January is back. With vengeance.

January is all like ‘oh hey! Hey Han (January feels comfortable with nicknames – January is a cocky bitch that way) Remember me? I’m December’s older shittier stepbrother. Han. I’ve got some treats for you this month…’

January begins with a hangover.

My January begins with me throwing up peach snaps and chilli con carne. So. ‘This my life.’ I thought, as I wiped a kidney bean from the toilet seat.

I return to university.

This is a bittersweet time. On the one hand, I get to go back to University. I am reunited with my creative counterparts, the uni Bant-taaah ensues. I go back to leaving wet towels on my bed, without a parent screaming: ‘YOU ARE NEARLY 20 YEARS OLD, WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM WITH CLEANLINESS’. I instead return to my flatmates, ‘Hey han, just, er, don’t want to be that girl. But it’s just, erm, could you, like, if you don’t mind, perhaps, you know, clean your stuff?’ They are so polite and sweet; unlike my parents. *raises fist, shakes repeatedly in to air ‘Bloody parents, always trying to teach me manners’*

Student Loan returns

‘JAEGER BOMBS ON ME – YO TO THE FUCKING LO – STUDENT LOAN BABY’ shouts a guy at a bar. Somewhere. I assume. A guy at bar has never offered me a jagerbomb. But anyway, My loan arrives. Life is good.

Housing woes

But then I have to place a deposit on a house, and those drinks don’t pay for themselves. Bye student loan. It was fun while it lasted.

New Years Resolutions

Who the fuck invented New Years resolutions? Some condescending do-gooder, who loves to boast, and fucking loved the gym, and connected their stupid Nike sport app thing to twitter. Good for you, you ran 2K before 8AM. Well I can do that too. I can do good. I bought Davina McCall’s new DVD. And that new sports bra. Those trainers practically paid for themselves. So like, whatever. I don’t care. I have an overdraft for a reason. It’s quite cold in January. Is that rain? I might, just stay in tonight. I’ve set my alarm for 6 AM, so tomorrow. I promise tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day I run. As Annie the friendly ginger orphan bet her bottom dollar, there will be sun tomorrow.

Dissertation question deadline

Oh yeah. That’s a thing apparently.


Oh Hey January


A love letter to Gravy


Dear Gravy,

Hey. It’s been a while. I hope everything’s ok with you. I guess things have been pretty distant between us recently. And personally, I feel so awful about it.

Look it’s not you, it’s meat. Like seriously dry meat. And I can’t deal with it any longer.

I’ve been seeing other condiments lately, but it’s not my fault. When I moved to the south of England, I didn’t believe the rumours on the grape vine. ‘They don’t like gravy down south’ I laughed in the face of this rumour, ‘But everyone likes gravy’ I replied.

 But I guess I was wrong.

It all started back in September 2012. My first night of fresher’s was over. It was a good night. I was ready to hit the hay. But not before the  classic combination of :chips, cheese and gravy.

I didn’t know the area. I stumbled in to the first chicken shop I saw, I approached the counter:

‘chips, cheese and gravy please’ I slurred

‘What?’ replied the aghast fast food worker

I repeated my order

‘We don’t do that here – I can do curry sauce’

In that split second, all my dreams had been shattered. I turned around, assuming to be backed up by angry freshers demanding that they provide gravy. The freshers shrugged, nonchalantly, ‘it’s not really a thing down south’. I held back a tear, I kept it together, I didn’t want my new friends to see me upset like this.  

But, I knew at that moment, I had made a terrible mistake.

I had embarked on a university course, and I hadn’t even checked to see that the city, that I would be residing in for 3 whole years, served gravy.

I eventually began to come to terms with my decision, and hence started a new life for myself; a life without gravy.

I won’t deny that it wasn’t hard for me, it was. My southern friends from Kent and Hertfordshire would taunt me, ‘I heard up north, people actually drink gravy, hahahhaha can you imagine?!’ they had no idea, what I would do for a steaming hot mug of gravy right that minute. I simply smiled, and nodded, they were unaware of the pain I was going through.

But today, I threw the metaphysical towel in. Today I went to a restaurant. Today is Sunday. Therefore, I was ordering the Sunday roast, ‘accompanied with Yorkshire puddings and lashings of gravy!’ the menu teased. ‘We’ll see’, I thought. I daren’t get my hopes up.

The meal arrived. The Yorkshire pudding was massive. The roast potatoes were golden, and the meat was succulent. But one thing was missing. The gravy.

I called the waiter over; ‘sorry, excuse me, is there gravy on this dish?’

He pointed underneath the Yorkshire pudding. I grimaced.

Like a scene in a Dicken’s novel, I dared to ask, what no other diner had ever dared to ask before,

‘may I have some more gravy please?’


And then we were reunited gravy. Me and you: against the world. We destroyed that Sunday roast. And we did it together.

I just wanted to say, I think you’re the best, gravy. I hope one day, gravy will be served through out fast food outlet across the country. Maybe one day. But until that day, I’ll have to make do without,

Yours forever more,

Hannah Birt

Procrastinating student since 2012