#52 of 52

This is my last Story of Bozz blog entry. After 52 weeks of pointless ramblings, it’s time to bring this particular fad to a close. There are several reasons for doing so, but the fact that I’m getting bored of them is perhaps the main one.

When I started, I had a lot to say because I was writing things that I didn’t have the chance to tell people “in person”. This page gave me the opportunity – even though I didn’t use it much – to say what I really felt about things without the fear of all and sundry having a go at me for it. Having said that, anyone searching the internet could find my stuff and comment on it. Ah, I was young and idealistic...

Unfortunately, I feel now that there are just too many people who catch up with “The Story Of Bozz”. With my family reading it, I can’t really comment on life at home. With my friends from Dartford reading it, I’ve got very little left to talk to them about or surprise them with! With people at university having a look, I can’t talk about them behind their backs.

This meant writing about largely trivial stuff, and frankly that’s not what I want to be writing or what anyone wants to be reading. I loved telling people about my day in Paris year ago; I loved writing completely random entries when I felt like; but (even though I introduced it) the process of writing a blog every week has finally just got boring.

Summer’s here, so I’ll be taking this opportunity to meet up with people. There’s so much going on over the next few weeks: from the World Cup to Wimbledon, Big Brother to – eek – moving in with my own housemates... It feels like a convenient time to stop.

Found in one of my old school folders today:
It's like strangling a blind rat. Who's allergic to nuts.

I wrote a fairly slushy farewell to my first "year" of university last week, so I don’t really feel any need to put together a “best of” compilation this time. I think I’ll leave it remembering the good times – Paris, Sheffield, London, Dartford – and breezing swiftly over the bad times. It’s sunny outside, the football starts tomorrow, and they’ve just played ‘World In Motion’ on the radio. Have a fantastic summer... I’ll see you in the Beer Garden.


The End.

#51 Home

Greetings from Dartford... yes, I'm back in sunny Kent after finishing my first year of university. After a long journey yesterday, everything is finally unpacked from the car, the box room is looking more like my bedroom again (rather than a cupboard), and I've got over the shock of being able to get some breakfast after 09:15.

It still hasn't really sunk in that I've completed a third of my university career, and it's strange to think of most of the people I know still revising for exams and enjoying college dining. This makes writing a look back over the last few months a little more challenging, but it does mean you're spared all the emotional gubbins.

First and foremost I should make clear that I've really enjoyed my first year of student life. Since moving to Sheffield, I've met some really fantastic people who I hope I'll keep in touch with; I've learnt a lot of things, not just in lectures but from being with people from all around the UK and the world. I used to think I was up on my knowledge of life outside Kent -- I watched Byker Grove, for goodness sake -- but I never clocked that life is at once totally different and remarkably similar.

I've done things that I would (and could) never have done if I hadn't gone to Sheffield: from football games and music concerts to picnics in the Dales and paternosters, I've got no regrets. Plus, the madcap memories: drunken running races, people throwing kettles full of water at other people, getting far too excited at the sight of ducks and squirrels, offending seminarers, teaching nursery rhymes to Cypriots... hopefully next year will be more of the same.

Favourite Sheffield sighting:
Walking past the newsagents in half term, and there's a group of kids outside. One jumps down off the wall he was sitting on, walks towards the shop, then -- remembering something important -- suddenly stops and spins around again. "What were they called again?" he asks his mates: "Old Holborn" comes the exasperated reply.

This time last year, I was still going through my A-levels and had absolutely no idea what I could expect in the next twelve months. This year I've just completed my first year exams, with a slightly nervous wait to find out if I'll be allowed back in next year but with an even greater sense of wonder at what next year -- more independent than ever, living in a house -- will be like.

To everyone who helped make uni life so enjoyable, thanks very much: I hope all your exams have gone OK, and I hope you have a fantastic summer. I'll see most of you next year, back in the city of seven hills... bring on the barbecues, house parties and informal gatherings!