» School Projects

A-level psychology
Part of the A-level psychology course was to design, conduct and evaluate your own psychological study. So, I decided to do something a bit different than the 'suggestions' given by our lecturers (for the numpties), and mine was simple, but effective:

H1 - women looking at pictures of men after eating chocolate will find the men more attractive because of the release of...serotonin or something.

H0 - eating chocolate will have no effect on how attractive women perceive men to be

So, we have to fill in proposal forms and send them to the BPS, covering if any ethical issues will be raised, how we will deal with these, if they are justified and so on.

So, off I sends mine, with the working title: "Does chocolate make men more attractive?"

I got it back, and written in red pen in big letters at the top, was the legend: "Have you tried dipping them in it?"

I got an A


EDIT: I cocked up my results (ie couldn't be arsed to do them all so made some up realising I'd have more to write about if my experiment seemed a bit shit), so I have no idea if my hypothesis is valid or not. All female b3tans who want to volunteer to repeat the experiment click 'I like this'!
(Sat 15th Aug 2009, 11:22, More)

» School Projects

Art GCSE
At GCSE I took Art, as I knew that if I wanted a 'proper job' one day I would have to take 'proper subjects' at A-level, so I saw it as my last chance to dick about a bit.

Now, I'm not the best at drawing, I can do it but I'm so impatient I can't be bothered with shading and whatnot, so I used to be quite inventive to avoid having to do much drawing. One of our coursework pieces was entitled 'My Town', so I made a sculpture of a church window out of plaster of paris bandage type stuff (may not be the real name of the substance) and stuck it to some paper on which I'd drawn a silhouette of some famous buildings in our city, then done 'sunsetty' sky at the top. Other girls in my class were all chavs, and even worse at drawing than me. They, in the same project, had pretty much all drawn a (lopsided) building with a cartoon of themselves at the front with 'my town' done in bubble writing at the top. My art teachers were lovely hippyish women who were obviously very frustrated and took the time to nurture me, let me come in at lunch to improve my skills and so on. I am still friends with one of them to this day.

Anyway, I digress.

The time came for the FINAL EXAM. So, what happens is, you get 2 weeks to prepare for a piece, research and so on. You're supposed to chart your progress through this, sticking pictures that have inspired you in a book and so forth. You then get 10 hours time (split up, obviously) to actually do it.

Now, as I have said, all the other girls in my class were chavtastic. There is invariably a 'fashion' theme you can choose (design a festival headdress, for example), and they all did this. Not ONE of them actually MADE the headdress, just spent 10 hours (ha ha) drawing it.

So, I went not one, but a MILLION times better. I filled 3 project books with my research into INSTALLATION ART. Oh yes. Now, I was a bit of a loner at high school, so nobody knew what I was planning to do.


Which is why they all looked a bit shocked when I came into the exam, where they were all sitting silently drawing, took off my school blouse (to reveal a vest top, pervs), tights and shoes, and started to make casts of my foot, leg, arm and hand (with the aforementioned bandagey stuff).

I made a cast of the top of a head too (vase) and wrote all over them and painted the nails, until, when placed on the floor, it looked like someone had sunk into it, with just the top of their head, outstretched arm, top of the leg and foot showing.

It was ace. I got the only A in the year.

I still have it and take it out from time to time to have a look. As I said before, I'm not a creative person, and seem to spend my life surrounded by musicians and artists, so it is nice to know that, before uni and research squished it out of me, I was good at creative stuffs.

On another note, I have a 2500 word essay due in on Tuesday, of which I have only written the introduction, and have spent all morning on B3TA before I go to work.... damn.


Length? Well I'm only 5 foot 1
(Fri 14th Aug 2009, 13:42, More)

» PE Lessons

Ah, PE...
Going to an all girl's Catholic school made it mandatory that we were 'taught' PE by an ancient sadist who may or may not have once been a woman. We called her Adolfa, and she retaliated by hating each and every one of us with a venomous passion which was somewhat akin with how Nick Griffin views non-indigenous Anglo Saxons. Or how non-indigenous Anglo Saxons feel about Nick Griffin. Or how everyone feels about Nick Griffin.

As was Adolfa's wont, all PE was done outside, unless there was ACTUAL SNOW on the ground. Our PE kit consisted of an Aertex polo shirt and a gym skirt. That was it. Trackie bottoms or even shorts were verboten. So all we did was play tennis, hockey, netball or rounders. In arse-biting cold and rain.

The school had, for some unfathomable reason, installed a full-size swimming pool about a year after I arrived. This was never used, as the only time they tried it, 29 out of 30 girls in every class had their period every week for two months. Smart.

PE sick notes had the same kind of street value as a medium sized shipment of heroin. The girls who had more 'grown-up' handwriting would rake it in every week, often charging the extortionate price of TWO cigarettes or a whole bag of Maltesers for one (you may now be able to see why we hated doing PE, given that all we did was smoke and eat chocolate).

The best times I had doing PE were when we played rounders (although I am quite adept at whacking an enemy in the ankles with a hockey stick. If provoked. And holding a hockey stick). Upon the announcement that we would be playing rounders, before the teams had even been picked, at least ten of those too unfortunate to have a sick-note, and even those who did, would immediately shout "DEEP FIELD!", and leg it up to the top of the hill next to the rounders field, which was covered with long grass, and listen to music and smoke until it was time to come in (I do now see the irony of us RUNNING up the hill, but we didn't want to stick around long enough for Adolfa to thwart our plans. I suspect that Adolfa reasoned - as much as a PE teacher can do so - that at least we had done some exercise). In addition to the smoking opportunities afforded us by the camouflage of the long grass at the top of the hill, it was also the perfect vantage point from which to perv at the lads from the posh all boy's school doing PE.

In all my years at that school, not one person ever hit the rounders ball even half-way towards where all the deep fielders sat. It was at least 150 yards away.

It does say something to their tenacity that they didn't just scrap the whole ridiculous exercise and give us an extra lesson of SOMETHING USEFUL (for most of the girls, this would have been lessons in how to keep their legs shut - 60% of girls from my year had at least one child by the time they turned 20).
(Thu 19th Nov 2009, 18:16, More)

» Teenage Crushes - Part Two

Dr. Lurve...
I went to an all-girls Catholic school, so between the hours of 9 and 4 those of the male persuasion were very difficult to come across. We shared buses with the all-boys school up the road, but the ones our age were all spotty oiks and the sixth formers wouldn't talk to us for some reason.

So yes, picture the scene - A school which is little more than a holding pen for walking hormones, all the male teachers being over the age of 50 (in the 70's they had a spate of teachers running off with sixth-formers). Suddenly, when I was in Year 10, the school, in their infinite wisdom, decided to hire a new Lab Assistant. Who was male. Who had just graduated. Who was quite literally, to this day, the most spankingly gorgeous person I have ever seen in real life.

Now, I wasn't the only person to think this, not by a long shot. Every single girl in that school thought this guy was the best thing since B&H and Bacardi Breezers. Everywhere he went, girls would follow him around wolf whistling, and after a while, our science teachers just stopped trying to speak whenever this guy was in the room, since all we did was stare at him and burst into rapturous applause whenever he turned around. We never got bored of this, and all he ever did was blush, the poor guy. We called him Dr Lurve, and to this day, if someone mentions him to my friends, we all sigh and go off into little daydreams for a while.

Unfortunately, Dr Lurve was fired after getting off with a sixth-former after about 8 months. A large group of Year 7 girls beat her up after this for "taking him off us". Those of us in the upper years all agreed that she deserved it, the bitch.

So there you have it - not my first teenage crush but a powerful example of who NOT to hire if you are charged with looking after over a thousand teenage girls, and just how scary they can be.
(Sun 8th Nov 2009, 16:13, More)

» The most childish thing you've done as an adult

I need suggestions...
I have just, in the past ten minutes, learnt something very fucked up.

My Dad has run a pub for nearly three years. It has been my local my whole life and I work there, as does my boyfriend and lots of my friends. We have worked extremely hard to turn the pub around and trade has doubled, due to us putting live music on and generally working our arses off. When the smoking ban came in, my Dad put up a massive heated smoking shelter out of his own pocket, because the stupid fucks from Enterprise Inns wouldn't help with anything. The whole pub needed re-wiring. Despite this being in their remit, Enterprise Fucking Inns wouldn't give us a penny.

Now, the cunts were supposed to be arranging a rent review in January, but were dicking us about until a couple of months ago, when they decided to demand a ridiculous increase in rent. There was a meeting today, where they said they wouldn't reduce it, so if the arbitration doesn't go our way, we're out in 6 months. How big an increase? 80%.

Yep. 80 FUCKING PER CENT.

In the past three years, we've turned the pub completely around. It's a great pub where you can come in with no chance of shit, because WE'VE systematically weeded out all the cunts and barred them. If anyone in the village needs anything, they know they can come in and someone will help them out. We have paid the best part of £600,000 to Enterprise Inns in the past 3 years.

Now, we're going to have to give it up, and Enterprise will just put some know-nothing twats in, who everyone will hate. We won't have anywhere else to go. In Otley, which is near us, there's about 7 pubs. About 4 of them are Enterprise pubs. ALL 4 are up for rent, because of this shit. They want us to pay them rent and beer, and then they give us nothing and then try to fuck us.

Wanna know who I blame? Ted Tuppen. The head of the whole fucking shitty operation. Fuck him. His company are billions in debt, so whilst commercial rents have REDUCED over the past 5 years, he wants us to pay him 80% more to bail his fucking arse out.

I repeat, FUCK TED TUPPEN.

Back to the topic, I want to do something to really fuck with Enterprise. Anonymously, of course, but also as childish as possible.

So, suggestions welcome.

Sorry for length, lack of funnies, excess of swearing and non-topicness, but I needed to get this out of my system.

EDIT: I will post from my massive list of childish stuff I do when I calm down. Pwomise!

EDIT: Thanks for all the messages of support guys. I spent a good couple of hours reading the lease the other day (law student), and think we might have a good case for arbitration due to a couple of clauses about rent reviews which they seem to have forgotten. If it doesn't go away, I will bear all your suggestions in mind. My dad has already said we're pulling up the flags from both beer gardens, all the railings and, if we can't dismantle the smoking shelter, we're burning it.
(Thu 17th Sep 2009, 17:02, More)