You wake up, look at your clock and have a quick panic that you’re going to miss your 9am lecture. Then you realise that lectures are online now, so you log into Blackboard, still in bed, and start eating your slice of toast.
You realise that, although your lecture was online, the seminar you have at 10am is in-person. Brushing the toast crumbs off your duvet while a toothbrush is hanging out of your mouth, you try to find the reading you’ve been forgetting about on-and-off for the last week. As you skim through the conclusion whilst walking past the SU, you think about getting a John’s Van for lunch, but remember you’re trying to be more careful with your loan money this month.
You get a John’s Van anyway. Supporting local businesses and all that.
On the way home, you question why you picked Sheffield as your university city seeing as you are incapable of walking up a hill without panting like a labrador at the top.
You trip over your washing pile on your way to the kitchen, and sigh, because you really can’t stretch your underwear collection out forever, and need to do some washing. You pack the pile into a bag and make the trek to the launderette, checking you have enough money in your Circuit account.
You load your clothes into a free machine, and turn to the little screen, which just reads “ERROR”.
You search for one that actually wants to wash clothes, and set a timer on your phone for 38 minutes, exactly the same as on the display.
38 minutes later, you’re stood in front of the machine again, which, because of the mysterious time-space blackspots that are Sheffield accommodation launderettes, now says it somehow has seven minutes left on the cycle.
You sit down to wait, and then drape the washing over an airer to dry when you get back. Grabbing your laptop, you open that week’s reading to get through a couple of hours of work, knowing full well you will just scroll through Sheffessions for most of that time.
You start to feel the first tickles of hunger so you root around in your cupboards for something to eat. All you find is a tin of mushroom soup, a few sad bits of penne pasta, and some tortillas. Morrisons is probably still open.
The Domino’s leaflet on the table starts calling to you. Your flatmates trickle into the kitchen behind you, drawn by the prospect of pizza that somehow ends up costing about the same as a small bungalow.
With the pizza almost polished off, in a brief silence, someone says one of the only words guaranteed to get a reaction in any group of students. “Pub?”
Hours later, after an evening trip to The Francis Newton, you’re sat in the hallway, knee-deep in a conversation about why someone’s teacher once hit a student with a ruler.
You’ve got another 9am tomorrow, but you’re not worrying about that. Besides, there’s always Encore.
Featured image: Forge Press