Some of the time, I was in home territory - hanging out with the 'inbetweeners' and, dare I say it, leading the pack somewhat. In that crowd I was, I guess, the most socially able and the better looking (the competition wasn't up to much) one. And they were nice people - we were of a 'type' and I was neither excited nor bored by them.
Some of the time, I was learning how to sweatily mosh at Balls and social nights - pushing other sweary moshers around to the Wonderstuff and drinking enormous amounts of snakebite and black.
Some of the time, I was wide-eyededly learning a new language of intellectual cool - new bands, new poets, new writers, new film-makers - none of which was coming from my tutors.
Some of the time, I was back in my room, wondering what I was doing here, listening to the awful student indy band practicing in the bar underneath my window.
In the first few months, I did enough 'finding myself' to last a second lifetime.
The brown leather jacket from Wembley Market was unceremoniously ditched in favour of a trenchcoat from the A&N store. Converse shoes and baggy jumpers were adopted, as were beads and a canvas bag.
And I, of course, started smoking. With a passion. I'd always, long before this time, imagined myself as a smoker. My constant running backwards and forwards to the bar ('does anyone want another drink - i do!') was indicative of a certain nervous energy. But I can remember, the morning after having tried smoking for the first time, putting the packet in my bag and R saying "are you going to do it again?". Hell Yes. I'm a smoker now.
In that first year, I did enough 'finding myself' to last a hundred lifetimes and I got nowhere near finding myself.
I had a girlfriend. I parachuted. I bungy-jumped. I went to Balls (E came to one) and Parties. I queued for the phone. I queued for the post. I drank everything with 'black'. I drank in a bar where people pee'd in the bin. I never ate breakfast. I made passionate friendships. And equally passionate enemies.
They were great times. They sucked.
Where to start?
In that first year, I did enough 'finding myself' to last a hundred lifetimes and I got nowhere near finding myself.
I had a girlfriend. I parachuted. I bungy-jumped. I went to Balls (E came to one) and Parties. I queued for the phone. I queued for the post. I drank everything with 'black'. I drank in a bar where people pee'd in the bin. I never ate breakfast. I made passionate friendships. And equally passionate enemies.
They were great times. They sucked.
Where to start?
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