Escape from the mud hut is imminent

I took a bit of a break from posting over the summer, in part because I had various things going on for several weeks at a time, but also because I’m lazy and the internet connection at the mud hut I call home barely qualifies as such.

But I’m back now and it’s barely two weeks until I move back to Royal Holloway and my new student house. I’m lucky enough to be living with two absolutely awesome people who are both just as crazy as I am so I’d like to apologise in advance to all the neighbours for the all the upcoming wild and spontaneous Shakira dance parties.

I last saw the house in November, which was the only time we were able to view it as our attempts to book a second viewing were thwarted by the estate agents, who ‘forgot to give the tenants notice that we would be visiting’. It was inhabited by three boys. It was a Saturday morning.

They were still in bed.

Let me tell you now, it is surprisingly difficult to make cool judgements about the house in which you will potentially spend the next two years when three out of the five total rooms in the house (it is a small house) are occupied by nearly-naked, comatose people.

It is also difficult to focus on assessing the qualities of an open plan kitchen/living room when said open plan kitchen/living room features Kelly Brook in various states of undress on every wall and the entire room is so covered with bottles, pizza boxes and dirty plates that, to quote one of my housemates, “the whole room looked like it was going to get up and crawl away”. I have never actually seen so much mess. It put normal levels of student mess to shame. It was the Schwarzenegger of mess, and then some.

Nonetheless, the house was the most suitable one we viewed by far. And by that I mean that it wasn’t going to be £600 each per month (not including bills), and we were actually able to go inside the house (the next house we saw entirely from the outside as the tenants didn’t bother answering the door to the estate agent).

Thus, in two weeks my life as a bill-paying, joint-bank-account-having, hoover-owning adult begins and I even have the job to go with it! I am now a student ambassador for Royal Holloway, which means that I get paid to talk about university. Not really a struggle for me. Although I have some opinions about the colour scheme of our t shirts. Principally: in a university with strong ties to feminism, and therefore a colour scheme of purple/green/white, WHY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DO YOU MAKE ALL STUDENT AMBASSADORS WEAR FLUORESCENT ORANGE?!

Rant over.

Kidding, the t shirts are fine…ish. They’re visible, at any rate, which is presumably the effect you were aiming for.

I also (somehow) scraped a pass in every course this year, which is more than can be said for quite a few people on my course. I hadn’t discovered the delights of public pass/fail lists before now. They are the brainchild of Satan.