The life of a student is a good one. Well, except when you get your exam and coursework marks through the post which reveal how lazy you are officially and how much work you really didn’t put in for at least one term. I think I could have handed in no work, not showed up for the exam, expelled myself from the system, tried to slip my lecturer a digit and still have achieved a better average mark than I did. Granted I turned up about twice for the whole year, spent too much time writing my weblog and started every piece of coursework (well, the ones I did at least) with 3 hours to spare. I shouldn’t have expected to even pass never mind get a semi decent mark. Emotional trauma is my excuse for a lack of effort and appearance. That or spending way too much time and money in the pub when I should have been sat in the library staring vacantly at words about university presses which make about as much sense as my incoherent daily weblog rants. I have one resit to do and I really will make a slight amount of effort this time around. I have almost 2 months in which to complete it so I’m sure I can concoct 2000 words on the subject of e books (it does also help that my bud Straight Man A did a similar topic and passed on the original question) in that time. Until the 10th August, the day prior to which this is due in, I will continue my quest for much summer fun that involves no risks and minimal cash and no transport. The options are limited. Yesterday I had fun in the sun with Beautiful Boy and Babs. We bought some cheap wine (the classy ladies amongst us on sparkling £1.60 Lambrini and me on the hard Spanish stuff) and sipped not so eloquently from the bottles whilst bathing our colourless faces in the Union Terrace sun. Or the ladies did while I tried my best to stick to the shade, having suffered from an outbreak of dry skin since the foam on Saturday night I didn’t want to add to this infliction with the beetroot look. We chilled and grimaced with every mouthful of the nasty wine and took photos to prove that Aberdeen did indeed have sun and a temperature over 5 degrees for one day. We took off on various solo trips, some to the toilet and some for fags and some for no reason at all. I got accosted by a tracksuited flap over hair dude with a farmfoods bag who tried to steal our dregs because of his jealousy over our wine as he scoffed SKOL lager by the bucket and proceded to vomit said lager not so far from where we were sitting. With the wine all finito and our funds stretching to £2.88 we had no option but to go to Littlewoods. For anyone not familiar with this shop filled with velour and floral polyester, it’s the kinda shop your mother would never be seen in even though it’s designed specifically for her age group and the only people to shop in this sick print shirt shop are poops and pensioners. We had to make a run for it so no one would see us and tar our good names with the minksville brush but imagine the shame of being seen actually running into this mother of all shit shops? We’re legging it down the road, trying to make a hasty entry when we are yelled at and over the road is at least 14 people we know, all of them waving in sycronisation and grinning like fuckin grinning weirdos. Gutted. We ran on, knowing that cheap alcohol is a semi valid excuse for being seen in a place fit for no queen. We could only afford 2 meagre bottles of massive cough mixture tasting alcopops. We found our spot at Union Terrace no problem as the ass print I had made in the grass was visible for miles around, as were the multiple tabbies and gobbings that we had left littering the ground. We passed our alcohol like cider drinking homeless folks, smelling only marginally better in the sweat inducing sun and then made our way, with our sizzling skin in tow, to meet Lil Red who treated us all to drinks in Chi once my remaining pennies had gone on a final packet of fags. We finished the camera spool, I continued to get louder and louder by the second as per usual and we took off home before we could dip further into my diminishing bank account. Of course, passing safeways and all other shops on the way home did nothing for said bank account or my layers of fat that are growing hourly. OH how I love the summer and oh how I love the peeling skin and sun burn that the deceiving shade did not protect. And so today I look not unlike the colour of an orangutang after a long days toasting in a pizza oven but that’s ok, I have customised jeans and missing bones.
Eating: Pretty much everything