Today I am going to write an essay on Confucianism. I'm still feeling a bit weird and giddy from last nights escapades. My friends and I travelled down to Brighton for a new years mash up. After sitting around in Alex's room which he managed to convince everyone through great perserverance across the the course of the evening looked like a ski lodge because of some random wood pannelling on the western wall, we walked down the bizarrely steep Southover street, passed a reveller who had peaked two and half hours before midnight being prodded by bored police, passing the Brighton Pavillion with it's Taj Mahal domes and onto the waterfront. Over the ramp it was like a curtain of black till you walked up to the wall overlooking the beach where the tide was out. The sea appeared as a streak of navy blue being sucked into the darkness. The clubs dotted along the waterfront were like little ant hills of activity along the near deserted beach. Huddles of smokers and girls in skimpy fancy dress costumes clacking about. Bouncers maintaining an atmosphere of suspicion and paranoia and then us, a large group of boys out in Brighton armed with good will and some class A drugs. The noise of the clubs seemed to be overshadowed by an eerie quietness outside. After stuffing my pills into my trainers I approached the Arc feeling slightly silly and then paranoid as the pills worked their way underneath my foot forcing me to limp slightly so as not to crush them. I flashed my ticket at the bouncer was barely relieved at not being frisked before a pretty girl shoved a party horn in my hand - this consisted of a plastice mouthpiece and a piece of silver card made into a cone for amplification. I was very very happy.