Writer's Block

For those lesser-informed, I should make it known that I am a writer. And, as every writer will ever come across, I suffer from writer's block (Or writer's lazy, as some I know refer to it as). Writer's block should be a recognised condition and I should be receiving disability benefit for it. I'm joking, of course, but only about the disability benefit. It has to be a recognised condition. You see, if writer's block had a cure, I would literally sell my left arm for it (I am right-handed, after all).
It is the kind of thing that makes you want to smash your head into something very, very solid, like a wall, or your father's beer belly. It creeps up on you slowly, at first you're poodling along, typing away about last night's aWeSoMe SaUcE pArTy!!!1!!1!!1 (I promise never to write like that again), and then it just attacks, and suddenly you're screaming and gnawing away on the table, or your arm, trying to drag another sentence from your mind, although everything you write is shit and you just want to shoot the inventor of the written word and strangle his wife in the process.
"But please," you protest, "I promised myself I would write 2,000 words tonight."
"Alas NO!" screams writer's block, cackling away, "You will roll on the floor crying or go on the internet!"
"But I told myself I'd write 2,000 words before internet," you protest again, weakily
"The internet is WAITING," cackles writer's block again, so you cave and waste your life on the internet, or roll on the floor for an hour. A pain to all this is that your 2,000 words was probably a school essay, so you have to turn in a blank sheet with just your name (sometimes not even that), and explain that you were busy fighting writer's block. This, of course, will not fly with your teacher, who will then fail you in all your exams and then most likely your life. Yes, writer's block is that cruel.
The ultimate trouble to all this is that there is rarely a solution to this. All you can do is hit your head against your keyboard and hope it types better than your hands.
I'm stopping this post shorter than normal because Writer's Block is now standing in the doorway brandishing a sword and I'm not sure I can win. As it is in the world of a writer.

Root Beer and Apple Jacks

I thought I might kick off with a dull paragraph about Americanism and how it affects our proudly 'British' lives and so on and so on. Although I thought I might complain [this may become a recurring theme] about how it's a very selective Americanisation of our lives. Mostly because I, personally, adore Root Beer. I'm pretty sure when I die I will be greeted with rows and rows of the glorious liquid. In my small town, and the one nearest to me, I know of two places that sell Root Beer. So I drink Dandelion + Burdock instead. I don't mean to drink obscure and expensive drinks, honest. Apparently, McDonald's used to sell it, but, alas, there was no demand for it, and so it was taken off the menu [cue much sobbing from me and the other three or four root beer lovers in Britain]. It would've also meant I don't have to go an half hour car journey and pay £1.40 for a single can of Diet Root Beer.
In case you haven't noticed, I really, really like Root Beer.
My other point are Apple Jacks. For my lesser-enlightened British counterparts [or just Americans that have never eaten Apple Jacks], they are a heavily-artificially-flavoured and coloured cereal that are roughly Golden Nuggets, just appley-flavoured. I'm assuming that the idea is to trick people into believing that they contain some apples and therefore nutrition. However they may contain apples now, as I haven't had Apple Jacks for two years. Which is precisely my point.
Apple Jacks, to my knowledge, are sold in one place in the UK. This one place doesn't happen to be near my house. More accurately, it is in Greater Manchester. Me, being roughly an hour south of London, puts me at least a 5 hours drive away. And I've lost the link to the online shop that sells it. And finally, the even more important fact that my mother would most likely chew her own leg off before even thinking to allow me to eat something with as many additives as I think it has.
But why is it, that even in the time in which I swear I once saw cheese in a spray can [WHY? What could possibly go through someone's mind when they think that cheese in a spray can would be a good idea?!] that I cannot buy a can of root beer that hasn't had to be imported from the US? And why can I not buy Apple Jacks in my cereal aisle [along with other gloriously unhealthy and crappy cereals that I could only dream about, meaning Lucky Charms and the like]? Although coming to think, the second question can probably be answered with the EU.
I shouldn't complain too much, I only have to take a simple half-hour car journey to my closest can of root beer, or if I dare to need a choice, a Starbucks. And who could possibly want more?

An Introduction

I will try to post every Friday.
I will also try to make each post at least 500 words.
When I make my first post this Friday, I will confirm the *official* email for this blog, but hopefully it'll be noiwouldnotlikesometea@hotmail.com
This blog will mostly be stupid ramblings about random thoughts I have had.

So, I'll see you Friday.