Trains can be exciting!hpgruesen

After flushing my toothbrush down the loo, the week was off to its usual excellent start. Grey skies prevailed, and the looming threat of exams crept ever-closer. Some people really enjoy getting into the grind of revision, finding a routine and sticking to it, but, since being back in the bubble, I’ve slightly felt like Billy Murray in Groundhog Day: eat, sleep, revise, repeat.

I have regrettably found myself in a position where I probably do need to pass my exams and get a degree

This week unexpectedly marked one of the most embarrassing and unsalvageable moments in my Cambridge career. I cannot express in any medium, interpretive dance or otherwise, the unending darkness that the Part I Medieval Literature paper draws into my life. Translating hundreds of lines of antique squiggles about a knight and some head-chopping wager is hardly enthralling. And, being dyslexic, I’m basically incapable of such a task anyway.

But, because my whole ‘marry-well-and-become-Patsy-from-AbFab’ plan isn’t going as smoothly as expected, I have regrettably found myself in a position where I probably do need to pass my exams and get a degree. In view of this, I dutifully attended my medieval translation supervision.

It became clear, as the term ‘synecdoche’ and ‘gerund’ were bandied about by people with confrontational cue-cards and translation folders, that I was deeply under-prepared for this supervision and my exam. Long story short, I panicked. When a boy asked to be excused from the supervision, for a rehearsal, I simply got up and left alongside him, saying nothing.

with my academic reputation now firmly obliterated, I soldiered on into the week, looking for reasons to not throw myself into the Cam

The escape was going well until I realised my bike was locked to another person’s and I couldn’t actually leave. Oh well – I’d make the most of the sunshine and grab a cup of coffee. About 20 minutes later, fag and Sainsbury’s shop in hand, who did I bump into but my supervisor?

I was clearly not at a rehearsal. She knew, and I knew, and she knew that I knew, and I knew that she knew that I knew. Right there, on Magdalene Bridge, I wanted to crawl into myself and die. So, with my academic reputation now firmly obliterated, I soldiered on into the week, looking for reasons to not throw myself into the Cam in a self-pitying and thesp-like manner…

Holly Platt-Higgins

Things to remember this week:

A young family were waiting at the station on a busy Saturday morning; a boy of about six, a girl maybe three, the mum and the grandpa. They were going to the Natural History Museum and the little girl was literally hopping in her seat with joy. Clapping her hand together she said, “I can’t wait to go on the train mummy, I’ve never been on a train before!” And the mum replied, “I’m so excited for you Ruby; I really am.”

Truthfully, I don’t think that Ruby’s mum was particularly excited for her. In fact, she just looked really tired. But, for a moment, it was nice to remember that appreciation for the world we all used to have as children: how everything was so amazing, how you just had to run everywhere all the time and how train journeys and mud and ice-lollies were worth being excited about. I suppose a train journey is only exciting if you decide to be excited about it, so maybe we should make that choice more often – to be excited about the little things.

Two girls were sitting in front of me, in the stands, watching the Queens’ vs. John’s rugby Cuppers final. One was wearing a quite questionable pink glittery beanie hat and the other looked like her clone, minus the hat. The one with the hair gear turned to the other and said, “Do you remember that Crushbridge I got for cheering at the football? How funny was that?”


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So, even if you make bold head-wear choices or you spend your days trudging from library to college and back again, there is still a very real possibility that one day, you will achieve the Cambridge dream, reach the dizzy heights of success, and receive a Crushbridge that is actually about you! (Not one that your friends have just ironically tagged you in). You might have only eaten dried cereal out of the box for the last week, but no one else knows that, and at any moment, you might emerge from your revision den and catch someone’s eye.

A bunch of American girls were all gathered together, drinking pink wine and celebrating Ali’s bachelorette party. One of the girls started to tell a story: “Oh my god, no! So, Ali leant me this jumpsuit for that party and then randomly it just disappeared, and I looked everywhere for it and felt so bad because I thought I’d lost it, but then two years later, Mimi, instagrammed a picture of her wearing it! Seriously! And that bitch had been stealing from us the whole time.”

If all else fails to cheer you up this week, at least your flatmates haven’t been stealing from you for the past three years and at least you’re not a clothes thief like Mimi. Or actually maybe they have, and maybe you are but at least no one has figured any of it out yet and you can all still live in peace and harmony for a while longer.

So, things to remember this week: just choose to be excited about your life, remember you can still look good even if you feel shit and try not to lead a life of crime, but if you have to, do it better than Mimi.

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