I've been writing an anonymous column for Leeds university magazine Lippy, wittingly named 'Miss Lippy'. Although this blog is hardly anonymous I know that I'm at a fairly low risk of anyone reading my work (at least for now), so thought I'd publish it here too. This one was written about 6 weeks ago so is a bit out of date, so to speak. It's slightly cheesy [insert: I was told it must be accessible to all magazine readers, not just those inclined to dry, sardonic humour like myself] but it does provide a pretty quick round up of my first term of third year, i.e. the year from hell, workwise. A roundup so quick, I might add, it truly reflects the dramatic decrease in my socialising outside of the house. Initially it was intended to be an 'It Girl' column, hence the anonymity (Alexa Chung, eat your heart out), but that was deemed slightly elitist, and again, inaccessible. Fair doos. Also, who am I kidding, I am definitely no 'It Girl'. So, here it is:
This term has certainly been a shock to the system. I write
this column, from home, whilst staring across my desk at a menacing pile of
novels to be revised that as yet remain untouched. Third year is no laughing
matter, and as my social life declined, inevitable sessions of retail
therapy increased dramatically.
I once ventured out of my
primitive existence (eat, sleep, rave, library, repeat) for Halloween,
when I dressed as a Punk. The night was nothing to write home about, but I
managed to convince at least five boys that my septum piercing was real and
that I had chopped off my hair and died it blue. Another time when I made the
mistake of thinking I could still handle alcohol, after weeks of academic
sobriety, was when I attended a house party held by Leeds DJ collective Mavrik.
They had found a kind/naïve (delete as applicable) young man willing to give up
his house for the night and got local artists in to transform it from top to
bottom with graffiti. I have to admit it was pretty spectacular, and after
experiencing the different “vibes” in all of the rooms, I had managed to pick
up a dashing young man (beer goggles?), and I say young as he was a second year. We danced the rest of the night away so hard that my
bones ached the next day.
My other adventurous/explicit events
of the term included a life drawing class. I hadn’t drawn for many months, so I
was somewhat nervous to attend. Having drawn for years, I thought myself above
the giggling and snickering associated with a beginner that normally erupts
when the model drops their robe. The nerves I felt were more about being able
to produce something on the page that resembled a human body in some shape or
form. Anyway, when this model dropped his robe I was overcome by shaking
giggles – the worst kind to try and stifle but I did just manage to keep them
under my breath – as my friend George said “Ah, I’ve heard about this guy.
Shouldn’t take long to draw that, um, area.” All this aside, it was incredibly
therapeutic to spend two hours sketching. You start with a mixture of five and ten
minute poses and then progress onto half an hour and one forty five minute
pose. My drawings weren’t too shabby, although I think I rather over did the
added “sweeps of colour” to hide my terribly proportioned male body. But as
they say, practise makes perfect, and if I’m not buried under a mound of work
then I will definitely be going more.
Not only am I writing this column
being evil-eyed by books, I am also sitting here in my gym kit after a run.
Stop press – Miss Lippy joined the gym this term. Being someone who was always
in the special group for games (this included being taken on walks, and
synchronised swimming among other ordeals), and the only non-sporty member of
my entire family, this was a huge step for me. Mainly, it provided me with the
opportunity to buy a whole new set of clothes so as to look as good as possible
while turning beetroot red and looking as though someone had poured a bucket of
water over me. I have now tried several of the university’s classes, and try to
go to the gym at least twice a week (madness). I would advise you to avoid BLT like
the plague – I could not move for three days afterwards. Things reached a new
low when I had to lower myself onto the loo seat, and my housemate’s boyfriend
had to lift me off the kitchen table after I’d changed a light bulb as I simply
could not bend. If you’ve just gone through a really bad break up I would
recommend Boxercise, and if you want to pretend that you are living in LA and
drink juice all the time, head to Pilates. However, he main benefits of the gym
itself are that it is inside so in the middle of winter provides more shelter
than Hyde Park and I get to watch music videos while I sweat; a worthwhile
investment I think you’ll agree. I haven’t spotted any hotties in there yet,
although I tend to avoid all eye contact with any human being when I’m in the
gym as I normally come out looking like a drowned cat.
Now I’m at home, I don’t have the
gym on hand, and it was a real effort to drag myself out on a run this morning.
I realised with horror on getting through the front door that only one track
had been played on my iPod, oops. Now on to getting very, very fat, drunk and
merry, shopping in the sales, and dealing with the consequences when I get back
to Leeds…
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