Anthem from a Doomed Youth

What did you get for Christmas, kids? Well, if you were in York over the holidays, your answer was probably “the River Ouse”, followed by “a few thousand gallons of water seeping into my prized possessions, mingling with my tears which ironically drive the floodwater higher because the universe personally wants to spit in my mouth”. And a partridge in a pear tree.

Everything kicked off when our flood defences got flooded (mmm, taste that irony, spit harder, universe) and what followed was a quick-fire round of Man vs. Sea. This being the new game-show format that I came up with: famous celebrities take on famous seas in rounds of sprinting, boxing and depositing sediment onto a beach. The Foss Awakened, the Ouse ran loose and the end result was a raw stream of toxic effluence pouring in from all sides, the likes of which had never been seen in York since International Men’s Day. And Breitbart probably blamed FemSoc for that, too.

It might have just been an act of God. In my capacity as a Nouse journalist, I tried to reach out to God for a quote, but shockingly He

The whole thing gave David Cameron the chance to learn about an exciting new direction, called “North”

didn’t seem to be available for comment. Maybe He disagreed with my last Doctor Who review. It’s possible that Jesus just wanted a minor natural disaster for his birthday this year – when you’ve turned 2016, I guess some body wash and a stripper in a cake just doesn’t have the “wow” factor anymore.

At any rate, the whole thing gave David Cameron the chance to learn about an exciting new direction, called “North”. Having presumably talked with his aides, to see what the exchange rate was over there and to make sure that he didn’t need any jabs, our laminated leader bravely ventured upwards. Resolved to send up a bit of money now, and then a lot more later, sometime, probably, Cameron declared that he’d single-handedly driven back the floods and that the North would be a great place for the Conservatives to visit again, based on the cries of “Tories come” and “you massive Cnut” being yelled at him from across the road.

Maybe this is just the future, happening now. We all saw the photos of sad-looking polar bears and dwindling little icecaps in Antarctica, and this is the next step. Underwater cities. Rapture’s Britain. Wait until Christmas 2045, when little Timmy’ll be getting an oxygen tank and a harpoon so he can fight off the goose-man hybrids for the last bottle of clean water.

With the weather providing fifty shades of grey, it’s only fitting that Week One ended up being a vicious cycle of beatings from which there was no escape. Or “exam week”, as it’s commonly known. I didn’t have any myself, but I also had 10,000 words to write, and I’ve been told that just because a picture’s worth a thousand words, it doesn’t mean I can drop a few photos of cats in there and call it a day.

So I’ve just had to power on through, while all around me friends who actually have exams have been talking about deadlines and late-night revision in the same way that shell shocked veterans talked about “the guns”.

But things got a bit lighter near the end. Over on YikYak, all eyes turned to the anonymous poster who got caught by a housemate while vigorously enjoying himself to one of her photos. Beat that for drama, Netflix! …or don’t beat that. I guess that was the problem in the first place. 50 replies later, though, events ended happily. The housemates talked it over and they’re dating now, so at least they’ll have a nice story to tell the kids.

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