What’s that you say? I’m supposed to be writing essays and studying for exams at this time of year? Oops. I didn’t get the memo. It’s all England’s fault, really. We’re friends again, and it’s been distracting me with positively unEnglish weather. Almost every day last week, it was sunny and in the 70s, or as England likes to say, in the low 20s. You try studying under such difficult conditions!
By some miracle, I managed to turn in my final essay last Thursday, but before I could start studying for my Politics of Australia and New Zealand exam on Monday, I had to study clubbing. Believe me, in Brighton, clubbing is an art. The observant among you may remember that I tried it in January and came back with mixed reviews. However, a few things were different this time around. The weather was about a thousand times nicer. Never underestimate the influence of a warm evening. Also, in January I went clubbing mostly because I felt it was an experience I should have and I didn’t know when I would have another chance. This time, my friends and I had all had a long week of hard work, and I genuinely wanted to go out.
The night started out sounding like a bad joke, 5 Italians and an American walk into a Japanese restaurant, but fortunately it had a good punch line. I tried Japanese food for the first time, although my sweet and sour chicken tasted suspiciously like the sweet and sour chicken I’ve had at every Chinese restaurant I’ve ever eaten at, so I’m not convinced. We walked around a bizarre fashion show at the Brighton Festival for a while, and then we headed into a club.
Revolution, the club, has recently been remodeled, and it shows. There was a nicely decorated room with a bar and a lounge (and a chandelier!), and another bar and a dance floor next door. My friends and I snagged a table in the nice patio area and chatted over drinks. Although I was not sipping a cosmopolitan, I had a difficult time believing we were in Brighton and not on the set of Sex and the City. We started to get chilly just as the patio got loud and crowded, so we migrated inside to the lounge and drank more while marveling at the things English girls wear. (No offense meant towards any English readers I may have, but take my word for it, your fashion sense is completely unique and worthy of being gawked at by tourists. It’s a good thing.) The girl who showed up in pajamas might have been my favorite, but she wasn’t nearly as entertaining at the girls in the bathroom, who I overheard attempting to speak in Southern accents. The look on their faces when I said “not bad” in my very American accent? Priceless.
Feeling very…well-hydrated, we moved on to the dance floor. The music was decent, and it was an ideal girls’ night out. Early in the morning, Giulia and Martina left (the poor souls had class in a few hours), but Irene and I stuck it out. Not too long after that, some of our guy friends showed up, and we moved down to the spacious (and by this point, hot and sweaty) basement, which I did not even realize existed. We kept dancing until the club closed. Me, closing down a club? Who would have ever guessed? The guys decided they required some greasy food (after all, doesn’t everyone eat at 3 a.m.?), so along with all the other club-goers within a five-mile radius, we stopped by the place next door. By the way, if anyone is looking for an investment opportunity, I recommend getting into the fast food business. The key to success is location; rent property near establishments that sell alcohol, don’t bother opening before midnight, and you’re guaranteed to be a millionaire in no time. We took the Lemon bus back to campus, finally rolling in at 4 a.m., by which point, it was getting light out. All in all, a pretty epic night.
I did some real studying on Friday and Saturday (because lying in the sun with my notebook open counts as studying), and then it was time for another distraction. Giulia, Martina and Irene were going to a tango and salsa lesson they heard about at a dance studio in Hove (one town over from Brighton), so I decided to join them. It may have been more than a little outside the ol’ comfort zone, but I closed down a club; I’m obviously an expert dancer, right?
Well, as it turned out, not so much. My friends and every one of the poor, random strangers I was paired with quickly discovered that I’ve inherited my dad’s two left feet. Thanks for nothing, Dad! In my defense, the studio was sweltering hot, but all the same, I don’t think I’ll be auditioning for Dancing with the Stars anytime soon.
On Monday, I couldn’t put it off any longer, and I took my Politics exam. Despite the nice weather, I think I managed to do enough studying because I felt ok about it. As a reward, I took the train to Paris for the week. I certainly do know how to relax after assessments, don’t I? Against the odds, I had a disaster-free trip to and from Paris, and a blog entry will be posted in the next few days. It’s that or study, so take a guess as to which I’ll do!
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