I was absolutely bloody convinced I was not going to get into university this year. I’d filled my mum in with plans A, B, C, D, E and F and I’d prepared a note on my iPad with all the possible clearing vacancies and numbers.
Turns out I did get in.
Now I’m at university, like actually full on moved in at uni.
First impressions?
Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.
I feel like I’ve been whipped up in a tornado and dropped into an Oz where people say “man” unironically like 70s hippies, have feminist debates over the dinner table, drink excessively (and I mean excessively) and have sex…like a lot…and publicly.
I’m guessing that my friendship group really was quite tame at secondary school as I never really felt particularly conservative until now. Especially as the people I’m living with are proper party animals.
My nineteenth birthday night consisted of mixer-less pre-drinks, dancing at clubs with themes of blackout, foam, cheesy music and UV, respectively, more alcohol, and carrying my flat mate home.
…Oh and feeling like shit the next morning.
