I never said I was perfect
26.02.06, 11:53 am

I got some work back from my arsing Presentation and Communication module the other day � my CV and a fake covering letter for some stupid job that I�d rather kill myself than actually ever apply for: Vascular Technicians don�t sound like they�d have too many friends. My CV was good (I optimistically stated that I had a 2:1 in Neuroscience� hope fate doesn�t bite me on the arse) but my covering letter was awful. I even screwed up my grammar, and I�m like the original grammar geek � Mel always gets me to check over her essays before she hands them in. The fact that I wrote it when I was excruciatingly hungover excuses it a little, but still: Crappy McWank.

It�s only worth about 10% though, and hopefully they�re just giving marks out on the basis of it being done, and not on actual content. Seems a bit harsh marking someone on their CV anyway, seeing as the only actual �lectures� we had on writing them were from nauseating Jane from the Careers Service, with her stupid PowerPoint presentations and pep talks about �power words�. Jane: no one is caring, and I�m too busy drawing a weird misshapen sheep on Paddy�s notes to really listen to anything you�re saying anyway.

My artistic skills = not too great. I can do sheep, trees, suns and 3-D shapes. Anything else requires labelling to avoid confusion.

Getting to Manchester was the usual fanny around that it always is. I got there with loads of time to spare, as I had to renew my railcard, and joined the huge Bookings and Railcard queue. As is to be expected, all the morons in front of me took forever and a day to pick their stupid tickets up. And once I got to the front the rude woman made me fill out yet another form. Railcards have gone up to twenty quid, the robbing bastards. And then I went and filled my Sheffield address in the Home Address bit, and my home address in the Term Address box � decided to ignore it anyway, so according to National Rail I now live in Sheffield and go to Manchester Uni. And then the stupid rude woman wouldn�t let me buy my actual ticket, so I went and joined the huge Fast Track machine queue. And then some rem broke the machine, so the huge queue went and joined the already huge ticket queue. All the morons in front of me took forever to pay for their bloody tickets. I missed my train by two minutes and had to wait half an hour in the freezing cold on platform 2a for the next train, whilst the woman on the intercom repeated blandly: �There is a group of people in the station asking people to give them money. Please do not give them money.� A strange man kept giving me weird looks, so I read my book and pretended not to notice. Obviously must�ve been looking reat sexy in my Eskimo outfit.

Ate a total of 7 Fun Size Mars Bars yesterday. There is nothing actually fun about their size at all, by the way, because a) they seem too microscopic to fill you up and b) they make you think that you have to eat at least 5 of them for it to become calorifically significant. B is clearly incorrect. It�s bad; it�s a bad, bad, bad thing.

Either Hannah or Becky has infected me with their cold, which isn�t too fun. My sinuses refuse to JUST SHUT UP, so not a lot of journal reading has really occurred. The headache temporarily lifted last night though, so my dad and me watched Shaun of the Dead - my GOD I fancy Simon Pegg quite a lot. He looks like he gives the best hugs ever.

I�m pretty sure I�m getting my results tomorrow morning. Paddy and me are going down to the departmental notice board at 9am, to huddle around with the other 198 Biomedical Sciences people and find our registration numbers on the big long list. After I�ve traced across and found my score for each module I�ll then check Amy�s score, because she�s always immediately above me and because I�m kind�ve nosy. It�s okay; she�ll do exactly the same. Every time I think about the whole results thing my stomach drops a couple of levels, so I�ve just given up thinking about it completely. I haven�t been this nervous about results in... well forever really. This is make or break time: if I get an average of a 2:1 I�ll be beyond happy; if I get an average of a 2:2 I�ll be totally devastated. Not that a 2:2 is end of the world at all, but I worked so hard for such a long time, and if it doesn't all pay off I won't actually be able to handle it.

We�re going to go for either a celebratory or commissary drink once we�ve done the notice board thing. At least Paddy�ll be there to scrape me off the floor if I don�t get the result I want.

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