The sun is out, the faint smell of burning meat fills the air, the British public swarm into their gardens to make the most of what little warmth we will get and the sound of lawn mowers fills our ears as we stroll to our destinations in skirts and sunglasses.
A great time to be revising for final exams then.
I shouldn't really complain. As much as I love Sociology, it's not the hardest thing to revise for. I watch as others around me have to memorise endless pages of numbers and equations and impossible terminology. While I spend most of my time making unnecessarily colourful spider diagrams. Sadly, I get excited about revision because its the one time of the year I get to legitimately over-use highlighter pens and buy notebooks. It satisfies my thirst for stationary.
Also, the nature of Sociology exams means I pretty much know the type of questions that will appear, meaning I can select the easiest...sorry, the most interesting topics from each module and revise them. And by revise I mean write my notes out and highlight words that look like they should be important.
I did consider putting a little bit more effort into my revision this time round. You know, what with these being my last exams and all. But it wont happen. I know if I did work harder I could move out of my low 2:1 comfort zone and push for a high 2:1 or god forbid, a first. But just like I said I would begin writing my dissertation before Christmas, I wont. It's like the final sprint at the end of a long jog; in my mind I really want to do it. But in reality, I am a sweaty mess that has struggled to run a mere mile and will happily crawl the last few meters, let alone sprint, just so long as I get there.
My motivation for revising is also marred by the impending doom of moving home. Now, this is no reflection on my family. They are in fact lovely. And the idea of living in, well, a habitable home is appealing, as are the cooked dinners. It's more the principle of moving home. It's a step backwards. I'll have to abide by my parents rules again, something I've not done in three years. It's also the fact that I'll be moving back to what is quite possibly the most depressing town in existence. Didcot. For a little town, Didcot is quite famous. It has a Power Station. A train Station. A Nuclear Laboratory. Oh, and it featured in The 50 Worst Places to Live in Britain. It was number 20.
I suppose the clear solution to this problem would be to stay in Manchester. Most of the girls I am friends with here are moving in together, but my lack of job means I don't want to commit to a 12 month contract. The fact of the matter is, at home I will save money. Yes, I will probably sink into a pit of despair, choke from coal fumes or die of radiation poisoning, but at least I will save some money.
As far as jobs are concerned, it's not looking much brighter. I heard back from the BBC, and as you and I both guessed, I failed to make it on the coveted Production Trainee Scheme. Judging by the date I received the 'Hi, thanks for all the time you put into this application, we've had a good look at it, and basically, on this occasion, you're shit.' email, I didn't even make it past the creativity test. Pah. They should come down here and take a good look at one of my spider diagrams, then they'll see who's 'creative'.
On a more cheery note, I do have two holidays to look forward to, and that will hopefully postpone my inevitable glumness. T and I are going to South Italy for 10 glorious days of sun, pool, pizza and vino after exams. It'll be our first holiday together. Ahhhh. Quality time. Even if he will be under the umbrella most of the time while I baste myself in the UV rays. Then in July me and the girls from Uni will be jetting of to Benicassim in spain for good music, sun and even more vino. Things aren't all bad then.
Right, c'mon then Marxy, its time to put some colour into that oppressed life of yours....now where did I put the pink......?
