The Rose in the Lily Pond

One: Don't, don’t do it. Thinking of doing a masters? My biggest piece of advice would be – don’t! Don’t do it, don’t start. I know it’s pretty rough out there and landing a job is like New Zealand breaking a world record on the first day of the Olympics (oh wait – we did that!) but  work for free if you have to. Anything but put yourself through the torture, the pain, the suffering. Save yourself a lot of sleepless nights, panic attacks and oh, probably about five kilos and turn around now. Are you still with me? Of course you are – because we all have that little light bulb of denial, “Oh yeah, but that won’t happen to me.” Well fellow masochist, maybe I can help you out. Two: Start by looking at past examples. Simple right? Look at past examples of people’s work. I did a practical thesis which meant that I also had to write an exegesis. Don’t know what an exegesis is? Until about a month before it was due, I didn’t either. Then I was in panic mode – tryin

Our BFG  It may stand for the Big Friendly Goat, but he had many of the qualities of a Big Friendly Giant. Big, kind, gentle and always ready to give you a nudge of affection every time you come and visit. I have fond memories of feeding him out of a bottle when I first started high school.  I used to walk through the goat paddock on my way to school and he would chew on my uniform so I had to go to class covered in goat slobber.   He died last night. My mother thinks he fell over and he couldn’t get up but I tell myself that he died peacefully in his sleep. He never slept in his goat house, he just never could get comfortable, so he’d sleep outside in the freezing cold and rain which gave him bad legs and foot root. It never seemed to bother him though. He still enjoyed his treats each morning, and head butting his sister, Gerry.   Mum and Gerry After my brother said matter of factly, “Tom died last night” my mother and I made our way down to the goat paddock to

We live in a world where fruit have their own facebook page. You can’t rummage for a ripe lemon without the white “f” with the blue background staring at you - begging, pleading for you to “like” it. Every website now has a range of favicons saying, “like me”, “talk to me”, “watch me”. It seems that every company is now that fat kid picked last for sports practice jumping up and down saying, “pick me, pick me, pick me” to the cool kids. As well as making companies look a bit like your aunty Mildred, it has also revolutionised the way that we communicate with our friends and family. When I say friend, I use the term loosely - it can be anyone from your closest and dearest childhood pal to that dude you met at a that party that one time. Facebook is marketed as a communication tool, a way to keep in touch and keep connected with your “friends”, but how well do we really communicate on facebook? And when does keeping in touch become downright stalking. While travelling