I started writing this having taken some time out of wrapping shot glasses in tea towels and singing ‘One Day More’ from Les Misérables to myself. I managed to fit my entire winter wardrobe into a suitcase, and painstakingly narrowed my book choices down into one cabin bag. I vacuum-packed my life. However, I am finishing writing this at nearly 2am, having just spent my first night as a Fresher in York.
What a difference a day makes. I arrived, surrounded by STYCS like a puppy at a primary school, being helped left, right, and centre. All good! Awkwardly met flatmates whilst trying to fit glasses into a cupboard in a disappointingly Tetris-like fashion. Got key card, ID card, Freshers’ t-shirt, and a pack of instant noodles in Welcome Pack – because why the hell not. There was a general feeling of welcome (unsurprisingly?). Fast-forward to 2am and I have somehow acquired a mini jar of apricot jam, I have done The Bucket Dance more than 10 times, and there is a fiendishly drunk STYC in our kitchen. This is so great, oh my.
I have bonded with flatmates over various things: fondness for nonstandard tea, mutual ability in speaking French, deep analysis of the Geordie accent, a love of Sherlock, etc, etc. I have been incredibly blessed with a lovely bunch of folk, from an Essex-native musician to an Israelite lawyer. They are all wonderful, with just a big enough pinch of weird to keep me 100% satisfied.
So have I anything particularly extraordinary to say about my moving-in day? No, not really. There are no minor royals, nor were there any major dramas, or questionable people. Everything was smooth, fun, and just as I wanted. I am incredibly glad for my flatmates though – I know I am not everybody’s cup of tea; I often put my foot in it, or am a lil’ bit peculiar. But these people are utterly lovely, more so than expected. Even after seeing at least two of them vomit, I still feel blessed.
Maybe this post was incredibly soppy, and maybe I was half-drunk whilst writing it. But one thing which is not a maybe is that my Arrival Day at York could not have gone better. Well, maybe if my key card hadn’t stopped working 20 minutes after having it, and if I had actually managed to find Morrisons’s for a Big Shop (it definitely doesn’t exist). But yknow, apart from that, top-notch.
Now I am to sleep, in my new bed in my new flat, yet surrounded by my own books and clothes and miscellanea. Weirdly enough, I have never felt more at home. Aaahh, I’ve gone all soppy and gooey. Expect a more hardened critique tomorrow!