I haven’t written in in a while… Sorry about that.
Don't get me wrong. I love writing this blog. But there's just so much for me to do.
Like studying and eating and studying and breathing and studying and sleeping and studying and showering and studying. The list is just goddamn endless.
And what doesn't help is that life has literally grabbed me with both its grubby mitts, thrown me down its ugly pie-hole, chewed me for a while before spitting my mangled, saliva-clad corpse back on to the pavement to ferment.
Though I doubt it would ferment in this type of weather. Maybe freeze so all my toes fall off and I end up an ugly purple mess.
So yes. I'm an ugly, purple, over-worked, stressed out, cold-ridden, nervous mess.
So I apologise profusely for not having written in.
In regards to the topic of this entry, which I am yet to decide... Let me just decide a topic quickly.
I have just started learning to drive.
Crazy to think of 5"5 little bespectacled me driving around in a little white Skoda Fabia and wreaking havoc on the Kentish roads.
But then it's also crazy to think that it's an act of treason, punishable by death, to place a postage stamp upside down on an envelope.
Yes. In 2016 that's punishable by death.
Anyway, back to maniac Marchant over here, just driving around the abandoned area of a local town called Deal (no stalkers plz). For those who know, opposite to Fowlmead.
So I had the liberty of a roundabout, a small car park, and a stretch of road.
And a car.
I stalled the damn thing like 15 times because I'm badass.
But the most interesting situation was me trying to turn the car around in this pathetic little excuse of a car park.
My dad starts shouting next to me "Slow down! Slow DOWN! SLOW DOWN!"
The obvious course of action in this circumstance would have been to slow down.
But, see, I'm not that intelligent.
Instead, I decided to floor the accelerator in a blind panic and crash in to a wooden fence.
Smart, I know
My intelligence never fails to amaze me. Just this afternoon I was asked to hold a tent down to stop the 40mph winds grabbing hold of it and pulling it off to Timbuktoo.
So naturally, I let go.
Up, up and up the tent went, and soared over the six foot garden fence and to the gardens beyond.
Needless to say, Alex was not impressed. He went on a bit of a rant about women and how I’m completely incompetent at times.
Someone needs to remind him who’s the only one who can put the tent down again.
HINT: It’s me.
We ended up knocking for next door to try and get it, but no answer.
So we’re both standing on the kids’ trampoline trying to see where the tent went and then Alex ends up letting the duvet fly over the goddamn fence as well.
We ended up managing to retrieve both tent and duvet and weighting it down with paving slabs.
Hoorah to us!
So we decided all the hard work had earned us some chicken nuggets.
Walking down the road in the dark and blustery conditions, we see a 12 foot trampoline escaping a garden over a massive hedge.
And that’s when we realised, even the worst situations could, theoretically, be so much worse.
It was also quite funny.