Sinning is for winners... Or something

The Seven Deadly Sins. A topic frequently alluded to in crosswords, pub quizzes and the Bible, but what does it all mean? Surely in 2006 there is not a day that goes by in which people are not committing one, if not many, of these cardinal vices? Bearing in mind all the sins have serious punishments in the afterlife, I sat down at my computer to try and get to the bottom of this question: How often do I stand on the precipice between heaven and hell?

Lust (Punishment: Smothered in Fire and Brimstone). This is probably the sin I commit the most. My boyfriend lives 400 miles away, so my nights are plagued with visions of my carnal desires. If lust is brought down to its most basic, it is simply the desire for pleasures of the flesh and overindulgence in these acts. A lot of people commit this more than once a day, whether it is when they are bump’n’grindin’ in Fruity or while sitting in a lecture theatre, sweating and panting at the thought of disrobing sexy Dr Whoever in RSLT2. Of all the sins that should be scrapped, I would say that this one deserves it the most because, let us be frank, pleasures of the flesh are exceptionally fun.

Anger (Dismembered alive). I cannot really see how anyone could avoid anger on a regular basis. Reading the newspaper, even this newspaper, can make you want to bang your head against a brick wall just so you forget how idiotic this world is. I get angry when someone does a crap in the morning and our stupid broken toilet refuses to flush it down, choosing instead to taunt me mockingly as I stand with hand over mouth poking it with a toilet brush. I get angry when people say “politics don’t really affect me”. In fact, when people say that, I want to tear them limb from limb and gorge on their entrails. Satan welcomes me.

Envy (Placed in freezing water). Even the most confident people suffer from this sin because, all though this may be hard to accept, no one is good at everything. Whether you wish you could get away with doing no work like so and so in your seminars, or if you crave the oblivious happiness you perceive in someone else, there is no escaping the green eyed monster. Anyone who says they do not get jealous is LYING. Hang on, why is lying not a deadly sin?

Sloth (Thrown in snake pits). Instead of commenting on this topic seriously, I provide you with meaningless words. Sundays. Hollyoaks omnibus. Hangover. Greasy fry up. House pants. Duvet. Winter.

Pride (Broken on the wheel). Although I understand that excessive pride is annoying, I do not think it is hell-worthy to take pride in your intelligence, gender and achievements. Maintaining a smidgen of pride will inevitably prevent you from stripping naked, jumping into the fountain by the sports hall and appearing in BBC binge drinking footage.

Gluttony (Forced to eat rats, toads and snakes). Ok, so the world is going to run out of food and I really wish that was not the case because food is bloody amazing. The existence of Punjab’s vegetarian tandoori pizza (curry on a pizza – who would have thought it?) means I commit this sin on a frighteningly regular basis. Victoria Beckham should go there.

Greed (Put in pots of boiling oil). This is the most unattractive sin, anyone who has seen Ben Jonson’s Volpone would agree with that. Excuse me for being so highbrow, I meant anyone who has seen Neighbours will know the pains of this sin. Let us do a case study of Paul Robinson. The man is trying to bribe the police because of his avarice. He believes he can buy anything or anyone. The destructiveness of this sin is the reason we have cosmetics corporations testing on animals to make more money then their competitors. It is why fast food chains ignore the health hazards of the foods they flog to masses, with marketing targeted at children.

In conclusion, if hell existed, which is does not because religion is silly, we would all be there. Join the party.

This is not actually about my housemates, or me, it's my interpretation of a story I heard from some friends...

Uh oh, it’s that time of year again. Fear not, this is not a column about the distant ring of sleigh bells that are going to annoy you for the next two months. I’m talking about the much closer, much more grating problem of sex noises in shared accommodation.

Your housemates have had a pretty dry summer chilling out in their parents’ boring town. Not much opportunity for jigger-y poker-y because of the awkwardness of ‘that’ conversation with their family. So, here we are, back in Leeds and in a flurry of cheap vodka and funky house your desperate pal has managed to con someone into coming back to your house. You are sitting in bed reading The Guardian and all of a sudden the repetitive tap tapping of a headboard starts to distract you from your paper. As much as you want to know about the situation in Darfur, you cannot resist putting the newspaper down and lying in the semi darkness, kept awake by the groaning and thumping emanating from the next room.

If you are lucky enough just to be plagued by the creaking of springs or the knocking of headboards, your clever little brain can potentially trick you into believing they are doing some exercise. Or rehearsing for a play. Anything but having wild, exciting sex while you sit by yourself filling out council tax exemption forms.

Worse than creaking and shaking are genuine groaning pleasure noises. One can accept the inevitability of furniture or floor boards making a noise if you are having sex. In fact, if they aren’t moving you are probably not doing it right! But, the way a passion fuelled yelp travels through the paper thin walls will set your teeth on edge. On the one hand, you are happy they are showing each other a good time. On the other, you don’t like to hear your pal (the guy who sits and watches Neighbours with you while you sit in stained housepants and pick your nose) romping about in bed as if he is auditioning for a part in ‘Rocky does Leeds’.

It’s morning. You are sitting bleary eyed with a cup of coffee. Even though the raucous sex itself abated soon after midnight, you laid awake for hours replaying the squealing sounds of pleasure with a pillow over your face. The offending housemate emerges. They ask you how you are doing. You bite your lip and stare into your rapidly chilling cup. You want to ask them if they could keep it down next time rather than rubbing your lack of sexual activity in your face like salt into a particularly bloody wound. You say,

“I’m good, thanks.”

Graduate Employment column Feb 07

Good news for graduates this week. Yup, good news indeed. Female graduates can expect only a 17% gap in pay between them and their male colleagues, as oppose to the 38.4% gap experienced by women in the part time sector. Apparently there are still employers who think men are the only ones who can handle the complexities of Microsoft Word.

Put the champagne on ice! Graduation approaches! As if the prospect of sitting in an office listening to the drone of fluorescent strip lighting for the next ten years wasn’t bad enough, you get to sleep uneasy in the knowledge that the prick sitting opposite you with a rumpled suit and greasy hair is getting paid several thousand more to type the same drivel. He probably spent his degree scratching his bum and walking around town in the middle of winter with a tank top on, but his gender will give him the advantage in employment despite his dismal grades.

When I think of some of the complete and utter prats I went to school with being paid more than me for doing the same job I want to run to their prospective employers and pummel them in the face. “You can’t pay more than me”, I yell, “He used to write ‘ is a slag’ and ‘so and so has big tits’ on the desks! And he got his dick caught in his flies in Year 11. I’m clearly more competent than him!”

Just in case the gentlemen were sighing with relief at having the upper hand, although I wouldn’t call being the brunt of my wrath having the upper hand, be warned. Monday’s Guardian points out that in 1995 71.1% of jobs were held by graduates, compared with just 53.5% today. So it’s not just us women who are wasting our time here. Apparently we could have saved fifteen grand, not met so many idiots and still got the same job at the end of it. Congratulations. It reminds me of the time my partner went on his mate’s stag weekend. “Did you have a nice time?” I asked, eyeing his sunken eyes and weary expression. “Well, I could have set fire to my wallet before throwing myself down the stairs and would have come out with the same experience.” Sometimes the outcome does not do justice to the journey.

I suppose when you weigh three years of lie-ins, Pitza Canos and twenty five pence newspapers against full-price rail fares, rush-hour commuting and tedious office chit-chat, being a student wins hands down. My experiences with employment have so far not endeared me to the world of tax paying. I spent one summer working in a warehouse with a guy whose idea of stimulating conversation was to fantasise about spending an evening tossing off in front of Top Gear and eating kebabs...I worked in a garden centre with a bloke who gave me a knife and one of those Bondage Bears for Christmas. Not only was I fifteen, I was highly disturbed. He once took great pleasure in telling me about an episode of Fear Factor in which a woman had to eat a bull’s testicles. His eyes shone like new coins as he told the story… I went for an interview at a Thai restaurant near my parents’ old house. The woman offered me the job as soon as I came through the door, but after she sat me down and stroked my hair for ten minutes while telling me I was “pretty, pretty girl”, I decided it was not the place for me… My friend, a postman, got attacked and bitten by an Alsatian the other day. As if being attacked by a dog while at work was not grating enough, it was only an inch clear of his crown jewels... One of my housemates also partook in the joy of temping a few summers ago. His days were spent throwing rotting meat into a giant bin because the temperature of the fridge had sunk by one degree…

…In a nutshell, the world outside Leeds University is frightening.