It’s a Sunday afternoon, and the board have called an emergency meeting. This is their seventh emergency meeting of the year. It’s February. A line of white men pour into the conference room, all visibly shaken; some of them are wearing golf clothes, Mr Evans is still in his pyjamas. His lazy Sunday had been snatched away from him. His wife was at home making brunch for him and his two children when he got the call.
“Thank you all for coming at such short notice,” said Mr Johnson once the men had been seated and the hubbub had died down. Patricia, his secretary, was staring at him from under her glasses, as she sat in the corner ready to type up the minutes. She had half a mind to just copy paste the minutes from the last emergency meeting. Maybe next time she would, just to make a point. Then again, maybe she would just get the point across by staring at Mr Johnson from under her glasses.
Yes, yes, I know – floods, Nazis, everything is terrible right now. But you’d be forgiven for not being entirely in the loop; as I’m sure you all know, there’s been a recent major international event that’s been permeating our consciousness.
Congrats! Your 24 year old self just graduated medical school and is about to start work. As a doctor. A real one in a hospital and everything. You’ll make it. Pretty soon, you’ll figure out that it’s just beginning, and that there’s a whole minefield of a world outside medical school, but that’s future us problem.
If I recall correctly, little baby 19-year-old Sarah in her lame band t shirts and lack of lipstick (that’ll change SOON) was spending the summer of 2012 panicking; what if you don’t get the grades to get into med school *again? What if you get in and immediately flunk out? You’ll read a blog called “The Secrets of Peninsula,” and freak the fuck out – what kind of medical school makes first years sit 5th year exams four times a year?
Happy Pride everyone! I hope everyone reading this is decked out head to toe in glitter, rainbows and body paint. To mark the momentous occasion, there has been a victory within the gay community; the pride react button is back on Facebook. Truly, this is an event up there in the pantheon of queer successes along with gay marriage, the return of Will & Grace and this.
Everyone loves rainbows right? They’re fun and colourful and 9/10 times there’s an untouched pot of gold at the end; surely that should be reason enough for the LGBTQ+ flag to be a rainbow right? And what’s up with the recent brown and black additions? What kind of rainbow has brown and black stripes? Let’s have a look at a brief history of the most fabulous flag the world has seen.
You’re sitting at your desk, doing paperwork; you’ve spent the entire morning editing the margins, perfecting the font – none of that Arial size 10 bullshit for you, you’ve gone for deluxe fonts. Instead of a plain black font, you’ve one upped yourself and gone for dark, dark, dark, dark grey. The difference is barely noticeable but you know. Oh, boy do you know. You’ve decided to print it on the fancy paper that’s normally reserved for special events. Sure, the finance department will probably yell at you again for wasting resources and money, and apparently, the company is nearly ~broke,~ but you don’t care – this report is worth it. You are worth it.
(The report in question is the weekly update for Linda in HR but it doesn’t matter. This report is too dang valuable for stupid Linda and her stupid bangs that she won’t shut up about. Shut up Linda)
We’re officially in June, and even though we’ve been busy with Boshemia magazine (available soon online and at select retailers), it’s time to talk about the elephant in the room.
I’ve started using new hair products, and nobody has noticed my impeccable curl.
JK we’re going to talk about the election. I’d rather talk about my hair too. Here we go.
Honestly I’ve been putting off election talk because it’s always so exhausting! We’ve just had to deal with the disappointment of Brexit, only for our collective eyes to turn to the State’s shocking election fuck ups. The recent French results were a relief, but good god I’m tired! But no, we’re back at it. The busses are at full swing, we’re getting campaign letters through the mail and every single UK reader of this blog (and every blog) has registered to vote. Right? Right?