Just some tweets about the soul-destroying reality of being in final year

Everything is probably, possibly, maybe going to be fine

Your first year of uni is a blast. Friends are made, Jägerbombs are sunk, and nothing really matters because you’re in the twilight of your life. As for second year? It’s a harmless middle ground, a purgatory of pints and parties.

Final year, by contrast, is a bit like being on a ship which is simultaneously sinking and on fire, furiously searching Google of synonyms for “thus” as the pained screams of your writhing fallen coursemates pierce the air around you.

It’s not exactly a barrel of laughs, basically. These guys know what we’re talking about.