Good night, sweet ladies

The ladies of 155 decided it was time for a night out, and so we threw ourselves with gay abandon at Somerville’s Michaelmas Dinner. (It’s free, so what more do you want?) Highlights of the evening included setting fire to orange peel, building towers out of combs, and singing carols. Badly. In many different keys at once. Oh, yeah, we’re sophisticated. Cracker jokes, as usual, caused a great amount of mirth, as did the whoopee cushion which came out of one of the crakers, though the comic zenith was the JCR President’s speech – kudos to him, whoever he is!

Food was, in fact, edible – though I had taken the precaution of eating dinner before we came out in anticipation of the usual Somerville culinary delights. The trip home was fun, as my housemate F decided I should ride on the back of her bike. It was about halfway up Woodstock Road, I think, that I began to pray in earnest. Thanks to her great skill, however, I arrived home with no more than a ladder in my nylons and a bruised leg. Well worth not having to walk back in stupid girly shoes.