A ‘Fresher’ Perspective: Introductions are in order
by Jessica Tresadern
Well hello there. Jessica is my name, English Literature is my game (as you can see, I am a veritable master of words). This is my first blog entry for Palatinate so maybe I should get all the tedious stuff out of the way first; I’m a Fresher (or the alternative pronunciation ‘FRESHAAAAR’) at Castle. I hope to never have to repeat this information again; I swear I got repetitive strain injury during my first week by reeling off these details to every new person I met. Which begs the question: what is the acceptable number of times you can ask somebody their name? I’m currently stuck in this awful limbo whereby I have known people for a few weeks now, and have spent a considerable amount of time with them, but still for the life of me cannot remember their names. Being a Mancunian, I’ve managed to get away with calling people ‘love’; people seem to think it’s part of the Coronation Street School of Charm.
So, Freshers’ Week. It seems an age since I was abandoned by my Dad and left to my own devices. I have never spoken to as many people in the space of one week as I did that week. I have never got as drunk with people I barely knew as I did that week. There was something particularly bizarre about drinking and going out with people whom I had known all for a matter of days. I wanted to avoid chundering on somebody new, as that was sure to lose me some points in the game that is university. I came close to it during the infamous Pub Golf night. It’s weird when you’re sat there, surrounded by people dressed as golfers, the impending realisation that you are indeed completely gone. As much as the emphasis is on drinking during the first week, I’ve since found out that our first week was pretty tame compared to some of the weeks my friends endured at other universities. Before you all scream abuse at me, an anecdote: one of my female friends had to take a flatmate to hospital because he tried hiding his beer bottle up his…well, in an inappropriate place. I think the most I witnessed here were broken limbs due to over-erratic ‘dancing’.
The week also provided me with the chance to gauge which of the clubs here in little ol’Durham were worth making my regular haunts. I suppose I came here with an elevated view of what a good nightclub should be; Manchester is renowned for its plethora of establishments where my drunk dancing is publically acceptable. I think I went to Loveshack twice during Freshers’ (hazy memories, not going to lie) and I’ve since been to Studio and Klute copious amounts of times. I’ve found that if I’m with the right people, it doesn’t matter where I am as I’ll still have a great time. Klute deserves a special mention; I’d heard about the ‘worst nightclub’ reputation before I arrived here but I have to say, it’s disappointed me! It’s not as bad as some of the back alley places I’ve been to before. And where else would serve me a Quaddy? Exactly. Klute, I salute you. Note for newbies: singing “Bad Romance” whilst making intense eye contact with somebody is probably going to give them the impression that you’re a bit weird. Please learn from my mistakes. Someone has to.
I suppose the aim was just to get to know as many people as you could, and then hone in on the ones that would become your smaller group of friends. I think I’ve managed to achieve this successfully, as I have a lovely circle of friends here; we’re already looking forward to living together next year. However, a tip for future Freshers: being over-zealous is a no-no. For one, do not put your name on your door. I made the mistake of making myself a funny (debatable) sign for my room’s door which informed people of my name and then blared out the message: You can only enter if you have vodka/cake/are David Tennant.
This was my attempt at getting people to remember which room was mine. But alas, it merely resulted in many drunken people banging on my door when I was trying to sleep telling me that they too loved vodka. Needless to say, I will not be trying that one again.
Freshers of the future, take heed. Fancy dress may well be hilarious, but it’s hard to deny responsibility for your antics when you were dressed as the board game Twister on the night in question. Best yet worst dress-up investment I’ve ever made.
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