Back With A Bang

It’s been a while.

When writing a dissertation, doing anything other than writing you’re dissertation feels like a sin. That sin could be eating, drinking, watching TV, cleaning, washing, or even writing a blog. For the last six weeks the closest I’ve come to putting on fresh clothes has been leaving dirty garments on a hanger for a couple of days, spraying them with lynx or CK 1 if I’m going out, and re-wearing. After about four wearings, clothes join the other discarded outfits on Mount Attire.

Mount Attire started out as a foothill of socks and pants I had worn but hadn’t yet worn to the gym and were therefore, still eligible for reuse. Four weeks before the hand in Pant Mound became Garment Hill. Then with two weeks to go, I finally gave up on hygiene all together and created Mount Attire. In a miracle of fashion fusion, Mount Attire stands at around three foot tall and spans four square meters. The view from the summit is fairly spectacular. Sadly the whole lot is going in the wash tomorrow. The end of term has arrived and I’m off home to eat food that doesn’t come out of a plastic box and use soap that doesn’t smell like hospital.

I have been busy since I last wrote. For a start I had another driving test. This time, I didn’t fail...... Unfortunately I didn’t pass it either. I turned up at the test centre totally prepared for another soul destroying half hour joy ride around Leicestershire only to be greeted by my old friend Santa Claus.

“Hello.” He said as he walked up to my perfectly parked Focus. “Sorry, you’re examiner is on strike, now fuck off!” Well he didn’t say fuck off, but that’s how I’m choosing to remember it. A strike, can you believe it? So I still can’t drive.

In other news I have continued my struggle with alcoholism. The filthy habit has taken me around the country on benders of varying intensity. I managed to visit Birmingham, which as it turns out, is a pretty awesome night out.

Moistometer: 9/10

I also managed to pass out before midnight at my buddy P-dizzle’s house party in Devon. I partied too hard, too fast and learned a valuable life lesson. However, by far the biggest night out was DISSERTATION HAND IN NIGHT or being slightly less dramatic, last night. I drank whisky with a straw; I ate pizza off the floor, I spent far too much money and I woke up in a beautiful ladies bed. It was pretty brilliant.

I’m sure you want the lowdown. Well even if you don’t, you’re getting it. Handing in your dissertation is a strange feeling. You spend every waking moment thinking of nothing else (thinking about it doesn’t necessarily mean working on it) and then all of a sudden it’s gone. So after ambling around twiddling our thumbs, my course buddies and I decided that it would be a good idea to start festivities early. We indulged in a cheeky Big Mac and Mcflurry combo and began the slow numbing process. Predictably, the drinking got out of hand and I ended up buying round after round of Sambuca shots, then things went a little hazy. I ended up “dancing” with a girl from my course (Coop) and I use the term dancing loosely. I was swaying on my heels and waving my arms around while she repeatedly put her hand in my face and mooshed it like a lump of blu-tac. It was incredibly romantic.

We ended up walking home via a late night takeaway. She really wanted to get pizza and chips, which I paid for and she didn't eat. We were innocently enjoying our feast when, out of the blue,our culinary adventure was rudely interrupted. We were joined by three protein munching, Abercrombie wearing lumps of meat, hell bent on ruining my life. One of the morons (Wasp) happened to be related to a famous rugby player. He was a real piece of shit and worst of all he was determined to steel my woman. Now Coop and I are acquaintances at best, but when Wasp started hitting on her I became convinced that she was the one. It seems Wasp’s wooing technique mostly consists of putting down any nearby male and sadly I was well within range. I would love to say that after his first dig at my expense I got up and punched him right in his stubbly face. I didn’t. I don’t fully remember if I got Wasp to fuck off by making a snide comment about him being the lesser sibling or if he just got bored of belittling me but he did eventually fuck off to whatever cess pit he came from.

After that I walked Coop home and she invited me in. (SUCK IT WASP) Everything was going swimmingly, but when I went for a wee I got stuck in the toilet; it took me a good five minutes of fiddling with the lock to break out. It was quite embarrassing really. When I rejoined her in the living room, Coop invited me up to her room. I was amazed by the invite, even after I had been in the loo so long, she must of thought I was pooing.... I wasn't, honestly.

Not wanting to be rude, I joined Coop in her room but then, unbelievably, I didn’t hit on her. That’s right, I was a gentleman. In some intoxicated epiphany I realized she was far too drunk and so we had a nice nap in her bed. I woke up in the morning and made my way home. Not quite as interesting as it sounded was it.

probably should have made a move.


On the plus side I can just tell people I slept with her. Technically it’s true. We did sleep together and it’s not my fault if people make assumptions.

.....Only joking.... sort of