Skip to main content

Fairfarren First Year

Here we are. Today at four o'clock I will sit and take my one and only exam of this year, and my final assessment of first year. I'm sitting here (strangely calm) on my bed in my flat, after having chatted to and relaxed with my flatmates and it is honestly surreal.

To say that eight months (ish) ago I walked up to this flat, sick to the stomach with nerves and began living with five complete strangers is just weird. These people I've grown to adore, get irritated at and laugh with and I will definitely miss living with them next year. Everyone has there ups and downs but I would say that, on the whole, our flat has an appreciation and care for each other that will hopefully last; we look out for each other, we respect each other and for a majority of the year we shared food and sat down to a meal with each other every single day. I can't thank them enough for the things I have learnt from them about people and, well, myself.

The people I've met have just been fabby. (Yes, fabby.) I have a lovely group of friends whom I can rely on to give me a giggle, or food for thought or just generally to sit and listen to whilst they debate about various films and people I've never heard of. I really appreciate how accepting and lovely they all are, and I think it's safe to say (fingers crossed - I'm living with some of them next year!) that we'll be friends for a long, long while.

My course has just been ridiculously enriching. The tutors are so knowledgeable yet they will sit and listen to you. The seminars groups I've had have meant that I've met some really great people, with whom I've had some lovely times. We will all kick bum in that exam today.

Lincoln is lovely. I've learnt a lot about (as cliche as it is) me; I feel like I've not only grown up a lot but I've kind of fallen into my own shoes, which is nice. It's a breath of fresh air.

So yes, as I sit here in my little room listening to Lady Gaga and generally soaking up my surroundings I'm realising how sad it is that this year is coming to a close. My first year of university is nearly over; my flatmates will no longer be the people I live with, my desk, bed and wardrobe will be taken over by someone else, a fresh eyed fresher, come September. It's so weird how time has flown...

Now to revision, then enjoying a lovely evening with my friends and then I'm going to read all of the books ever and boy, will I love it.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

"Teens don't read"

Earlier today Maureen Johnson pointed out that the view of "teens don't read" in the UK is deeply entrenched (which is a word that I now love  and had never heard before). As a teenager in the UK, the stigma around reading seems to be - to me - it's "uncool", it's "geeky", there "aren't any good books out there". I think the fact that a lot of teenagers in British schools are exposed to older literature or, perhaps, not that popular literature in lessons and forced into over-analysing and spending countless hours on 'what the author meant'. A point that was raised in this twitter discussion was that people didn't want to be seen reading, or didn't want to be seen reading certain books. It's made me realise that I never   ever ever  see people reading in the older years in my school ( ever ). Perhaps the odd year 7 (12 year old) or year 8 (13 year old) will read, but - from experience - they will probably be ...

The people I have met through ink

I read somewhere once that one of the reasons books are so great is that one can pick them up a second time and feel how you did, or remember where you were the first time you picked it up and opened it. I stand by this idea as to one of the reasons I love reading so much. I am perusing the wonderful words of Ali Smith's The Accidental for my level 1 module 'Introduction to Narrative' and whilst this module is all very technical (and trust me, I do love that!) I am really enjoying reading a novel where the characterisation leaves a bitter sweet taste in my mouth and when I close my eyes all I can see is Amber; how she looks, how she dresses, how she smells... I love that. I love that I can read 200 pages or so of one novel and suddenly there is this person inside of my head and I can't get her out. Not so long ago I read R. J. Anderson's Nomad (the second in the Swift series) and I was brought back to why I adore fantasy so much. I felt like I wanted to fly, and...

This is my Metamorphosis

Yes, it is that time again. Claire is feeling low-key-stressed  so she submerges herself in water. In actual fact, normally I get to a stage a high-key-stress  before getting into the tub - this time, I only have access to a bath for 2 more weeks (due to moving... for the third time in a year) so I thought I'd make the most of my local Lush. A while ago I spotted Metamorphosis  and asked the member of staff to show us what it did (she gave us pick of the store). Now... I love the smell of this bath bomb (my bathroom and skin slightly smell of that lovely concoction of scents). The wow-factor was less impressive with this one. Which leads me to the questions: is that always an imperative for a successful bath bomb? Does it have to look absolutely beautiful, or can the warmth and smells lull you to a sense of happiness only a bath can achieve? The fact that I would definitely buy Metamorphosis again, says "no, the prettiness doesn't matter", but I loved  the smell ...