This post should probably have gone out on January 2nd or something more timely, but hey-ho it’s still the first month of the year and nobody is perfect.
For as long as I can remember I’ve always had sooooo many things I want to do with my life. At the age of 14 it was sorting out my bad skin, at the age of 16 it was starting up my blog and writing posts on the reg, at 19 it was getting fit and healthy after my first year of uni was spent drinking mostly vodka and eating cheesy mashed potato.
Hello and welcome to the whitest titled post you’ll (hopefully) ever encounter on this blog. Sound those church bells because I am back.
Turns out Ferris Bueller wasn’t wrong. After my last post in May, life came at me pretty quickly and my plans for blogging at least once a fortnight flew out the window along with my “I’m gonna go to the gym three times a week” plan. I finished uni, travelled Europe for three weeks, started an internship, moved house and then graduated at the beginning of September. Oosh.
I’ve always been a fan of drinking. When I finally reached the age where my dad started letting me take more than one Smirnoff Ice to the “parties” my friends used to throw, I would always take any opportunity I could to get at least tipsy and have a good time with my pals.
When I got to the age of 18, where I could legally drink in clubs and bars, I wanted to be out every weekend with my friends. And then when I got to university, I found myself in the bizarre situation of being able to go out almost every night of the week because, and here comes the most frequently spoken sentence in of anyone at university, “first year doesn’t count”.