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Just as I drive around the corner and pull up beside the driveway, Snoopy's Christmas begins to play on the radio. I pull out from the kerb and begin to circle the block. Dammit, I love Christmas time. I revel in the decorated streetscape; the sparkling lights and tinsel, shop-front elves and angel-adorned lampposts. I look forward to our annual family photograph with Father Christmas, but not quite as much as I delight in those edible chocolate Santas wrapped in foil.

The Kiwiana backyard soundtrack to summer is, for the most part, a welcome reminder that sunny freedom is finally here: sweet chirpings of both birds and bugs, sizzling of sausages and steak on the barbie (and of skin beneath the sun), lazy buzzing of fat blowflies ...

It was a moment we'd been dreaming about for months. The final-minute drop of the pen, the post-essay wring of the wrists, the sigh of exhaustion and exultation: Honours, finally finished.

And just like that, October arrived. Emerging from September and the library simultaneously, I scanned the streets for traces of stolen time. Where did it go? Who took it?

If I was still at high school, I'd be tempted to ditch chemistry or physics (or both, preferably), for history and classics, or some other equally "vocationally irrelevant" subject of literary-focused indulgence.

I'd heard it was Queen Victoria who initiated the white wedding dress tradition.

I actually wrote a portion of today's piece while sitting, waiting, at a wooden desk in the Edgar Centre at 9am yesterday. Yes, UMAT. The Medical Admissions Test?

When I talk to my parents on the phone, they'll ask the following two questions, every time: First: "Have you been keeping up with your studies?"

I've spent the evening hoping I'll think of a better topic than pens. No, that's not entirely true. Pens are intrinsic to student life, and they deserve to be mentioned.

As I sit to write this column, I'm very aware that the current relationship between university students and the Dunedin public may be in a delicate state.

The fantastic thing about writing is that it can be done from almost anywhere. Last fortnight my article was produced in a bach in Kaiteriteri; today it is born in the Hanmer Public Library.

Well, here we are, at that dreadfully awkward period between Christmas and the New Year.

"Christmas time's a happy time, fun for you and me! Smiling faces, la la la, presents under the tree!"

Recently, I've spent a lot of time observing you, the Public.