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Joanna’s 2018 RAMSOC roundup!

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(but only September-December because she is a very busy lady who must get back to her family  jigsaw puzzle) Hello, and welcome to the first and last annual RAMSOC newsletter, where we look back on some of the highlights of this year, most of which are cute animal photos. It has been a real pleasure serving you all as Publicity Sec, especially for the bit where I’ve actually been in the country and met the people who open my emails each week. Thank you for embracing Sheep of the Week just as I’d hoped – every week I baa-sk in the glow of excited messages from you all. So without further ado, here are some 2018 highlights – make sure to leave yours in the comments! Weekends Away Elterwater and Snowdonia were both exciting adventures in their own way, particularly the coach/minibus journeys! Although our ascent up Snowdon was marred by cloud, the cloud inversion and brief views from the top made it (nearly) all worthwhile, as well as the reward of a delicious meal and a truly

Peak District Poetry

Here is a selection of the Peak District Poetry written for RAMSOC emails between April and June of 2018: Peak District Poem – What is Sunday for if not for the Peaks? What is Sunday for if not for the Peaks? Where can I go after the Sunday next week? Like a ramble in January my summer seems bleak, What is Sunday for if not for the Peaks? I suppose my Sunday is meant to be for church, But where’s my sheep, beer, and sunshine? My oaks, fir and birch? This Ramsoc hiatus has left my weekends in the lurch, What is Sunday for? I’ll continue my search. What is Sunday for? Perhaps I’ll try to study, But without my fresh air, my brain is getting fuzzy My walking boots look sad, all clean, no longer muddy. I fear I cannot study ‘til I see my Sunday rambling buddies. But in the quiet of the day I hear Wednesday squeak, “You may not have found your Sunday but if it’s sun and fun you seek, Play board games and visit a bouncy planet – havoc you may wreak, A

Nastya's Final Nostalgia: A RAMSOC Confession

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It's Wednesday the 14th, 14:14. The AGM is on tonight: the election of a new committee, and freedom for the old one. It's an important occasion, and I even attempt to pick pretty clothes.  A friend asked me yesterday evening: "How do you feel about the end of your reign as publicity sec?". I don't know to be honest, but I guess the answer is "Sad". You see, being on committee is quite addictive. It's almost like being in a relationship: your phone buzzes all the time, and it's the only thing you can talk about. When you finish Uni, it takes a few years to learn to say no to helping the club out; some seem to never escape. Sometimes you spend a long time flipping through the blurry grey photographs you took on walks, remembering the views, silly jokes, and how you helped someone get out of a bog.  Funny to mention, but I used to get butterflies every time the tickets sold out. I was treasurer last year, and, as we say: "Once treasure