On Monday I heard back from Nottingham University regarding my application for Creative Writing and they’d like me to submit either a 3,000 word piece of fiction or 5 poems as an example of my work. I’ve done a few short stories and I have written plenty of poems but the thought of actually submitting them to be judged is surprisingly daunting. Imagine if they turn me down because my writing is shit – I’m not sure my ego could take it, I think it might have been 2016 the last time someone dared to criticise me. Plus, if I do get turned down, I’ll be stuck doing a masters in Politics, which has become so dull it almost makes me want to scream – first word problems. Despite the fact I’m now twenty one years old, it still hasn’t quite sunk in that I’m responsible for my own life decisions, instead it still feels like I’m at school waiting to be told what to do next when, in fact, the decisions I make in the next 12 months will more than likely set the course for the rest of my life. Terrifying.
We now have a hot tub in the garden and, although it’s only one of those inflatable ones, it’s bloody fantastic. Donna got it as a Christmas present for Hayley, which I think is rather cute, yet she can’t even use it because she’s stuck in Hull during lockdown. First world problems I suppose. Hayley and I, on the other hand, are able to make full use of it and have been doing so already, although the high winds on Tuesday made it horrendously cold when I was trying to get out. I absolutely cannot wait to host a get together once the lockdown is lifted and get all my friends round for an afternoon of beers, barbecue and hot tub. Realistically it’s just an excuse for me to see Tom Brooks in his speedos but I suppose it will be nice to catch up with everyone as well.
On Tuesday evening, Uncle Rich attempted to convene a family zoom call to discuss the situation with our summer holiday, which proved to be a lot more hassle than it was worth. I didn’t realise that the group could see your profile picture if you left the app so, having set my picture as a rather large gentlemen in some tight underwear, it was quite amusing when I heard Sam’s Auntie Diane screaming “who is that naked fat man” whilst I was replying to some Snapchats. They’re all flapping about the resort possibly being closed or having to change to a hotel but I’m trying not to stress about it because we’ve booked for the middle of July and I’ll be pleasantly surprised if flights have resumed by then. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see what happens, although if the holiday does get cancelled I will be looking to rebook somewhere else immediately as it has now been over three months since my last trip. Major first world problems.
Yesterday evening I attempted to go for a run but I had to stop after just a mile because I started getting rather bad chest pains. Don’t worry, although I realise this may disappoint some of you, thankfully it wasn’t a heart attack. Nevertheless I decided to get it checked out so I went to the doctors this morning. It was a rather surreal experience – I had to be buzzed in by Kiera because it was appointments only (she does work there for those of you wondering, she doesn’t just follow me around) and I was literally the only person in the entire surgery. All of the seats were about two metres apart and the both of the receptionists were behind a perspex screen, the whole thing looking like a scene out of a generic armageddon movie. Anyway, turns out I may have congestion of the liver, possibly caused by an unhealthy diet and excessive alcohol consumption, which is perhaps the peak of first world problems. I’m starting to think it wasn’t such a clever idea to drink straight vodka every weekend for the entirety of Year 11 and use the money for mixers to buy cigarettes instead (I want it on record that I blame Lizzie Bowes). Fear not, the doctor isn’t too worried about it and I’ve just got to have some precautionary blood tests once lockdown is over – The Lord lives on to fight another day.
I continue to impress myself with my worryingly good culinary skills. This evening I cooked sirloin steak with mashed potato, assorted vegetables and peppercorn sauce. If any of you even dare slate my choice of mashed potato with steak I refuse to listen to you until you’ve tried it. I hate to toot my own horn but it was absolutely delectable and I’m rapidly becoming a top tier chef. I’ve pleasantly surprised myself through lockdown as I’ve been sharing cooking duties with Hayals and we’ve only had takeaway two or three times, which is much less than I expected, and it’s great to enjoy regular home cooked meals. I did try to cook as often as I could whilst I was living in Hull but my housemates had usually left the kitchen in such a state that I was too worried I’d contract pneumonia if I dared to prepare food there, so it’s nice to operate in a hygienic kitchen. I am really starting to miss eating out, however, and the news that restaurants may remain shut for at least a few more months is certainly not welcome – just another first world problem to add to the list.
I hope you’re all managing to cope with your first world problems. Stay safe.
