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As expected by myself and those who are familiar with the tone of this column, my Easter holiday was pretty mediocre. I was a shoddy employee, narrowly avoided getting into a fight with a homeless man and got no Easter eggs as I refused to partake in a commercialised religious festival that not everyone who queued for '2 for £5' eggs seemed to fully understand. "Didn't Jesus die or summan?"
Nevertheless, I heartily enjoyed my time away from the fruitcakes that populate this University. And yet, quicker than Putin can say "I swear it wasn't us", we've all found ourselves thrown back into the melting pot, commonly known as the top floor of Harry Fairhurst. Here I've been dropped back into daily routine of threatening to throw freshers' (AKA wastes of desk space) over the balcony, followed by my laptop and whatever drivel I've attempted to shape into a dissertation proposal. That's if the four flights of stairs up to the top floor don't kill me by then.
"I think the origami society folded last year"
The more the academic cogs of the summer term keep turning, the more I'm thinking about exams. Or, rather, ways in which I can cheat. I'm fortunate enough to have a seminar tutor who used to do some work as an invigilator, so he was happy to share some tricks of the trade as my seminar group successfully managed to derail another chunk of our #NineGrand for the twenty-second week running.
We heard stories of how people in wheelchairs with broken legs weren't being assisted because of their issues of accessibility to the exam hall; instead, they and their cast were searched for hidden notes. We even heard stories of people who would inscribe a tiny page of notes onto the wrapping of a cough sweet. You'd almost expect the cough sweet wrapper to fold out like an elaborate form of origami into something the size of a broadsheet, dotted with hieroglyphics that somehow form a set of essay plans.
Doing this may be as subtle as a rhinoceros with impetigo in the middle of an exam where you're actively being watched, but if you claim to have found it in your pocket and that you're the president of the university's origami society then I think you might be able to pull it off. However, I think that folded last year. They actually sent me letter about joining last year, but I didn't know what to make of it. Don't worry, I've run out of origami jokes.
Aside from that digression, if you can't remember everything that you could scribble onto your hand, you shouldn't be at university.
What I am looking forward to, however, is Roses. It's the only thing that would ever draw me, or anyone for that matter, to visit Lancaster. It will be a 200-mile round trip for me, which would be fine if someone hadn't made an attempt to rip my car door off in a Vanbrugh car park. I'm now desperately trying to think of a way to broach the issue to my parents. Especially when it's technically their car. Actually, I'm more worried that they're going to find out through the medium of this publication rather than a text from myself. Thankfully they're on a coach trip in Italy.
So if anyone has spare rear door for a Toyota Corolla lying about, then let me know. I'm sorry, mum.