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.
Ohhhh no.
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.
Hypocritical
much?
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.