Hello again! Did you miss me? Of course you did. Apparently columns are supposed to be a regular thing – who knew! Third year Lent term is hellish and if one more person asks me how my dissertation is going, I swear I will overcome my fear of conflict. Spoiler Alert: I am extremely burnt out. And to be honest, I have nothing to show for it. How is it possible to slowly wither away in the library all day and leave with only four new sentences, a broken pencil and a pitiful sense of defeat? Ah, the Joys of Cambridge. I love it really.

“Last night, for dinner, I treated myself to two chicken tikka ready meals advertised for 1 to 5 year olds. They were reduced to 90p”

Anywho… How are you? I noticed I haven’t received many confessions since my last article. Yeah, that’s right, I’m calling you out. I take it everyone has suddenly evolved past embarrassment. Are we all living the glamorised lives of study influencers? Did people stop drinking? I, for one, have not achieved any of the above. Last night, for dinner, I treated myself to two chicken tikka ready meals advertised for 1 to 5 year olds. They were reduced to 90p.

Now, before I get into it, let me preamble even more. Let’s set the scene. We haven’t seen each other all term and we have just crossed paths in Waterstones Cafe. I’m sitting in the corner tucking into a cheese and onion toastie, laptop closed, and you have just arrived, searching for a seat. As if by fate, we are both conveniently free (ignoring looming diss deadlines and mouthfuls of toastie) and we settle in for the debrief of your lifetime. Except, nothing of note has really happened to me and I only have 500 words to tell you about it. Weirdly you are silent for the entire encounter but I brush it off as an intense interest in my life.

The time I nearly died… *courgette edition*

So I started writing this one and realistically there isn’t much to say. I went through a phase of eating fried courgette with every meal, and if you have ever fried a courgette before, you would know it gets very slippery. After sitting down to eat my meal in the kitchen one night, I greedily gobbled a large slice of courgette only to realise it was still scolding hot. In a moment of panic I desperately tried to move it around my mouth. Unfortunately I managed to swallow it whole. It was an extremely large piece of courgette to have swallowed whole and it was also still burning hot. My life flashed before my eyes as I felt it slide down my throat, my friends watching me unsure whether this was a laughing matter… I mean, I survived but honestly it was touch and go for a second.

“I have maintained my reputation as a master party planner… but at what cost?”

What would you do for a pint…

I really didn’t want to include this story but out of the kindness of my heart, I will let you in on my secret. It all goes back to an article I wrote last year in Easter term. The topic of said article was my up and coming 21st birthday party, where I would be introducing my home friends to my uni friends. I am glad to say that the party was a roaring success and I have maintained my reputation as a master party planner… but at what cost? Somewhere around pint 4, discussion turned to what we would each do for a pint – more accurately, what was the worst thing you’d do for a pint. Forgetting myself around my uni friends for a moment, I reverted to the Gloucester girl I am at heart and allowed my home friends to egg me on. The dare was set, and the reward negotiated. I was to drink toilet water. From the pub toilets. Unfortunately, 4 pints Bex is not one to back down. And so, in a completely unrelated turn of events, I received a free pint. I would like to be able to hope my parents don’t read this but unfortunately they were there to witness the whole thing.

In my defence: The water was clean, I drank it from a cup, the pub wasn’t busy and pints are expensive.

Anonymous Submission - Stairs and Spoons

So I did slightly exaggerate earlier… There was one submission that deserves a story and I know this since I was there to experience it first hand. This story dates back to first year when me and some friends decided to attend a post-exam Sam Fender concert in Newcastle. With tickets booked we departed for our journey up North, only to realise that two of the tickets we brought did not, in fact, exist. I was luckily the proud owner of a valid ticket and therefore this ticket dilemma was none of my business. For my less lucky friends, they decided the best course of action was to linger outside the stadium with unfounded optimism. This, unsurprisingly, did not work, and so a pub crawl was decided on as the next best thing. Whether it was the lack of alcohol tolerance or the disappointment, by the time they reached Newcastle’s Mile Castle spoons, things took a turn for the worst. My unnamed friend promptly threw up in the middle of the staircase, arguably a focal point of the pub, blocking both entrance and exit. The night ended with another friend’s mother running a washing cycle.

If you’d like to send in your own anonymous confession, follow this link and you may be featured in the next edition!