The End of an Era

It's the end of an era at 45 Ghuznee Street.


Although I never lived there myself, I feel in a sense we all lived there. Whether by sleeping (or dancing) on their couch, sharing stories in the courtyard, or taunting danger on the rusty corrugated iron roof,  there was many a hazy memory gained, and braincell lost at the Ghuznee Street Commune. Those three beer-stained, earthquake prone, at times almost squalid flats, constituted the immoral backbone of our friend group for years. 


Aptly, of course, the moving-out was left right to the last minute. Cleaning up layers of alcohol-infused grime unearthed reminders of a multitude of parties past- a bag of cable ties, empty casks and a Hawaiian shirt so mouldy it was beginning to support its own eco-system. The vast amount of dignity lost by countless people in that place, however, can never be recovered. 

The packing-up of this flat seemed symbolic of something none of us want to accept- we may be finally 'growing up'. Indeed with people finishing uni, getting careers and engaging with that strange foreign place known as the 'real world', 2012, put dramatically, is the apocalypse of our studenthood. 


Nonetheless, although we may have shaved off our dreads, updated our CVs and forced ourselves to rise before 10am each day, I can't envisage us hanging up our party hats just yet. 2012 promises exciting possibilities for travel, student-loan repayments and new adventures. I certainly will be doing all I can to allay my constant fear of settling-down and wearing black. As for the former residents of 45 Ghuznee Street, I believe an epic flatwarming is in order.
'