On the way to Uni I pass a small area of woodland on the bus, and many rabbits live there. I know this because from time to time they wander onto a piece of open grassland visible from the bus. They also camp out by the Civic Centre. The problem is that whenever I see one, though enjoyable at the time it is, I know I am in for a bad day.

It doesn’t happen all that often — usually on exam days — but when they do the curse is pretty much a sure thing. I saw one yesterday: I had to run for Metro trains and the bus home; and I didn’t get any work done. I guess I am lucky that the BROD didn’t bring much worse…

I spent a large portion of that evening discussing the lack of promotion of this fact with a friend. We discussed to what lengths promotion techniques would have to go in order for people to take notice. Having someone contract HIV for the benefit of a reality show seems tasteless, sickening and altogether a very bad idea; which seems to be the basis of all reality shows.

But there belies the issue: no-one really takes notice until HIV touches their lives. My first encounter with HIV was becoming a fan of Queen and later finding out that the lead singer, of course Freddie Mercury, died of an AIDS-related infection. I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing for me — he’s given me so much joy through his music and he has prompted my awareness of the virus that would ultimately kill him and thus enable me to protect myself; but I would never know him as a living artist and I will never hear him perform live.

And millions across the world are still being subjected to a virus that is little more than thirty years in the making. And millions more have little idea on how to protect themselves, nor do they realise how much of a problem HIV/AIDS is. I’m angry.

What has happened since the year 2000? First consider music. The Sixties had The Beatles and The Shadows. The Seventies had Queen, The Who and Thin Lizzy. The Eighties had Duran Duran and Human League. The Nineties had Blur and Oasis. At the turn of this century, I believed that the music of Craig David and Sonique was going to become the sound of the decade. The music was defining a new genre. But this was short-lived. In its place came rap and hip-hop, nu-metal and emo, indie rock, manufactured pop and house, amongst countless others. It is impossible to define a genre that represents this decade – and we still aren’t finished! Furthermore, we’re going through a rehash of old bands and their music: the Spice Girls, Take That, The Police, etc. Queen are set to release a new album next year!

And what about fashion? Since 2000 we seem to have gone through a Sixties stage with flowers and ponchos; a Seventies stage with flares and frilly shirts; and to add insult to injury, we’re going through an Eighties stage, with waistcoats, cardigans, skinny ties and tight trousers: I can only imagine it will be a matter of simply time before we are back to wearing leg-warmers. This decade hasn’t had its own real identity in terms of fashion.

There have, however, been quite major changes in other forms of design. Interior design, for example, will seem strikingly from this decade when viewed from the future, I expect. And the buildings of this era will be easily recognisable as monuments of these times. Everything that’s considered pretty in architecture and technology has a lot of glass and silvery things and shiny glossy materials. But is that all we will have to remember from this decade?

I would also like to point out some problems with democracy. Although democracy seems a fair way of representing the people, it does not necessarily mean that the best person for a particular job will get it. For example, it is my suspicion that the Chancellor of the Exchequer does not require a degree in Economics, or some other financial qualification. And what makes a good premier? From recent events, it seems that someone who is cool in front of a grilling from unrelenting opposition is more desirable than someone who makes good decisions.

Another alternative is absolute monarchy. Now, most will dismiss this out of hand, but a sole occupier of supreme power over a state has its advantages. For a start, there are no pretences about fairness – it is almost unashamedly unfair. That way, everyone knows their place. However, one could argue that this is in existence within religion, and no-one can deny that the rules decreed within a religion are very much open to interpretation. I guess the difference is that the king can sort a deviant out now, whilst the god would sort it out later.

So what political system is best? My personal favourite is the Dingle clan (aside from the incestuous characteristic of the family, of course…).

My opinion of the Football Association was greatly improved this week. It’s not the fact that they sacked Steve McClaren, but more the fact that they apologised for their team’s performance, which was absolutely the right thing to do. I noticed how none of the players from the England squad have apologised for their part in the dreadful display that night. Steve Gerrard simply said "life goes on", and his utterly abject contribution — as captain — during the game was made somewhat worse by his decidedly miraculous recovery for Liverpool against Newcastle.

The difference between Newcastle’s players and England’s players over the two games is that we noticed that Alan Smith — who played terribly and somehow managed to pick up the Man of the Match award — and James Milner made a point of staying behind after the match to applaud the fans for their contribution to the atmosphere.

The Gallowgate could only applaud some of Liverpool’s play. The third goal in particular was greeted by applause across the stadium; and the banter between the rival fans was surprisingly heartening, despite how smug they might have been, and how bitter we might have been.

It’s peculiar being a Newcastle United supporter; you only enjoy it when you are three goals down. When we’re winning, we’re nervous we’ll lose our lead; when we’re drawing, we’re nervous we lose; and when we’re losing, we’re anxious of trying to get back into the game. At 3-0 down, we were beaten and no real good reason to be enthusiastic, but our tongue-in-cheek, almost sarcastic chanting and singing is really quite enjoyable. We started Oléing the few passes we managed to string together by the end…

During the second part of the performance, things get worse. Some of the cast start before the others are ready, and the shambles continues. By the end, the audience are entertaining themselves. The show is so bad, some leave early and in some cases very early.

The difference between this and a football match, is that the patrons of the theatre would demand a refund on their ticket. Football supporters have the rest of the weekend to mull over what morons they have been to shell out a lot of money to boil their bile.

And I’m not talking about my hair colour — it’s black. (Actually, it’s not as black as it was: I went for semi-permanent and it’s beginning to wash out.) It’s more how people have interacted with me since going from blond to black.

I didn’t have much to do with the rest of those doing the Masters degree. There just didn’t seem much point any more, sadly. The extent of our socialising was to acknowledge passing them with a mumbled greeting. However, this changed on Monday. While no-one made a mention of my change in follicle apparel, simple conversations began.

It wasn’t all good though. Coming home Tuesday afternoon, the bus was particularly busy (or is that ‘bussy’?) and just about every seat was taken. In fact they all were: apart from the seat next to me. I am fairly sure that I didn’t smell too bad, so the only explanation I could understand was my change in hair colour. It was never a problem while I was blond. It’s just peculiar.

Furthermore, what will the England players do next summer? According to The Sun (via BBC’s Gossip Column), England’s players will receive £150,000 for not reaching the finals. That’s performance related pay for you. I suspect many will be spending their holidays as far away from the British tourists as possible.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a paid holiday for being a failure? And isn’t it great that it doesn’t mean thing to be a failure, to let millions down across the country? As a certain Mr Gerrard stated after the game to Sky Sports, "well life goes on".

But after finishing my homework a few nights ago at about 1.15am, with my brain still buzzing from topology and functional analysis, I thought about all the dreams I’ve had… and I set about listing them:

prime minister, guitarist, drummer, frontman, bassist, keyboardist, doctor of medicine, comic, cartoonist, lyricist, poet, internet millionaire, software engineer, child prodigy, rally driver, motorcyclist, bus driver, lorry driver, pilot, landscape gardener, footballer.

The thing in common with all these, is that it didn’t take much to persuade myself that they were just dreams, and not my destiny. The problem is that I have a lot of ideas, but not the ambition to realise them.

Once upon a time, this was a different story. My dreams were few and close by: I would strive towards them, and made some headway to making my dreams come true. I think the problem is that though I would have been able to achieve some of my goals, I hadn’t ever really been encouraged to reach them, and in some cases I’d been actively discouraged.

People don’t expect anything from me, it seems. People are confident in that I am able to do a given job well, but don’t feel compelled to encourage me to broaden my horizons.

It’s lead me to think that I would now prefer a simple life. Complications are unnecessary. Though I’ve now accepted that there is no such thing as the status quo, it is still something that I would like to strive towards. I want a predictable life. I don’t want any shocks or surprises, I don’t want major changes. I don’t want to have to worry about things beyond what I had been expecting. But since I’ll be graduating in the coming year, I expect it will be anything but.

Graduation is the reason why sometimes I wish I had never gone to university. According the university congregations website, I will be allocated three tickets, of which one is for myself, which leaves two. Now, who do I give those tickets to? Unfortunately, there are no right answers, and plenty wrong ones. Some have made their feelings felt with regard to how I should make those choices, but of course that has created uncertainy in my mind as to who I should ask. It is like choosing between cutting my nose off to spite my face, or just cutting my nose off. Or there is not going altogether, which will just make me equally unpopular with everyone.

It’s quite hard to enjoy life and university with that cloud constantly over my head. I also feel ashamed that I’d sooner write about my thoughts on a website than tell those that I should. But I’m too long accustomed to shouldering burdens; being slowly stilted trying to balance them, to the point when it becomes easier just to maintain poise and balance rather than dropping everything, or asking someone to help carry them in the hope they disappear.

So I’ve come full-circle. I want a simple life, but to do that I would have to live alone.