The days have started to merge. It could be Wednesday, it could be Saturday, it doesn’t really make a difference any more; you just know that you’re however many days and weeks away from your first exam. The only thing that did manage to mark itself in many people’s calendar this past week was C-Sunday; that day many a Daily Mail bin-dweller eagerly awaits.

While I’m sure most people woke up feeling a little worse-for-wear on Monday morning, I woke up feeling excellent: this should have been a warning sign. By 1pm, the novelty of the 27 degree heat had worn off and my hangover was starting to kick in. Physically unable to move from my bed until about 8pm, and only then to acquire a pizza, I was slightly concerned about having wasted the entire day.

I couldn’t even reasonably blame C-Sunday for much of this

My concern began to mount after I was telephoned by the porters who were a) asking if I was OK and b) informing me that my DoS and Tutor had been in contact about several missed supervisions and essays.

Hazily scrolling through Hermes, the unfortunate realisation dawned that I had somehow missed 4 essay deadlines and had another due tomorrow. Worse, I couldn’t even reasonably blame C-Sunday for much of this. What you always forget when you make the decision to slack off is that making up viable excused and water-tight lies and getting away with the whole thing is probably just as much effort as doing the work in the first place.

Anyway, having now bent a few truths and mostly excused myself from the academic mess of the past week (unless, by some cruel twist of fate, any of my supervisors ever stumbles upon this), I have found some time to make it into town, sit in the sunshine and eavesdrop in the ’bridge.

Things to remember this week:

A bunch of 40-year-old ‘lads’ were wandering past me on Petty Cury, recounting stories of their weekend adventures. They were all bald, wearing some variation of a slogan T-shirt. The tallest guy laughed along with the others as he said: “Yeah I was steaming pissed; honestly I don’t know how I got home. The missus was fuming.”

There has been many a time, inebriated or otherwise, when we have all lost control of ourselves and our sense of direction, but, for the most part, you usually to make it back to where you need to be. Metaphorically speaking, even if you feel a bit lost now, intoxicated by Exam Term, you will eventually find your way back to the peaceful confines of home.

It often feels like your best-before date is right around the corner. But, seriously, you can outlast eggs

A woman was standing outside The Eagle. She was having an argument with a guy who was sheepishly holding a half-drunk pint and keeping his eyes firmly on the floor. Although I crossed the street to stay out of their way, it was hard not to overhear her shouting: “The words you’re looking for are ‘I’m sorry’, Michael, just say sorry for Christ’s sake! How fucking hard is it?”

Although not the usual wholesome content I include in this column, it was an important moment in my week. How hard is it to say you’re sorry? I think for a lot of people the answer is, quite hard. But Exam Term really is stressful enough and it makes no sense to add extra emotional strain to your life right now. So, if you were under-slept or in crisis-mode, which meant that when someone decided to finish your milk or comment unfavourably on your outfit choice, you may or may not have overreacted, just apologise. Most of the time, it’s far easier to hold your hands up and say sorry than it is to try and cling on to your pride.

Two friends were walking out of Sainsbury’s on Sidney Street, having just done their weekly shop. The tall, sandy-blond boy held the door open for his friend, who was rather laboured with fajita kits and orange juice and as she walked out he said to her, “Well, the eggs I just bought only go out of date after I finish my last exam, so I guess that’s something.”

And that is something; if eggs can last a few more weeks, so can you. With stress mounting and the revision hours becoming all the more torturous because you keep realising all the things you don’t know, rather than being assured of what you do know, it often feels like your best-before date is right around the corner. But, seriously, you can outlast eggs.

So, things to remember this week: trust that, in the end, you will get to where you need to be; remember it’s usually easier to say sorry than you think; and stay strong – you are better than Sainsbury’s egg selection.