How I will miss the 70's furniture, The hand-ball arena and the funny little maintenance man.
I will think fondly of the front entrances that made it hard to sneak into, and more importantly out of, boring Maths lectures.
But most of all I will remember the good times shared there with friends, copying their maths assignments, and generally just hanging about, destroying university property.
The natural choice for enjoying SciSoc sausages and beer, for handball, for tampering with toilet signs, for skipping lectures.
The place where I saw out my short-lived penchant for Giant Freddos, Coke buddies and Twirls. The place I often admired from upside down while being dangled by the legs, or sometimes from 12 foot up while crawling along the frail rickety roof to retrieve a ball before I was allowed back on solid ground again (assuming whoever chucked me up was willing to help me down.)
The place where many Peter S fires were prevented, Rosie adventures were retold, Blia stories were endured, Nerida moments were helplessly relived. Where $3 meals were consumed, Honi Soir issues were perused, Chelsea buns contracted, makeshift indigenous embassies scorned. Where nuts were kicked, insults were swapped, nicknames were coined, romances bloomed and died.
The place where a little seed of togetherness was planted and sprinkled with droplets of good times, that sprouted under the warm rays of brotherly love and grew into a shrub of friendship that then got pruned back quite harshly to leave a strange collection of straggly limbs (complete with much needed grafts) that make the odd looking bushel we call the SRF today.
3 comments:
It was a good life but too short by half.
How I will miss the 70's furniture, The hand-ball arena and the funny little maintenance man.
I will think fondly of the front entrances that made it hard to sneak into, and more importantly out of, boring Maths lectures.
But most of all I will remember the good times shared there with friends, copying their maths assignments, and generally just hanging about, destroying university property.
RIP
Good times.
The natural choice for enjoying SciSoc sausages and beer, for handball, for tampering with toilet signs, for skipping lectures.
The place where I saw out my short-lived penchant for Giant Freddos, Coke buddies and Twirls. The place I often admired from upside down while being dangled by the legs, or sometimes from 12 foot up while crawling along the frail rickety roof to retrieve a ball before I was allowed back on solid ground again (assuming whoever chucked me up was willing to help me down.)
The place where many Peter S fires were prevented, Rosie adventures were retold, Blia stories were endured, Nerida moments were helplessly relived. Where $3 meals were consumed, Honi Soir issues were perused, Chelsea buns contracted, makeshift indigenous embassies scorned. Where nuts were kicked, insults were swapped, nicknames were coined, romances bloomed and died.
The place where a little seed of togetherness was planted and sprinkled with droplets of good times, that sprouted under the warm rays of brotherly love and grew into a shrub of friendship that then got pruned back quite harshly to leave a strange collection of straggly limbs (complete with much needed grafts) that make the odd looking bushel we call the SRF today.
Good times.
hehehe....I remember the retrieval of the ball from the roof! Such a long time ago!
I must say.....Mattes' comment (while lovely) was rather unMattes!! Have you finally succumbed to the lifestyle channel?
What a great walk down memory lane.....oh oh oh plus....I really love you guys (to be said with hands poised in familliar crab-claw-like way)
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