The only thing that could ease my disappointment upon receiving my first rejection e-mail from the United States was the rumour that there will be a third Sex and the City movie. Considering there were 620+ applicants for only six places, applying was a highly ambitious decision. As somebody with high expectations of people, watching the Big Immigration Row and learning how many racists are living in this country was very depressing. Spending too much time in the library had led to displays of over-exhaustion, such as thinking up alternative names for the library (‘library’ backwards was about as far as I got) and spilling my drink everywhere on several occasions. As it was turning into ‘one of those fortnights’ (apparently this can exist beyond a week), my best friend’s eighteenth birthday and the opportunity to visit the archives could not have come at a better time. I knew it was time to combine business with pleasure, and escape Bristol to visit London.

Hopping on the Megabus for six pounds to the ‘bubble’ of the capital city is a fantastic experience I would advise everybody to undertake. Sitting next to a man for two hours who has clearly not showered in a while and regularly raises his armpits is the down-side to this experience. Extremely relieved to meet my friend at Victoria, my London adventure began. Upon arriving at a nightclub in Central for the celebrations, we were promptly reminded of the reality of London nightclubs; two members of the party had been kicked-out for passing-out (or drunkenly sleeping I’d argue) and an occasion of backchat to the bouncers. In trying to calm the chaos, we were escorted out of said-nightclub and only managed to get back in much later on. To anybody who has never been on a night out in London: learn from this, and wear the correct shoes (highly important).

After leaving the club at 3am due to my two friends, tequila and Sauvignon Blanc, I pondered on how amazing it would be to live in London whilst falling asleep. Aside of power-tripping bouncers and tight dress-codes, London is the place to be. Waking up with a slight hangover and making your way to the archives is never advised. I managed to get my readers card for an institution, and explore contemporary material despite this. London moves very quickly, and it is amazing how much you can fit into 20 hours. Under no circumstances is it recommended to attempt these entire 20 hours in heels; shoes are very important.

This week has been a whirlwind, and I have realized it is time to hang up the party-girl lifestyle and hit the books once again for my final coursework and assessment periods. In attending a highly dramatic Student Council meeting this week, I managed to tweet on behalf of WesternEye. This was a fantastic opportunity until I tagged the wrong woman, who was not my editor, but a random individual. Last Saturday I experienced Pryzm; a nightclub I would highly recommend for the retro tunes of the ‘cheese’ floor and its fabulous blue wine glasses. In visiting a pizza place, I was approached by a young gentleman who asked for my number as he escorted me, my flat-mate and my pizza and garlic bread boxes to a taxi after exclaiming ‘wow’. When politely declining, I silently hoped that ‘the one’ was not the gentleman who expressed that this ‘wow’ was ‘at you and the pizza, love’, and that romance exceeds being compared to a pizza. Upon realizing that as a 22 year old History student I am not quite ‘serious’ enough, I decided to write a non-humorous article about International Women’s Day. In the meantime, check out Luisa Zissman’s absolutely-fantastic column with the link below.