Image by frenz_69 on flicker

Everything’s been going quite smoothly since my last column, with everyone getting used to the more sedate lifestyle here in Granada, and apart from me, getting to grips with uni here as well.

It all started with me defying the universe; daring it to create a timetabling system harder to understand than that I encountered in Toulouse. So it did.

I missed a whole week’s worth of classes whilst I tried to come to terms with the fact that the information given to us in the student handbook was not representative of what’s more commonly known as ‘real life’.

People often wonder why I drink. This is why. Anyway, after much ado about many things, I sorted out my timetable; a selection of boring language and translation units and, as a treat to myself, a unit on the history of comics. ‘Geek!’ I hear you cry. ‘Bothered?!’ I cry back.

It’s quite fun, and I get to mock the bigger geeks in the class.

In order to get over the stress of the whole timetabling episode, I decided to go against every gram of my judgement, (I’ve gone metric now I’m in Spain), and went to one of the ‘special’ club nights for Erasmus students here.

You may remember me once stating my personal views on organised fun and, after going to one of these nights in Toulouse, I was quite prepared to forevermore forgo the ‘pleasure’. To give it its due, there were some good things.

This club has a group on a ‘popular social networking site’ which, should you join, allows you free entry. Whoop. It’s just a shame I didn’t know this before I went.

Anyway, once inside, I found it to be not that bad a place, with quite a good bit of old skool blaring out and, hmm, ‘reasonably’ priced drinks. What killed it, perhaps, was the fact that it was so overcrowded that every step I took on the dance floor resulted in my being penetrated in every available orifice.

I, along with my other flatmate Emily, decided to stay the entire night so we could witness the majestic rising of the sun over the mountains surrounding Granada, which would have been nice had we not been facing the wrong mountains...

Please, if ever you hear that I’m thinking of going to another of these nights, find me and by any means possible prevent me. Consider it a public service.

That, possibly rather sadly, has been the standard for most of my adventures here so far.

I didn’t go home for Easter so I was able to find the madness in other towns within the region; Malaga makes for quite a nice day trip should you choose to ignore the crazy people, one of which swore to me that England was going to sink beneath the sea next year and consequently we’d all be living on the moon.

I do believe I’m going to need another year abroad to get over this one once it’s done.

Tom will be back with us next issue, assuming he survives his travels...!