Old Habits Die Hard

Packing up the car for university is never a fun task. From running out of space before you’re even halfway through the painful process to realising that little bit too late that you’ve accidentally plonked a heavy box on top of one filled with all sorts of fragile components, it is a nightmare from start to finish. To make matters worse, my mum is already slightly put out that she has to drive from London to Leeds one weekend to drop me off and then to Nottingham the next for my brother.


“I can’t believe you’ve managed to fill the entire car”, she says to me, as we stand on the driveway contemplating the clutter that fills the boot. Bearing in mind it is a Ford Focus Estate, it is rather an achievement. “Do you really need everything in there?”

“Absolutely”, I insist. “I can’t think of a single thing I’ve packed that I’m not going to use.”

We set off, and as we join the motorway – where the three hour journey that lies ahead of us really begins – my mum sighs. I act quickly and put on a Shania Twain CD so that within minutes we are both considerably cheered up and bellowing out the lyrics to ‘Man, I Feel Like a Woman’ at the top of our lungs. During the lull between the end of this song and the next, we hear a sort of clicking noise coming from the back of the car.

“What’s that noise?” my mum asks, beginning to tap her fingers on the steering wheel to ‘That Don’t Impress Me Much’. I turn around, and clock the culprit.

“It’s the trigger clasp of my exercise mat knocking against something or other.”

The music is promptly turned down (shame, as the song suits the situation wonderfully well) and I get one of her famous ‘looks’. “And when was the last time you used that, exactly?”

I look away, mumbling something unintelligible whilst pursing my lips in a thoughtful manner in a bid to make it look as though it may have been recently. What I am really doing, of course, is counting back the months. Then I notice what the clasp is swinging against: one of the fifteen pairs of shoes I have packed, on top of which are several throw cushions. Are these items really necessary? Doubtful. But then I am not known for travelling light – last year I flew out to Spain on my year abroad with two suitcases and came back with four.

We finally arrive in Leeds, and it becomes difficult to contain my glee. Having spent three months at home in the country, where the most exciting thing to happen over summer was the annual Scout jumble sale, I am raring to get back to the buzzing city life in Leeds. Moreover, it is a chance for a fresh start: to get fit, work harder and be more productive in my spare time. At the back of my mind however, I know that there is a strong likelihood that all of this positive thinking is Exercise-Mat Syndrome. I will probably not get fit, I will probably not work harder and I will most likely be considerably unproductive in my spare time, spending it down the pub or on my laptop playing Mahjong Titans.

There is one box left in the car. I transport it to my room, ignoring for the umpteenth time the four flights of stairs and instead using the lift. I place it conveniently in the middle of my floor and stand there looking at it, wishing in a ridiculous manner that the items would vault their cardboard confines and arrange themselves on my shelves in an orderly fashion. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse my laptop. I open up a game of Mahjong.