Balls up

Last night was the uni ball, the official way and tradition way to end a university life. However, I was not there. Instead I spent the day at work and the evening doing mindless things to distract myself.

I should have gone and yes, it will be the biggest regret of my university experience. Not only was my dress ready to hop into, but the tickets and table were practically written in stone.

There were only three major issues. One not all of us were going, two my bank account consisted of £5 let alone £57 (not including drinks!) and thirdly being in the same venue as two of my ex’s wearing suits was a disaster just waiting to happen.

So like any coward I took the easy route and decided to bail out, rather than go. Hanging my head in shame it was wiser to forget what an amazing night I was missing by literally not thinking about it. I did briefly wish for Tiny Tempah to keel over with some form of 24 hour killer flu and then decided it was probably best not to jinx fate.

After interviewing the guy in charge of the whole event and getting the exact details of food, music, venues and general excitment, the decision not to go was even harder.

Now all that’s left is to hear all the people that went swear that it was their best night ever and those dreaded words “you missed out.”

Chester uni only has one ball a year and anyone is entitled to go, so the fact that I (or my housemates) never went to one is more than a tad depressing.

So there it is, my one university memory I won’t remember. But on the positive side it will not replace any of the amazing experiences over the past three years.

Why am I getting the impression the summing up of this entire blog is not far off?

The summer ball and Six West Lorne Street is soon going to be filed away like eighteen Garden Lane and 31 John Milton Hall. Scary or what.