I’ve spent hours eating a box of fair trade chocolates, reading stories about life and love on the internet, going through my old photos of Orkney and allowing myself to be immersed in the television show Sherlock. It’s the perfect way to spend a Friday, and I am so chilled out. Never mind the fact that my to do list reads “do vocab, Ch 12 Norwegian, 1 hr Icelandic, plan Effi Briest essay, book flights, tune guitar, read Gregorius, return form, finish translation, develop film, buy lip balm, type up lecture notes”. Never mind that, internet. I literally forgot that list, until I awoke from my stupor to the sound of my neighbour’s friends knocking on his door, giggling loudly.
Half of Oxford is out right now, drenched in alcohol and sweat and adrenaline.
Not me.
Tonight, I get my fix elsewhere.
I’ve been to India in the last hours, to the 1890s, and to the mind of a young gay man. I like my Friday evenings.


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