The end of term is bleak but don’t despair, we’re only away for four weeks

At the end of term everyone has deadlines which make you feel like you’re flat-lining, and even the cutest idiosyncrasies of housemates begin to annoy the shit out of you. Your house is cold, there’s nothing but a beetroot and a tinnie on your fridge shelf, and your mate’s rancid washing up is clogging the sink.

‘I’ll do my washing up after my lecture’

But then the deadlines are done, and it’s time to celebrate – roll on last week of term. This week provides one with the opportunity to do sweet fuck all, other than make sure their liver is in order and drag Bolton Wanderers out of the Championship to Champions league glory on Fifa. The only goal you have set yourself is to try and piss off your housemate’s week old skid mark before you go out again for more Christmas festivities.

And then it’s all over and it’s time to go home for the holidays. The three day hangover slowly begins to fade as you gaze out the window of Daddy’s Landy. You realise in the safety of your Surry residence, you will at last be able to slip your more expensive signet ring on again.

But once you’re home, it’s not long before you get the Exeter blues. After the first pub reunion with your mates from home you begin to realise, although they’ve had a wicked time improving their line cutting techniques in Leeds or Manchester, they don’t quite get the tales you tell of ol’Walkabout and Timepiece.

You don’t get this?

One is forced into recounting the one time they went to Phoenix this year to see an acclaimed DJ to be able to add to the conversation. Then when you go out you’re forced to struggle through drinks other than VKs or snakeys not to look fucking weird.

But it’s not all doom and gloom. In four weeks’ time we’ll all be back to the bubble that is Exeter for more of… well… the same. Until then, look out for a sly EG in your hometown pubs and clubs and raise a glass to your Exeter comrade who just gets it.

Until next time, Merry Christmas