The National Front Disco

As promised, the next exciting instalment.

One thing I should note that even with the exchange rate, some things are really cheap. Like, cheap as. Apart from coke, depending on the supermarket you go to, food is really cheap. Bread, butter, milk, etc - less than a dollar.

I went to Tesco my first day and I must say, not impressed. They don't pack your groceries, which is ok I guess, but they're not even nice to you. Barely a hiya, or an alright? Marks & Spencer (or Marks and Sparks for the people in on the lingo) offer you bags. And are nice. But their food is expensive. Sainsburys will pack your bags. And you get a hiya and maybe an alright? It seems Sainsburys is winner. I must quell the urge to call it Shamansburys.

So before jetlag set in I was happy. The city seemed lovely and exciting, I'm pretty much on-trend fashion-wise and my room on-campus is actually comfortable! I was looking forward to dinner at my friend's house and a night out.

Dinner was lovely (ranchos huevos!) but by around 8pm I was feeling tired. Like, so bone tired that the gutter looks like a comfy place for a lie-down. We went to this free comedy night at a club in the Northern Quarter (trendy?), and I was nodding off while I was there. And the comedy was not what you would call comedy (especially if you define comedy as something humorous). Eventually, after the night was over, my friends put me in a black cab (I was so tired I couldn't appreciate that I was in a black cab), and I was feeling vulnerable and emotional. I had no idea where the cabbie was going for ages, and when I thankfully made it to my room I locked the door and went to bed.

And so much for feeling secure in my room, I thought! A cleaner unlocked my door the next morning and scared the shit out of me. But luckily this hasn't happened since.