Life after Erasmus

The first thing that came to mind in my anticipation of returning from Grenoble, France, (neighbour to the Alps, UK comparison would probably be Hull.. or Slough) was ‘fuck I am going to have absolutely no friends.’

As a person that unwisely put all my eggs in the Water Polo Team basket in second year, my course acquaintances took a back seat and the regret of this decision started seeping through as September neared and sports friends waved goodbye to Uni. However it turned out there was a gaggle of like-minded year abroad/in industry returners who were as desperate as me to not be forever alone. So we’ve all seized onto each other like fatties to cheese, to dismiss away our impending fear of 4^th year isolation syndrome.

Birmingham cling ons are rife, and seem to have rolly-pollyed into Harborne for ‘fresh starts’ as ‘grown ups’.

One main thing I will miss that Birmingham cannot offer me is a 5 litre bucket of wine for €6.

My liver hurts just looking at it.

Another thing I have noticed is that after dossing around and playing in the snow for a year, the workload erupts like a heavy volcano of stress. I miss 3 hours a week and Apres ski.

Shake those Erasmus bootys

Lots of things have changed in a year, whether it be the maze that is Birmingham New Street station, the disappearance of the Burrito van or the fact that I can no longer buy a Fab ticket on a Friday night. (WHY!?!) Things are different and I’ve found myself stumbling around in a confused daze, like a third year with dementia.

I have also had a very distressing realisation that I am fucking old. I feel like an air of grumpy superiority has accompanied this realisation but also a feeling of being extremely past it. Is it okay to have a tactical snooze on a night out or feel hungover after 3 gin and tonics?

Where I really belong at 1.30 on a Friday night

On a positive note, the nightlife is significantly better than standing on the dance-floor at an Erasmus party called ‘NO LIMITS FOR FUTURE’ lathered in tin foil and stickers calling myself a robot.

Je suis un robot bitches

All in all, adjusting back to life in Brum is strange but I’m happy to be back. Where else can you get a ‘lolly for the lady’ or enjoy the best student union night the UK has to offer?