Seeing as the only people who read this here slice of the self-obsessed internet pie are friends and acquaintances, you'll probably know that I've been searching for a way to bust out of this joint for quite some time. Options have included tunneling with spoons, disguising myself as a pile of dirty laundry, convincing a lean-legged friend to seduce that lecherous warden, sneaking a metal file into me in the process, and applying to the University of Sydney

I got into the Uni of Sydney, but y'all know that. But I do not want to move to Sydney. No, turning my face into a soiled pair of underpants seems preferable, especially after the riots that made my blood run cold with shame and fear, then hot with bitter anger.

On a whim I sent off an application to the University of Melbourne just to see what would happen. Rejection, I imagined, but I had to try. Mention Melbourne to any born-and-bred Canberran and their eyes will go misty. Melbourne is the promised land, with buildings older than 30 years, decent pubs and streets teeming with thrift store clad lovelies. Besides, 'Four Seasons In One Day' is my favourite Crowded House song.

Imagine my surprise when I came home the other day to find a thick envelope with the Uni of Melbourne crest on it. Thick! Thick with documents! Documents of acceptance! I made a noise not unlike an infant magpie discovering a lawn full of nightcrawlers. They like me! They really like me!

That's a very long winded way to say I'm fucking off. Come February I'm joining the annual migration south with nothing but a few boxes of books and a suitcase full of dreams. Even better, it looks like a couple of my very favouritest people are coming with me. Suffice to say I'm rubbery with joy.

But still apoplectic with rage. Fuckin' Sydney.