gah. three week bender of much fun and frolics. back in manchester – hangover and total body collapse imminent I feel…
Archives - June 2003
gah. three week bender of much fun and frolics. back in manchester – hangover and total body collapse imminent I feel…
not dead, but partying. hard. very very hard. back in oxford celebrating with my friends who are now finishing their finals and whose agenda is a highly-packed timetable of fun and playtime.
observations:
finalists go somewhat loopy under stress. for example: they can’t be bothered to chave and start cultivating interesting assortments of facial hair. they then decide to see what happens if you set fire to it. I kid ye not. (unsurprisingly, it singes)
the best post-finals trashing I saw, apart from the usual spraying-people-with-pseudo-champagne (i.e. a £4.29 bottle of fizzy piss), silly string, flour, eggs and custard pies, was some poor guy who had been laid out on a plank of wood, wrapped up in cling film, and was being carried around horizontally on said plank, before being propped up vertically against a wall in the pub and having neat vodka poured down his throat through a funnel.
three and a half months of convalesnce sucks, but getting back onto the partying bandwagon *rocks*. I haven’t had a night off since I got here almost 2 weeks ago, and I suspect my liver will hate me for it. but being back in the land of the dreaming spires is very very good.
not dead, but partying. hard. very very hard. back in oxford celebrating with my friends who are now finishing their finals and whose agenda is a highly-packed timetable of fun and playtime.
observations:
finalists go somewhat loopy under stress. for example: they can’t be bothered to chave and start cultivating interesting assortments of facial hair. they then decide to see what happens if you set fire to it. I kid ye not. (unsurprisingly, it singes)
the best post-finals trashing I saw, apart from the usual spraying-people-with-pseudo-champagne (i.e. a £4.29 bottle of fizzy piss), silly string, flour, eggs and custard pies, was some poor guy who had been laid out on a plank of wood, wrapped up in cling film, and was being carried around horizontally on said plank, before being propped up vertically against a wall in the pub and having neat vodka poured down his throat through a funnel.
three and a half months of convalesnce sucks, but getting back onto the partying bandwagon *rocks*. I haven’t had a night off since I got here almost 2 weeks ago, and I suspect my liver will hate me for it. but being back in the land of the dreaming spires is very very good.
