If Freshers’ Flu Doesn’t Kill You, Shorthand Will

I’ve finally succumbed to illness. In all fairness I’ve done pretty well.

I have yet to compete in “Chunder-dragons” after a night out, nor have I got bruised arms from falling in a hedge at 2 am.

Admittedly, I have bruised legs, but that’s from falling off a rock-climbing wall. And I wasn’t intoxicated, unless intoxication from EXCITEMENT counts. But I hear it doesn’t.

It’s almost the fourth week so I can hold my head high and proudly say I didn’t get Fresher’s Flu. I should get a badge it’s such an achievement.

If I’m honest, I thought Fresher’s Flu was an urban myth. It turns out it’s all too prevalent in eighteen-year-olds. Every pause in lectures is filled with thundering phlegmy-coughs and watery-eyed sneezes.

I haven’t a cold, I’ve a cough and a croaky voice. If my sister were here, she’d probably say something smart-alecy like, “It’s probably from all the incessant, non-stop  nonsense that comes out of your mouth” and I’d hit her with a wooden spoon and get passata down her shirt, because now I’m a student, I only say intelligent things.

My work load has increased too. With all the partying, you tend to forget you’re actually at University to work.

I love my course and the people on it. I am actually insanely happy about this. I made the right decision. And that feels good. To be honest, anything after A levels feels pretty good.

There is one tiny thing that’s driving me crazy. Part of my course is learning shorthand, and not just a few hours of lessons a week. I have two hours of lessons EVERY DAY on top of my other work for modules and my course. And it is making me loopy.

I had to go for a run to the off-license at midnight last night just to stop myself finally losing the plot and sticking pencils up my nose like a dyslexic chimp.

My flatmate also wanted wine at the bargain price of £2.50 a bottle. It’s as bad as it sounds, but at two for a fiver, nobody really cares. Just don’t ask what’s in it.

So at the moment I’m spending every spare minute writing convoluted swirls and circles and then trying unsuccessfully to decipher them ten minutes later.

People noticing me practicing in university buildings usually cry out, “Oh my God! Are you learning Japanese?!”

My course friends and I have decided to tell everyone it’s Arabic. To be honest, with the lead smudges on our faces and general scent of vinegary-wine that surrounds us, we’ve got nothing to lose and a lot of street cred to gain.

Let us have our fun.

You have to admit, it does look like Arabic. At least a little bit.

Images courtesy of Google

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