We're all going on a summer holiday
The term “summer holiday” conjures up a multitude of delightful images, doesn’t it? Sunshine, relaxation, even relaxation in the sunshine – plenty of it, too. Long, lazy afternoons in the beer garden of your local with a group of friends and a few pints of Strongbow or Kopparberg (or even Magners, if you absolutely insist). Trips to the beach, if you’re lucky enough. A break from uni and lots of time off: it is a holiday, after all. What a concept. Perfick. And, also, what a bloody con.
I defy you to tell me that you’ve just had the summer described above. You have? Well, in that case you’re either a liar or you can get out. Summer is never the happy, idyllic escape that you dream of or see on the telly. I’m not saying that summer is a bad thing – I love a good chance to catch up with my home friends and even to return to the familial fold for a few months – just that we ought to change the name, because whoever termed it a “holiday” should get done under the Trade Descriptions Act.
Stephen Fry: Hero
There’s some strange correlation between my determination to work and the temptation of procrastination: the more determined I am to work hard, the more tempting the guises in which procrastination presents itself.
It’s the start of a new academic year, so naturally I’m resolved to turn over a new leaf and work my little cotton socks off; I’m not actually wearing socks right now – I’m wearing tights instead – but that’s beside the point. I’m going to be an outstandingly dedicated student; I mean it this year.
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