Here's the latest in our new series of blogs by Glasgow students.

Ryan Bounagui is a self-confessed news junkie, part-time mentor, part-time pie producer, full-time madman. Never too far from a pub.

We're three quarters of the way through January and that usually means New Year's Resolutions are well beyond their expiry dates.

The January joggers, those pavement pounders you'll see from the window three times then never again, are no more.

The University's gym is back to pre-festive period levels ( I say this from the outside looking in) and the campus' smoking hotspots are re-manned by exam-stressed students in serious need of nicotine.

My own resolution, however, is still intact. This year I trained the motivational Magnum on procrastination, that endemic student disease that contaminates computer labs and libraries in Universities everywhere.

It's the ultimate act of student sin, procrastination, and I've yet to do it this year. 'Yet' being the key word.

It always begins with the very best of intentions, the procrastination process. Look along the top of my screen as I begin a study session and you'll see three tabs: my email account, the university's online learning resource Blackboard and an open journal or e-book on the subject I'm about to immerse myself in. The problem is though, the tabs - like the cells of that student disease - rapidly multiply and the work only begins after I've had a quick swatch at my Facebook, scanned sport websites for the latest, and briefed myself on current geopolitical tensions and happenings in parts of the world I'll probably never go anywhere near.

Domestic procrastination is the disease in its most aggressive form. Normally after a day's graft in lectures and seminars, I'll get home for dinnertime, sit down, watch the news and then plan to head into the kitchen to start work.

But then, something happens; something beyond the realms of explanation or human understanding. Suddenly Emmerdale's compelling. The couch's comfort value rockets. Playing with the dog has this endless appeal. A quick game of FIFA seems like a plausible, no a necessary, warm-up exercise for the brain. Put simply any activity that makes the scenic route to the kitchen more scenic is one I'll partake in. I've not heard of any cure for this disease.

From looking at some of my colleagues it may be incurable. For me though it's 'critical but stable'. Maybe it's finally dawned on me that endlessly scrolling through selfies, updates on gym progress (all lies) and worryingly passionate rants on the evilness of Katie Hopkins is in fact a meaningless activity that'll get me nowhere in life.

Either way my motivation seems to finally be at the levels it should have been for the last few years and I'm pleased. I'm doing well, really well; but Facebook, Twitter and YouTube will always be only a click away. And Emmerdale's on every night.