Walking down the stairs counts, honest

I knew I was going to fuck up the first day of Juneathon. I’ve been in uni all week AND the bastards made us go in for 10am every day (it was originally 9am but we were all like ‘HUH?’) and yesterday was our second last official day of the first year.

I’M NO LONGER A FIRST YEAR STUDENT! I want to cry. I don’t want to be a second year. I want to stay being the baby of the uni (albeit the second oldest student there).

Anyway, we had all planned to go to lunch after the last class and then I said to my fellow student, ‘fancy a pint’? and, um, a pint led to about four more and then I realised that, shit, I hadn’t Juneathoned, and so when I came back with some drinks and got moaned at for forgetting the straws (I’m sorry, I forgot we’re twelve years old and need straws with our drinks), I decided to go back downstairs and get the straws and this would count as Juneathon.

Yeah, Juneathon status = APPROVED.

After having about twenty-three ‘just one more’ drinks in the pub, I wobbled back to Ashford and because Shaun was out in Wingham or Wickham or something like that and I wanted people to drunkenly ramble on to, I nipped into the pub opposite the house to see if anyone I knew was in there and when I got near the pub it was REALLY LOUD and I thought yay and inside were lots of people in fancy dress, including this rather fine young man wearing some green paint and not much else.

Even the landlord was happy.

And I met the man who was only wearing some shorts and green paint’s mum.

I’m assuming walking back to the pub later counts for today’s Juneathon?

Summer schools: 1
End of first years at uni: 1
Lunches: 1
’Just one more’ drinks: about twenty-three
Pubs nipped into on the way home: 1
Men wearing green paint and not much else: 1
Happy landlords: 1
Men with wigs and tits: 1


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