Holidays and Why We’re Useless.
Not Pictured: Fear.
I’ve been on holiday since the closing weeks of December. You see, being a student isn’t all fun and games (and exams) I would find. Indeed, there seems to be vast expanses of rolling, endless nothingness in which -I assume- you’re supposed to consolidate your semester over a malt whiskey and Calabash pipe, perhaps.
It’s what I dream of doing one day.
Being a student, though, I couldn’t be bothered to put the leg-work in to get the pipe, or an aged whiskey – and I didn’t much fancy alcopops and a pack of cigarettes (I have a hard enough time trying to convince people I’m not a chav as it is, I don’t need the paraphernalia dress-up kit). Instead, I spent my holiday in a state of perpetual boredom, useless in a pool of my own self-pity and loathing for the entirety of the festive season. I learned that new media is better than old media; papers are probably going to be gone by the time I finish my degree and Britain’s utter nonchalance concerning global disasters, both home and away, does not extend to the tragedies (failings) of our own weather.
