The Caterpillar riding the Butterfly

So lazy am I at this age that I wouldn’t even wake up for the end of the world unless it had very special effects. It is because of this very laziness that I sit at the end of a week of goodbyes, wondering where it’s gone. Last night saw two bright flames in the back of Markenfield, as a joint birthday and departure BBQ under the stars took light in honour of ye old Robert turning the final useful milestone of 21, and a last dinner together before Germany becomes home once again. Effort has been made to grab as many drinks with people as possible, such as a delightful fresh air gust from the ever enigmatic Stu Saville, who if he’s reading this, enjoy your shout out, you Judo-throwing, potentially dreadlock-growing madman.

From seeing people off at train stations, to enjoying a wonderful afternoon in the Slug and Lettuce, each passing departure has been met with a lack of certainty as to when that next time will be. The perishability of time is all the more reason to enjoy yourself, and this has been amzing. I have one last Hausarbeit to truly focus on, with a deadline of just 24 hours left and about 4 pages to write, it should be more than possible. Maybe.  Odd to think that my final night in Guildford is to be spent in the library, it’s surprisingly fitting. Chicks dig bookworms. If only I digged chicks.

Or dug them. Whatever.


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