I just spent a few days in beautiful, sweet-smelling Edinburgh, doing that special brand of Fuck All I tend to do in Edinburgh. For the benefit of the curious, Fuck All involves eating things that aren't tuna, watching Frasier, and being able to oversleep without being disturbed by cries of "who the fuck sleeps that long? Cheesus!" outside my door, whose name-sign was not at all influenced by the Funeral album art, I swear.
My first class starts at 11am "tomorrow" morning. I'm still in Edinburgh at, erm, home. Is it wrong and unstudently of me to call it that? I'm not sure if I have a home anymore. It's become an imaginary place, like in Garden State. O, Generation whY! O, rites of passage! Anyway. Who fancies an invigorating early race across the Central Belt with two awkward shoulder bags and a laptop? I'm sure as fuck that I don't.
I recently discovered that the venue of the Freshers' Ball advertises itself as "Glasgow's very first frat house", and that the entertainment will be provided by a band that calls itself GREEN DAYZ. Should I laugh or should I cry?
Flatmate number two is
"Drinking Name": the Slut (mine is "Cherries". No comment.)
Amy speaks as though there is an unburstable bubble in her throat.
"For, like, one of my writing things for my 'vanced Higher English, I wrote about how I couldn't speak actually properly, y'know? I was like, it was just like, I can't actually...basically...speak, like I have no vocabulary at all. So it was all about how I can't speak, like, English and everything? I sent it in because, like everyone else was handing in really, I dunno, like really serious stuff? So, like, mine was just...it was just like basically some light relief from all that or something..."
Other than that, I have had very few opportunities to converse with her. On the first night, she rather promisingly announced to the group that she "wasn't really a social type". However, being a reasonable type, she soon set to dutifully drinking (spuh-lit!) herself out of her shell, and has since become the Party Girl Clique's littlest giggler, complete with a trendy beret placed casually over her thin mousy hair (dyed dark red).
With the tender self-consciousness of Freddie Mercury putting his hand over his magnificent mouth in interviews, she habitually purses her lips over her big bright irregular teeth. A blue-green wristband from the Reading Festival still cinches her tiny wrist. Her large, slow-blinking eyes are an unusual navy blue.
She puts sweetcorn in everything she eats because it is "seriously, the best thing you can possibly put in food. My best friend for Christmas? Bought me a tin of it. I know. It's like I'm like, addicted or something."
Wow, I hope nobody ever transcribes the way I speak verbatim. Srsly.
I know. If I carry on at this rate, I'll have moved out of Halls by the time I get to profiling my eleventh flatmate. However, I should soon be set some sort of academic work, and Livejournal will undoubtedly come into its own.