Laughing in an exam is never, never a good sign. Sitting in biochemistry, pretending to be Harry in his History of Magic OWL, attempting Legilimens on the girl in front of me. Sadly, said girl didn’t open her paper until the last 15 minutes. Says a lot.
We all knew it was going to be a shit time, and there’s some comfort in group failure. We all trooped out of the oversized hall, grabbed bags and coats, quick-stepping over piles of belongings and spilling-out-of-bag-notes. Eye contact and grimaces, muffled giggles, rushing out and into the stairwells to positively hoot with laughter. We convened by the main doors. Head shakes, more exasperated giggles, and then one word in unison: PUB.
Two hours later we’ve staggered out, back into the cold, and have made it to the train station. St. James’s Park, I say. St. James’s Park? she replies. Isn’t that by the palace, let’s go see the Queen! Okay! I love Liz! We throw ourselves out and onto the platform, split decision as the doors close on our heels.
Ten minutes later we’re eyeing Buckingham Palace, thoroughly confused as to what the hell we’re doing. We end up trying to get a nice photo (failed), and resort to asking a nice foreign man to take a photo of us (also fails). Our successes? Not getting bitten by a swan, glamorous duck watching, and hand feeding a squirrel a hazelnut. Classic.
Exams are rough. All you need is a duck, and fast. Solves everything. Just look at that mallard go.