Freshers week is over, lectures have started and it’s time to figure out whether you really are as passionate about the subject you’re taking as your personal statement, screeching with enthusiasm, made you out to be.
However, this is not the case for all students. For some, Freshers has just begun, and the more settled you become in London, the more you feel like the mother hen of all of them.
Moving in are you? Ah, yes, I remember the days of moving in. Of course, it was different in my day. You feel nervous? Yes, I felt nervous too but you will be fine, trust me, I’ve been there. You have an odd flat mate that doesn’t want to talk to you yet finds it acceptable to eat the rotisserie chicken you bought? Well, that didn’t happen but you should sort that out. You ruffle their hair and your wisdom continues.
Be warned though, young student. With the week comes a monumental amount of pressure to party. Hard. All the time. One guy I met made it his single purpose to be as enthusiastic as possible for the entire duration of Freshers week, to the grave detriment of his liver, just so everyone felt involved all the time. He devoted himself to this because you only get one chance to be a Fresher.
Alongside this thought comes more stress. Neurosis sets in. I’m partying, but I’m almost definitely partying less than everyone else. I’m heading home at 4am, isn’t that too early? I’ve not been struck down with illness yet, is there something wrong with me? Will I look back upon a younger version of myself in years to come with resent, wishing I hadn’t wasted my youth?
Being the Freshers mother hen gives you time to reflect upon this. Yes, of course I went out enough. I have some nice blurry photos with unidentifiable figures in to prove it. I’m not ill, but not being a disgusting spluttering mess can only be a good thing.
That’s until you see photos of your friend’s events from around the country.
We went to Ministry of Sound, but that other uni got comedy t-shirts! There was a night at Fabric, but Tim Westwood was there and my friend’s uni got Facebook night. No one is certain what that is, but I’m sure it’s infinitely better than what we had.
Even in one university, Freshers seems to have a different timescale for students with different subjects. Picture this: your course starts on the Monday and you are suddenly suffocated under that pile of books you put off reading; but for everyone else the party continues.
Who would have thought the joys of student life would include chain smoking and reading (an undisclosed text incase my lecturer reads this) at 4am. They didn’t mention that in the prospectus.
This is while literally the whole entire world seems to be having an incredible, extraordinarily mind blowing and unforgettable knees up. While you fleetingly attempt to absorb something and anything as your eyes close and re-open of their own accord, there is a balcony of people screaming with laughter in the next flat. Upstairs shrieks and jumps along to Lady Gaga above you, topped off with the sound of two people rolling on the floor directly outside your window, the boy dribbling and desperately pleading for the girl to go back to his flat.
But Freshers isn’t just about partying. It’s about milestones in your life. You may be able to write a fantastic essay on the complexities of modern literature, but that doesn’t mean you know how to cook anything more complicated than a boiled egg. It also doesn’t mean you won’t make an arse of yourself and fall over onto your seminar leader in your first lesson. These things come with time, young fresher.
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