Young, Bright And In The White

Everyone knows it. The White House – named for the amount of drugs supposedly consumed within – is legendary among Bristol students past and present.

Round the corner from Woodland Road, you’d be forgiven for mistaking it for a University building. But this is an institution of an entirely different kind…

Historically, the place was a nursing home for the elderly. Its residents were made up of tea sipping coffin dodgers. They presumably took a lot of pills though, as is White House tradition.

2008’s residents live it up

Some of the White House’s greatest memories were forged this year. Occupied by no less than ten lunatics – seven boys and three girls – the landlord was in despair. No amount of angry letter writing could appease these wayward students.

Their biggest legacy was opening up the disused basement (now a separate flat inhabited by some very unfortunate postgrads) and hosting a ‘rock concert’ – the landlord’s words not mine – down there.

Rocking out in the reopened basement

Unknown waifs and strays were constantly drifting in and out. A number of these bohemian loafers tended to be actual criminals, leading to the students being robbed blind on a regular basis.

A former tenant tells me “We let one guy in, and before we knew it he had taken the keys to my car, loaded it with all our worldly possessions, and driven off. It was quite traumatic.”

That wasn’t the only disaster. “Once the biggest pisshead in the house fell off the roof. We didn’t notice for quite a while. He was sitting on the flat roof on the first floor balcony and suddenly he wasn’t there. He was alright though – he bounced.”

Sometime in the late noughties, the famed house fell into misuse, under the care of a sorry group of undergraduate dentists.

The carefree days were over, it seemed, with the landlord taking a hard line against wasted tenants in favour of these quiet types who only used laughing gas in the appropriate manner – to soothe a patient having root canal.

The dry spell didn’t last long, however – it was only a matter of time before the White House was reinstated with its rightful tenants who would restore it to improper use.

One girl tells me of her escapades in the palatial property last year. “I was a fresher and I knew the second-years who lived there but not all that well.”

“I don’t remember anything of the party up until around 6am – maybe I was roofied. I came to in the early hours with my head on one of the host’s laps. I lurched about for a bit, then passed out again, this time on to the DJ decks – which I decided were the ideal place for a mid party chill – though I think that slightly spoiled the vibe for everyone else.”

“I was promptly chucked out by one of the bouncers, fell down the back steps and rolled on to the street. Someone called an ambulance, but I managed to pull myself together and bumble back in before the paramedics arrived. I refused to go home and was one of the last to leave – but that’s typical me. It was a classic night. At least I think it was.”

Party of the year?
Photo: Lulu Gayford

This year it’s referred to in everyday conversation as the ‘Pussy Palace’ – on account of the nine girls living there. Each one louder and more beautiful than the last, this year’s female inhabitants are easy on the eye and perhaps less easy on the ears. The place is a hotbed of oestrogen, a cesspit of destruction.

Not your normal house party…
Photo: Jamie Corbin

Recently, the girls managed to pull off the house party to end all house parties. Hundreds poured into Bristol from all over the country. The main room had been diligently soundproofed by taping mattresses and cushions to the windows, which rained down on the revellers in the early hours.

Much to everyone’s horror, a used tampon was discovered trodden into the carpet the next morning. The party was a tremendous success, thereby upholding the White House’s legendary reputation.

Freshers fought tooth and nail to nab the White House. Signing the contract is no mean feat – you have to be in the know to be able to inherit it, as its tradition dictates it be passed down from friends to friends.

Moving in for the first time isn’t always a pleasant experience – one old-timer tells me how upon arriving in their new bedroom they looked under the bed to discover a sea of used condoms.

The Tab has learnt a Hiatt Baker lot have scored it for next year – five boys and four girls. Good luck to them. We feel confident this gang won’t let us down – the ringleader cruises around Stoke Bishop on a moped. Sweet.