your effort that should be congratulated. You joined the revolution; you formulated uses for a useless 19th century building aid and you have ultimately shaped this outcome. I always believed the Red Brick was not obsolete, thank you all for believing in me. Let “the power of intrinsic value” be sung from the highest rooftops.

Almost a month ago OgilvyOnes’s – search for the world’s greatest salesperson – competition began and it’s hard to believe I’ve made it to this point. Last Sat I was nominated to the top 10 “world’s greatest salespeople”, as the competition reached its second phase. It just goes to show what we can do when we rally together. The Red Brick will truly be saved thanks to Ogilvy and our revolution.

There have been highs and there have been lows, there have even been those little annoying bits in between that nobody really likes. However, the wait is not over, the end is not insight and the hard work has only just begun. Its time to pull out my ‘A’ game, write like I’ve never written before, interview like there's no tomorrow and sell sell sell. After all, MY DREAM DEPENDS ON IT.

Through the looking glass. Part 2 - The long awaited sequel

The truth is that you can’t beat a good old mishap, as long as it’s someone else in the firing line. It’s pretty obvious that as a race, humans love to see people “fail”. Most of the time it’s not cruel, it just puts your life into perspective and gives you a warm fuzzy feeling inside. There are plenty of YOUTUBE videos advertising this fact. Ok, so it may be a little sadomasochistic, but everyone laughs eventually, as long as ultimately the poor hapless individual is still alive and in once piece afterwards. On that note, I must inform you all of my latest “fail”.

My recent excursion to European Asia, Macau, ended with one of the scariest experiences of my life. I have an innate trust that I believe all my fellow Brits share; no matter where we travel in the world (except the Middle East of course) we will be received with open arms. This has been the case throughout my life, thanks to her Majesty’s most gracious gift; The British Passport. My Great British belief, however, came crashing down when retuning through Hong Kong immigration.

I had been slightly nervous all day about approaching the immigration desk, seeing as my holiday Visa was a month from running out and as a badly balding 23 year old man, I often get odd looks on the few occasions I am asked for ID; my driving license, passport, student card and pretty much any photo ID I have were taken around 4 years ago, when I had hair. I was expecting the usual, leading questions and dark looks, however, nothing to the extent of what happened upon handing over my passport.

From upside down, I could make out the official type the four worst words in the immigration language; STOP, PREVENT, ARRIVAL and HOLD. My heart began to race, my palms began to sweat and my head began to spin. My passport was confiscated as I was marched from the queue, told to sit in a waiting area, and left to the sole destroying darkness of my thoughts.

Anyone in a situation such as this will tell you that panic is a natural occurrence, and most will break down and spill everything for hopes of striking a deal. I managed to regain my calm, however, by telling myself that they didn’t now anything, they had no clue and in fact where probably waiting for me to say too much, and get myself in trouble. I was reminded of my Psychology degree (Game theory and the Prisoner Dilemma) and how the situation would most likely plan out.

First they make you sweat while they check your background, then they take you into a dark room where your defences are weakened by their authoritarian and overwhelming stature and potential power, where you eventually break under your own doing, and end up being deported. I had decided, however, as most good cop films have taught me, to stay quiet and figure out exactly what they knew before I said anything.

As I was taken from one very lonely place in my head, to another altogether equally lonely place in their interrogation room, I tried my hardest to keep my heart rate low and my wits about me. I was informed that they were very concerned with both the quality of my passport, and the youthful nature of my picture. I explained about the rigorous issues of genetic premature baldness, the mishap with a luggage label sticking three of the pages together, and why I was returning to Hong Kong in the first place. I told the truth, explained the situation, and after a few trick questions from several immigration officers, I was eventually let past on my own merit.

In all truthfulness there were several moments when I thought I was really in trouble, half way round the world from my family. The reality of my situation in Hong Kong and the altogether nature of being this far from home had really set in. I have never experienced homesickness, but I came close that day.

Despite all this, I will be going back to Macau, I’m just going to change all my ID photo’s and get a new passport before I contemplate any more day trips.

World's Greatest Salesperson - Red Brick Revolution.m4v

let the RED BRICK REVOLUTION BEGIN

Through the looking glass. Part 1

If you ever come to Hong Kong, one of the best things you can do is leave. I don’t mean to sound like I hate Hong Kong, far from it, I love it here. What I mean to say is that you should take a trip to Macau, a small SAR (special administrative region) a short hop, skip and a 1 hour jump from Hong Kong via boat.

Macau has to be one of the strangest places I have ever had the pleasure of visiting. In order to understand what you experience you have to imagine a place a lot like Alice's Wonderland. Macau is half Chinese, half Portuguese (European) and half Las Vegas. I know that makes it over 50% bigger than is physically possible, but then the Chinese have a way of making more of an available space then anyone else. The walled city of Kowloon was one example of that. Macau is made of an additional 50% reclaimed land which lays way for the larger then Las Vegas gambling strip.

When you arrive, however, I recommend you head for the tourist area and not the bright lights of the Macau strip. Now, most people would advise that you stay away from tourist destinations if you want to experience the real country, however, this is defiantly not the case with Macau. Macau present two options, tourist destination or gambling heaven; the Chinese locals are only there to gamble, so to escape the hustle and bustle I recommend you stay close to the tourist areas. Embrace the sites and standard routes and experience China through the looking glass. Anything else is honestly just a gamble.

On your way through the city you will travel through what appears to be a bustling American cityscape with high rise buildings and hotels. Suddenly and without warning, however, you'll have become lost in a maze of cobbled side roads and small European flats. Around every corner of this place, you'll come across something new, exciting and completely awe-inspiring; from the view at the fort to the famous market square and the wall of the St Paul’s cathedral. Never has so much fuss been made over one wall, except of course that wailing one. Just make sure you watch your step, the locals seem to love mopeds more then they love gambling, and seeing as this is the only place in China where it is legal to gamble, that makes for a hell of a lot of mopeds.

If you do decide to place a bet, however, I would recommend you visit the Macau strip over the “odd bod” Casino’s placed around the city. An entire gambling heaven awaits, built on reclaimed sand, larger then Las Vegas. However there was just so much to do I never made it this far, the experience is truly yours to embrace. I will, however, be going back to Macau, for the world’s tallest bungee (Macau Tower) the world’s largest indoor river (The Venetian Macau) and the world’s most “out of this world” tourist destination.

In all honestly I recommend at least a visit to Macau, whether you choose to follow the white rabbit of the gambling habit, or get lost with the Cheshire cat among the maze of cobbled streets. Macau is an experience not to be missed.

Sharing is caring, in Hong Kong

I recently went for a meal over in Shek O on the south side of Hong Kong Island and I’ve discovered something about the eating habits of Hong Kong that is completely foreign.

In England you order from a set menu, each to his own, and although you may order a side of onion rings or possibly even a salad to share, if you’re that way inclined, the vast majority of people are happy with their own choice. Even when ordering foreign food from a take away, in England, you’re likely to have your own dish. This is the way of the English.

The thing about moving to a foreign country, however, is that you’re thrust into embracing foreign habits and customs. Most of these are not too taxing, for example; everyone sweats in Hong Kong in the summer “apparently” and it’s just accepted, no one ever wears a tie to work, beer is considered liquid gold with a price tag to match and the business card is the Hong Kong hand shake. The strangest of these customs, however, comes at meal time.

Instead of ordering a set meal each, everyone orders a dish from the menu, and it’s shared between the table. Just think about how vicious it would get if you had to share your meal with several people in England. At Uni if anyone came close to steeling your chips they’d risk losing a finger. I’m guessing this is why the Chinese invented chopsticks, blunted instruments that make it impossible to take too much food at once. This technically prevents selfishness and injury, unless of course you take a chopstick in the eye.

After a few months of deliberation, however, I have come to love the concept of a shared meal. You can pick and choose, benefit from a variety of flavors and usually enjoy more food then from a set meal. I don’t see the concept taking off in England anytime soon though so I think I’ll stay out here a little longer.

In Hong Kong sharing really is caring. If only the Chinese could invent something to remove the side effects of eating spicy foods.

Once upon a time at the 7's

If you know Hong Kong, or if you know Rugby, then you've heard of the Hong Kong 7's. A three day weekend, full of drinking, socializing and a boat load of rugby.

I arrived at the stadium after two days of some spectacular rugby. It was Sunday morning and I was headed straight to “South Stand”, dressed head to toe as Ronald McDonald, ready for a day’s drunken madness.

After a slightly jaded couple of hours, the face paint had started to burn into my skin, I’d kicked over a Litre of Alcohol, eaten my weight in beef pies and nature was calling. It had been my goal to get on the big screen, live in-front of the crowd and as yet we, the McDonalds, had not been noticed.

On the way to the toilet, however, my luck changed and I managed to get my moment of fame with 15 seconds of crazy dancing on the big screen. Full of glee over my recent TV appearance, I had decided to repeat the dance whilst traveling back to my seat, just in case the “paps” were still rolling. I began with a hop, a skip, a shuffle and a shake; I was truly in my element. I had no idea, however, that this would all result in a torn ligament and 4 hours in A n E.

Before I new it I was hopping home hoping that after a few hours kip some RICE (rest, ice, compress and elevation) and some pain killers, I’d make it to Wan Chi for the after game party. It was not to be, however, after a few hours’ kip. I tried standing and almost collapsed in pain. If was off to hospital for this 7’s fan.

The first thing I can say is thank God I went home first and got changed. The mere act of sitting in A n E as a slightly hung over Ronald McDonald, in a wheelchair with a potentially broken foot and a face full of paint, would most likely ruin the dreams of any small child not to mention end in a potential law suit from McDonalds themselves for Brand misrepresentation. I had other things to worry about.

The first thing you have to realize about the hospitals, like so many other things in Hong Kong, is that you pay upfront and you keep hold of the receipt. If there is any place that could feel more like a Monty Python sketch it’s a Hong Kong hospital. I half expected John Clees to pop out from behind the curtain to take my order.

The next thing you will notice is that the locals are apparently there to watch the TV rather then as a result of any illness. It’s my opinion that if you can walk, and your not in a sling or have blood coming from somewhere, that you shouldn’t go to A n E. In England we are deliberately told not to go to hospital if we have flu like symptoms. It’s the opposite in HK, with patients told to report if there have any signs of a cold. There must have been at least 10 people go through before me, only to return within a minute with a perplexed look on there face.

So there I am, sitting in a queue of drunken 7's victims, with receipt in hand waiting to be seen. It really is a unique experience. It’s a shame that I was told they charge extra if you use a wheel chair, I would have hopped if I had known. The best description I can give of the whole experience is that of a 5 star Hotel. Admittedly all the services are superb, and you know you're in good hands, but ultimately watch out for all the additional extras they may add to the bill and NEVER ever drink from the mini bar in your room.

All in all I’ve lost my south stand virginity in a way I will never forget. There is always more to the Hong Kong 7’s than the rugby.

Hedge your bets

I recently attended two events that can only be described as ultimately different, however, at the same time oddly similar. The events in question both involve a large mass of people forcing drinks down themselves to lubricate their systems, talking to complete strangers, and a genuinly good time had by all.

I regularly attend the famous Happy Valley Races on a Wednesday night, amid the usual social crowd, beer tents and first time winners. I myself was once a virgin racer and I have tasted begginers luck, winning a whole $20, so I can see the appeal. On a similar Wednsday night however, I attended a bankers dating evening, purely for networking purposes of course, despite there being no real appeal for the occasion, I noticed some odd similarities.

At both occasions you are presented with a large array of contestants to choose from. There are the tipped favourites, the experienced oldtimers, the mid ranged runners and of course the last place outsiders. At both occasions you must also ask yourself the same basic questions; Which contestent is a likely winner, who should I bet on, what are my odds of success, which has the best legs and how well they are likely to ride.

At either occasion I would offer the folowing advice. Start by getting the cheat sheet, survey the prospects and if possible get the low down from a regular on each contestant. There are probably a few hidden flaws, always watch out for a wooden leg, and never approach a guaranteed winner, your return is way too small. My advice would be to hedge your bets, play the field and more importantly then not, go with whatever name sounds the best.

Giving up giving up, for lent

Lent is upon us once more and the age old question that passes everyone’s lips, what to give up this year. Should I stop eating chocolate for a month, only to eat a month’s supply of Easter eggs in April, or should I stop driving to save on my carbon footprint, only to fail within 5 minuets of walking in the heat of Hong Kong, sweating buckets and smelling of Graham Street fish market.

I propose a different solution, this year I am not going to give up anything. I am going to take up something. In essence I am going to give up giving up, which is ultimately the flaw in my plan. To stop giving up, I need to give up giving up. And hence I have already failed, but I’m willing to over look this. I’ve always thought the idea of "giving up" to be a very depressing prospect anyway and I’ve not been religious since 2000 so I really shouldn't care about the tradition.So why not flip it on it's head, I should take up not giving up.

Taking up something installs a more positive and free thinking attitude. It allows for a much wider range of possibilities. When you decide to give up something you have to already be doing it, and in essence, there are only a finite number of things that you are currently doing. On the other hand there is ultimately an infinite number of things that you are not doing, that you could take up.

Why not try it this year, look for something new and different that you can do for a month, or even turn your current thoughts on giving up, into thoughts of taking up. If you’re giving up smoking, you’re taking up breathing cleaner air. If you’re giving up sex you’re taking up celibacy. If you’re giving up chocolate, which I am sure everyone woman on earth will try at least once, then you’re taking up a healthier option.

This practice should leave a sense of achievement that’s easier to follow and accomplish than trying to give up something. Try giving up smoking for example, your likely to fail. Then try taking up longer life, cleaner air, nice smelling cloths and the extra pocket money. Thinking this way about your situation is sure to have a better outcome.

As for me, I am simply giving up giving up, and that’s a good enough start.

Oh, Suits you sir!

There comes a time in every mans life when he has to pick his first suit. It used to be that this was the making of a man; the suit would command, inspire and flaunt ambition to those in lesser attire. Then came the power tie, something Wall Street believed would inspire greatness in the eyes of the beholder. Feminists would critique, however, that the tie itself is just a representation of the phallic male symbol of power and that its presence alone was unnecessary and that any addition would be Freudian. Middle and lower, entry level, management even caught on to the trend and when the piano tie was even considered to be "a power tie" the fad was truly over.

Nowadays however the number of additions, colours, styles and fabrics can literally drive a man insane. As it is these days a mans first suit is no longer bought for his first job ( and by first job I don't mean the paper round as a teenager, that would be silly, although the tips would have probably been a little better). As childhood gets ever shorter these days its more like a boys first suit, then a mans.

My first suit was bought from ASDA "George" for my senior school, 6th form or college, depending on where in the UK you come from. It was also either year 11, 9, lower 5th or G7 depending on nothing at all and probably made up by the school you attended. I never really understood the difference or similarity between the ever complicated English schools system. Anyway.....

Today's suit can consist of trousers, jacket, waistcoat, tie, bow tie, cufflinks, shirt, pinstripe shirt, pinstripe trousers, pinstripe suit, pinstripe pinstripe pinstripe, socks (any colour as long as they are brightly coloured and in no way match anything else you have on) and of course shoes (which also don't need to match the colour of your suit). Women think they have it bad. Admittedly we only ever have to make this choice once, but then there comes the never ending array of ties that we apparently need. If there is one thing I loved about my first Suit it was that the tie was bought by the school and was identical to everyone else’s. Perhaps this would eliminate any phallic competition between men that ties allow; big knot, small knot, tight knot, long fat bit, short thin bit, visa verse, tucked in, and many more.

The whole process has become a complete farce, I like to think of myself as creative, but even with all these options you’re still just in a suit, like everyone else. Lets be honest, who is ever actually comfortable in one of these. In meetings we take the jackets of because its impossible to write anything with them on, in the summer we don't even wear ties and you're always going to get the staff fool wearing all pinstripes with a stripy tie!

Why not just wear nice smart trouser, like chinos or smart jeans, and a collared shirt. Most creative agencies do. It’s comfortable, smart and no way near so much of a bother. Don't get me wrong, I loved my first suit, and I love my University Tie, it made me feel part of something but when it comes to actually doing work, being creative and comfortable enough to allow me to perform at work, I'd rather not wear a suit.

When everyone and anyone can wear a suit, and the meaningfulness of wearing one is thus lost, why wear one at all. I say not wearing a suit suits me perfectly.

Job losses, death's, theft's and bruises

Someone once told me that life will keep throwing up road blocks, you just have to know that you can drive straight through them.

Despite this however, I always thought there would be a breaking point, I mean we all have our limits. Alexander McQueen committed suicide when his mother died, Heath Ledger overdosed trying to find perfection and even Hitler committed suicide eventually, all be it too late if you ask me.

The thing is, I never seem to reach the end of my tether. I've not been through anything especially tragic, just the usual; cheating girlfriends, job losses, deaths, thefts and bruises. I seem to go through life getting small kicks and hits and after each one I feel sad, but I bounce back. I don't understand why I keep bouncing back, I just do. After each new small tragedy I just seem to take it on the chin, and get over it.

But then I think, why am I just taking this so casually, why don't I get worked up, why don't I hit something, exploded, cry, or even drink?

There is only one answer, "its all relative, even if we don't understand, its all understood" (Jack Johnson - Its all understood)

I continually hold out for that good event, the one Karma keeps me believing will come around. The thing is, I'm getting closer to asking if that's all we ever do. Are we always holding out for that one moment in our lives when we can say it has all been worth it? Because if we are, what happens after that. After all it's all relative, its only a good event because we have bad events to compare them with.

Karma has taught me that there is a definite balance between everything in the universe. Ultimately it can be simplified down to good and bad things, although these definitions are unendingly more complex.

We experience something good, and we experience something bad, they balance each other out eventually, all be it randomly and unpredictably. At its most basic it's like tossing a coin, you're either going to get a head or a tail, and eventually if tossed enough times you'll end up with 50% of each (many would argue that its more like 40:60, but thats an entirely different debate).

So when we reach this one moment we strive for, we are inevitably just going to experience the exact opposite somewhere further down the line to balance it out. Seeing as this balance will never end until we die, there is no ultimate high without an ultimate low.

So I say look out for all the high's rather then just that one big one. We all experience the lows, big or small, but we rarely appreciate anything but the big high's.

So yes, once again life has kicked me in the teeth, but it's the knowledge that something good is certain to happen, no matter how small, that is keeping me going.

Always celebrate the good things, no matter how small; from arriving at the bus stop just as the bus arrives, to getting the perfect job. Ultimately life will kick you in the teeth, MULTIPLE times. Finding the happiness in life is hard but it can be found none the less.

Finally life begins

A birthday's a birthday no matter where you are. No matter the location you’re always a year old, a year wiser and a year sicker.

23 birthdays behind me and I’m still ill after a couple of birthday drinks. I think it’s safe to say no matter how old and wise you get, you’re never impenetrable to the effects of alcohol. What does change however, are the excuses.

It wasn’t officially my birthday on Sat, but with my first rugby game in 6 years and the success of finally making enough friends to have a party, it felt just right to suggest a celebration. That is until of course you’ve experiences the mixed efforts of an entire rugby team enforcing both an initiation ceremony and a birthday celebration simultaneously upon you. I could debate the meaning of ceremony that is attached to a rugby initiation; its lack of finesse, its deficit of order, its irrational malice, but then the first rule of an initiation is “DON’T QUESTION THE INITIATION”.

There are so many things I could tell you about how wrong that night was, how any drink that you set on fire should not be a means to an ends and a hangover is not an end that justifies any means whatsoever, but there are more important facts that must be presented.

Firstly – Joining a sports club in Hong Kong is the fastest and finest way to make friends. Nothing beats being part of a team; being required, needed and respected. At the same time however, it’s also one of the scariest and loneliest things you can do. In my situation I was on my own going to training, knowing no one, and having to get up close and personal with 14 other men in a sport, that to any outsider would seem barbaric in nature. It’s a good thing I’ve spent that last 4 years hitting people for fun on the American Football pitch. The same game without pads however, is an entirely new thrill.

Secondly – You never feel pain, or at least until both the affects of alcohol and adrenaline have worn off the next day. It is around that time you figure out you experiencing a minor concussion rather then just a bad hangover. At least it means I can be kicked in the eye many more times, jut as long as I am either drunk, or on the pitch in an adrenaline fuelled high. It won’t however stop it hurting for the next week.

Thirdly – You can get a job, you can have loads of money, and you can stay in a house on the Peak (for the time being at least), go where only the famous people go, but when you’re sitting at home, with nothing to do, twiddling your thumbs and stitching your own jeans it finally hits you. Life really is nothing without Friends.

Friends make everything, they made Durham, they mate the SAINTS, and they officially make Hong Kong feel like home for me. I thank all my friends for the best birthday I could ask for and anyone could ask for, starting out in a new country, with a new job, a new club, a new sport and a NEW LIFE, aged 23.

Life before life began.

I've been in HK for over 2 months now so some might say this blog is a Little behind the times. I've been thinking about writing since I got out here, but its never really happened until now. Don't worry its a long story short.

So England, why would anyone leave? Or more to the point why would anyone stay? At University people always ask 2 really important questions when you first meet.

1 - What grades did you get at A level?
2 - Where do you come from?

If your asking a girl however there are two additional questions one should consider as a fresher;

3 - What course are you on? (So I can sit next to you and flirt instead of learn)
4 - What halls are you in? (If your within walking distance then we can be friends)

The funny thing is, students only ever ask names after all this faf, and believe me when your in your 4th year, having to answer questions about A levels really is a FAF. Its almost as bad as having to answer the second question. Trust me, trying to explain to anyone who lives in the north were Surrey is is like trying to tell the difference between whisky and Scotch. I eventually just say London, although its 2 hours outside, its a good reference point and it shuts people up.

I quickly learnt that at Uni where your from is very important, so after many a boring explanation about how I'm not actually from London, and my name isn't actually "JD" its just my initials, after the "R" of course, I gave up and decided to embrace my Scottish heritage instead. Its closer to the north and so easier to explain location wise, and everyone from outside the UK doesn't hate you for being British, they love you for being Scottish and for putting up with the British.

I am sure everyone reinvents themselves when they go to Uni. I changed my name from Richard to "JD" and bought a Kilt. I must point out I have never actually been called Richard by anyone except my parents, I was always called by my last name at school. When your named after an Australian toilet ( a Dunnies) you can see why I decided a change was needed.

After all this and with University and school behind me the only thing left is a Job, or travel the world. I would have chosen the latter, only I've spent near on 30k on Uni so it be best to stop spending. After three solid months of job hunting after Uni, and two years on On/Off hunting at Uni, I gave up. Hitting the job market in the middle of the worst recession in history really makes a man out of a mouse.

When I left Uni after my Undergrad I was a Mouse, scared of work, and what to do. Thankfully however after my more successful postgraduate degree, the recession had made a man out of me. Still nothing could have solved the fact that England has nothing to offer. My parents don't even live there anymore. There are many reasons why I embrace my Scottish side, and its mainly because I just don't enjoy being British. Its too homely, behind the times, full of memories of an old life and generally just to "British". I felt it was time to move on, and why not Hong Kong.

The opportunity arose and I took it with both hands, and so here I am. Scared out of my mind whether I have made the right decision. At least I don't miss England.

Truth be told Its my friends I miss. They made University what University is, and I miss University. When I left school for Uni I couldn't wait to get a job and have money and a career, its University that changed my mind, got me to slow down and become less focused on life. As my Birthday approaches I find myself longing for the fresher experience again, asking the 4 questions, having 3 years to put off starting my life once more.

University should ready you for life to begin, its left me asking if I'm ready to begin my life?

True learning begins when University ends.

When I passed my driving test at the ripe old age of 17, I thought I knew everything. I sat in the driving seat with a smile one my face from ear to ear. Soon my hopes and dreams of traveling the country were quashed however, as my father offered me the following statement.

"You've passed your test, so now I'm going to teach you how to drive"

My father had been told the same by his father, as his father had told him, for as far back as it was possible to drive. Seeing as my father is rather old, it might have only been two generations, however, the statement still holds true today, and not just for driving.

Now that I have finished Uni, I have only started to learn about life. Uni has given me the understanding, but its applying it to the real world that's hard. You cant be taught this and its a shock for everyone. trust me, many people wont admit it, but the first thing a graduate feels when he leaves Uni isn't relief, gratification or joy, its the dreaded thought "holy hell what am I gonna do with my life". its the reason I went back to Uni for a post grad degree, because life is just to scary and Uni provides a safe haven, where you don't have to think about anything past your next essay or club social. There are those that have jobs straight out of Uni, but they are few and far between, especially this year.

Despite all of this its time for me to finally find my place in the world. Its that or a PHD. I'll get on to the reason I've had to travel half way round the world to do it in a later post, but for now, I'd like to thank my father.

Uni has finished and its time I started learning.

I turn 23 next week, I'm in Hong Kong, and with; 2 degrees, 3 A levels, 4 As Levels, 9 GCSE and a BTEC, my life has truly begun.