Our Director Writes:
Diary of a Mature Student: Year Two @ T-3 weeks, +/-
When I was +/- 16 years old, a parental unit gave me a copy of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. At the time, I thought this was a rare moment of intuition, in giving me something that would show me journalism wasn't just people in offices writing articles; sometimes, it seemed, the journalist became part of the story, or, in extreme cases, was the story.
Later, I found out that they'd picked it at random, thinking I might like it. Life is like that, sometimes.
So I find myself, on a sunny, blue-skyed autumn morning, contemplating what Thompson called - I believe - The Great Magnet. The idea is that the magnet controls the flow of our lives, and when we travel towards the magnet's attraction, things flow smoothly; if we choose - knowingly or unknowingly - to fight the attractive force of The Great Magnet, we're merely placing rocks in the stream of our lives, futilely trying to break an unbreakable pull.
The last part of that last sentence is 
a fairly apt summary of this summer. Granted, I didn't expect to find the perfect part-time job that utilised my skills while providing a steady income, but I applied for, oh, say, everything locally, and only received one callback. However, because of this, the garage has never been more organised, the house has 60% less clutter and crap knocking around the place, and I still feel annoyed because I appear to be defying the magnet's flow without even consciously realising it.
This has led to a fairly unique symptom that I've experienced once or twice before; suddenly, nobody responds to any attempts at contact. Emails go unanswered, phone calls too - or fobbed off, which is, curiously, worse; even unsolicited email gets in on the act too, with messages from people I'd quite happily not hear from popping up of a Thursday afternoon, bringing with them dire tidings and annoyance.
It's a fairly unique phenomnenom - and that's a word I can't spell as well as say, right there - and it's always curious when it happens, a kind of electronic susurrus. Suddenly you're on a becalmed, idyllic but irritating island where nothing, apparently, can reach you.
In some ways, it makes a kind of sense when it comes to fellow students, because the summertime is traditionally a way of getting away from everything, and emails serve as an unwelcome reminder of the existence of the place you have to go back to in, oh, say, five months. Which is partly why I didn't start emailing until a month beforehand, to minimise the tension convention of remembering you have to actually, y'know, complete another two years of this thing they call 'study' before you enter the heady world of graduate unemployment.
And if that sounds like a negative assessment, take a look at the world at the moment and you might start to think that everything has a negative assessment.
Still, of course, there are worse things to complain about than people not responding to any means of contact. So... Why worry?
Our Director Writes:
Diary of a Mature Student: Another Weekend, Another Planet
So there have been a few good things about this summer, one of which is due to take place tomorrow.
But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.
Tomorrow, you see, two good friends are (finally!) getting married. And I mean it when I say they're good friends, because as well as being friends, they're good people (by my estimation, so hey, your mileage may vary) and they're beacons of sensibility in my otherwise slightly different world.
They are also touchstones for my last time on the merry-go-round, being as we studied for the same degree at the same time - although thanks to my involuntary sabbatical year, I started with one of them and graduated with the other, their having started their studies a year apart. So it's nice to have links to the past that I treasure rather than avoid, frankly, because we all have things we've said or done that we'd rather stayed buried. Such, as they say, is life.
The reason I'm nervous (I keep wanting to say a little nervous, but that would be an economical untruth) is because there's the vague possibility that An Ex will also be there. And let's bear in mind the crushing stupidity of this, because we're (I think) the same age, so we've both grown up, matured, moved on, got some life experience, yadda yadda ya... But it's still nervous-making, all the same, because of the uncertainty of how I'd feel around her, and possibly even how she'd feel around me.
So here's a lesson for the students of today; relationships, like it or not, can have shelf lives. Yes, true love is possible - and part of me hopes it's even probable, given the way of the world - and you might meet the person you stay with and love for the rest of your life.
Then again, you might not. So with the wedding - as a social engagement - upcoming, I've been devoting more thought than I would have liked to this whole thing. The conclusion I've come to is that this relationship of the past had a shelf-life of six months - a month and a half of flirtation, three months of romantic engagement, and a month and a half of disentanglement - and that this was then stretched over the course of two years, to both our detriment, because the flirtation took six months, and then once the six months of thinly-stretched romanticism was done with, I made her life difficult for another six, and she made mine difficult for another six after that, until, finally, it was over. Technically, it was over after eighteen months, but really, don't ask about the last six months, because god knows I won't talk about it.
So there's the prospect of a spade being struck into the dirt of my past, and I really really really don't want it getting in the way of anything tomorrow, so I'm just going to have to work on this one for a while, realistically - oh, say, another eighteen hours?
Then again, I love a deadline.
Tomorrow will be a beautiful reaffirment of the love that two people I care for have for each other. And that is that.
So... There!
Our Director Writes:
Diary of a Mature Student: Year Two, T-Five Weeks
Technically, the university is open for business students again from today, although I'm not sure if you could tell - the only students who I've met on campus are haggard, worried-looking ones with a burning need to submit their dissertation on time. Rarely have I seen any people looking more hunted than these, waiting on the library opening hours to print and the hurrying to the media shop to bind the culmination of their work.
Looking at them, I'm thinking; this is probably me in another two years' time. I like to think that I'll have finished the dissertation before the deadline, had it proofread, got it bound and submitted it a day or two early. I like to think this, but I know it's patently not true; I'm a creature of deadlines, and always have been. I do what is arguably my 'best work' - quotes intentional - right up against the final reckoning.
This is why the summer break - the best part of five months - rankles and annoys. Don't get me wrong - I'm sure the Young People Of Today appreciate a six months on / six months off structure, because otherwise, bless them, they might start to feel a little stressed.
But when you're faced with five months with literally nothing to do, tempers can get a little frayed.
I want to be working. I don't mind if it's a bad little part-time job that pays just enough to keep my car running and pay for food. But there's nothing going out there at the moment, and it's maddening. I would understand the long break more if there was anything to do academically, but the courses that involve actually watching films don't seem to publish their viewing schedules - otherwise those pesky students might take the initiative and study the films before term starts, rather than turn up to the scheduled screenings that suit nobody other than the ones living within fifteen minutes' walk of the campus.
... Granted, this means everyone other than mature students, and even then some of them live near campus, but for the commuters... Eesh.
So this has been a Long Hot Summer
, at the end of which the garage will be half as full and - shock horror - painted, the loft will be nearly empty and possibly even panelled, and, strangely, my attention span seems to be returning to the point where next year may be just that little bit less ADHD.
Let's unpack that last comment. If you know me, then you know I've always been hyperactive. A good friend summarised it in basic terms where I'm fine as long as someone gives me a metaphorical slap to bring me down to earth. So now imagine how five months without too much to do might impact psychologically.
Here's the weird thing, though - immediately upon starting a course on Film, my ability to watch an entire film began to suffer. This isn't new - previously, though, it had been related to music, in that occasionally I found it difficult to listen to a whole track on a CD while travelling, a source of no little irritation for some friends. But to be unable to comfortably sit through a film was a new one; I'd find myself wandering off, reading, playing games on my mobile phone, and occasionally fast-forwarding through to near the end, the equivalent of reading the last chapter of a book and just as asinine.
Over the last few weeks, however, this seems to have abated, to the point where I actually started actively wanting to see films again. A case in point; Centurion
, which I actively went out and sought over the weekend for no discernible reason other than a respect for Neil Marshall.
Let's reminisce for a moment. A few years ago, upon graduating from the first merry-go-round, I moved home with a degree I had struggled through and a nascent love for film that I had no idea how to practically use or train. A little lost, and a little confused, I ended up buying Dog Soldiers
on DVD for no real reason other than the cover intrigued me and the premise was solid; Squaddies versus werewolves - what more do you want?
Bear in mind that at that point I hadn't seen any of the Evil Dead films - I know, philistine, right? - or any low-budget horror films in particular that I can remember. Films for me at the time were foreign cinema (don't ask) or the big-budget hollywood films that played at the mainstream cinemas, including the early experiments into second-wave superhero films by Marvel (Hulk, and Daredevil, both of which I saw in the cinema at the time, although please, please see the Directors' Cut of Daredevil if you've only seen the original release... There's an entire subplot with Coolio that was cut from the theatrical release, and less cheesy fireside lovemaking...)
Anyway. So Dog Soldiers was a bit of a revelation, in terms of film. By definition, all British films are low-budget when compared with Hollywood productions, but this film did a lot with a little to the point where instead of CGI, the werewolves looked better as practical costumes and well-edited set-pieces. This was the first true application I saw of Robert Rodriguez's 'Money Hose' theory, in that if you have a huge budget, you just turn the hose on any problems and wash them away with money, but if you have no money, you have to solve the problems creatively rather than financially.
Like I say, kind of a revelation.
If this is rambling, it's because I want to salvage something positive from a long summer of nothing but domesticity and applying for part-time work only to be knocked back in favour of under-16s who can be paid 80p less per hour on the minimum wage. Finally, I have an attention span where previously there was just ADHD.
Look out, world.
Our Director Writes:
Notes from the CD Mines, Volume 4
So an end is in sight, although what was a labour of love became a Herculean task relatively quickly.
Basically, all the easy stuff is now done. All the CDs that were sorted - i.e. in their own cases, etc - have been either sold or given to charity shops.
This leaves quite a few CDs not in their own cases.
And I know this isn't riveting stuff, but it's been kind of a strange afternoon; the re-uniting project has meant that CDs which haven't seen their cases for years - up to a decade in some cases, I suspect - are now warm and snuggly in their right place, etc etc.
It was the point at which I found an entire CD collection of Michel Thomas' teaching French that I thought things might be on the up-and-up, and now I only have about a hundred CDs to process before the end of this terrible, strange project.
Now, of course, we're into the weird territory. Or, at least, the weirder territory, because having traversed the plains of the normal, cased CDs, we're now into the realms of the uncased, the free, and the magazine promotional copies. The last of these promises to be the most annoying, primarily because they may have rare tracks or versions of tracks, but iTunes will probably refuse to legislate their existence. Still, if this is the worst thing about today, then today is a good day.
I know this is not exactly a fascinating topic - especially for a film student - but it is kind of pertinent, as we're talking a massive switchover from harcopy to digital copy on every single piece of music I own. The only reason I'm doing this with the CDs and not the DVDs is because it's free to do with the CDs; if owning a DVD meant having access to a digital copy, you can bet most of my DVDs would be gone now too, because, hey, the future is now, apparently.
On a film-related note; I keep hearing good things about Inception. Hearing good things about a film is not exactly a rarity, thanks to hype and press etc, but the good things I'm hearing are from film graduates and film students. Remember, however, that this in itself is not necessarily a good thing, because it's something being recommended on merits that only a select population think they know about, and I've seen many films that have been recommended by people who think they should be recommending the film.
In the old days, it was called wanting to look cool. There's probably some new youth slang for it these days that as an old, decrepit person I don't know. My bones are weak and my mind is feeble, etc, etc.
But I'm going to go and see the damn thing just because it looks interesting. This too is a double-edged sword, because it's not difficult to make something look interesting, but it is difficult to make it be interesting and because interesting is a moveable feast as far as terminology goes.
So maybe once I've digitised my life, I'll take a break from staring at a small screen to go stare at a bigger screen...
Our Director Writes:
Diary of a Mature Student: Things I Have Learnt This Summer
... E-i-addio, I don't think so (to finish the title quotation).
So yes. I may not be able to find any work, but I have learnt a few important things recently.
Things that will fit in the back of a Nissan Micra
- A tumble dryer
- A single mattress
- A king-size mattress
The last one was kind of a stretch, and involved some duct tape, but nobody was hurt in the making of that film, so hey.
My music collection was bigger than I ever thought.
Put it this way. Before I even began this lunatic crusade to digitise my music collection, I sold around somewhere between fifty to a hundred CDs to my local CEX, forever earning their enmity primarily because that meant they had to check each and every one before they could admit it, and all for about thirty pounds worth of exchange value.
Since then, I discovered a further two boxes of CDs, which have comprised the majority of this digitising effort. The albums I'm going to try to sell - although the social contract means I should probably not use my local CEX anymore, primarily because they have my address and will probably send around ninja assassins if I turn up with another bag full of CDs and no intention of spending my money in their actual, y'know, shop - and the singles are going to charity shops. (I know, I know, lucky them.)
But put it this way. Looking through my music collection, I note that it appears that in the past I bought [or received as a journalist] an album or a single every one-and-one third weeks for the past fourteen years.
And what bugs me is that I don't quite know why it mattered so much back in the day to own so much music. Don't get me wrong, it was a long, torrid, sweaty, passionate and at times angry affair, and I still love music, but forty CDs a year for over a decade?
Hmm.
Even my DVD collection isn't that obsessive.
Naturally, everyone has their passion, from geologists to fashion designers. But for someone who only wrote about music semi-professionally for a third of the time period they were obtaining CDs for, that's... Well... That's not bad.
See, I'm kind of proud to have found proof of a passion for something, because the six years prior to my re-attaining Student Status were good years, but quiet, professional, and perhaps even slightly grey years nonetheless. So at least this helps prove that prior to that I had something that mattered, something to follow, and something to do.
That's why Student Status makes me happier now than it did that mythical First Time Around. The first time, I was doing it because it was the expected next progressional step; preschool, school, sixth form, university, job. The university was a waystation in my life - a lot like I see happening to the current crop of students - between the end of school and the beginning of The Working Years, during which one is supposed to 'find oneself' and work out exactly what sort of a human being you are in order to better fit into the wider world.
That kind of didn't happen for me the first time around, much to my chagrin.
This time round, it's a better fit but a different time, because I'm happy with the where and the what but not necessarily with the when, but hey, you can't change the when so why worry, as they apparently say.
So it's a positive experience, digitising all my music, because it proves to me that there was a time when I had that kind of misguided passion and that need to follow something, and sport never did it in the way that music could, so music was the world for those pretty years 95-05. So don't get me started on Britpop.
No, really. Don't get me started.
Our Editor Writes:
Diary of a Mature Student: The New Digital Revolution continues
So after discovering how easy it is to buy music online, the time now comes to upload all of the old music into one place and then give away the CDs.
(I would sell them, but who'd want them?)
So I now find my music collection providing a fascinating window into the past.
[Do you want to import Touched into your iTunes library?]
The past is, as we know, a distant country, and they do things differently there. It was a time, apparently, when a CD single - with two tracks on - could be legitimately sold for £4.49 on 'import'.
Don't misunderstand me, I remember vinyl (kind of) and cassette tapes (yep) and minidiscs (...) and then CDs.
But when did I buy / receive (bless Student Journalism) so many of the damn things?
Today's efforts, so far, have yielded 120 albums (mostly singles, however) uploaded. Of which one has proved to be so obscure as to now be known by iTunes -
[Would you like to import the CD The Everlasting into your iTunes library?]
- and of which at least forty so far have necessitated me ferreting out the artwork myself and asking iTunes to pretty please accept it.
And when it's done, the CDs go - to charity shops, I should think, because selling this many to CEX would be sisyphean, to say the least - ~And there'll be that little bit more weight off of my metaphorical back.
I say it again; I envy the digital download generation, because physical media will have a new kind of cachét that it rarely did before. Alright, there were special editions and limited editions and promos, but once you remove the necessity of the physical element of a piece of music, or a movie, or a book, then its' presence becomes, by default, something interesting. And won't that be nice?
Of course, being old-school with regards to media, I'm going to have to back all this up somewhere in case something happens - nothing like good-old-fashioned paranoia - but...
... It's a little strange.
It's strange because music mattered to me so much ten or so years ago that owning these CDs was like a prerequisite for existence. Compared to the modern world, actually listening to them - physically finding the CD, putting it in a player, waiting for it to load, finding the track you want - would take longer than loading up this computer and going to Youtube or spotify. (This is primarily because my laissez-faire attitude to CDs being in their right cases meaning finding the right CD could take hours if not days, to be fair - it's an admission of untidiness rather than a boast of speedy ability.)
[Would you like to import the CD Big Night Out into your iTunes library?]
If you're reading this now and you're, well, under 20 years old or so, try and understand just how far things have come in the last ten years. When I was at university for the first time, mp3 players were just starting, and they were a pain in the arse. Technically, I'm from the pre-iPod generation, which is kind of nice, but it was CDs all the way. Now, you can torrent hundreds - if not thousands - of mp3s overnight, but...
[Would you like to import the CD See this through and leave into your iTunes library?]
... I'm going to deploy the excuse the previous generation applied to CDs instead of vinyl. Downloading is - and it pains me to use this word because it sounds so oddly patronising - soulless.
I get it. I really do. I was on Napster back in the day, with all the old p2p networking and such meaning free music. And then, like that, I stopped, partly because Napster stopped but also partly because I thought it was the right thing to do.
And I know this sounds like preaching, and that taking any sort of moral stance is frowned upon in the world of downloading, but... I just don't get it.
Then again, I worry about The Law - capitals intentional - because of the way I was brought up. Like everyone else, I happily mock the You wouldn't steal a car anti-piracy adverts because they're so histrionic - but, sadly, they're true. I wouldn't steal a car. I wouldn't steal anything. This is primarily because of the belief that if I did, there would be a policeman waiting behind me at just that moment, rather than some sort of social commentary.
I'm surrounded by torrenters - and I get it, because being a student means, functionally, having no money. But the scales aren't balanced - back in the day (another phrase I don't really like using) file-sharing, p2p and torrents were in their infancy, so I really didn't have the option of Mass Downloading. If I were a student today - more accurately, if I were an 18-year-old student today - I would be downloading things, I suspect, like a hyperactive bastard.
[Do you want to import the CD Under Rug Swept into your iTunes library?]
But I'm not. So I don't. This is because I'm really, really old-fashioned. I know what an album on CD looks like and how much they cost to buy, and in my head I equate downloading with going into a shop, picking up the CD and leaving without paying. You may see it differently, and, if so, more power to you - there's always the Bruce Sterling way of looking at it, whereby music is, now, functionally data, and data wants to be free. And there are plenty of arguments to state that people wouldn't hear a musician's work if they couldn't get it for free. And there's spotify, and youtube, and all manner of places that show stuff for free. (Or, at least, for advertising revenue, a portion of which is then fed back to the record company.)
So please, go ahead and download. I'll not tell you not to, and I'm not taking the moral high ground, but if it's all the same to you, I won't do it...
... And in return, I have days of uploading ahead of me. And fairly soon, a nearby charity shop will most likely curse the day I walked in and dumped a bag full of CDs on them. And eventually, the songs I like out of all of this uploading will find their way to my iPod, and my past will catch up with me. In a good way, I hope, and I kind of hope my iPod has enough room for all this history. But for now...
[Do you want to import the CD For Your Ears Only into your iTunes library?]
Our Director Writes:
Diary of a Mature Student: So here we are and here we are and here we go...
You see what happens, Larry? You see what happens when you mention a movie? This is what happens, Larry. Okay?
The summer period is a weird time to be a mature student. Not that there's a good time to be a mature student, unless you like everyone looking at you like you're crazy, but hey, that's par for the course. But being unable to find work and having a lot of time on your hands means, well, that you notice a lot more things than you otherwise normally might.
Let's take a step back away from the mature student thing for a moment.
Diary of a Mature Person -
Wait. That doesn't work either, for obvious reasons.
Diary of a Pre-digital generation remnant, summertime.
Here's the thing. I envy the current generation because they don't have to carry around so much shit.
I'm happy to admit that I'm a pop culture whore commentator. Less so these last few years due to a general slowing down and growing up, but between, say, '96 and '06 I followed music, films and books with a passion, which meant, for the most part, buying the fucking things. It's not the buying I resent - so don't get me started on torrenters, we'll be here all day - it's more that now, slowly approaching my third decade, I have boxes and boxes and boxes and even more boxes of irrelevant shit.
Don't get me wrong - not only was it very relevant to me at the time, but I still like to go through what can wistfully be called a library (in that I have more CDs than my current university library and more books than the English section). I like owning or having owned some of this stuff.
The stuff I don't like owning or having owned mas made its' way, therefore, to a series of charity shops, or to the dump, or has been sold via Amazon or, occasionally, eBay, an experience that taught me never to offer international postage again.
Something like ten dustbin bags' worth went to charity shops, although that includes clothes, so there may be some unlucky bastards wandering round in some of my fashion faux-pas-s from the last ten years or so. Another ten bags worth went to the dump to be recycled into something more useful, like tennis shoes or compost. Oh, and I have reserved a special place for the unique kind of torment that is CEX.
Let's talk about CEX for a moment. I've sold them hundreds of pounds worth of CDs and DVDs over the last month or so, and they'll go on to offer them for, on average, four times what they pay for them. This isn't such a bad ratio; value has a curious differential when it comes to entertainment property, because as soon as you buy a DVD the value decreases, followed by a further decrease if you watch the goddamn thing, and an even sharper decrease if it's a popular dvd, because everyone wants to sell theirs too. It is not, as they say, a sellers' market.
But on the five or so occasions I've done this, it's never been exactly what you might call a perfect experience. Sure, I've sold 90% of what I've taken in, the rest being just to weird, American or otherwise ineligible for their mystical buyer-seller bond to take. But their staff appears to be made up entirely of disinterested teenagers - which I know automatically makes me sound old, but, alas, it's true - and for an exchange company, they don't actually seem that happy to be buying goods even considering they only need to sell a quarter of what they buy to even out their profit margin.
This is turning into a bit of a rant. I like CEX, and I like it even more that I've probably done all of the selling I'm going to do to them which means, functionally, that I won't have to deal with them again for a l-o-n-g time.
At the same time, my town always had another exchange shop for games. No, they weren't perfect - their range of titles relied entirely upon a dedicated but elusive band of people willing to sell on the latest games or on being able to buy the games on import and sell them on for a profit - but they were 'local', 'independent', and all these other nice little buzzwords people use when they didn't want to give money to the local Faceless Multi-store Corporate Conglomerate (tm).
That shop closed down a fortnight ago. Their lease was approaching, and with a remarkable prescience they decided that everything's moving towards digital downloads anyway so what's the point in keeping a bricks-and-mortar shop to sell physical units when fairly soon they might be obsolete?
A month and a half ago, my local bookshop closed down as well. They were 'independent' etcetera etcetera, but they also had a place in my heart because I worked there as a Saturday Assistant for a year. Granted, when I started it was pre-minimum wage, which meant that at £2.65 an hour I had to work for two and a half hours just to buy a book. But it was a good place - a nice place, although that's a wallpaper word - to be. They're gone now, although thanks to the manager giving me an 'ex-staff-member' discount on top of the 50% closing-down sale I now have journals for the next two academic years, which will remind me of the place whenever I make notes.
However, Yes, I think I had a Point somewhere when I started all this.
So even after an exhaustive purge of CDs, books, and DVDs, I still have box upon box of them in storage. The next project, in theory, is to digitize my entire cd collection, which may take the better part of a year and require a lot of data storage, and also may require the ability on my part to care about most of the music in the collection, which may be in short supply.
But if I were, say, an 18-or-19 year old now, I could in theory get all the music and movies I needed without ever having to own something I could physically hold in my hands. Sure, for mainstream culture iTunes takes care of music and movies. Even Kindle etc are now moving in on books, meaning you will be able to carry them around in one place rather than in hundreds of bound pulped-wood dead-tree copies.
And, contrary to what the majority of the generation before me thinks - and that the generation after will probably not have to think about much, if at all - this is a good thing. I would love to have every single one of my books in one place, alphabetized, ready at the touch of a touchscreen, or my entire music collection on one drive somewhere, or any movie I wanted without having to put disc to drive. And it will happen, in the next ten years or so.
As a film student, I like the idea of being able to carry around my body of work in one place rather than having to whip out DVDs to show people. Hell, if I could afford an iPad, I'd be able to bore no end of people with my work, showing them my films on a decent sized screen. One day, I suspect, I will. Look forward to that day, huh?
For now, however, I'm content to try an experiment. Confession time; I've never bought anything particularly substantial digitally before. An episode of Ashes to Ashes and two or three songs on iTunes notwithstanding, I've only really dipped my toe in the waters of Legal Digital Downloading.
So now it's time to take the plunge. (Although it's not exactly plunge-y, but hey.) It's time to purchase an album digitally.
Yeah baby.
So here's the deal.
Dog Soldiers is a good film, bordering on a great film. And before you ask, yes, it does feel a little odd doing the Amazon Associates linking thing, but since nobody reads this, and nobody's going to link through, I don't feel so bad.
Back In The Day, the Dog Soldiers soundtrack was oddly rare on CD. In fact, to buy it in America (Dog Soldiers
) will set you back $75 - $120 dollars, which seems a bit punitive. If memory serves, pre-download, the CD would have set you back £32-£64 over here, which is, again, somewhat punitive.
Now, it'll cost you £7.49 to download. So I'm going to try it out. Cross your fingers, for I am old, and these concepts are new.
In fact, as a student, it curiously only costs me £7.12. Which is nice.
... And it appears to be as simple as that.
Suddenly, I'm impressed. And it only cost £7.12 to impress me.
Does that make me cheap?
