With the power of hindsight...this year would have been completely different.

Some things I've done this year. With hindsight, most might be redacted.

1. Weighing myself on the post office scales -- intended for 'parcels only'.
2. Telling people that they can't eat a banana in a non-sexual way, and proceeding to make them really self-conscious so that it becomes self-fulfilling
3. Wearing a Kermit jumper and avowedly telling people that the Muppets are the only legitimate source of political authority.
4. Wearing sunglasses in an exam, and pretending that it's normal. (This may involve asking other examinees, even examiners, where their's are).
5. Overreacting to minor inconveniences with inconsolable blubbing. 
6. Being over-enthusiastic when meeting a friend who you haven't seen for a week.  Comment on how much you've missed them/how things have changed/how they look different.
7. Ignoring texts and modern communication for a week.  Then pretending that they haven't made any effort.
8. Writing articles that quote friends as saying silly things they haven't said. Then make sure that everyone reads it. "Read all about it, Read all about it," malarky. 
9. Hiding in a box and jumping out at my bedder/any other entrant into my den.
10. Pretending that my room is a den and that I'm a lion.
11. Giving anti-presents, reserved only for arch whiners. 
12. Trying to climb in through windows when people won't let you in through the door. 
13. Playing the opposite game, and deliberately not informing others. 
14. Wearing rimmed spectacles and pretending to be a Harry Potter imitation at Kings Cross 
15. Turning Oyster cards into wands.  To do this, simply dip a card into boiling water, peel the plastic film, remove the chip, and implant it into a stick. Then tap the stick on the Oyster machine and bellow "Alohamora" at the gate. 
16. Buying enough hummus to fill your room. 
17. Then devouring it in a single meal.
18. Crashing the presidential banquet in Zagreb. 
19. Subsequently interrupting a live press release on the 10th anniversary of 9/11
20. Do an audio walking tour of Berlin pretending that it is actually referring to Budapest, more specifically war-torn Pest.
21. Hiding your friend's belongings in the bathroom. 
22. Changing your friend's phone contacts to resemble Harry Potter characters. Ideally these should bear some resemblance to those real-life characters, who can then be independently contacted and asked to text said friend with in-character phrases.  (Courtesy of Emily Fernandes).
23. Buying a giant Connect Four set for your room.
24. Insisting that everyone - including strangers/people you've just met - play it
25. Strenuously denying that it is a euphemism.
26. Essentialising your friends, and when they do a characteristic thing, say 'classic'.
27. Telling people you have a goat called Kevin. 
28. Printing multiple photos of your face, and plaster them over a friend's room.
29. Feign flattery for patently disgusting/undesirable objects. I.e., awww, is this used tissue for me? you shouldn't have.
30. Teaching people the Vegetable Game
31. Making games up
32. Treating your college like a castle. 
33. Graffitiing a friend's passport photo -- in whiteboard marker
34. Dressing up in a Sherwani, and pretending to be the Raj of Cambridge
35. 
    

A theory of relativity

With every passing day, I undergo another rite of passage. Today saw my first essay crisis - two essays due in 24 hours, plus reading (of up to 37 books).

So far, so bad; at least for the casual onlooker. My personal coping strategy was to ignore the spectre of essay deadlines. First, I went clubbing at cindies (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrnJFPsymtk), returning only at 3am, semi-drunk and buzzing. So I worked. And worked. Until 10am. Waking up at 5 the following afternoon, I set straight to work. By 8pm, two essays of an acceptably-high calibre were completed.

Paradoxically, these deadlines have enhanced my social life. In my first two weeks (after the joy of fresher's weekend), I spent most of my time in the library, since there was no upper limit on the amount of work that could be done. Diminished returns apply, of course, but with a 30 book reading list, it's hard to stop reading, particularly when it all seems interesting. Well done me, then, for not capitulating.

Training in the art of patience.

The perils of public transport, or a lack thereof. Last night, I wanted to get to Mill Hill; seemingly, the more urgent it became, the less TFL (the organisation responsible for Transparently Failing London) cared.

Cricklewood, seven o'clock, minus the http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nvKN_H4e-I melodrama. Stood on the platform, I waited well over an hour for my Luton-bound train. At first, delays were explained by a 'shortage of supply chains', no doubt a piece of meaningless jargon designed to placate soon-to-be angry passengers. It does raise the question, though: what, exactly are they supplying the trains with? Is there a war - one that I know nothing about - being waged as I write this? (If warfare is to be fought this way in future, it might not be such a bad thing). Either way, I am envisioning mid-station refuelling of the type undergone by over-priced transatlantic fighter craft, soon to be scrapped by the government, of course. Before long, excuses had morphed into the equally-tedious, 'a train has broken down on the line'. Now don't get me wrong: both of those excuses, taken together, are possible, notwithstanding their sheer dullness. They are the TFL equivalent of 'sorry sir, but my dog ate it'. If excuses were rated according to creativity, or some other less addled and wearisome metric (and believe me, that shouldn't be too hard), then perhaps passengers would more readily cut train operators some slack. After all, we're only human...robots.

But it didn't end there. I mentioned that I waited for an hour. What I omitted was that the train never came. 15 minutes from every ETA, TFL would proffer another predictably jargonised excuse, delaying the train by another 10 minutes. Eventually, after an hour of this tantalising game, just when I was about to give up hope, they dashed it for me: the train was cancelled. So I walked towards West Hampstead, seeking an express train along the same line. Alas, this was also cancelled.

Plan C involved ditching trains and turning to those bastions of reliability, buses. I caught one towards Golders Green. Sadly, this method was also doomed because, at the first set of make-shift traffic lights, two buses entered head on and were soon stuck. Rather than wait for some painful siamese-style extrication, I walked the rest. The tube to collindale, followed by another bus and a short sprint ended an eventful, if stressful, journey to somewhere, with hindsight, I wished I hadn't gone.

For once, I cannot blame this on the failings of politicians. Humans must, sometimes, be afforded margin for error. In fact, we, the public would benefit from a more patient demeanour. It could cure the chronic short-termism that cripples political judgement; it could lend politicians more scope and opportunity to prove their worth, rather than turfing them out after a single slip-up; it could help us to watch public policy borne out instead of screeching at the sound of reform or cuts. Patience, in short, is a virtue. Get it now.