Last night was spent roamin around London's East End trying to forget the fact that I am getting nowhere with my scholarship application (and throwing up outside the Hoxton Hotel at around midnight if I am not mistaken). Not exactly the best way to deal with the problem, but at least the drinks were nice.
The subs at The Independent clearly had a few last night as well - The dead socialite was surely not 72, but 27 and people and things from my home land are Swedish not Sweidsh. Jeeez...
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