The big think

This week’s been a week for thinking. Although, with me, this can only be a dangerous thing.

“I saw Maria today at our seminar,” Alison said, digging enthusiastically into her bowl of couscous, rocket and roasted veg. “She said to me, “I knew Eve liked to worry, but my God, I didn’t know she was this bad.'”

We were sat at her kitchen table, a luxury we were usually deprived of due to the huge amount of boy stuff covering it.

I screwed up my nose apologetically. “Yeah, I’m having a bad week,” I said. “I really need a proper vice. Eating too much angel cake and drinking tea really isn’t cutting it.”

Cake: It just makes life better

I’ve had a few things to cope with this week. I’ve decided it’s best to order them so I can think  them through. At the moment, the inside of my head resembles a ball of wool that’s been tumble dried for several hours and then given to a three-year-old. Who’s promptly eaten it.

1) Student finance has yet to send me the right amount of money. Which of course is only making me a teeny tiny bit stressed. Just a little.

2) Our house. We have finally got rid of the mouse (rest in peace Jeremy) but now we have damp. My Corp shoes grew mould. Although, to be honest that’s expected.

3) Housing for next year. I can’t cope with anymore mice, mould or rent bills over the summer. Is living in the university library a practical idea?

4) Missing everyone. I wonder how old you have to be before you don’t feel homesick. Clearly not nineteen.

5) Choosing what part of journalism I want to go into. Or rather, changing my mind over the summer and deciding that being on the radio is a really swell idea. And now working out how I go about this.

I’ve met James Naughtie twice now. We’re best pals

“I thought you gave up worrying for lent,” Alison continued. “You were doing so well.”

“It’s not lent anymore Alison,” I pointed out reasonably.

“That’s not the point. It was good for you. Think of the entire year as lent.” She picked up our empty plates. “You want some banana bread?”

The thing is, I have actually been having a pretty lovely time so far this semester. Living with the girls is great. Emilie is one of those hilarious people who doesn’t quite realise just how hilarious she is.

We were sat having tea last night when Emilie said to me, “Watch this” and she bent over her mug, and then looked up smiling blithely to show me that her glasses had completely steamed up.

“It’s my party trick,” she said calmly while I cried with laughter.

Maria has taken to curling up on the end of my bed like a cat while I read her Buzzfeed posts or recite media law cases. Or we sit in the living room eating Haagen-Dazs and watching Sex and the City.

My course is as jam-packed and crazy as usual but I love it. We had a guest lecture with journalist David Randall last week who is my new hero, not only because he told everyone to keep reading novels if they want to become better writers, but because he also told this story:

“I had a friend who won an Olympic medal. Before then, he was the third fastest runner in his home town, but went on to become a Olympic Champion. One day I said to him, “How did you do it? You went from being third fastest in your little town to one of the fastest men in the world. How is that possible?”

He said to me, “It was quite simple. That day, my heart wanted it more than their legs did.””

It’s enough to make you do a little weep.

A selection of secondhand paperback books for sale

Best room décor ever

My room has turned into an intense study hall. When I’m not dashing around Sheffield interviewing police inspectors and cheerful Yorkshire residents, I’m at home surrounded by media law handouts and felt tipped posters on contempt of court and crime and disorder acts. When I close my eyes, the words mitigation, tort and contemporaneously are ingrained on my eyelids.

I took a night off to join the Scandinavian Society for a Halloween social. It was fancy dress, but on arrival at the pub for pre-drinks, I disappointed to discover that apart from one girl who had fake blood clotting in her eyebrows, the only other attempt was Peder in a suit and a plastic Viking helmet.

“This is pathetic guys!” Maria said. “What are you supposed to be Peder, a business warrior?”

Maria was in full-blown Halloween get-up as a scary doll – large eyes and fake eyelashes, slashed white dress and massacred teddy bear in her hand. I’d opposed the killing of the bear but my pleas had been shouted down – “He can’t feel his eyes being gouged out you know!”

I was feeling pretty proud of my outfit as Bellatrix Lestrange, mainly thanks to Maria’s great wardrobe and crimping irons. I was also impressed with my Dark Mark. It was a little lopsided but the whole bic handwriting pen effect finished it off nicely.

Emilie told me, “You’re too pretty to be Bellatrix.”

“Thank you Emilie!” I said, pleased.

“That’s not a compliment,” Emilie said, sipping her vodka and coke. “It means your costume isn’t up to scratch.” She smiled wickedly and started a conversation about Tove Jansson, leaving me to decide whether to be offended or not.

The crimpers didn’t really cut it

We made it to Plug where we were haunted all night by a boy who was at least six foot six and didn’t seem to know where he was or what his name was, just that he definitely, definitely wanted to dance with us.

The night was filled with Marvin Gaye impersonations and plenty of apple Sourz. 

“I think for second year, we’ve got it sussed,” Emilie said. “Not going out every night, but when we do go out, having simply the best night ever.”

I was hopeful most other things would fall into place too. Student finance seemed to have (almost) got things sorted, the damp was fading and I’d made arrangements to join the university radio news team.

Unfortunately, when I was taking off my Bellatrix costume that night, a mouse ran across my bedroom floor.

Dumbledore wouldn’t let students put up with this shit.

So many Potter references. So much fun.

Images courtesy of Google

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