So there goes University, gone in a flash. What a truly marvelous three years of sleep, vomit, nudity, pot noodles and smut. Proper rebels init. "Time to be mature, be a man and get a job" says Mummy. Cue the synchronised panic as thousands of graduates awake at 2pm, scramble out of bed and change their homepage from xvideos to jobcentreonline.com. If I had a pound for every time I've answered "I'm not sure really" to every "So, what are you going to do now you've graduated?" I'd probably have about £132.50 wedged in my pockets (the 50 pence is from a "Oh just fuck off yeah?" answer). These days I just say I want to be a failed pornstar or an opium farmer in Afghanistan or a factory worker who predominantly makes fake, plastic swirls of poo. Mind you, I'd swallow my pride (and only that!) and happily swap the high life to manage a young producer under the alias of Muffin (pronounced "Muff-in" if you're Jools Holland). Up until yesterday Denzi and myself have been partaking in activities closely linked with those previously mentioned, so have only just discovered Muffin's unsurprisingly mesmeric new tracks in our inbox. Even the name suggests this chap is dense; he ain't no soggy little cupcake. Sprinkle some Kylie-esque vocals on 'Astronaut Candy' and it would definitely rise into a mainstream cake. If Beach Rd. got you going before, then its little brother 'Sunkissed' will do the same.