Fishing for Pikes


The awkward moment when you wake up, thankfully in your own bed, but with no recollection as to how you got there. That was the predicament on Saturday morning when after a full bottle wine and a night trip to Halle 1, I found myself surrounded by pasta and confusion. The first big night out with pretty much the entire group, it served a fantastic, if belated 21st Birthday to the ever delightful Sinead of O’Reilly land. We drank much, got out, hit the floor.

And then it was Saturday.

And I had a headache. The first proper Heidelberg Hangover after a week of almost continuous drinking was not wholly undeserved. It’s been a great week, but I think my liver needs time to recover. The stigma of Erasmus being a year of alcohol consumption is proving to be more a character trait where I’m concerned.

It is also an interesting day of Birthdays and Deathdays. Three exceedingly important people have either aged up or… gone further into negatives. The first, with a joint age of 44, are the incredible Hannah of Surrey (well Bracknell but we’ll ignore that) and Katie of London. Two very important people, Katie the best fellow Guinness drinker and Rugby follower I could have hoped for, from the many awkward trips into full pubs, to swooning over Jonny Wilkinson (If only for his looks, when he talks he is one boring stooge) to fantastic holidays in Spain, Katie consistent charm and charisma is something you can only ever hope for in a friend. Hannahramma was one of the people to actually coerce me out of my shell at uni, auditioning for her production of “Snow White” as the incredibly masculine and totally hetero Goodford, to encouraging me to Assistant Direct “Little Shop of Horrors” and to eventually become President of the society, where as Sexretary, her advice and guidance were top notch, with a chest that seems to inflate on Skype and a laugh that can be heard from Germany, she is fairly awesome. I wish both of them a fantastic birthday, here’s your German shout out =D And to you, Will.I.Am Shakespeare, happy Death Day. Because you’re dead and all, but your words are still better than what most people could ever hope for. Shame about your plots.


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