Thunderbozz

I am my mother, who told me not to eat too many Digestives "because they'll give you diabetes". I am my father, who took me to Watling Street when I was knee-high and started my love affair with Dartford FC. I am my brother, who tried (in vein) to teach me to ride a bike. I am the bullies who put me off school, and the teachers who kept swapping my cutlery over (just because I eat left-handed). I am all the people who laugh at my jokes, and who always make me smile with comebacks of their own. I am my friends who gave me the best nicknames, and the best memories. I am who I am because of everyone.

It was three years ago this weekend that I started student life. Now of course, I've joined the working world, but I'm not too old to remember "what it was like". With this is mind, and before I'm morally obliged to turn against students (lazy, money-grabbing layabouts, etc. etc...), I thought I'd pass on a few pearls of wisdom. Talk to everyone University is all about socialising (oh, and learning), so start as you mean to go on. Freshers Week is the perfect opportunity to talk to as many people as you can (and not look weird), because everyone is in the same boat. I'm quite very shy around people I don't know, but you have to bite the bullet and speak. Most importantly, though, be yourself – because no-one likes a fake, and three years is a long time to keep lying. You'll probably never speak to the vast majority of people you'll meet, but some of them could turn out to be your very bestest friends. Be a Facebook whore As a general

For my entire childhood, all of our family holidays were taken in England (with the exception of one weekend at Disneyland, Paris). As a result, one of the most closely-followed traditions of the trip away involved tuning in to all the local radio stations we could pick up on the long drive down to the South coast, across to the Westcountry, or up to East Anglia. One thing you notice by doing this is how remarkably similar some stations sound. Often, you'd hear the same jingles, slogans – even DJs – from stations in close geographical proximity. Of course, this was because they were owned and operated by the same people, but this was far less noticeable in the days before digital radio and the internet made it easy to spot identical logos and designs on stations from outside your region. The radio industry has recently gone through a period of massive consolidation. Where once there were a dozen major players, now there are just a handful of super-groups that control the maj

In my last blog posting, I defended the BBC and the Licence Fee. I said that paying for programmes I never watch was a necessary sacrifice in order to protect the Beeb as a whole. Having been subjected to over an hour of BBC One's daytime schedule – I had no choice in the matter, sat in the waiting room at the dentists, less than 5 feet away from a massive flat screen TV – I am seriously reconsidering. I had to watch a programme called Open House , which was billed as a programme about how sellers are dealing with the slow-down in the housing market. This was a lie, because we actually followed one extremely well-to-do old dear who was having a little bit of trouble shifting her £625,000 marina-side, 5-bedroom house. Sorry to spoil it for you, but it was because the house was crammed full of old lady furniture and knick-knacks. This was followed by a programme called Car Booty , where someone rummages through their house, collecting together enough pieces of old tat to se

So, Noel Edmonds has declared he hasn't renewed his TV Licence. I'm not entirely sure what his reasons are – he claims that it's in protest against the rather heavy-handed way that the BBC pursue evaders and enforce the law – but it's a very strange move. It coincides with a review into the licence fee collection process, but I think Edmonds is stirring up controversy rather than adding his two-pennies' worth to the debate. I'm a great believer in the licence fee, because I think the BBC is worth protecting. Britain is pretty unique in having a "state broadcaster" that is funded through the government, by the taxpayers, but remains independent (by and large). The standard of it's output on television, radio and the web, not to mention the cultural impact it has on the nation, is second to none. Protecting freedom of speech means sometimes we have to listen to things we don't want to hear; protecting the BBC means paying for services we&#

I've been meaning to post this for quite a while, but never got round to it. It's a sign displayed in one of the backrooms of the Co-operative supermarket in Crookes, put up by the Union. And this is what some wag with a pen (sadly, I can't claim any credit for it) has done to it...

I'm back in Dartford for a few days, and it's been pretty good 'holiday' so far. On Friday night, my dad and his mates had a joint 50th birthday party over at Princes Park, then on Saturday night it was time for a traditional night out in town with the lads. I needed a drink or two having witnessed one of the worst refereeing performances known to man earlier that day. Dartford's home game against Wealdstone (my first of the season) must have been an absolutely fantastic spectacle for the neutral, but it was pretty hellish for the Darts' fans. We suffered a sending-off after about five minutes, and for the rest of the game it was really ten-against-twelve. I've never seen more wrong decisions made in the course of one game. Goal-kicks instead of corners, fouls given the wrong way, bookings for diving (after blatant illegal challenges), two decent penalties turned down, bad offside flags from the linesmen... in the heat, and in a breathtakingly fast-pa