I drive on the streets cause she's my companion

Last night was an adventure, although not one of those fantastic one you talk about for years after, like getting lost in Portugal or Milo and Otis. Someone's flatmate had suggested an area of town called Brook Line Row that was supposed to be lined with pubs and dance clubs and the like, so naturally a few of us were eager to explore a little. Now, I'll rattle off names here but don't for a second get the idea that I know much about them other than that they're nice people. Tom, Simon, Kristin and Meghan and I walked to the New Cross tube stop where they decided, after waiting around for about 15 minutes while they counted change for an evening tube pass, that we should take a bus. As it turns out, it's not one bus to Brook Line Row, but rather five. Five busses Ah! Ah! Ah! (that was the count from sesame street laughing there). That's five busses with rather lengthy waits in between. We got their around 10:30, and as it turns out, Brook Line Row is less a row of pubs and more full of Indian restaurants with guys standing outside attempting to convince you to come in with deals like two free rounds of drinks for patroning their restaurant. So we bummed around there for awhile, eventually did find a few pubs which we didn't stay in for long as they turned out to be far more expensive than we'd imagined, danced a little at another smaller venue, and then decided to call it quits and head back to New Cross. The tube was sounding like a better rount of return given the time and the cold so we walked to the station, when suddenly Simon decided that we should, in fact take the bus and not the T because- get this- "what if we're too late and we miss the train". I then tried to explain to the group that the underground didn't close until 12:30 (it was 12:10 then), to which Simon responded "right, exactly, we might miss it!". We were standing in the station. I was awfully confused.
Eventually, for reasons I didn't really understand, they elected to take the bus(es) back to New Cross and as I already had my oyster pass, I opted for the tube. Which was a mistake. Because it stopped. I took the Hammersmith line from Liverpool Street to Whitecastle, picked up the East London line headed to New Cross, and it broke down between stations. Which was awesome because I swear I was the only sober one on that train (in my car, three very giddy older pink-cheeked women loudly complaining about their relationships "unattainable is sexy, Laura, don't call him back", a couple of businessmen making their way back home from the pub, and a slew of teenage guys singing soccer chants. Long story short, the train got moving after a little over an hour, I went home, showered, and fell into bed.

This morning I woke up at 1, grabbed some oatmeal and ran out to my audition for advanced vocal training. It went well, I'm approved for the course, now I've just got to figure out the specifics. Goldsmiths is amazingly unclear about it's own system, it's on courses. In an email I wrote to a friend, I ranted "what's so damn frustrating about all this is how different it is from the American University system. It's odd how disorganized the British system is. They're so totally unclear on the requirements for each course, let alone how to communicate those requirements to their students, there seems to be very little communication between departments, they seem to rely solely upon word of mouth between students in order to communicate assignments, registration procedures..."
As overwhelming as it is at American colleges to be handed a huge orientation handbook and stacks of other smaller booklets many of which you'll later use to loft your bed- and then told that all that information is online just for your reference so you know, in all of the overwhelm those handbooks evoke, there's real reassurance in the knowledge that everything you need to know is in there. All of it. This is the University communicating with you. Goldsmiths would do better off with smoke signals than its current system, whatever it is.