Once again I am unsure as to whether or not I did Freshers Week properly. A variety of drunken nights in and some drunken nights out all collecting to form some vague imitation of social discourse (I'm still forgetting names of people I see everyday). I'm pretty sure there's a group of girls who're avoiding me after too many doses of stupid-Nash, my liquor-loving counterpart. The price you pay for overconfident, ceaseless babble (and knowing all the words to awful 80s songs).
On the flipside, I have made some actual friends, and though I'm the butt of many a joke, jibe and jest, I don't mind, because it keeps my cider-soaked self at bay. It's disarming how streetwise everyone else is, all the sordid tales of years past, the drinking games (especially the infamous "I Have Never", a game impossible to win) and pool skills.
I've noticed two things, however; the language barrier of days gone by has evolved into full-scale segregation, and I still don't know anyone on my course. One of the few King's people I've met is a crazed imperialist sherry-enthusiast with a craving for the Congo.
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