But! Before I left for the Continent - which was this afternoon, actually - much has happened in Oxford since my last entry. Namely: I. FINISHED. MY. EXAMS.
*cue hysterical tears of relief and happiness*
Well, to be cautious I shouldn't count my eggs before they hatch, because the last exam went awfully and the marks don't come out for another week. So, really, I should be keeping my fingers crossed and coming up with contingency plans and whatnot.
In reality, though, my thoughts are more along the lines of "THANK THE LORD THIS ORDEAL IS DONE I CAN NOW SLEEP AND EAT AND BREATHE NORMALLY ONCE AGAIN WITHOUT WAKING UP IN COLD SWEAT AND THE PARALYSING FEAR OF FAILURE!!!" In all seriousness, I had never been so stressed in my life. Something about the place, and the exam format, and the pressure of it being, ya know, bloody Oxford just drove me up the wall. I was quite honestly losing my mind.
And then I got trashed. Massively, messily, wonderfully trashed. By that lovely and highly enthusiastic bunch of people that I call friends.
|Due to the dwindling number of exams, they took away the barricade on Merton.|
Hence, people congregated in front of the Exam School, waiting to pounce of their
poor, unsuspecting friends.
|CASE IN POINT. (Yes, that is me covered in silly string.)|
|"Somebody give me a huuuug!!!"|
|But my friends didn't stop at just silly string. Oh no. |
Bring on the confetti, champagne, luau and more confetti!
|And by champagne, I mean that the stuff THEY POURED IT DOWN MY SHIRT.|
|This pictures captures my and S's relationship perfectly.|
|At some point, cupcake frosting got involved...? (It was S's fault.)|
|"I'm a champagne/confetti/silly string/frosting covered|
Hildabeast who probably smells awful, whee!"
You'd think that this would it be, right? Like, barring duct-taping me to a park bench, WHAT ELSE COULD THEY DO?
|And then, M, who finished 45 min after me, walked out.|
|SO IT HAPPENED ALL OVER AGAIN. (Just so you know, |
I'm still finding confetti two weeks later. On my clothes, in my
bag, on my floor. Even in my shoes. Everywhere.
|M and I comparing battle - erm, confetti scars. Erm, tattoos.|
Because, it turns out that confetti + champagne = dyes that transfer
and stick to your skin. Ah, things that you find out during trashings.
|"WHOHOO!!! We are done! OMG! Let's pose for some--"|
|-- OH GOSHDARNIT.|
So yeah. All in all, an epic and prime specimen of fine Oxford exam trashing. A+ for effort, enthusiasm and execution. (People looked at M and I a bit funny while we were walking back to our houses to shower and change.) Regardless of how well or badly I did in those exams, I will always have the memories - not the mention the tremendous dry-cleaning bill - of my trashing.
|So thanks guys. Honestly. From the bottom of my heart.|