
It is Friday 19th of December 2008 and I am sat in the newsroom at university with only seven other bloggers and one has just left while I am writing this.
It is the last session of the online project module and it has been a fun ride, but I won't go into it too much as I have already written one piece about the course.
No, I want to talk about the exciting prospect everyone waits for, rushing to get work done and book flights home and that is holiday. Yes the holiday where we can go back to our stagnant, dull little home towns where nothing has changed and instead of learning new and exciting possibilities we laze at home sleeping and and watching re-runs of friends.
And what makes it worse is that university breaks last too long. Just give me a couple weeks off to have Christmas and New Years, I'll come back on the third if I could.
I suppose it has a lot to do with my home town, which was one of the main reasons I wanted to become a journalist. I wanted to expose my home for what it really is, a stale country side town that has be glamourised by the very newspaper I aspire to work for one day.
"Let's move to Bridport" by The Guardian is a typical 'I don't live in the country side but I love it anyway' view. It ponces about talking about how great the town is because Guardian writer Hugh Fearnly-Whittingstall decided to infest his views on how we should all live in a happy little hippy utopia and go to The Bull Hotel to have a jolly nice metropolitan time.
These places are great to visit, but not great to live in.
Bridport is actually a troubled little town. With a huge segregation between the richer arty fucks who prance about south street between their beloved little Electric Palace and the Arts Centre, to the alcaholic jobless druggies who highlight the issue there is nothing else to do.
And the air of superiority in the town where everybody knows your name, but not in a Postman Pat kind of way, but more like Roystone Vasey. They want to know your name because they want to know your business and they want to bitch about you because they can't hold a conversation about anything interesting.
But since moving away from Bridport, I can't bring myself to expose the things I know about the place. It can be beautiful on a sunny day and the market is actually quite interesting, offering wooden ducks looked over by a friend of mine everyone calls 'peck'.
I used to be able to walk down the street on any given day, except sunday of course, just to bump into a friend which could end up a walk or just an interesting chat. Bridport is ok, and great fun for a holiday.
For me Bridport is like an ex girlfriend, annoyingly all my ex girlfriends live their as well, but in the sense that you will alway care for them, you will always smile at the happy memories you had together but there was a reason you parted and those are the same reasons you should never go back.
















