Meet my friends.

Meet my friends. The most hilarious bunch of nineteen year-olds you have ever seen or heard. You may be thinking: I've never encountered these girls before in my life! But trust me, you have. If you have ever heard an orchestra of screaming and giggling further down the street, behind you in the cinema, on that other table in the restaurant, ahead of you on a walk, somewhere in a museum, in church, in a swimming pool- that was us. That was definitely us. We ARE those girls that everyone finds so PAINFUL to deal with on a train, aeroplane, bus or any form of public transport. I wouldn't say we delight in this destruction of peace, more that it is an unconscious side-effect of our explosive friendship. We are used to the glares from strangers, and do, believe it or not, try to stifle the laughs and quell the jokes- it doesn't often work. But our flammable and eruptive relationship makes us friends as well as enemies. The waiters, for example, at our favourite restaurant in Croatia (for some reason we thought it would be a good idea to take such anarchy overseas) became such 'chums' that they bordered on joining in with the camaraderie. Suffice to say- we gave them a large tip. We even began a conga on the street with a few more kindred spirits! So these are my friends, and for a long while I genuinely believed them integral to my identity. But university has stretched us thin, pulling us all to different places across the nation; proving that though my I don't DEPEND on them, I miss them immensely. I can only wait for the time when we eight are reunited (maybe Cornwall this year; a student has to budget!) and the ear-defeaning, scowl-winning, side-splittingly chaos may continue.