So Semester One has finished: the first of many that I’ll have the joys of experiencing. So far it’s so good! Maybe I shouldn’t get ahead of myself - I’ve still got the dreaded January exams yet, and there’s a ridiculous amount to do before then. Before coming to uni, I'd hoped the content of semester one would be learning (a maximum of) seven muscles and perhaps knowing the general principles of the Hippocratic Oath. Unfortunately this is not the case. I haven’t even heard the words ‘Hippocratic’ or ‘Oath’ since making the long journey to Manchester. On the other hand, I have heard of more muscles than I can remember - which isn't good, as I do, in fact, need to remember them. Nothing that some revision won't fix.
No need to complain though, I wouldn't change a thing. I've managed to survive a whole semester of cooking my own food (without getting food poisoning even once), enjoyed numerous snow-ball fights that involved being vastly outnumbered by a bunch of beefy 4th years, and worn fancy dress more times in the last three months that I had previously done all my lifetime. I love my accommodation as well, which is obviously a plus. They fully live up to the university preconception with their organisation of many nights out, including a toga pub crawl on what turned out to be one of the coldest nights of the year, and a Christmas party that involved lots of mistletoe and a Santa hat full of free condoms. They even took us to see Harry Potter at the cinema for £3.50, what a bargain! (and this included a bag of sweets) I quite like the people too. Random exclamations of ‘GECKO’, ‘JAM’ and ‘SPATULA’ mean there’s not much time for dull moments. Well, I like everyone except whoever it was that played MC Hammers ‘Can’t Touch This’ when I was ill, so loud that I could feel it going through me. That wasn’t a barrel of laugh, I’ll be honest.
Fortunately, being in the presence of a few Southerners hasn’t had too much of a bad effect on my accent. Having spent a lot of time with someone who pronounces a popular layered pasta and meat dish as “la-zaaaarn-yarr”, I was a bit worried that my Northern tones might’ve deserted me. Fear not, though, the Bolton way (lu-zan-yuh) will stay with me forever.
Last but not least, Christmas has come and gone. It's now Boxing Day, which is the day in between Christmas and my birthday. That's right, I reach the ripe old age of 19 tomorrow. Unfortunately, it doesn't have any particular significance, nineteen. In fact, the only change is a negative one: "You are no longer entitled to free full-time education", which is obviously a shame. Could be worse though; at least I'm not paying £9,000 a year (unlucky, younger siblings & co.)
Hope you had a very merry Christmas, and have a great New Year!
