Catching up.

Somehow time has caught onto my feet and made me run - as though down a hill to the side splitting breathless bottom. But I have not quite reached there yet - and stopping half way down the hill is necessary - is important - because if you don't catch the view now it will be flung to the back of our minds and forgotten.

My electric heater whirs beside me - pushing out the chill in my bones from sitting drinking Japanese beers on the hazy ends of the sunshine on the expanse of West Sands, while wrapped in my friend's duvee as he makes me laugh at illnesses and all the movies I have never seen.

A bench. A green tea - hot from the completely financially inefficient - ridiculously small fair trade cafe on South Street. The sun bright and warm - sandels for the first time this year. And a distant, carefully guarded chat with the ex boyfriend. Sat in neat alignment either end of our bench while the bright blue sky opens over the cliff and the ocean and a restaurant we once visited in valentine;s day week this past year.

Breathless from silly dancing. A theatre crammed with a french folk band. A conga line that threads its way round the auditorium. And the sweat and sweetness of being a part of a laughing crowd of thespians. The party afterwards in an oh too small flat - complete with the entire french band again and a kazzoo. The windows are open onto the street where people are dancing and two french band mates - homeless for a night will stay on my living room floor later that night.

May Dip. A ridiculous tradition where thousands of students go swimming in the North Sea at sunrise on May 1st. Our all night bonfire flies past in an instant and invigorated with whiskey and Seth's home brew our scraggly gang descends the rickety pathway by the castle to watch the splendid tradition turn from a drunken end to a party to the early morning deludge of litter pickers clearing up the beach accompanied by a rainy sunrise and our all too rapid dip.

More sunrises. Four. Accompanied by bonfires on the beach. Or running onto coffee with my parents and their 90 year old relatives. Or tutorials. Or the completion of my final essay and the end of my last two plays at St Andrews.

I fold my knees closer to my chest - I am again on west sands. Revision week has begun and in recognition of our new lengths of time and space my flatmate and I - taken with a sudden impulsive moment have opened a bottle of white wine and walked straight from our kitchen complete with wine glasses and bare feet down to sip in the close of the evening.