You Know It’s The End Of Term When…
Your clothes stink, you’re stealing pennies out of the tips in Nero’s and lectures are a hazy memory.
– A three-hour nap becomes not a luxury but a daily necessity.
– You can’t look at a VK or bottle of wine without feeling sick, and you’re yet to brave the end of term Christmas formals.
– You’re convinced that Christmas is really really soon (hello, Cambridgeshire council festive lights!)
– Lectures? I’m supposed to be going to lectures?
– Forget what the rest of the world think, Monday is the middle of the week, not the start. Fools.
– Going out on a weekend seems like an insane idea.
– You have no idea what you’re supposed to have learnt this term.
– You suffer repeated mood swings, switching from being massively stressed and hating Cambridge/your subject/life to thinking its all went way too quickly and couldn’t term be just that bit much longer?
– You have no idea what day of the week it is let alone what date – but you know exactly how many days until your next supervision.
– You’re beginning to hate the people you live with (and especially the wanker who keeps leaving hairs in the shower. Not cool.)
– You walk past guy in black tie, someone dressed as a camel and two New Hall girls in full-on body paint in the street without batting an eyelid.
– Gowns and suits in a club? Of course.
– You really should probably change your sheets but keep telling yourself there’s so little time left it’s not really worth it.
– It doesn’t matter which part of the country you’re from or where you went to school, you now talk with the generic Cambridge upper-middle-class twang.
Don’tcha just love Week Seven?