How To Survive Going Back to Live With the Parents. (Kindly Katie’s tips!)

The lovely Kindly Katie (click to see her blog!) had some great ideas for those of us who’ve come home from university, travelling or anywhere else and are back living with our parents. Although the free food in the fridge and household heating might be a luxury at first, sometimes the novelty wears off of being back home, but Katie’s gathered a few ideas about how to cope with this:

How to Survive Going Back to Live with the Parents

Going back to live with your parents can be dreadful. When you get that time of freedom and independence, you can go crazy going back to living under your parents roof. Rules, privacy, feeling like a kid again… those can just be a few of the common struggles. 

I’ve come up with a few ways to stay sane, that have personally helped me while moving back home from university for the summer. 

  1. Let your parents know the struggle moving back home. Be open about it. They usually are more supportive of your privacy then. Explain how you’re used to living your life how it was before, and how this is all new again. They won’t take offense. Change is hard.
  2. Get out of the house. Find excuses to get out. Go to the local coffee shop to browse on your computer, go on a run. Sometimes just getting out of the house and being by yourself is what you need to stay independent. 
  3. Do your own chores/duties around the house. The sense of taking care of yourself can remind you of your previous independence. Cook your own meals instead of eating what your parents make, do your own laundry, etc. 
  4. Stay busy. This can mean getting out of the house, or even staying busy doing work from home. I took a class one summer and staying busy made time go by faster. 
  5. Keep your eyes on the end point. If your stay is temporary, keep thinking that. If your stay is more permanent or not planned, think about what you can do to get you to the end point. If that’s saving up for your own place, find a way to achieve that. 

Some people love living with their parents, but if your like me, try these tips. If your stay is temporary, staying busy is the best thing you can do to make time go faster to get to the end point. If your stay is more permanent, figure out your goals and a plan to get there. 

Hope these helped! Comment below if you have any tips/suggestions.

xo; Kindly, Katie 


So much thanks to Katie for those little tips! She’s a lovely girl and has some really interesting posts on her blog so it’s definitely worth having a read of her stuff here:

Speak soon,



How To Survive People Caring About Your Body When It Has Nothing To Do With Them Anyway.

Today I was scrolling through Snapchat and somehow ended up looking at the Daily Mail Snapchat Story. There was an article which, if you have me on Twitter, you will know infuriated me. So now I’m going to rant about it on here and you’re on this post now so you might as well sit and listen.

Angelina Jolie went to meet the Archbishop of Canterbury to discuss the Refugee Crisis, preventing sexual violence in conflict and South Sudan. These are just a few of the humanitarian issues Jolie vocally cares for and works towards bettering. Amazing right? A star as big as her using her platform to better the world and help those in need. What did the Daily Mail have to say about her? They released an article reporting comments about the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra, claiming the Archbishop was “in danger” (genuine quote, because nipples are so threatening, didn’t you know?) of being distracted by her nipples. The last few paragraphs of the article did mention some of Jolie’s charity work, but the leading headline and opening paragraphs were focused on comments on her nipples. It also implied the Archbishop had nothing to be concerned about other than her nipples, as if he spent the whole meeting staring at them. Doubt it Daily Mail, it’s only you and the likes of Piers Morgan who think every opportunity is an opportunity to sexualise something. In the same Snapchat Story, women’s bodies were constantly the forefront of their “News” yet they continued to place negative light on women doing well and being happy with their bodies.

The same has been seen with Emma Watson’s latest photo shoot which apparently was a “topless” photoshoot, which it was not. It was slight under-boob/ cleavage. To be honest, it was nothing more than any ordinary artistic modelling shoot you’d see in Vogue or something. But even if it was topless apparently, you’re not allowed to be a feminist and have boobs. Men like Piers Morgan are the ones who get to tell us what is and isn’t feminism and what is and isn’t acceptable to do with our bodies. Duh. Apparently images of Cindy Lauper looking smoking af (see his twitter feed) are okay, but Kim Kardashian, Emily Ratajkowski and Emma Watson can not possibly be sexual beings with you know, female bodies, and also feminists.

Perhaps even worse, however, is women tearing other women down because of their bodies and what they choose to do with them. You don’t get to tell someone “oh put it away.” or say “her bum isn’t even that nice” just because you’re not comfortable with flaunting your own body. It’s okay to not want to take topless photos or wear short dresses or whatever. But it’s also okay to want to do that. What’s not okay is slating someone for being happy with their body, choosing to wear revealing or non-revealing clothing. (To be honest I don’t even like using the word revealing here, it feels kind of derogatory, sorry, I just can’t think of a different word). If you don’t want to see someone’s pictures, if you think how they’re dressing is wrong, how they’re posing is wrong or their bum isn’t that nice, fine. Unfollow them on Instagram, wear whatever clothes you want and keep your nasty words to yourself.

Seriously, how have we got to a point (or should I say how are we STILL at a point) where women’s bodies and appearances get more attention than their UNICEF work, animal rights work, women’s rights work, charity donations and time spent volunteering, amazing acting work, amazing entrepreneurial skills or you know, nice personality and good-will? In the words of Emily Ratajkowski “If you can’t take a woman seriously because you’ve seen her body, that’s on you.”

Bodies are just bodies. If anyone is critical of yours and what you do with it, it’s only because they’re taking a break from being so critical of themselves.

Speak soon,






How To Survive Being a Lazy Perfectionist.

Seriously do you have any idea how frustrating this is?

I am somehow, simultaneously, the laziest person I know and the biggest perfectionist I know. I know it sounds impossible but on one hand I’ve genuinely been referred to as “the real life Monica Geller” before but then I’m also the kind of person who leaves my dishes on the side hoping my housemates will eventually, bit by bit, wash them for me. (Sorry housemates, love ya!) But heaven forbid that pile of dishes spreads further than the designated dirty dishes section of the kitchen counter. Dear God no.

I like to do this thing where I get an essay question and plan my answer to it weeks in advance, feel really productive for one day doing loads of secondary source searching, then not look at it for weeks and leave it until the last few days to actually do any writing. I want my work to be perfect, but I’d much rather binge watch Netflix. See the internal conflict?

I also love hosting. Being a control freak and all, the role of the hostess and organiser of pre drinks, sleepovers, whatever is very appealing to me. Okay, fine. It’s nice to have someone around to organise fun things to do in a group, right? WRONG. Remember that Friends episode where Monica hosts a birthday party for Rachel but no one enjoys it? The one where the guests keep trying to sneak to Joey and Chandler’s alternative party because Monica’s getting neurotic about coasters under glasses and her awful party game? I’m the Monica there, except my neurosis is induced by trying to herd uncooperative people into taxis and not letting anyone use my family heirloom Vintage 1960’s shot glasses. (The fact that my family heirloom is a rack of shot glasses probably says a lot about my family but let’s not pry.) I love to host, but it’s my way or the high way. If you’re wondering why I don’t just let someone else host, well, I just couldn’t possibly. Where’s the control in that?

My favourite, however, is sleeping in way past my alarm and leaving it until I have twenty minutes before I have to leave the house to get ready and eat breakfast. Impossible you say? Nope. The Monica Geller in me has solved it. Gym clothes. Picture this: me in normal clothes looking tired, windswept with last night’s hair. Lazy, running late perhaps? Now picture this: me, make-up -less, windswept with last night’s scruffy bun BUT with running leggings, a sports bra and trainers on, carrying my “Drop it like a squat” water bottle. Suddenly, I no longer look lazy, just super active.

I have decided, however, to embrace my Monica Geller side more. She’s not so bad. She’s organised, she’s got great clothes and everyone still comes back to her apartment at the end of a long day. Although, I do promise never to get my hair braided like hers no matter how humid it may get.

Speak soon,



How To Survive Being “…Meh”

I’ve always been told I’m headed for great things. I’d like to believe that. Who knows, maybe I am? However, right now I can categorically say I am not doing great things. I am nothing out of the ordinary. I’m average. I’m a student. I drink, I write essays and hand them in on time, I maintain a good grade, I go to the gym. I know that sounds quite productive, like the usual good student having fun but remaining studious, but it’s average. Masses of twenty year olds in the country are doing the same.

Now, that thought may seem like a belittling, negative one, but bare with…

All my life, I’ve been reassured by loving parents, grandparents, sometimes even strangers that I’m the “prettiest” , the “most intelligent” , and a “very promising” girl. That could be correct, given the right circumstances, but it’s probably not. This isn’t an “oh boo hoo I’m so ugly/stupid/useless” post, it’s positive, I promise, I’m getting to it. Basically, my whole life I was conditioned to be something special, something exciting. I was going to be a performer, I was going to be something so admirable, and exciting and I’d have hilarious stories to tell quirky strangers in bars. There was this huge pressure on me, particularly through college, that being ordinary, being like everyone else just wasn’t enough. That’s probably because it was a performing arts college, leading us all into a competitive industry, however, I do believe at some point everyone feels this same pressure. This pressure that to be important and popular and unique is everything.

I used to spend ages scrolling through Instagram looking at people I thought were the most beautiful. I wanted to look like all these girls with perfect make-up and gorgeous clothes, and I wanted to be surrounded by these gorgeous, edgy male models drinking gin and flashing their watches. They were the best, the elite and I wanted to be part of it. I wanted this lifestyle that involved gorgeous people, with cool creative jobs, who seemed to just effortlessly stroll into VIP Lounges and tell people stories about the time they met such-a-body from the radio or how they partied with such-a-body from TV through their most recent acting job.

Basically, I used to spend hours convincing myself I had to be something more than what I was. I’m not the sort of person who gets into VIP just by strolling in. I don’t even like clubs that much anymore, I’d really rather be in bed by 11pm. My stories are somewhat quirky, but they’re usually at the cost of my own dignity, and don’t often involve celebrities or much more than me making a fool of myself. I like gin, but I’d really rather drink it with my friends on a weekday than with some guy in a  snobby bar who just wants to tell me how much his watch costs. I used to think I had to do all these things so I’d have something to impress everyone with, so I could be the kind of person who had a witty anecdote if ever needed. But really, how often are they needed? And who am I impressing?

The fact is, being cool, being new and exciting is nice. If you are cool and exciting and you have all these amazing stories and interesting careers, really, more power to you and keep up the good work. I admire that, and there’s still this part of me that wants all of that, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with wanting that. But some of us aren’t there yet. And that’s okay too.

It’s okay not to be the most beautiful. It’s okay not to be the most intelligent. It’s okay to not have everything together yet in a nice Pinterest-worthy package of a life. You probably are headed for great things, but your parents will be proud of you if you’re happy. It’s equally as impressive to have what you need and not want more, to have a quiet life with  a small circle of loved ones. Your job doesn’t have to be the most exciting to strangers if it’s exciting to you. You don’t need to post a quirky picture of “the best night out everrr [insert party popper/champagne emoji]” on Instagram every week to make people think you’re interesting. Doing the ordinary isn’t settling. Doing something you’re uncomfortable with is settling. Never settle.

I hope this made some sort of sense. If you need a summary after my rambling: Ordinary is okay. Most people are ordinary and they’re perfectly happy. Just be happy, and do you, boo, do you.

Speak soon,







How To Survive Not Being Single.

So something totally unexpected happened. You may remember a blog post about “surviving” (quotation marks because really it’s not something to endure or survive) being single.

Well, basically… um… my male friend got a hair cut and now he’s my boyfriend. I’m so shallow. No, really, he’s lovely. All round great guy. So I have to admit, this is scary territory for me.

There was a bit of a hoo-haa about when we were becoming “public” (lol who are we, Kimye?) to our friends. We’re both part of the same friendship group and weren’t sure how it was going to go down, but to be honest, after much faffing about trying to keep things on the D.L, our friends just caught us kissing at a party a few weeks in anyway and that was that. The moral of that story being not to care. No one’s really that bothered as long as you’re happy and not PDA-ing in front of them 24/7.

I also had the super scary experiences of meeting his friends and his Dad. I can’t even explain the panic. I should specify, unnecessary panic. What do I wear? What do I say? What if they hate me? What if I choke on my drink? What if they find out about my total incompetence when it comes to public transport? The horror! Really though, the reality is nothing like this. The first time I met my boyfriend’s friends I was silent. Possibly for the first time in my life. I got so worked up every time I went to see him because I was so nervous about talking to his friends. It took me a while to realise the following… Your partner likes you, so there must be something about you the people close to them like about you too. They’re on your side. They want to like you. Just ask them questions. People love to talk about themselves. Worst comes to worst, your nerves will calm over time and people will warm to you. You can’t be that bad if there’s a significant other willing to spend their spare time with you.

Now, the most important lesson I’ve learned is that your boyfriend/ girlfriend isn’t your chaperone/alcohol monitor. Picture this scene: Me, dressed as Paris Hilton wearing a blonde wig, having to be carried out of a house party by my boyfriend whilst I cried because “someone stole my wine” (Note: My wine had been hidden from me hours ago for obvious reasons). I was a mess, and my poor boyfriend missed a whole party because I pre-drank too hard. It’s okay every now and then, accidents happen, alcohol is messy and tricky to master and it’s nice that your boyfriend is there to make sure nothing bad happens to you while you’re in a state. However, relying on your boyfriend/girlfriend for total safety and competence whenever you go on a night out together isn’t good. It ruins your night, it ruins there’s. No one has fun so just look after yourself first and foremost.

Overall though, I think I’m doing okay at the whole being a girlfriend thing. I may have been a neurotic mess the odd day, but I buy him chocolate milk and feed him occasionally, so that’s alright. Right?

Speak soon,




How to Survive Writing When You Just Cant…

I’m having writers’ block. Bloggers’ block? Bloggers’ block. (I made that up, I’m claiming that. You read it here first.) Seriously though, I’m struggling. My life seems to be becoming half the real life sitcom it used to be, and I’m just drowning in required university reading and the guilt of putting off said reading. But I’m going to try and write something. Just to give it a go.

Some people like to procrastinate. I like to do what I call “Planning.” See, this sounds productive, but my idea of planning my writing pieces is locking myself in my room with chocolate, panicking about what I’m going to write about, achieving nothing for hours and then shutting my laptop and lying in foetal position. So procrastinating with a productive title really.

I’ve tried the artsy methods: Journaling, drinking coffee, staring out my window for inspiration from nature. Except, I live on a main road in Newcastle so the only thing close to nature here is rowdy MTV wannabes bouncing around in packs.

I’ve tried the academic methods: reading up on pop culture, trying to be politically engaged. Still, nothing. Nothing feels new or exciting enough to present to the internet. There’s not even many people reading this, but still, it’s terrifying. But… There’s got to be a way around this fear, right? Maybe I need to take up a new hobby that isn’t drinking trebles in Empress Bar every Thursday, or travel more.

Basically, this is a cop out post. I needed to write something, to prove to myself I could, so here I am. I’m writing about not writing. I’m sorry, this is just terrible. I’ll show my self out.

Speak soon,



How To Survive A Meditation Session.

So I have a very overactive mind. I’m always worrying about things that haven’t even happened yet, calculating the worst possible outcome of things and overanalysing everything I say to others and others say to me. A lot of the time, this leaves me feeling horrendously tense and, simultaneously, drained. Seriously, reading the same three word text and trying to decipher its hidden, usually non-existent, nasty meaning various times throughout the day is exhausting. So I thought there had to be a way to change this.

After some googling, and repeatedly seeing the term “mindfulness” cropping up, I was eventually led to some Buddhist teachings, and the idea of meditation. I thought it couldn’t hurt to try, and there was a Buddhist centre in Manchester which offered lunchtime meditation sessions.

Now, admittedly, I was worried I was going to end up feeling like Julia Roberts when she goes to the Ashram in Eat Pray Love, and everyone’s chanting and reading this book she just hates, and they’re all fasting or silent or scrubbing floors. It turns out, it’s nothing like that. You don’t even sit with your legs crossed saying “ohhhmmmm” over and over. (I mean, you can sit with your legs crossed if you want, but nobody makes you chant or anything.)

Basically, everyone took their shoes off and was led into the Shrine Room. The name may seem intimidating but it’s actually a really nice place. There was a large Buddha, and a picture of Sangharakshita (Founder of Triratna Buddhist Community) at the front of the room, so it’s kind of Shrine-like but not in the creepy way, more in like a “Oh what a lovely place, what a happy Buddha.” kind of way. It really sets a good atmosphere. Most people sit on cushions, but you can sit on a chair if you want. (You’re shown how to sit, but there’s no right or wrong way really and you’re free to move around if you become uncomfortable. Some people even lay down under blankets) The emphasis on sitting instantly made me feel like this was something I could get in to; I’m pretty darn good at sitting doing nothing if I do say so myself.

I don’t want to say too much in case anyone wants to go, I’d like them to have the same new experience I did, but there’s a few things that I learnt in my first session. So firstly, a whole range of people benefit from meditation. Some people looked like they’d come in during their work lunch break, there were a lot more young people than I expected, and also plenty of older men and women. It wasn’t some big, cult-like experience where you come out having an epiphany after chanting to a deity, but the whole ordeal was very relaxing. For a whole hour I was away from my phone, nobody was asking me to do anything, or to pass an opinion on anything, it was just breathing.

Most people think the whole aim of meditation is to clear your mind, but I found the emphasis of this session to be on noticing things, and letting them go. Noticing your breath, noises from the outside, noticing your thoughts and feelings, noticing your mind wondering, and then letting it all go, and bringing yourself back to your breathing. The importance of kindness was also stressed, being kind to yourself in particular. Whenever I noticed tension in my body or mind (apparently my shoulders are hella stressed about something because they just would not drop) I was asked to breath in with kindness and get them to relax.

Overall, I’d recommend guided meditation to anyone. I didn’t come out feeling like a new person with an urge to hunt down the Dalai Lama himself and ask for the meaning of life, but I did feel like for an hour, nothing mattered. For a whole hour, I wasn’t bothered about checking my ex’s Snapchat story, how many likes my latest Instagram post had gotten, or how many new Tinder matches I had. It was a nice break from “real life”.

Most cities have a Buddhist centre (from what I can gather from Google anyway), and even if it doesn’t seem like your scene, I’d recommend giving a meditation class a try to anyone. There’s no yoga, you can wear whatever you want and all you have to do is sit and breathe whilst someone with a calming voice keeps you focused and relaxed. It’s like napping without the guilt of wasting your day. There’s even blankets if you want one.

Speak soon,

Laura x


How To Survive “Being a Psycho lol”

Okay, one word: DONT. Here is the Oxford English Dictionary definition of a psychopath:

“Noun. 1. A person suffering from chronic mental disorder with abnormal or violent social behaviour.”

Have you been diagnosed by a professional as a psychopath? No? Do you freak out when things don’t go your way with a boy you like, and do you feel a need to screenshot all his messages, send them to friends, work out a revenge method, phone him 15 times, and cry over him for a week whilst harassing him with overly-emotional paragraphs on WhatsApp? Yes? Okay honey, you’re not a psychopath and you need to stop labelling yourself as such all over social media.

I know the whole “I’m a psycho” meme-culture is a good laugh, and sometimes, when we’ve been hurt by people, we do some silly things and we don’t always feel in control of our actions, but this labelling ourselves as a “psycho lol” needs to stop.

Why? Well, first of all, it’s women giving men free-reign to also label every upset girl as a “psycho”. You only had to watch Love Island to see a perfect example of this. When Malin left the villa, still, as far as both parties were concerned, in a relationship, and the next couple of days saw Terry having sex, sans-duvet, with another girl she wanted to confront him on the matter, so he called her a “crazy-ex girlfriend”. No Terry, she was standing up for herself. Sadly, this kind of situation is seen in the “real” world too often. Girls feel too scared to speak their minds, tell anyone when they’ve been hurt, because a select few girls have splattered their heartbreak and threats all over social media, captioned with “I’m a psycho lol”, giving everyone permission to call them as such, and label any remotely similar behaviour as “psychotic”. Yes, sometimes, when we really really like someone, and it starts going wrong, we do stupid things. But that’s all it is, stupid. Not psychotic. And it isn’t just girls who do stupid things, boys do it too. (Ahem… Mr. Blocked on One Thing, Message Me On Another Until You’re Blocked on Everything) But why don’t we hear about boys acting stupid over girls? Because they don’t smear it on everyone’s twitter feed as a threat to all other girls that they’re a “psycho lol”. Boys can stand up for themselves and tell a girl “That thing you did really upset me” and it’s fine. But now, we’ve grown into a culture where a girl doing the same thing is “controlling and she’s a psycho.” because girls, themselves, have called themselves “psychos” on every form of social media, making everyone think they’re fine with being called a psycho. Instead of saying “I’m a psycho lol so don’t p*ss me off” why is no-one saying “As a human being I’d rather you didn’t upset me.”?

Also, people can’t run around excusing crappy behaviour with “I’m a psycho lol.” Your life is not a meme. You are not actually Beyoncé. Your threats aren’t cute. People have to understand that under no circumstances is it acceptable to ring someone 18 times while his phone is plugged into the AUX cord at pre-drinks so the music stops every time you drunk-call him in a rage. (Deffo wasn’t me…) You can’t harass someone with whiney texts, calling them a multitude of obscenities and say “Well I’m a psycho so you shouldn’t have f*cked with me.” No. A million times, no. Not acceptable. I’m guilty of it myself, but it really has to stop. Actually apologise for your behaviour and accept that, sometimes, things don’t go your way, and you’ll feel better just letting it go.

Please, channel your anger and sadness into something that’s going to better you as a person. Go to the gym, take up a new hobby, read a book. Literally, anything but stewing over the same texts, making nasty threats and taking print-screens to caption on social media with “I’m a psycho lol”.

Anyway, rant over. As you were.


How To Survive Your First Year at University.

What’s more student than a stolen traffic cone and shopping trolley? (Didn’t steal either item myself, just saying.)

Hello again. It’s been like, five-ever, I know. I don’t even have an excuse, I’m just a bad person.


Having just completed my first year at uni, and knowing a few people going into theirs, I thought this might be a good post to ease myself back in with. I’m hardly a beacon for social or academic graces or anything, but I did definitely learn a lot whilst at uni, particularly about people, myself, and the dangers of eating nothing but Pringles and Dairy Milk (Don’t do it, it only leads to acne and stomach aches.)

First of all, and not to scare anyone or anything, but, people are mean. Girls are mean, boys are mean, staff can be mean, everyone is mean. Even the nice ones are mean sometimes, just not necessarily mean about or towards you. The fact is, everyone can be a bit of a bitch. Even you. You’ll probably be a bitch to someone hitting on you on a night out at some point, you’ll probably accidentally be a bitch to your flat mates when you’ve had a bad day, you’ll probably even be a bitch to your boyfriend/girlfriend, and most of all, people will be a bitch to you. People get bored. People get jealous. Sometimes people are bored and jealous. So they say stupid things, and start silly rumours or tell people things you trusted them with to other people, just because there’s nothing better to do. Yes, even now, after high-school, after sixth-form, people still do that. But at the end of it all, it’s all been done or said out of boredom or jealousy, and you’ll do a lot better for yourself by staying out of it in the first place or forgiving and, either, forgetting or staying well away from whoever bitched at/about you. Some fights aren’t even worth fighting, so, as my mother would say, “riiiiise above it” (Idk why she kinda sings it. But I always hear it in my head when people cross me.)

You’re also going to be drunk. Probably more drunk, more often, than you plan to be. Once I actually got so drunk with my friend we cried the whole way from the club, into McDonalds, all the way to my flat, into my living room eating McDonalds, and then eventually, to bed, for what we can only assume was no reason whatsoever. Full on, drunk girl-wailing for at least twenty minutes straight up and down the streets of Newcastle. All we know is Vicky wrestled a DJ for a hat and we definitely shouldn’t have had that “last tequila for the road.” It’s okay to get that drunk sometimes, but you’ll almost always regret it the next day. So get drunk. Just be prepared for the shame and guilt that’s coming the next day. And go to your lectures, even if you’re hungover and still have your party-eye make up from the night before. Just take a bottle of water with you.

You’ll probably undergo your first trauma, away from home, and actually say the words “I want my mum.” For me it was when I fractured my foot on a night out and howled in the middle of the street. For some people, it’s when they’re diabolically ill, for others it’s when they get their first essay back and their tutor’s basically told them it’s awful. Whatever it is, call home. Just ring mum, dad, sibling, cousin or whoever. Sometimes it’s nice to hear someone who loves you tell you it’s all going to be okay. I’d also advise that you make sure your home friends visit. No matter what uni you’re at, how good or bad the nightlife is, have them visit, get black out drunk, hold their hair while they projectile vomit in your favourite trebles-bar, show them the sights and go and visit them too.

I do think, undoubtedly, the most important part of uni (apart from getting a good degree and moving on with your life) is making good friends. I know I said everyone is mean, and that is kind of true, but some people’s meanness is a significantly smaller part of them than others, so find those people. Find the kind of friends that will take you to A and E instead of finishing their night out, scream Wiz Khalifa lyrics endlessly, not disown you because you threw up your pitcher of Woo Woo in Wetherspoons beore 2pm in the afternoon (… definitely haven’t done that before… eek.), make you cups of tea when you’re sad and laugh at you when you pull a minger.

Finally, always have paracetamol around, Freshers Week is overrated, learn how to “tactical chunder”, and always double check what date your deadlines are. Oh, and pasta and ketchup is definitely a suitable meal if that’s all you have in.

Laura x