Well, the dreaded day came. The start of medical school – or rather the hellish drive to the more southern regions of the country to drag my sorry arse out of a perfectly comfortable one and into a halls of residence attempt at a mattress.
My stomach had been feeling queasy for a few days but I’d managed to maintain keeping the contents in it – until the morning of moving. In a cruel act to spite me, and looking for any valid excuse I managed to retch the (empty) contents of my stomach after swallowing mouthwash. Never in my entire life have I swallowed mouthwash – but it’s as if my body was looking for an excuse. At least I got it over and done with.
The journey took longer than expected, as well as the unpacking. Accommodation is simple and clean, well designed and, thankfully, en-suite.
A brief shopping trip avec parents led to a final bill of £120.74 worth of food, condiments, crockery, bed linen and shower things.
The plan for the first night was a bar night. Ok I thought, I can cope with this. Outfit carefully planned, hair groomed to perfection, contact lenses rather than glasses, cute shoes and a sexy handbag and I was off. Hang on a minute, who am I kidding. I crawled out of the shower, discovered I’d left my hairbrush at home and had a 10 minute strop until I found another one in a different box. Sadly I dragged my carcass off to the bar looking a bit of a mess – but never mind, I’m sure everyone was too pissed to notice by the time I got there…. maybe.
The theory in the bar was to get to know everyone, and eventually the great social lubricant that is alcohol worked its magic and everyone started talking to each other. I found another graduate living in the same halls as me, we shall refer to her as F, and she also has a degree in Biomedical Sciences, although from a different university to my original. We were having great amusement at one of the boys, fresh from boarding school who went on to get completely legless, stand far too close to everyone else for their liking, and collect phone numbers like postage stamps. Bless, I remember it well.
I also managed to meet my parents (or mentors for the confused out there). A really nice couple of medical students, who interestingly enough, had never met each other. It was slightly alarming to have medics wandering around and looking at faces carefully, comparing them to photographs, and having my ‘mother’ walk up to me and scream ‘Oh my god, you’re Merys Jones!*’ Ever so slightly disconcerting!
* Of course, if she had actually called me this I wouldn’t be writing this post now, and would instead be running for the hills while wearing dark glasses and a hat.