Now Christmas is over, it’s as though real life has to begin again. There’s something oh-so beautiful about the set up of Christmas; the eating, the presents, the entire house smelling of fresh pine, the eating, and for me particularly this year, seeing all the family.
I think we have finally cracked what makes a good Christmas in our family; excellent food, champagne for breakfast, watching Doctor Who and It’s a Wonderful Life, and the obligatory, slightly drunken relatives dancing to One Direction on Just Dance 4.
I also spent many a wonderful hour with my friend Matt, wearing out his clutch driving around Bristol listening to Beyoncé, eating bread and sneaking through Tesco moving cakes into the vegetable aisle. WHERE THEY BELONG.
I had such a brilliant time, but after I had been waved off by my family on the train like something out of a 1970’s movie montage (slightly spoiled when my dad got on the train with me to chivalrously carry my suitcase and ended up being shouted at by me, on the train, and my mum, on the platform, to “Get off, get off! It’s gonna leave with you, it’s gonna leave!”) I realised real life, and by this I mean exam season, was upon me.
Google Images Our farewell completely and utterly failed to resemble this.
Though I have to admit to be gloriously happy to step out of the taxis and be in the student village once more.
My friends and I have been highly successful at doing a lot of stuff but not a lot of revision. The first night back, floundering around in my room for the first night with Christmas wrapping paper still on the floor and paper chains hanging like a miserable octopus from my ceiling, I decided a couple of beers were in order, not a bit of tidying. So that’s what I did.
Sunday, I spent at a glorious reunion with Lauren and Will, which was mainly sitting in pyjamas, slightly hungover (darling Lauren) talking about very hard-hitting, life-changing things (Lauren: “Okay, so they say everything gives you cancer, like squash and hairspray, but when I look back on my life I’m going to think, I loved orange Oasis and my hair always looked flawless.” ) and every half an hour looking at our watches and saying, “Oh crap, it’s three now. I have an exam tomorrow, I should probably do some work,” and then sitting for another two hours eating really posh orange chocolate.
To be honest, we haven’t really progressed much from there. We did attend a two hour shorthand torture, but then to cheer ourselves up, Lauren and I spent the following two hours in Topshop saying things like, “What a nice way to spend an afternoon” and, “Every time I get back to uni my life just falls apart,” and “Ooh, I like this tie die jumper with holes in the armpits.”
Patrick rang me this evening; “Honey, guess what came through the post? Lana Del Ray tickets for Birminghammmm!” and to ask how the shorthand assessment went. With the first exam in February, the going has gotten tougher, which means more hours writing symbols in note pads, as well as more time listening to the woman on my practise CD rant about county council taxes and how youths are destroying every thing that is good in the world. What’s new?
Patrick has a severe aversion, or some might even call repulsion to shorthand, and I feel it is my life duty to make him come to lessons. I think it will do him good. Like eating more leafy vegetables or that bread with all the seeds in.
However, I have decided to get cracking with some revision after today. I went out and brought new notebooks, paper and pens. So far all I have done is draw strawberries in the notepad and get ink on my face, but I’m sure I will get there eventually. Some of us take a bit longer to get motivated, that’s all.
Happy New Year!
Is it weird that I end all my posts with either pictures of food or Stephen Fry?
Images courtesy of Google