I have spent the last five days doing non-stop anatomy of the arm: this has meant I have been told far more about brachial plexuses and ridiculous names of muscles (take the flexor digitorum superficialis). It has also meant spending 8 hours this week of cutting up a dead body, and sawing arms off. Good times.
I managed to get, as the French say, pure pished last night at the SKIP celeidh and the HIV. I put this down to a number of facts:
- a free bar
- drinking deisel
- a 'pint of fun' which turns out to be a triple vodka and bottle of reef
Needless to say, I have almost no memory of events post-pint of fun, aside from the fact we were atop the podium in the HIV. Then I was sure I had lost my keys when I returned to my house so I had to phone my brother to get him to answer the door. It turns out they were in my back pocket.
Despite a drunken night I still got up (this was due to the fucking builders banging on my roof) and made it in to carry on mutilating our arm. You would think lots of practice at dissection would make us better, apparently not.
No comments:
Post a Comment