Exams: Stress, Panic And A Sieve-Like Brain

Exams. The 5 letter word that for some reason strikes horror into the hearts of any like-minded student, bringing out a cold sweat in any but the most steel balled of learners. That causes groups of girls to burst into hysterical tears on an even more regular occurrence and whole age groups to consider alternative, easier degrees, (perhaps doing Media Studies will open up a wide range of prospective job opportunities after all...) They make even the most level-headed guy consider emigrating to sunnier climes to live out a life of solitude as a hermit somewhere where I don't have to memorise the parameters to equations used in calculating just how much human sewage can be pumped through a pipe the size of my oesophagus...It is this delightful process that I currently find myself in the dubious honour of indulging in on an all too regular basis for the next two weeks. Two weeks where potentially my future is decided based on my ability to regurgitate some key facts onto a piece of paper in some pathetic attempt to prove my everlasting knowledge of hydrology.

You might have gathered already that I do possess some distaste for examinations, due most in part to my remarkable inability to complete them successfully. It's not that I’m particularly dull, although I won’t be winning any Nobel prizes anytime soon either, it's just that when I sit down and the elderly people who seem to enjoy spending their last few days before slipping off the mortal coil of life 'invigilating' start shouting out instructions like some kind of aggrieved army officer, my balls turn to putty and my brain turns to mush.


In reality, when I’m working I will look things up if I can’t remember them...surely being a good hydrologist isn't about being able to memorise things - if so Derren Brown is surely in the wrong bloody profession. As an apt clip from the Inbetweeners summarised beautifully, “I have my revision schedule sorted, colour coded, energy drinks and pro plus on hand and I’m balancing my time well...and nothing is fucking going in!".



But perhaps I rant too much. At the end of the day, it's not even that big a deal. If I go into my Hydrosystems Modelling exam tomorrow and come out with zero, the world isn't going to stop. I won’t starve to death. In fact I have a particularly yummy bacon, cranberry and brie sandwich planned for approximately 1.30pm tomorrow so it can't all be bad. The irony is that every year students across the world, myself included, have virtual mental meltdowns over the process of sitting in front of a few pieces of A4 paper that have about as much real-life importance as a chocolate teapot.

2012: The Round Up

So the curtain has finally fallen on 2012, another year and another wrinkle on the great ball sack which is the timeline of my life. Now 2012 has actually been quite a year. A year in which I have gone from prolific procrastination and wild activities of a brave and heroic nature; such as tumbling elegantly over Grade 6 waterfalls with the grace of a high jumping walrus, to becoming a studious, hard working engineer, destroying with equal grace mathematical equations so hard they make male porn stars look like undercooked pigs in blankets.

It has been a year to remember, if not always for the right reasons. Missing out on a first class honours degree by 2 percent perhaps one of the more frustrating experiences of the year, up there alongside my failure to fulfill my life long ambition of sleeping with Jessica Alba. Perhaps this year, another degree, another chance.

In other news, and one I have been warned by some may put off the huge following of teenage girls this blog enjoys the frequent visits and lovingly typed love letters from: I recently acquired myself a girlfriend. I of course make this sound as if i purchased said lady, perhaps from a dubious thai black market dealer of such items, but this is simply not true. I actually went about it in the semi traditional way of wooing a friend using the art of long distance seduction, black magic and rohipnol. To say this is recent news is also perhaps not strictly true, and to assume readers would be interested in reading this may be a step too far, but this comes from an author who regularly writes of such things as the magical powers of his gentleman parts and dull metro train journeys, so really, what did you expect.

The lucky lady...



So Christmas has come and gone with the bedroom speed of an inexperienced teenage boy, and the New Years party went down with such a bang it made the UFC look like a tame kindergarten brawl. Of course no one was seriously hurt, except the pride of a certain Mr Grant and Mr Farrow who discovered just who was the boss by the hero of this story. At least that is my version of events. The teeth marks in my left ear might suggest otherwise. It should also be noted, as a New Years resolution and just as general useful life information, that at no time is lemon juice an acceptable or suitable eye bathing fluid.

Mr Grant being bossed around like a little school boy


Anyhow, bruises and macho strutting aside I now find myself planning and packing for the long journey back up to the cold and distant North. The romantic lure of exams beckons, and off I must go. Only half a year left and ill be back down South, safely in a job...

Or... ill fail my exams and ill be the one busking on an over-sized guitar on the street, wailing like a gutted boar trying to earn pennies for sustenance. That or turn to high end prostitution for the middle aged spinster. Time will tell. On that note, back to work. If ever there was an incentive to work hard, the threat of becoming an old, greying, hair-lipped widows play thing is a good one.