Chronicles of Castle - 27
It is with great sadness that I come to you in this, the last “Chronicles of Castle”; what a year it’s been. Before we get to nostalgic, this week’s news. Last weekend saw a constant stream of people heading to the hospital to be stitched up due to glass cuts. It also saw one poor guy get DIC on a scooter. It was a classic case of unfortunate timing as people had been cruising the streets and flat hallways on the weapon all night. Poor Donkey (an affectionate nickname I can only assume refers to him having a massive dick) jumped on for a quick hoon, and as he took off (not really, just puttering along) the pigs came around the corner and ‘Donkey’ was arrested and charged.
Initiations continue as power tripping second years make scared first years do disgusting stuff ‘to gain a place in a flat’. Naked guys giving each other disgusting haircuts and even more disgusting pelicans has become an almost daily occurrence.
A couple of Thursdays ago was the scene of a lock-in that caused carnage. Sand, trees and graffiti filled the flat as almost two hundred people flocked to the Gaybox. Alcohol consumption happened at pace, in quick succession the plot was lost (and is still missing) and destruction ensued. It started with inter-room warfare as the South D cats fought the Jungle dwellers. The wall between these two rooms was simply knocked down so that the fighting wasn’t interrupted by any annoying gib board. The destruction bug then passed through the rest of the house as windows, walls and people were destroyed. A great night that left a few battle scars in the flat, just so we don’t forget about the evening anytime soon.
Castle Street is still Castle Street. Gardies or not, scarfies or not, it is the still the home to second years who are keen to get amongst it. It’s where people realise that drunk words are often sober thoughts. It’s where people learn what their limits are, as alcohol and substance abuse reach new levels. Everyone over-cooks it at some point, whether you wake up on a random’s couch or spew on a little kid at the rugby; we’ve all been there. This is when you find out who your real mates are, whether they’re carrying you home or bringing you that glass of water in the morning. Finally, thanks to all you GC’s who’ve said you like what I do and fuck all dem haterz. And thanks to my flatmates for putting up with my shit. Have a great day everybody.