Best meal of the year: I made a lasagne which was quite nice though the pasta was still a bit chewy.

Best lie-in of the year: I forget the day, but I was in bed until about three and there was half a muffin on my bedside table.

Best train journey of the year: Cambridge to Newmarket without a doubt. Absolutely brilliant.

Now onto the serious business. I’ve decided to do five of the best albums of the year because I could not pick just one. I’ve decided these are quite clearly MY best albums and may well not be THE best albums, not that there could ever be an objective list. These are the albums I have enjoyed the most and not the albums that will change the face of music for the rest of the blah blah blah. And, obviously, it’s out of the albums I actually own – there are a fair few I would like to get but haven’t got round to – though I might to claim to own some I actually don’t, much like everyone says they’ve seen Citizen Kane.

In no particular order -

Gil Scot Heron and Jamie xx – We’re New Here

Wow. If you thought Heron’s solo, come-back effort was enough on I’m New Here, man-of-the-moment-in-an-industry-where-moments-do-not-last-long Jamie xx has produced a beautifully-crafted remix album which will surely stand the test of time. The xx boy finds the perfect balance between Heron’s haunting spoken word and original score and his own electronic, off-beat influence. As valuable in your room as in a club, some of the bass drops are RUDE yet Mr xx never loses the under-stated subtlety which accompanies everything he touches. Even more fitting that this makes the list after Heron’s sad passing earlier this year.

Everything Everything  - Man Alive

Downloaded on a whim after I saw their Mercury Prize nomination, I cringed at the first few tracks at first listen. “What is this nauseous hipster electro-pop?” I thought. But then on second, third, and all subsequent listens I thought, “Well, knock me down, this is awesome.” And there concludes my musical journey of enlightenment through this razor-sharp pop album. The dexterity of the lead singer’s [I don't know his name and can't be bothered to look it up] lyrics is sensual and his voice, though difficult to like at first, blossoms into a wonderful long-term relationship complete with walks on the beach and the occasional loving tiff about which Sunday newspaper to buy. I particularly like the bit he says the problem with the French is how they won’t admit they’re fools. I don’t have a problem with the French but I like the line. Bloody French.

Wild Beasts – Smother

This album makes its way onto the list slightly off the back of the band’s previous album, Two Dancers, because it was just that damn good. But Smother (the third album) is still excellent and builds on the strong melodic foundations laid in Two Dancers. The album invokes less of a party spirit, siding with melancholy, lust, and sexual power, oh, and enemies, they like enemies, more, which creates a much more powerful and mature offering. The band have certainly grown into themselves and the fourth album promises to be spectacular. Incidentally, I saw them headline Field Day and they were a bit rubbish, but I saw them at their own gig in Cambridge and they were incredibubble. The two singers’ voices are stunning. Stunning.

Manchester Orchestra  - Simple Math

Now for my emo offering. I love this band with all my heart. They are, quite frankly, one of the best bands around. While I love their older stuff that wee bit more, their new direction (a slightly rockier one) retains the lyrical prowess of Andy Hull only with a bit more oomph on the musical backing front and a slightly less-introverted singing style. There are very few lyricists like Mr Hull out there able to evoke such vivid imagery and emotion with mere words. Just words, think of it. Words. This album has marked an important part in Manchester Orchestra’s career as they have broken out into the big time – their next album will be crucial in seeing if they can cope with that – this could be the last album to cherish.

King Creosote and Jon Hopkins – Diamond Mine

King Creosote, a Scootish songwriter has released some 29 million albums, give or take, yet it seems his big break has been to work with electronic producer man Jon Hopkins. Mr Hopkins’ touch is even more subtle than Mr xx’s with Gilly but just as important. Take, for example, the four second guitar riff barely audible before the piano chords kick in for Bats in the Attic. Such touches are what makes this album an absolute triumph. Every single sound, every single string slide or drum click has been tirelessly thought through. Creosote’s (if indeed that is his real name, phh) voice has the quivering ache of hope and sadness yet reaches almost euphoric peaks at points on the album. It is a simple masterpiece.

There you have it, kids. Everyone loves a list, but everyone also loves knowing what did not make the list.

Here are some honourable mentions summed up in two words:

Jamie Woon – Mirrorwriting – Beautifully dull

Bad Books – Bad Books – Devine Hull

Laura Marling – A Creature I Don’t Know – Mature progression

Feist – Metals – Didn’t listen

Ryan Adams – Ashes and Fire – Didn’t buy

And some more.

It’s amazing the looks of disgust and disappointment I have had from some people I have told about my resignation but in truth it was an incredible difficult task and one I think I took lightly when I started. Writing 1,667 words a day is one thing, but writing them alongside a full-time job, football on Mondays, drama on Thursdays, and a social life, is another. I usually managed about 1,000 on a week day then would try and catch up at the weekends – a strategy which broadly worked. But, when you stopped writing, the scheduled word count did not. When you only managed 1,666, you fell behind. Then the next day when you only wrote 1,665, you fell behind even more. It was that relentless catch up which made it so difficult. Perhaps the straw which broke the camel’s back came a week last Sunday (day 13). I had written about 4,500 words and caught up within a day of Mistress Target and was happy with how I stood. But on getting home from an afternoon’s stay in a Cambridge cafe I realised I’d miss-judged the date and was an extra 1,667 words behind what I had thought. That was really demoralising and took the wind out of my already flagging sails.

From then on it was an uphill struggle. I caught up to 22+thousand but the target was running away. Then, one missed day later I was staring down the barrel of a 10,000 word deficit. If the Government could take my approach to their deficit, I’m sure they would. So, here we are. I am ducking out of NaNoWriMo.

I fully intend to keep writing the novel and can now aim for a logical conclusion of the story rather than a token target of 50,000. I was very aware of the word count pressure affecting the content and quality of the book (perhaps that’s half the trick, as one author told me, you have to turn your inner editor off) and am not prepared to drudge on for 25,000 sub-par words and still not make the target.

In this is another positive to take. I am actually happily surprised with the quality of the book so far. Yes, it will need a lot of tinkering, re-writing, and cutting, but on the whole I have surprised myself with how well the plot and characters have taken shape. The 22 days I took part have taught me a lot about my writing ability. I still have a lot to learn but I have now written four times as much as I had ever written before. Over the next few months I will keep working on the book and hopefully will to get to a stage where I have finished, can edit it, and maybe even let others (a poor few close friends and perhaps my mother) read it.

NaNoWriMo is a brilliant idea. It sparks literary thought among hundreds of thousands of people around the world and encourages many young writers, like myself, to put pen to paper. After going to the first meet up in Cambridge I was surprised to see that many of the authors were taking a much more jovial, fantasy approach to their novels whereas mine was set to be a grim study of emotional distress and loss – perhaps that is where I went wrong. I would be interested to see the breakdown of the genres of books written. In my “genre” which I found myself telling most people was “other” I found it difficult to take onboard a lot of the NaNoWriMo support. I could not simply kill off a main “boring” character and replace it with an authoritative space monkey and nor could I wangle an exploding cheese grater into a slow scene. In that, my words had to come from a very specific place and not from frivolous plot hijacks. Not cheapening anybody eles’s attempt to take on the challenge, I think my style of book made the task a lot more difficult. But I could not bring myself to drop the niggling idea of the novel I had always wanted to write in favour of blurting out 50,000 words on any topic. This is something I believe will stand me in good stead when coming back to my work and trying to build on it.

Thank you to all those on Twitter/Facebook who supported me and to all those outside the internet who helped me with it. I have no doubt one day I will finish what I have started and the first 22 days of this month have made me incredible excited about that prospect. I take nothing but positives away from NaNoWriMo’s victory and may even invest in a desk as writing in bed has certainly given me a new outlook in life – one where I cannot look up for 24 hours at a time because of a cricked neck.

So, well done to all those still writing – you should be tickling 40,000 words by now – and I wish you all the best in the final 10 days. But for me, NaNoWriMo is finished, but my novel is not.

I’ve sort of accepted defeated as far as Monday to Friday goes and see my only chance of success is in writing a billion words on the weekends. It’s easier said than done because I’ve noticed, though time is available on my lazy Saturdays and Sundays, once I cross 2,000 words my brain starts to slow down and it’s really difficult to keep focus. What’s more is I have two issues with plot I have to overcome plot.

1. I hit a dead end where I’m not sure what’s going to happen.

2. I hit a planned major event where I know exactly what I want to happen and that scares me, so I put off writing it. This is essentially because the big plot events are what makes up the book – and so decide whether it’s a decent book or not – which scares the bejesus out of me.

Now, there are is only one way round these problems – in non-literary terminology – it is to man up. I just have to write through it. It is still early days in the novel and I think once the story is in full flow it will be easier to just plough through the plot. And so, with that complex analysis of what I have to do, I can reveal to you the plot involves two brothers and some other people and some stuff that happens. Bet you’re on tenter hooks, aren’t you?

I therefore have to use this weekend to pay catch up. By the end of Sunday I need to have written another 7,000 words. I’m fairly happy with the content of the ol’ novel but I won’t be disclosing any of that until I have at least half a plot – say, around 15 thou. Until then, I’m off to a coffee shop in Cambridge to look really poncey and literary and write my novel. Oh yeh.

To write 1,666 words a day for each of the 30 days of November is my challenge. This is NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).

I have written various short stories before and reached a 6,000-word stalemate with a previous attempt at a novel so I have some experience in the arduous, frustrating process of attempting to write believable fiction. On each occasion so far I was able to bow out when it looked like my sloth-like progression had ground to a halt, but no, not this November.

Not only is the target very clear – 50,000 words by November 30 – but my progress will be held to account by my newspaper Cambridge First as I write a weekly column about just how much I want to cry, why none of my characters have names, and why my room has never been tidier. These factors should contribute to a driven, rock-solid attempt at bashing out a novel. Just maybe.

I only decided last Thursday I was going to give this a bash so, where others might spend October planning, I chucked together a few storylines on Sunday afternoon. This will no doubt hinder the early days of my month’s work but I’m quietly confident it will result in a more natural (slapdash) end product.

In short, you, dear reader, you, housemates, you, colleagues, you, friends, and you, God, must support me through this month of terrible, elongated sentence structure, sore necks, RSI, and rage. I am hell-bent on coming out of this at the other end with a novel, or as someone pointed out helpfully, ‘more a novella’. I will update my progress on here every now and again and may even throw some excerpts and choice quotes up, so, make sure you check back. Also, be sure to pick up Cambridge First for the censored progress update, and follow my 140-character cries for help.

See you in December.

Though a four-way contested election for the position of chancellor of Cambridge University is in itself ‘History’, the result will now become just another addition to the long list of Lords, Dukes, Earls, and Princes who have held the post. It is clear from Brian Blessed’s second place – taking some 400 more votes than third place Michael Mansfield QC – this election was never going to produce the kind of shift in university politics some had been hoping for.

At his hustings on Tuesday, Mansfield, the self-described “radical lawyer”, spoke to audience about a third of the size Blessed pulled in on the Monday. When Blessed was asked on Monday how he was going to widen access to the university, he replied “I haven’t a clue” – yet he polled second place. Mansfield spoke confidently and with determination about how he thought Cambridge University needed to change. But his pragmatism fell largely on deaf ears outside the Union chamber. He suggested short-term five-year chancellorships and a look at the automatic conferment of Masters degrees. He spoke of the need for broader learning, a move away from commercially-tailored degrees, a fight back against the market forces of education. He was the real contender to Lord Sainsbury, the university’s proposed (and preferred) candidate.

At the gates of the Senate House on Friday as voting took place, I was told Abdul Arain, the Mill Road shopkeeper, was a “protest vote”, Blessed, a wasted vote, and Mansfield, the only real alternative to more-of-the-same. Yet, Blessed took 400 more votes. If those eligible to vote – a topic of discussion in its own right – really wanted the university to reassess its values in the light of the commercialisation of education, Mansfield would have been the right vote. Arguably, had it been a two-horse race between the lawyer and former supermarket chairman, Mansfield might have stood a better chance. Add up the votes of the losers and Sainsbury still comes out on top, just. But, I met at least three people outside the gates of the Senate House who abstained – one at protest of who was eligible to vote, another at the farce the election had become. Obviously, that’s a tiny percentage but it adds some weight to the idea those interested in protecting the university were much more unified than those who wanted to progress.

The same commentary can be made many protest/reform movements – from the Chartists to those who took to the streets last year over tuition fees. Had the same number turned out to hear Mansfield speak on Tuesday as had for Blessed, the election would have had some legitimacy, some purpose, but as it was, I doubt a majority of those who watched any of the hustings were even eligible to vote, perhaps especially on Monday night. In my mind, this shows the election was not taken as seriously as it could/should have been.

Interestingly, Cambridge Defend Education and the protest groups at the centre of last year’s marches and occupation did not involve themselves in the election. Had they, there might have been a more unified approach to stand against the university’s proposed candidate. As we saw from the vote of no confidence in David Willetts which narrowly failed, there is opposition within the university to higher education politics, but there is much more consolidated power in the group who believe Sainsbury is the “sensible option” – I believe those who opposed the vote of no confidence and those who voted for Sainsbury are not so far apart.

This election should have represented more than just who would be the new figurehead for the university – remember the real power resides the vice chancellor and the university council. Mansfield told the Union he admired those who occupied the Old Schools last November. He said he would have gone down there and spoken to them, opened a dialogue. This starkly contrasts with the policy vice chancellor Leszek Borysiewicz used – a wall of silence.

The conflict between a 800-year-old institution and the need to modernise is extremely complicated. Mansfield said the university should have led a fight against tuition fees – it didn’t. He said the automatic conferment of Masters is archaic – it is. He said the question of eligibility to vote in chancellor elections needs to be looked at – it probably won’t. Yet another chance to look at progressing the politics of the university has fallen by the way side.

I have no doubt Sainsbury will be a good chancellor (Mary Beard’s views on Sainsbury as chancellor). He has supported the university financially (some £127 million, I think), he has a suitable title befitting to follow Prince Philip, and he has more business contacts than you could shake a stick at. But where is the fight, edge, and progression needed in a one of the most important institutions in the world? As last year showed, it certainly will not come from Borysiewics, if the Willetts vote is anything to go by, it has not taken hold in the Senate, so where?

Tomorrow Cambridge Defend Education will meet to discuss its tactics for the coming academic year. It must build on the momentum of last year, it must work with CUSU – and new president Gerard Tully – if it is to repeat the victory it had over student bursaries, it must remain visible, it must not isolate itself as anarchic or dangerous, it must have clear targets and a sensible agenda, it must call upon Sainsbury to address its concerns, and it needs to remind the university of its position at the forefront of education.

We need to move on from this election and not lament a missed opportunity to highlight the real issues the university needs to tackle. Mansfield might have been able to shake things up, but just as likely he might have been sidelined as a figurehead, Blessed, to quote a just-voted, was “full of hot air”, and Arain’s moment will come shortly as the Mill Road Sainsbury’s application comes to a head.

They had been married for seven months. Noone had ever said when the honeymoon period was meant to end but, for him, it hadn’t yet. He couldn’t speak for Her of course – she, though selfless, thoughtful, and caring, was often detached and cold. He always told himself he loved it about Her. He thought it nice she didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve and sometimes he didn’t know what she was thinking. But it was ok. He took it to mean love and affection was a given, it didn’t need to be spoken, announced, because it was there. There. There for both of them to be inside. If you’re inside it, you don’t have to say you’re inside it. You just stay.

While that may or may not be true, he didn’t let it bother him. If you’re in love with a girl who loves art, there’s nothing to say there isn’t a girl out there who does not like art but you could still love. There is not one person to love. If you know this then you have more power to accept discrepancies in your loved one’s character. You know it could have gone another way but there would always be other discrepancies. He doubts she thinks like this. Maybe she doesn’t even love him. Maybe she doesn’t need to. He doesn’t need to know.

He worked late a fair amount. He worked away as well. Out of town. Cliched but true. The fact that he did not know how this made Her feel made him awkward. He told himself it made him comforted. But it didn’t. He’d seen the films and read the books and thought if he worked a lot, she should care and tell him to stay in, skip work, go to bed early. But he didn’t want that. He had this girl who didn’t need love because she was so strong. A strong girl has to be a good thing. He was married to a strong girl. He never thought he would be. It’s the conflict between being attracted to strong women and being intimidated by them. He hadn’t resolved this conflict yet, despite their marriage. Other men were attracted to strong women too and it would suffice to say strong women should be attracted to strong men. Not that he wasn’t strong, he hadn’t seen his place in the strong index but he assumed, at least, he wasn’t weak.

It was late on Tuesday night. He had finished his work out of town early and decided to head home that night instead of spending another night on his own in a sterile-but-dirty travel lodge. He knew he wouldn’t be back in time to make it a romantic gesture but nevertheless a night with your wife is better than a night away from your wife. If she did appreciate this, she wouldn’t show it.

It was raining so he decided to get a taxi to the house instead of walk. This was a mistake as he needed more time to think. More time for his head. His concern at a lack of appreciation from Her was pathetic. They were married. If anything, these concerns would drive her away into the arms of a stronger man. What if she was already in the arms of a stronger man? He could not imagine how an affair might change her demeanour around him. Maybe it would evoke a greater, more outward, affection. But on the other hand, maybe it wouldn’t change a thing. He would never know.

He unlocked the front door. He had been soaked between the car door and the house – he may as well have walked. All the lights were on in the house. A half-empty wine bottle sat above a kicked-off pair of shoes in the lounge. He turned the lights off and made for the stairs. He didn’t call her name because he thought she’d be asleep. It was bad enough coming home early but waking her as well. He trudged up the stairs like a working man should. The bathroom door was open and light reflected off the wet floor. There was a light on in the master bedroom, the only bedroom. Maybe she is up anyway. Shocked at how scared he was at opening the door to his wife, he tip-toed to the door and gently turned the handle. He opened the door, not so slowly to make it seem stealthy but not quickly enough to dismiss any fears about his lack of confidence.

He opened the door and there she was. She was sat up in bed reading. If she was surprised she didn’t show it. He explained why he was home and went over to her side of the bed, he kissed her cheek. He had taken off his coat and blazer downstairs. He glanced round the room as if it were different because he hadn’t intended to be there at this time. She had put down her book and was staring at him. He took in a deep breath and told her he slept with someone else the night before.

A young girl, musn’t have been older than 20. If she was angry, she didn’t show it.

When the Government announced it had opted for an upper limit of £9,000 for tuition fees a statement from Cambridge University welcomed the changes and reiterated its commitment to ensuring their education was available to all.

Since then students from across Cambridge have taken to the streets three times in protest at tuition fee rises and cuts to higher education funding. These students – who will not be directly affected by the cuts – have been joined by academics and, more importantly, school and college students – the people who will really affected by the possibility of £50,000 degree.

So far, this is all fairly predictable. What was not predictable was the week-long occupation of the university’s Old School. And herein lies where the university has exposed itself – the detached, patronising treatment of the students. The refusal to speak to the protesters, the immediately-sought injunction, the cowardly bury-your-head-in-the-sand approach.

After Monday’s injunction, obtained without so much as a word from management regarding Cambridge Defend Education’s demands, and the groups defiant stance it became clear CDE were not seeking to grab headlines to disrupt university business, they wanted to hear what their university had to say about how they were going to protect the future of higher education.

While some of the group’s demands were a little wayward – asking the university to declare it will never privatise, for example – the others demonstrated an intelligent, concerned, understanding of what these cuts and rises might mean.

They felt they had been betrayed by the Liberal Democrats who promised not to raise tuition fees and so, as Cambridge would otherwise promote such guidance, they turned to their university. They turned to the paternal body which is giving them the education they are worthy of – not just a degree but an education.

Instead of coming out and explaining their position, engaging the group in debate, arguing their side – which presumably is based on thorough decisions they believe to be right – they turned their back on the students. They turned their back on the students that give them life, their raison d’etre.

Vice Chancellor Leszek Borysiewicz, despite numerous attempts from CDE to talk to him, remained silent.

He shut his eyes very tight and ignored them, hoping it would all go away.

He delegated the worry to his bailiffs.

He knew they couldn’t stay there for ever, and once they were gone, he’d open his eyes again and his stubbornness would prove no matter what they did, he could just shut his eyes again.

It’s true the students could not protest for ever. They were not criminals and he knew it, and they knew it too. He knew if he ignored them they could only escalate so far before they could not go any further and they would go home. It is not time yet to judge whether this is a successful tactic.

Regardless of its success, it is pathetic. It is disgusting the Vice Chancellor of one of the most respected educational institutions in the world would turn a blind eye to the cries of his own students about something History may well prove changed the way education works in this country.

More than 250 academics from within the university, CUSU, colleges, 1,000 people from around the world including some renowned political thinkers, and many more have come out in support of CDE, but if Mr Borysiewicz keeps his eyes closed tight, it doesn’t make a difference. One ignored voice is as futile as 1,000 ignored voices.

Now, Mr Borysiewicz may well come out and debate with the highly-organised and respectful CDE in the near future, in which case, I can retract a small percentage of these words. It would not change the damage already done to the university’s image.

“We will teach you how to argue, how to respect, and how to analyse, but we will not listen once you’ve learnt how.”

End of an era? I’ve just finished my second term at Cardiff School of Journalism and it’s been pretty tough. That’s why the posts on here have been few and far between. Anyway, enough excuses, and enough low-quality news gathering.

What is floating my boat at the moment? Wha gwaaan? Well, I’ve been getting into the bridge that is beginning to connect techno and dubstep. Call it what you will, but the likes of Joy Orbison, Untold, James Blake, Scuba… the list goes on, have been creating subtle, progressive 2-step… and I like it.

I’ve been indulging more and in dubstep of late and finding much of the more popular stuff a bit grating. The likes of Rusko, and Caspa to a degree, do not have the delicate creativity in their music that many other dubstep producers do. Even big names like Joker and Nero are producing some good stuff. In fact, one of my favourites of the last few weeks has been Nero’s remix of MJ Cole’s seminal garage hit Sincere.

As tech-house comes to the end of its tribal-infused fun trip, the likes of L-vis 1990 and Bok Bok need to find a new angle. That sound is growing almost as tired as the screeching synth championed by Major Lazer and Sydney Samson. At the same time, the 2-step, garage-rooted scene that, arguably, has had big players in it for a while like Modeselektor and Four Tet, is really coming alive.

It will be interesting to see how far this goes and what happens next, but at the moment, the discordant, often erratic, techy dubstep is the next big thing.

I’ve gone and recorded a mix. It was off the top of my head and unplanned, consequently, there are a few errors, but it is still alarmingly good fun. Give it a bell. (See that Ellen Allien track down there? That ain’t being released for months. Exciting stuff.)

Joe and Will Ask? – Christ Martin
Mowgli – London To Paris
DJ Madskillz – Apollo
Lorcan Mak – Brass This Ass
DJ Sneak – You Can’t Hide From Your Bud (Gramophonedzie Remix)
Marco Bailey – Filter Bitch
House Of Stank – Get Up, Yeah (Hijack Remix)
Riva Starr – Black Cat, White Cat
DJ Zinc – Killa Sound (Heavyfeet Remix)
Yiannis Balkizas – Breathing Space
Skitzofrenix – Droppin’ That
Ellen Allien – Pump
Milton Channels – Black is Black
Mike Mind – Resonate (Kebacid Remix)
Stardust – Music Sounds Better With You (Nick Verwey Remix)