So this is it. The end of the year.
The last few weeks have passed in a haze of what could quite happily be expressed as some of the most
Who says alcohol can't count towards your five-a-day?
stressful weeks of my life: alcohol, working, relationship woes, mild depression, letting agents and all the misery associated with utility companies, and kebabs. Glamorously, it has ended up with one of my flatmates in the South of France, the other in Wales, and me…well, obviously I’m sitting in this godforsaken oven of a flat whilst a man who speaks very little English cleans the flat for a king’s ransom. Honestly, he should be wearing a mask and a striped jumper.
Don’t rent property kids.
But I digress. This having been the forth attempt at writing a post over the last month, I will hopefully succeed in attempting give you a whistle-stop tour of what’s been happening.
After weeks of being completely un-enthused by the prospect of another exam, matched only in its banality by it’s pointlessness, I ended up working 12+ hour days in the study/social space of the library. It’s quite good in there, although I am entirely sure that people are permanently living in there. So good in fact, that ole David Cameron decided to pay us a visit and lecture various assembled dignitaries about things that will have less impact than stealing our study space. Still, it remains that there are certain enclosed off group study areas that always have the same person or their belongings in them24 hours a day. In fact, thinking about it, I should probably have checked that they weren’t dead. Maybe I’ll go do that in a minute;
Classic inebriated Jaimie pose
they’ll still be there. The more I consider it, it is a brilliant scheme for avoiding rent and letting agents (you’ll hear so much more about that soon, I assure you). So after an exam where I wrote a 7 page essay and said absolutely nothing except “sepsis is bad,” essentially, there was the medic’s end of exam bop.
Another fail to add to the list. Where the first two years had finished their exams, and a good percentage of Imperial deciding to come along for the ride, it appears that someone forgot to tell the SU that it might get a little busy. In fact, I have seen refugee camps that are less dense than the Reynolds that night, and refugees that are less determined to get supplies than students hungry for alcohol. Although the bar staff were about as overwhelmed and unable to cope as the UN (aha, go satire!).
Quite. This was followed by a period of working; then followed by going out every night to get absolutely hammered. I have never been an advocate of binge drinking, at least not in an open forum when I’m sober, but one turns to two, turns to three, turns to a ham and cheese sandwich being sprayed across Haymarket by a very drunk friend, who didn’t quite get the notion that screaming at the top of her voice whilst I was trying to hold her from straying into the middle of a 3 lane road might look a little like I was being less than gentlemanly. All I will say about that is that if you’re ever bored at night in Central London and can find nothing better to do, watch some of the big clubs refuse entry to people, especially if they’ve already been inside the club. I actually saw a man clutching a handful of bar receipts yelling “I only went outside quickly, I’ve got receipts! I’VE GOT RECEIPTS!!!”
Well, you might not find that funny, but there is something fantastically desperate about the whole situation that you almost end up wallowing in it yourself. Try it.
The next, and perhaps most recent event, was sadly another washout. Last year, my friends and I went to the main Imperial College Summer Ball, and in the interests of fairness we decided we’d go to the Medic’s version. In a desperate cost-cutting drive (I think that was the reason; everything that ever happens now days can either be traced back to the credit crunch or swine flu anyway) we went for our own dinner in Waterloo, which was great fun and delicious. You can probably see that for yourself, because no doubt if you look close enough in the photos I will have remenants of dinner plastered around my face. I never was any good at aiming. I’ll post something a bit more detailed about that in a bit.
Now I am back in my room at “home home,” which looks as if someone has gone into the archives of the university, picked
If this man didn't know so well, clearly I would have been sectioned
up every medical related text they could find, a skeleton and a few items of dirty laundry, strapped it to a hundred kilos of plastic explosive and let rip. Moving back from the flat was an interesting experience. Luckily I enlisted the services of my father as a “man and van” type affair to send most of the bulky items back, leaving what I thought was only a few small things to ferry back in my car.
Aha. Life is never as easy as it seems is it?
You see, according to experimental physics (and this is the bit that shocked me) no matter how much stuff you have, the transport vehicle/suitcase/crate will shrink to a size slightly smaller than the combined volume of the stuff. Technical, I know. The practical implication of this was me straddled over the boot of my car in a near headlock with the wheels of my desk chair, desperately trying to get it to fit; all the while looking like I was partaking in something that should probably have been banned under the Sexual Offences Act (for the record- looked- I don’t have any feelings towards desk chairs except hatred). I think the car was at a safe working load…although it did struggle to get up the multi-storey ramps.
But at the end of the day, it can get a little much even for the best of us
So it is with a sense of wistful sadness that I complete this post. This year has been one of many changes, trials, tribulations and I fear that the worst is still to come on Monday when the results are released. I’ve been home for approximately 24 hours and already the “honeymoon period” where my mum is pleased to see me and will let any misdemeanours slide has expired, leaving the house wide open to vehement arguments about folding laundry. Moreover, as much as I hate to admit it, I do miss my friends and flatmates.
No, just kidding. I don’t (in case they read this).
But fear not, kiddos, this will not be the last you hear from me (unless Imperial have had enough of my sporadic, lengthy and somewhat acerbic updates); I have the medic’s ball to tell you about, my upcoming Jury service- assuming of course I don’t find myself in contempt- and I am off to Portugal somewhere I think, so there will no doubt be more hilarious situations I can regail you all with.
Thanks for reading up till now, and all I can do is but to wish those of you facing results the very best of luck.
Until next time,