I pulled out my sunnies and put them on as I sprawled out on the lawn in Hyde Park whilst Lad Boy read a paper.
‘I need a gap year.’ I said, exhaling heavily.
‘Agreed.’ Lad Boy said.
‘Whatever. You already have a job!’
‘I know.’ He said, sadly.
‘What am I going to do?’
‘Weren’t you offered a lot of jobs?’
‘I was. Didn’t want them. I don’t want to work! One of the offers was in a bank. I don’t want to work in a bank! I want to work outside.’
‘It’s going to be winter soon.’
I looked around. We were barely in any clothes it was so hot. ‘Really? You have to remind me of that now? When it’s a million degrees out?’
‘There’s no way it’s “a million degrees” right now.’ He said, flipping a page in the Metro he was reading. ‘You obviously can’t work in a bank because you have no sense of numerical value.’
‘It feels like Africa out here.’ I moaned. ‘It’s so hotttt.’
‘My mum said that the other day.’
‘Said what?’
‘That it felt like Africa. Then I asked her if she had ever been to Africa and she said no … Idiot.’
‘I’ve never been to Africa.’
‘Then how can you say this feels like Africa?’
‘I watched that Ewan McGregor documentary. It looked the way it feels right now.’
He laughed, still looking at the paper. ‘You are ridiculous.’
‘You’re ridiculous.’
‘My mum said that too.’
‘Maybe she’s my twin.’
‘You guys are oddly similar.’
‘Is that weird?’ I asked.
‘It kind of is.’
‘A bit awkward, I agree.’ There was a brief moment of silence. ‘What does my horoscope say?’
‘Don’t care.’
‘Come onnn.’ I said. ‘Read it to meee.’
‘It says that you’re a bus wanker.’
‘I did take the bus today.’
He put the paper down. ‘So what is your plan exactly? How long are your parents going to foot the bill for your rent until you get a job?’
‘Forever I hope.’ I said. ‘Might write a book.’
He laughed. ‘Yeah right. On what?’
I looked to my left and raised my eyebrows a bit. ‘Stuff.’
‘Sounds like a best seller.’
‘I do like writing though.’
‘Really? Didn’t you do engineering or something?’
‘Try “or something” … I thought you were my best friend!’
‘It pains me to say that you’re my best mate.’
‘You mean it hurts your heart because you love me so much?’
‘That’s definitely not what I mean.’
‘You totally love me. And I love you. You’re like the brother I never wanted.’
‘Cheers!’
‘Let’s go travelling.’
‘Where?’
‘Anywhere. We could go to Amsterdam again. Get a group together.’
‘Wasn’t really keen on Amsterdam last time we went.’
‘The image of that sex show is still burned into my mind.’
‘Everything is burned into your mind. You’re like an elephant. You never forget anything.’
‘This is true. It can be convenient.’
‘It can be annoying!’ I frowned. ‘I can’t get away with anything!’
I shrugged and grabbed the paper, turning to the horoscopes. ‘Apparently I will be very successful today … and you will be a massive bender … so pretty much like every day for you, really.’
‘There’s no way it says bender.’
‘Fine, you’re right. It says bumder. Let’s go hang out in Chelsea and see if we can run into the Made in Chelsea cast.’
‘Let’s not do that.’
‘You’re no fun.’
‘Saw that Ollie guy at a bar once, he was a bit of a knob.’
‘You tell me this story every time I tell you I like Made in Chelsea.’
‘Then stop telling me how much you like that show. It’s shit.’
‘You’re shit.’
‘Yep,’ he said, grabbing the paper back, ‘nice one.’
‘It’s literally like the Sahara desert out here.’
‘It literally is not. Do you even know where the Sahara desert is?’
‘… Africa?’ I said, squinting and looking up as I thought about it.
‘Yes, but your obvious doubt in that answer proves you’re an idiot. How did they let you graduate?’
‘How did they let you graduate?!’
‘Because I’m clever.’
‘Yeah, well you’re also … boring.’
‘I’m clearly not.’
‘That’s true. I wouldn’t hang out with you if you were.’
This incessant banter continued for the better part of an hour before we made our way back to mine and I cooked Lad Boy a pizza and we sat drinking beer and watching telly.
Quite an exciting existence I lead here in London now (irony intended, as Lad Boy and I clearly do exactly what we’ve always done – just in another city). I had considered staying in Oxbridge for further education, but after the stress of exams and the drama of ex-boyfriends I needed a change. Didn’t exactly venture far, but once you’re out of the uni bubble you see that you’ve been living a kind of pseudo independence. My kitchen may be stocked with meals for one, squash and beer, but who cares? It’s my kitchen.
I wasn’t lying to Lad Boy when I said I wanted to write. I love writing, and just because I’m not in Oxbridge anymore doesn’t mean I won’t have sex. Frankly, I doubt even half of the people who read this blog are actually in Oxbridge at the moment either, so to be fair my life now relates to a much broader audience. Like Lad Boy said, I have a horrible sense of numerical value and statistics, but I’m quite sure the population of London is much higher than the population of undergraduates in Oxford and Cambridge.
I’ve always loved London and romanticised the notion of moving here. I never thought it could be as fantastic as it actually is though. Like every year, the main cast of my blog is going to change naturally, and more so now that I’m in London, but a fair amount of past characters are in London now, and the majority of the people I’ve been blogging about as of late are from London anyway. I’m working on a glossary to help with character recognition.
I wouldn’t say that I followed my best mate, but having Lad Boy in my life is the saving grace to some of the drama that seems to follow me around wherever I go. Sometimes I feel as if my life is the perfect storm. Calm and serene one moment and in a flurry of rage and disaster the next. I’m trying to work on that and make things a bit more stable, which is why I wanted a fresh start.
London life, unlike college life, is simple. It’s private. People don’t have to know everything about you. Being a stranger is a refreshing break from having the daily displeasure of having to deal with people you don’t really like, and with having to have everybody know (or think they know) all about you. There’s clearly a lot that no one knows about me.
Telling Lad Boy I wanted to be a writer is the closest I’ve ever come to admitting I write a blog. After juggling work, play and this for almost two years now I think it’s time to give writing a go with the work and perseverance I’ve put into uni for the past however many years. (See? Bad with numbers.)
The main problem is that I’m not seeing anyone, and I’m not sleeping with anyone. Langdon was literally the last person I slept with. Boring, I know. This better not be what London life is going to be like forever. Though, knowing myself that’s highly doubtful to be the case.
With moving and job-searching, life has been hectic. Hence the radio silence. I’m not dead, I’m not in Oxbridge, and I’m not going to stop writing. I think people take the piss out of gap yahs, but to be fair, Oxbridge was not exactly the easiest years of my life, and I’m not about to go jump into some graduate scheme and start my life of freedom right back in a classroom. That’s just not who I am. So you can have PWC, I’d rather be renting out deck chairs in Hyde Park.
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