'Happy, happy house' was one of BB Kathreya's favourite songs. A refrain bleated much to the agony of some fellow housemates, it's my tune now with so many hopes and aspirations for the future I'm feeling a lot of 'happy, happy house'. I can also probably sing it better too.
My summer may have been characterised by fantastically outrageous nonetheless happy times, but less can be said for the world in general. The exceptionally British summer on reflection fits well with the exceptionally perilous state of the British economy, thanks Darling, or is that Gordon. But then again being soaked on a night out is arguably preferable to being catapulted afar by a merciless Texan hurricance, who knows.
What I certainly know is that it's weird being in a house for the first time with no brothers to thump or be thumped by, no fist fights over MTV or Sky Sports, or hour long contests to see who can come up with the worst insults. Those were the days! I’ve realised that my mastery of the put-down originates from this environment.
In other news despite being a loyal Guardian reader (except when it's Polly Toynbee introducing her latest crazy pet project), I hadn't realised how ridiculous and banal it's crusade against so called Oxbridge elitism was. Couldn't help but think that perhaps a bit more Oxbridge elitism could actually be justified in the selection of writers, that way people wouldn’t be subjected to tripe….or not. It appears that the effect of inflation on champagne prices is taking its toll on the already grumpy armchair Guardian elite.
Perhaps I was too harsh on our great leader earlier on. I should be feeling pity as he will invariably and IMO unfortunately preside over the biggest arse fuckage Labour has experienced in a long time. But perhaps an experienced bottom that has occupied many a Treasury chair is exactly what Labour needs. A disappointed social democrat I may be, but willing to embrace Cameron I definitely am not.
I just hope inflation doesn’t damage my expectations of cheap alcohol (particularly red wine) and frequent dancefloor groovage at uni! These are essential if I’m to recover from the trauma of stuffing my brain full of wonderful facts, concepts and ideas. Yep, yep the remedy is to potentially damage my brain cells, now we can all see what a brilliant doctor I will be!