OK, I don’t have time to trawl through photographs at the moment – or even coherently organise my thoughts in full sentences – because Joshua’s coming up in a couple of hours for the Caius May Ball tonight! (Yeah, it’s hedonism central at the moment 
) But! Here are some of my highlights from last night:
- The whole crowd loudly demanding Wheatus play Teenage Dirtbag throughout their set, and the moment they actually started
- Quite unexpectedly bumping into Promise in the queue for the dodgems
- The dodgems!
- Being responsible for handing Sophie her first ever piece of candy floss
- Losing to Helen in a night-long eating contest (that girl is impressive)
- The amazing fireworks with an amazing soundtrack – especially the synchronised fire display to the theme from Pirates of The Caribbean!
- Looking out over the Cam and seeing it 99.7% filled by punts, as people took advantage of the river passing through Trinity to also watch the fireworks
- And finally on the fireworks, actually being moved when they played out to Palladio. We used to listen to that in the car all the time!(I think it was at this moment when I had a strong sense that, whatever you might think, I do actually deserve this right now
) - Alphabeat’s entire set. Superb
- Amateur Transplants! Who ended with the famous London Underground song, as you’d expect, but did a whole hour of other hilarious stuff first
- The paps waiting outside at 6 in the morning, clearly waiting for embarrassing photos of Cambridge students
I’m done! Free! Finished! Yay!
As I said, my last exam – the India paper – was yesterday morning; the last question I answered was on The Emergency. (Sorry, can’t remember my last word. Probably nothing very exciting.) Quite reasonably, people have been asking how it went – but to be honest the whole exam period is now rapidly rushing out of my brain and into the dim and distant past, so I can only assume it went ‘fine’. And now freedom(ish)! Tash slightly burst my ‘last exam ever’ bubble by pointing out that driving theory tests exist, and now I think about it I’m sure future employers / citizenship panels / mental health assessment units will foist numerous future ‘exams’ on me over the rest of my life. But y’know what I mean
(In the couple of hours between ‘finishing exams’ and ‘going out to celebrate’, by the way, I (a) ate a large hot dog, (b) bought double scoops of ice-cream and (c) started to read a fun page-turner thriller about technology ‘n’ things which would probably result in my eviction from Book Club if I ever presented it to them. I am a geek child.)
Anyway, I then met up with long-ago-finished-exams Simon for a beer-fuelled viewing of apparently cult classic Welcome to the Jungle, which is worth seeing alone for The Rock engaged in the most ludicrous use of the OneLastJob trope I have ever seen. Sure, he’s a big and violent (although very lovable) bounty hunter, but he’s only doing this OneLastJob to raise the money to open his own restaurant. Seriously. A restaurant. Never just thought of applying for a business loan, no…? No, OK, fine, bounty hunter it is then. Hilarity ensues.
Naturally, we then enlarged the group and headed to the pub. It was the only right thing to do
So. I’ve been seriously toying with whether I should blog anything at all about Lucy and I breaking up, but have decided that it would be unacceptably odd not to mention it at all before moving on to other, less significant topics. Especially when I just have nice things to say! The truth is this: our relationship reached its natural end, and it was time for both of us to move on, so I’m grateful to her for saying so. It’s an ending, sure – and coming in amongst a bunch of them for me at the moment – but that doesn’t have to be a sad thing. I’ve never believed in eternity. We really did have a wonderful time together, and that will always stay with us, especially as it wasn’t marred by a nasty falling out at the end. And really, what more can you ask for from life than that? Let’s not forget, after all, that Lucy is one of the greatest people I have ever met. I care about her enormously, and I do very much hope that over time we won’t lose each other as friends. But even if we did, for whatever reason, at least I have a great security in knowing that she will continue to be amazing in whatever she chooses to do with her life. (Did I mention that all of those complacent art museum directors had better watch their backs? )
This post isn’t just a piece of news; it’s a celebration both of things past and futures that await. So here’s to Lucy! 
xxx
And this is my last word on this, I promise…
***
Right. Emotion over. Exams update! Three down, only one more to go. On Monday at 12pm I will have written what will probably be my last exam, ever, and then freedom beckons! Gosh, how odd
Since I’m currently bouncing around aimlessly – siphoning off unfinished cake from the fridge and wondering how early in the day it’s acceptable eat dinner – I might as well blog to fill the gap. My first exam is tomorrow morning, and so (in the parts of the day when I haven’t been distracted watching documentaries on the craziness of North Korea) I’ve been dedicating a little time to actually learning how to spell the names of various luminaries (Nietzsche, Humboldt, Adorno, Hamburger) who might come in useful for HAP. But basically it’s going to be left as ‘an intellectual adventure’, as various fellows have taken to calling it, which is the least comforting attempt at comfort I’ve experienced since my PE teacher sat us all down on a bench in the gym in order to deliver a stirring speech about how rugby was ‘nothing to be afraid of’.
(Don’t get me wrong – our fellows are lovely. Our DoS invited us round to her flat this lunchtime for lasagne and chocolate cake, presumably out of sympathy. ‘Graduation cocktails’ are being held out as a promise for the end, too. Anybody who thinks the collegiate university system is an outdated institution should ponder how many free graduation cocktails they’re going to get.)
Oh, and I know it’s bad form to blog about your dreams, but I really do have to applaud the careful staging which went into mine last night. You know that clever effect when you ‘wake up’ from one dream to another? Well, having ‘woken up’ from the standard dream fare (Queen’s Park at night, Tasha peering through glass windows, yada yada) into a chillingly perfect simulation of my bedroom at night, I was faced with the Doctor Who-worthy scene of a shadowy figure approaching my bed. Cautiously reaching out, our hands made contact for a couple of seconds before I jolted forward to try and apprehend said intruder… a motion violent enough, naturally, to dissolve the whole scene into the ‘real’ bedroom at night scenario, sans mysterious person. Freaky. But a good effort, brain. The next step is clearly to construct a manifestation of all of my dark thoughts into the ‘Dream Dom’ and get Toby Jones to play him.
I interrupt this desert of blogging mostly to wax lyrical about Four Lions. Yes, Chris Morris made a film! Yes, the same Chris Morris who created the best television of the 1990s! And yes, you ought to go see it!
It was this kind of instant enthusiasm for a slapstick satire about suicide bombers which got Lucy and I to make plans to see it on Saturday, as it happens. (Bit of a weird day, incidentally, since my mum and three of her friends also found their way to mine for tea – forcing me to resort to using the novelty ‘sloping’ mug which is the perfect demonstration, should you ever require one, for why mugs generally don’t slope.) But since Four Lions didn’t suggest itself to be the world’s most romantic film ever, I also gathered a fine collection of people-who-don’t-revise-through-the-night to come along. And so it was that Oliver, Simon, Eamon, Patrick, Caroline, Flora, Matthew, Laura, Lucy and I (phew) ended up at the Cambridge Picturehouse on Saturday night, facing a rather perturbing snaking queue and worrying mutterings that it was totally sold out.
Being resourceful people, however, we began a trek to the Out Of Town Soulless Multiplex (TM) which – amusingly – is located right next to the ‘Cambridge Central’ Travelodge. But not wanting to face the embarrassing prospect of being turned away once again, I also commandeered Caroline’s iPhone in order to book us all tickets. And it was at this precise moment that I first came face-to-face (or voice-to-voice) with those awful automated phone booking systems – y’know, the ones which require you to walk down the street shouting out “FOUR LIONS” or “YES” or “STUDENT” at regular intervals. (And why waste my time offering me a ‘plot summary of the film you have just selected’? Does anyone actually use this?!)
Anyway, the point is that the whole experience reinforced my view that there is probably no crime in Cambridge at all, because I was walking down the road desperately trying to punch debit card details into an iPhone and still nothing happened – a rather pathetic indictment of the ability of local criminals to respond quickly to opportunities. (Although I suppose I’ll have to eat my words if I log onto internet banking later to find that I’ve bought a yacht or something.) But yes. We got there, and it really was a superb film, and I highly recommend it.
(Oh, and this week’s Doctor Who was similarly excellent. Though I hope it doesn’t persuade a generation of kids to throw themselves off hill-tops in the hopes of waking up in the TARDIS. At least save that for the night before your HAP exam, kids!)
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