The Unspeakable Beauty of Green Triangles

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For me, the new year started on January second. On that final click of the yellow 'submit' button, all of my college applications - as well as all the ensuing thoughts of just throwing myself banshee-screaming into the River Tweed - were gloriously banished from my mind. I've spent so long meticulously analysing every word I write now that it feels odd when I speak, and I'm afraid that there will always be some synapse firing in my brain now which connects every new experience to 'wouldn't THAT have been a great topic for my admissions essay...' I help make dessert, and unconsciously think "The first time I poured lighted brandy on a pudding changed my life ." Eating dinner, it's "The diversity I could bring to your university is like a vegetarian haggis", and of course while washing out my mug I couldn't escape a flash of "It was a learning experience when I put a used teabag in the compost." 'Glad','overjoyed', etc. can't quite cover the overwhelming elation I feel now, but it actually hurts my frontal cortex to think of more eloquent adjectives right now. Of course, there have been the requisite study breaks, namely the five days between the 28th and the 1st. Part of me knew while booking my tickets that if I wanted to, I could continue the wild non-stop birthday bash tradition by sitting in a plane as the stewardesses sang apathetically while pausing to remember my name on the third line. This year was rather unique, in that respect. Embracing my new legal maturity, I naturally made a beeline to the colossal basket of dress-up clothes at the top of the stairs with Marion. Discovering yards of black velvet and lace, a sparkly leotard, and an inexplicably large amount of white satin bows, we decorated Rosh's room like a Parisian boudoir and blared La Boheme from the stereo as Paris-When It Sizzles played in the background. I should admit that it was all sort of centered around a certain true 19th-century French artistes pale-green beverage of choice, which sort of connects to my title if we consider its colour unspeakably beautiful. What's good enough for Toulouse-Lautrec is good enough for me! The bright lime flash of the technicolour strobe lights at the Hot Chip DJ set during Hogmanay in Edinburgh added to the spectrum, as the new year exploded in with a huge fireworks display at midnight. If you were imagining some sort of world championship greased-pig race, sorry but 'Hogmanay' means 'New Year' in Scottish. It is the one night of the year where all of the tartan-festooned men must be avoided, as due to a wee dram that was probably more akin to a wee barrel they will actually show you what they've got on under their kilts (Thankfully I'm not speaking from personal experience on this one). It was definitely a most memorable midnight. After the strobe lights seared my retinas it seemed both right and necessary to return to the house in Peebles, where I have been hibernating in Rosh's room for the past three days with my laptop and my personal checklist. I try to manically colour in another coursework bubble every day, after crunching through the frost on my morning jogs along the sparkling river. The frost teaches us many life lessons - jogging is as sparkling and diverse as me - crunch crunch crunch submit.

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