Zodiac bullshit.

Never have I sampled such a pile of sanctimonious drivel as there is to be found in these zodiac compatibility theories. Emmy and I are just the height of cool in ditching the delights of Arena the nightclub and alcohol abuse, and substituting it for an evening of Ferrero Rocher chocolate and Spotify (absolute genius of an invention that I refuse to pay £9.99 a month for - absolute daylight robbery - music should be free to all the world). But to be honest, in my present state of mind, staying in is all I seem to want to do. Gladly, I will extend my sociable abilities to the odd evening out in Firehouse (the best pub in Exeter) with a few close, well-chosen friends. Yet I cannot help feeing a sense of alienation that comes naturally, when you are at university. And a by-word for university now seems to be the necessity to be inebriated regularly. So the majority would probably find it a little odd that I'd rather not go out at all, and instead spend my time laughing at Michael Jackson videos on YouTube (private joke that really takes too much typing effort to explain).

But to return to the theme of horoscopes, being atheist, I really have a very hard time finding believing that celestial goings-on really affect our puny little human lives. Qualities attached to certain starsigns (eg Cancer is very sensitive, and takes after the crab the the protective 'shell' they draw around themselves) are in my opinion purely coincidental. Horoscopes don't seem to allow for people who fall inbetween. For instance, take the following sentence, the product of general Googling of my star sign Cancer: "Cancer hugs are world class and Cancer's snuggles are second to none"... I think this is something I am fairly competent all human beings are capable of, regardless of their birth date...infact this subject is so entirely ridiculous to me that I do not wish to even waste any further typing space. Kapeesh.

And now to return to the mundane existence of student house life: picking my way through the product of human laziness with well-honed tunnel vision. I find it almost comical that I willingly signed for a house that has a washing machine and dryer situated in what was once probably the outhouse. This involves battling my way across the "garden" (a patch of gravel, decorated with various beer boxes, interspersed with the odd weed) for the sole purpose of washing my clothes. Delightful. And primitive by today's standards of modern living. I could go on for hours..I'll reserve that for another day.