Today marks the day of my last university assessment.

And my last university cock up.

I was supposed to give a presentation as part of my module, which was originally scheduled for March. Then, because the university wanted to show the first years something more interesting, I was bumped back to May the 2nd.

And email went round, telling us to book places on the right date, ‘using the link below’.

There was no link below, at least as far as I could see.

I checked all over the university page, nothing.

I emailed my tutor, and didn’t hear back.

Then, disaster, my food poisoning/stomach bug struck on the day I was due to give my presentation, I was told not to worry, I could do it on the ninth.

Well folks, today is the ninth, and still the only people to see my presentation are me and my housemate.

This is a presentation that I’ve had ready since February. With music, full colour backgrounds, quotes, notes and so really good points. Utterly wasted, because I hadn’t booked a specific slot for that day.

It’s not like the university has some way of knowing how many students are on the course after all.

And it’s not like they could, knowing there were two days for presentations, have split that number in half, and offered times to students based on that. We all had to be there from the start of the session, till the end anyway. So, why wasn’t there time for me?

And how exactly would me signing up for a slot have CREATED time?

My already pretty sour mood was not improved, I have to admit, by some smug student on the bus to campus – long, undyed ‘rustic’ hair, glasses, baggy cardigan, weighty novel, you know the sort. Who cast an eye over me (in my pea coat, jumper, denim knee length skirt, tights and brogues) and gave a little, holier-than-thou smile. The sort of smile that said that she thought I was an idiotic slut for venturing out in skimpy-ish clothes.

Then, on my two busses over to my old house and back to retrieve a parcel, I was sat near extremely smelly homeless people. No, I am not being sensitive or pinched arsed about it – I grew up in a rural village where muckspreading and septic tank leaks are just things that happen – and nothing smells as bad as a rank old alcoholic, especially ones that chuckle toothlessly to themselves, and stink of week old shit marinating in rotting yogurt and special brew.

Most blogs that I read have a sort of message to round up little rants like this. But, here the last line is sort of an ongoing theme with me at the moment, which also happens to be a quote from friends, “It’s a sucky life, and just when you think it can’t suck anymore, it does.”

I mean, I still have hope, I still find pleasure in the little things (not so little – the parcel I picked up contained a new 12”-something, an early birthday present to myself) but, as my first year dorm mate used to say –

“Why is God shitting on me?”

Or, in this case – God, hipsters, university administration, the NHS (I am once again without antidepressants) and my epic work schedule.

Like crazy-Frank on the number 5 bus – I appear to have been buried in shit.