Summer love

I am facing an entire week of touchy-feely rubbish. I've slogged through about 6 weeks of full-on clinical practicals where I've held broken legs together for two hours, retracted abdomens for 3 hours, you'd think I'd be grateful for the break. But puh-leese, sitting in a darkened lecture theatre and made to discuss the importance of cultural differences in practice? Told about the importance of using 'empathic language' with our clients? God. Every time that bloody co-ordinator who is doubtless childless, single and hating it comes around with her gooey smile, her frumpy outfits and her goody-goody smile, I want to punch her in the ovaries.

Today, I came and was made to do a conflict resolution personality type test (apparently, my collaborative and avoidance tendencies are subnormal, but my competitive instincts were off the charts. Tell me something I didn't know.) That was when we all decided to bunk off for the rest of the day and we hit the beach.

Oh god. The more I stay here, the more I appreciate this city. And there's nothing like the beach in summer. Brilliant pure light that promises 1 in 4 of us skin cancer, sand that would fit through a sieve and water that's clear and pure and that perfectly tantalizing shade of aquamarine that dares you in, no matter what the weather.

We stripped off, braved the screaming winds that caused your footprints to disappear in a heartbeat and dived into the massive breakers that stormed the shore. The water was warm, the wind was icy, and we rode some killer waves and got left gasping and half-drowned on shore like bizarre marine wreckage. Tired out, we snarfed some fish and chips and blinked our sleepy way home.

Now this is what student life should be about.