Fresher's Week
(2003-10-03)
Freshers' week was a bit of a trial: out every night from Sunday onward, never getting into the house before three in the morning, or sober. as a result of this, my face looks as if if someone has been using it to poke pins in - lots of little, red, *itchy* spots on my chin, and the skin beneath my eyes looks bruised, as if from a very accurate, and mean, young man's punches. I caught up wioth most of the people I know in the city, a pitifully easy task now that most have graduated and moved onto better things, or jobseekers allowance. Shelley came up for the weekend, necessiating a return to smoking around twenty cigarettes a day to keep up with her gargantuan consumption of burny cancer sticks. She also got me drunk on chartreuse (To me: "It's the stuff from the horror novels!" To the barman: "How much for the bottle?"). After about four shots we decided that next year, when I graduated, we would go to Ormskirk to do teacher training, despite our collective loathing of both children and teachers. Shelley is currently working on getting Alistair to come too. The less said about my nights at Horny, the better. Ok, just a wee word: escorting freshers as a Fresher's Angel is something I will never do again, mostly because I got more drunk than they did in a kind of psychic defence against the repetitive nature of their questions, and also to drown my boredom after my mate pulled a bloke and proceeded to snog him all night, only stopping when her boyfriend phoned from Southhampton. On Friday we went to the Queen of Hearts; I feel so old. We were the most underdressed people there: me in jeans, Converse, low-ish cut top and cord jacket, Shelley in a pink Barbie tee-shirt, jeans and new dreads Vs what seemed to be the entire population of Owens Park out to pull before their first week was out. The vibe was skanky and meat market-esque. Mumblefriggingfreshersmumble.
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