I left Leicester this morning and I now live with my parents again, in the house they moved to a couple of years ago, in Sandbach.
I have bitched and moaned and whined about Leicester ever since I arrived there in 2009. In the first year I was stressed and ill and often working over 30 hours a week. As a 25 year old fresher, I felt ANCIENT. In the second year I changed jobs and had more time, but spent that time (and almost all my money) travelling up and down to London twice a week for a shitty boy. In my third year I moved in with some brilliant brilliant girls and I lightened up and I made more friends and remembered that I was allowed to watch TV from time to time. Until this morning, I’d been in a week-long state of intoxication; visiting friends, playing singstar, throwing house parties, attending barbecues, being spoon-fed pasta while wrapped in a blanket because I decided this was the perfect time to rediscover drugs. I had a ball, said my goodbyes, cried over my housemates and my awesome friend Kate and ALL OVER the final of The Voice. Stayed up all night while boys somersaulted into my bedroom window from the roof of the extension. Made even more new friends just in time for them to wave me off. Y’know, student stuff. Fun stuff. And I realised that it’d been quite a while since I last bitched and moaned and whined about Leicester.
So now I’m in my parents’ attic room with two suitcases of clothes and the rest of my crap in the shed. I’ve already had to move my Archers routine from the Sunday omnibus to the daily edition. Shit got real.