The 'G' in G&T

Hola. I have just arrived back from the wet northern lands of Cumbria and a what some would say ill-advised camping trip. Being 6ft5", it is somewhat difficult to be comfortable in an average sized tent, let alone one being pummeled by the wild Cumbrian rains. However, I somehow made it back to tell the tale, with promises that the experience shall be one that is repeated. It was actually quite fun, really. The food was appalling, and it took twenty minutes to boil a kettle. I say 'boil' nut the tea that I was presented with was somewhat lukewarm, but it was wet so my dry throat was saved at least.

I don't think I'm the natural outdoors person, to be honest. Don't get me wrong, the Cumbrian fells are stunning and I enjoy a good walk, but I like a bed and washing facilities. Not much to ask, really. But drinking gin in the wee small hours makes up for this.

Back to the uni lark tomorrow, so an early night pour moi. I'll come back when I've something more interesting to say.

A man is whatever room he is in.

After some time apart (over two months) I have decided to come back and record my life. I almost stunned by the applause.
Right now, I should be finding every bit of ID under the sun for my interview tomorrow morning. A nice little summer job in the civil service apparently requires birth certificate, passport, driving license, P45, P60, National Insurance card, fingerprints from the midwife who delivered you and blood samples from at least six generations of your family. That's the Department for Work and Pensions for you. I worked there a couple of years ago. Money was good, the days were monotonous, but I was surrounded by middle-aged women so time ticked by quite nicely for the six weeks I was there.
I've spent most of the day deciding whether to wear a two piece, or a three piece suit. I really have too much time on my hands. It's days like these that I wish I had a girlfriend in my life to give me focus and stop considering the next days sartorial triumph. And then I wonder why I'm single. Anyway, I've decided on the three piece: slightly ostentatious some may argue, but I always feel more comfortable in a three piece. The waistcoat just finishes the outfit off. Apparently they're more popular on the continent than here in Blighty. Shame. Anyway, it better bloody get me the job because je suis tres skint (who doesn't love a bit of frangalis? - my flatmates in my first year at uni seemed to want to avoid me at first when I asked the question 'do you ever find yourself just texting in french?').
Speaking of uni, the course is going well, but I'm commuting from home next year. the whole halls of residence thing is getting on my tits. The drunken fresher phase is well and truly dead.
Best be off. I have to be up at sparrow's spit upon the morrow. Let's talk again soon.