A week's intense revision looms ahead, like a cold pool swimming with essay questions and mind-maps and whatnot. The dismal metaphorical waves lap over dreaded French tenses and seep into the dull ins-and-outs of British political history. Until now I've been sunning on Slacker's Deckchair by the palmtrees, but now im gripping the edge of the diving-board with my toes, and there's nothing for it but to hold my breath, biro poised, and take the plunge.
On the bright side,, it was an awesome week. Really lovely. "Folks and Smokes" resulted in an emboldened Fellowship of the Ring-of-Fire, several trigger-hole-happy individuals, swaying to "The dub-side of the moon", and the inevitable finale; a medley of Vodka-Challenge victims face down on the floor while I waded in elbow-deep in rubber gloves to Clean up their Act.
PS. Happy Birthday Mum xx
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