It’s been an interesting week. There was the general election on Thursday which was my first time voting on a national scale. The outcome was controversial: a hung parliament. This will make the discussions in Brussels much more onerous for Britain with a coalition government ‘supporting’ Theresa May – so much for ‘strong and stable’.
I also had my first A2 exam – History. I had already sat a retake from one of the Law papers from last year, but this was my first full A Level exam on one of the new linear courses. Thankfully, the questions did not appear to be that difficult. However, it was supposedly the easiest of the three History exams that I will be sitting, which likely means that the grade boundaries will be high and I will need some serious help to get me through the other two.
One positive thing, though: I will never have to look at my notes on Germany through the years 1919-89 ever again. I cannot wait for the rest of my exams to be over. As much as the environmentalist in me would rather just recycle my notes once exam season is finished, a large part of me just wants to watch them burn, crack open a bottle of champagne and drink until the sun comes up.
Yeah, the latter is certainly more compelling.
One down, six to go.
Things have been rather quiet on here the last few days. Not because nothing has happened, but rather there doesn’t seem to be time to write what’s going on. Hopefully this will change now it’s the Christmas holidays. Anyway, the title of this post comes from the events that occurred last Saturday night…
My boyfriend threw a little party with some close friends for Christmas. I’d had a somewhat long day of work and then seeing relatives who were visiting before coming over. Previously in the day I had felt a little faint and funny, but some paracetamol in my system seemed to clear me straight up. I get to my boyfriend’s and there were more people already there than I had anticipated because a few people decided to turn up early. This threw me a little, especially because I don’t know all his friends that well, and so my nerves started to play up. My resolution was to drink to calm my nerves. My chosen beverage: red wine. I don’t even remember the type at this point, but that doesn’t matter. An hour and a game of beer pong later, I had finished one bottle by myself and was well into the second. It probably didn’t help that after beer pong we were throwing the ping pong ball about and it landed in my wine glass, which, with the encouragement of others, I thought it would be a good idea to down. How stupid. Flash forward another thirty minutes and I’m upstairs in bed because I needed a minute feel better. Next thing I know, I’m bursting for a pee and rush to the toilet. However, I didn’t just need to pee and ended up vomiting all over my boyfriend’s pristine, white bathroom floor…
He then came in to what looked like a murder scene. My red wine vomit made it look as though I had exploded. I was stripped and put in the bathtub until it was all out of my system. Then I was guided to bed and passed out instantaneously. It was awful.
However, when I woke up at 4am I didn’t have a hangover. No headache. No more vomiting. I hadn’t pissed myself in my sleep. My boyfriend was curled up next to me, not caring that my hair probably smelt a little like vomit.
I did get teased about it relentlessly afterwards, though, and expect it’s a story to be retold in years to come. It was nice how many people cared to check how I was doing, but they shouldn’t have worried because it was my own fault. Damn, nerves can be a bitch.
Next time, I think I’ll stick to good old beer.