Moving Out

After a year in Birmingham, I am finally leaving halls of residence, and to the exception of a few people, I have to admit that there will not be a great deal to miss here. Indeed, I don't see why I would regret amongst other things: fire alarms at 7 a.m. consequently leaving me to exit the comfort of my bed in minimal clothing to face the british weather, a shower (well, shower-head in a bath tub) for 10 girls, no heating from the month of April onwards (after months of sauna-heated rooms where wearing just undies became an option), a washing machine that didn't wash, standing at 6 a.m. or any other ridiculous time in front of the kitchen door staring at the now unatainable keys you've left on the table inside it . . ., vanishing crockery and cutlery, dirty pots and pans left to their disgusting fate by the cooker, a non-closing oven door, a tempermental kettle, doors banging so loudly they'd wake up my grandma from a coma and last but certainly not least, having to wedge my Ipod to my ears in an attempt to exclude from my hearing the distinct and unashamed sounds of possibly long-distance couples or more likely someone adding a new score to their sex achievements.

Of course, there are more pleasant aspects that I will miss, but surely there's no fun in describing that. ;)