Before I disappear into the black tunnel of the PGCE, I wanted to say goodbye to some of my friends. Having read various articles and books about preparing yourself for the course, I understand that it is best to say a fond farewell to your social life.
Over the bank holiday weekend, several trains and the odd car therefore brought 5 of my school friends into the city. We were hoping to have a more successful exploration of the cities nightlife than when they visited in February (and we got snowed into the flat).
We spent several happy hours drinking homemade concoctions (it would be optimistic to call them cocktails) and eating cheese. We then stumbled out to a nearby restaurant. My previous visit to this restaurant with The Boyfriend had been less than successful and I wanted to give it another chance. On that occasion I bravely ordered beef in a cream and brandy sauce, something I would never normally chose.
Twenty minutes after we returned home, it was quickly exiting me in more than one direction. The Boyfriend was very sympathetic. He kept handing me glasses of water round the toilet door whilst affectionately referring to me as The Human Centipede. I knew it couldn’t be food poisoning – The Boyfriend had eaten all the same dishes as me. Instead, I decided I might well be lactose intolerant (I quickly changed my mind when my mother informed me this would involve giving up cheese).
Anyway, my visit to the restaurant with the friends was much more successful. Removing our heels, we then wandered down into the city to enjoy some professional cocktails. All was well. I was not re-enacting The Human Centipede. We even made it to the club we had been aiming for. Half an hour later things were not going so well. I was incredibly bloated.
“I really need to trump,” I told my friend.
“Well go for it,” she said, “And we’ll move quickly.”
“I can’t,” I said, “What if it’s a wet one.”
Further along in the group there were more issues. Turns out one of my friends had dipped her contact lense in a glass of water at the restaurant. It was an awful shame that the glass also had a slice of lime in it. Her eyes were now burning. Another friend was also ready for the off.
“I only like an hour of dancing,” she said, “Let’s go.”
We were home before midnight. The Boyfriend was shocked. We then spent several hours watching Sex and the City in our Pyjamas and relieving ourselves of excess gas (mainly me).
Fortunately, I should see my friends at carefully regulated intervals throughout my PGCE. We are spending New Year together (if we can ever book a cottage for 14) and the friend with the burning retina is also getting married.
“Can we have the hen-do at Easter?” I asked in a Princess like fashion, “I’m less likely to be on the verge of mental collapse by then”.
The actually wedding is a month later. I’m definitely going. I’ve already bought my dress and hat.
I’m hoping I might make some new friends on the course. I don’t actually know many people in our city yet. Although I’ve lived here for a year, I’ve worked back in my home town. My social life has either been shipped in or I’ve travelled to London or Leeds to find it. On several occasions the Boyfriend has found me sobbing into the sofa about how I don’t know anyone in the city and the budgies don’t help by despising me. Hopefully this year that will change.
theprincessandthepgce 