Alistair's New Online Journal

Isabelle Kerr is a 20 year old who represents the youth who are too well educated and classy to talk with such foul language displayed within this piece. She describes this slang to back up the idea that all young people are ‘ASBO wielding yobs’, which is very ironic as she has used slang to support her argument against slang. Kerr then goes on to use quotes from twitter saying things like “no wonder there is so much youth unemployment”, suggesting that the sole reason for unemployment is the slang which the youth use, which is obviously a ridiculous claim. Another quote used is “it’s over. They’ve won” so what is this thing that is being referred to as a they, has slang taken the form of a living, sentient being; no I thought not. The greatest piece of this rubbish journalism is that the source of these opinions are from “some young Twitter users” which doesn’t show any sort of reliable opinion to back up Kerr’s argument, because Kerr is a young Twitter user and for all we know, she could have multiple accounts. One thing that Kerr refers to a lot is the need to say sorry about these “linguistic calamities”, firstly there is no need to say sorry as it isn’t her fault that these words were added to the dictionary and she didn’t even know what the word twerking meant, “I actually had to Google this word yesterday”, even my mum knows this and she doesn’t go to read the online dictionary very often. So this is showing Kerr as someone who is trying to represent a generation, but has obviously come from a background where she hasn’t been exposed to this type of language, telling me this is less of an article of an apology but more of a snobby and elitist look at slang.

The greatest mistake about this article is the over-used and mistaken idea to use Shakespeare as an ideal for received pronunciation. Shakespeare is one of the greatest linguists to ever exist, but he wouldn’t of been half the playwright that he was if he didn’t incorporate slang into his language. Kerr describes the slang that “her generation” created as “unimaginative hybrids of pre-existing words, or worse, shortening of already perfectly good words”. The example she uses for Shakespeare’s literary genius is the word ’twere, which ironically is just a unimaginative hybrid of it and were, somehow Kerr managed to use the example which completely disproves her argument. Kerr clearly hasn’t done much research either, these words were added to the Oxford Dictionaries Online, a dictionary that focuses on modern language compared to the Old English Dictionary where the official English language lives. Kerr is arguing against the slang being given a “level of permanence and authority” even though they have only been added to a dictionary which acknowledges modern language, but gives it no permanence or authority. In conclusion, Isabelle Kerr has presented an argument against the inclusion of twerking, selfie and unlike into the Oxford Dictionaries Online but failed to research thoroughly and offer a water tight case, causing her argument to have very little substance which is aided by the incredible inconsistencies that really helped to argue against her own point, not for.

The city, the famous square mile, where money is made but the taxes ain’t paid. The biggest casino in London, just across from the council estate in which I live, this type of financial and social disparity could only exist in a place like London. For all I could say which is wrong with the city and the bankers who operate in it, this still isn’t the cause for my discomfort. I cycle a lot to school and this means having to go onto the Farringdon road and even though I’m only scraping the edges of the city, the oppressive, imploding nature of a flock of people aimlessly wandering in front of you while cycling down the road is very annoying. To isolate this just to the square mile would be doing London an injustice, cycling anywhere in this place is dangerous: you have the none existent road system in the west end to all the little annoying humps when cycling through Islington. There is something utterly annoying about a person who will probably be conning me into a student loan in a couple of years trying to take a little short cut through my path to get their next fix, leaving it to me to have to share some expletives and nearly swerve in front of a bus. Mind you it’s one hell of an excuse for being late for school.

They say the British have a good sense of humour and one of our key tools is irony, so while building the new cycle superhighway through the Farringdon road to make cycling safer, they manage to make the lights not work and give the traffic the decision to go or not. For the policies that I disagree with Boris Johnson on, this renovation of the cycle system in London is brilliant and for all of the videos of him going into tackles like Lee Cattermole on children half my age, he has actually done something useful. This isn’t some sort of magic wand which will fix all the tensions between drivers, cyclists and pedestrians, but hopefully the fella thinking of walking in front of me will be able to see the different coloured road and massive bike sign. Maybe they could just think to themselves; this doesn’t have white and black stripes, there are no bumps to indicate a crossing or there isn’t a set of traffic lights and finally, come to the conclusion not to cross at this point- making my whole journey a much more pleasant experience. After all this complaining some would think that I should suggest some ideas how to improve this whole situation, I mean we could move the city out into places such as Barnet like what they’re doing with all the working class Londoners, but how could one imagine doing such a horrible thing to someone who is getting millions in banker bonuses, the atrocity of the thought my makes my stomach turn. Could put a fence around the road so that people can’t actually walk out onto the road but buses and taxis won’t be able to pick up their passengers.

There is clearly no definitive solution to this problem, but something needs to be done or I’m going to have a worst crash in the city since 2008. A great example of this change is Amsterdam, a city where cars used to be the normality and cycling was the same situation in London, this wasn’t just a change of road layout, this was a change of ideology. Now the cyclists have the rights on the road, making drivers think twice before taking risks which could affect a cyclist.

It is 6:30am and the people rise with great discomfort to the sound of Kanye West’s good morning, then the unsubtle sound of shouting scout leaders. The scouts must find their uniform. Listen how the gentle groan descends upon the circle in the middle. This is not a happy time. This is a time where your body is awake but your mind isn’t, the worst type of sedation. The daily notices fly over your head, in a trance like state you get ready for breakfast, preparing for what the Dutch throw at you. To not dirty their plates they make jam sandwiches for breakfast, and for lunch. A stumble to the tents takes one into a cesspit of clothes and bedding where one must pull up the ground to find their wash bag.

You have started to awake, the mind is catching up with your body and the clouds start to separate, to see a different landscape. The senses start to turn on, you can smell the dutch forest air, hear the sounds of other beings experiencing the same epiphany as you, feel the breeze go through your bed hair. You pass through the miniature tower bridge, carefully avoiding the mud patches, where you reach the haven of sanitation, the toilets. The people of the camp clean their teeth in sinks which hold a mixture a food debris, spit and a little bit of sick. This concoction made for great teeth but couldn’t be said the same for the drains. The same journey was to be made back to the camp where the leaders were preparing the cards to determine your destiny in which activity you will be doing. Like any truly random process, everyone just swaps the cards for what activity they want to do and everyone pretty much gets what they want, so a true democracy. You turn up at your activity which can vary from a fairly disappointing quiz or can be a rather entertaining session of Ultimate Frisbee and this you must perform with the type of scout enthusiasm to ensure you’re not insulting the leaders in some sort of twisted way. To curb your enthusiasm a little, you must endure your squashed, wrinkled jam sandwich half way through which was constructed earlier this morning, the sort of piece which started as a Vincent van Gogh but soon turned into a Jackson Pollock. So that your food doesn’t get too settled you must continue to do a activity that you have been pretending to enjoy for the last hour and a half, the enthusiasm starts to fade and people just start to wander back to camp, so you follow suit.

A bit of free time is gifted to you, which is the best thing that has happened all day, except if you are doing the cooking then you will be spending half the time decoding the recipe and the other half getting  someone else to cook while you still pretend to decode the recipe. The sounds of Ultimate Frisbee ring through the air as everyone enjoys it through a collective naivety which brings together all the different cultures. Everyone seems happy, except you, you’re still pretending to decode the recipe and as you think about it you realise what you’re doing is pretty counter productive, so you start to help…. and guess what It works! everyone is eating food, Incredible. Each person picks at the food and the sudden realisation that you don’t need to do the dishes crosses your mind. It was all worth it.

The sky darkened and hearing has become your primary sense, this place isn’t lit like London. A relaxation descended upon the camp, no more work today and tomorrow feels like a distant land. You go back to your tent and decide what to change into after a long day, the rave is happening tonight so you dress into something more appealing than Slazenger tracksuits and a sweaty sport shirt. A pair of chinos and a Monster Energy Drink T-shirt will do just fine, topped off with a bucket hat. This combination must attract some female counterparts, but this is life and life just doesn’t work like that. There’s a smell of youth in the air, as everyone is getting ready for an explosion of sexual tension but this is just a tease, the booklet says the rave ends at 11:30pm, typical. You gather up the friends that you can find, which turns out not to be that easy but you find enough to make sure you’re not too lonely. The walk to the designated area is a tantalising one, being joined by many other people from different camps on the way, which fills you with a sense of excitement but a slight nervousness; Hopefully the Euro pop won’t be too bad. You reach a squelch of mud under you feet, you’re here, but to not realise you were there a mile ago would be difficult. You can feel the sub woofer rattle your body, your atoms rattling about, kinetic energy increasing. The heart rate increases, your temperature increases, a tingling feeling surrounds you. You have fallen in love with the world. The DJ is a very handsome looking Mediterranean gentleman, who has the type of grin showing he doesn’t know what he’s doing but at least he looks good doing it. The music, people, dancing and everything blends into one beautiful portrait, the best type of sedation.