24 hours in the life of a Stoke Bishop fresh, are you as unique as you think you are?

Eat, sleep, U1, repeat

We’ve all seen the YouTube videos: “how to be that girl: a day in the life”. Instead of watching someone eating salads, manifesting, and being a functional human all day, strap a GoPro on a Bristol Uni student and you’d have a very different video.

Rather than iced coffees out of mason jars, you’re more likely to find squashka in stolen pint glasses. Sure, there may be an avocado or two, and some powder, but potentially not of the protein variety.


Start by opening your door and tripping over the traffic cone that was wittily placed outside it many moons ago and is now simply part of the interior.


A coffee from your “I can’t adult today” mug. Ah – no time! – hastily transfer it into your Bristol travel cup and get your ass down to the Transport Hub.


Make your way through the crowd of Evisu and True Religion clones, flash your First Bus ticket (so blessed it’s free, man), and whack your tunes in. Why not listen to some Hybrid Minds and romanticise your life as The Downs flash by?


Attending your 9am, you haven’t done the reading, but it’s okay because only one person speaks in the seminar, and you can pass the time by nodding and counting how many times they use the word “oftentimes” during their long-winded points.


After an hour of that, oftentimes you’ll be needing a caffeine hit if you have any chance of avoiding getting back on the bus and collapsing in bed. The Source Café queue in Senate is looking extra-long, but the smiley cashier makes it all worthwhile. You know the one, and he’s a gem.


Grabbing your oat milk latte, you arrive at floor 3, the “silent” study area. There’s a group in front chatting about last night’s antics at the Brass Pig. How ridiculous. No one can concentrate with that racket. Looks like you’ll have to head home after all.


May as well swing by big Sainsbury’s as it’s on the way. You pick up some Quorn nuggets, instant noodles, and bacon. No one can be vegetarian all the time, at least you’re cutting back.

Packing all those into your Thekla tote bag, you get that warm fuzzy feeling that comes with saving the environment one less plastic bag at a time.


Back on the U1. Dammit your AirPods have run out. You have no choice but to tune in to the Stoke Bishop news report. Hardship, struggle, and strife. The issues are real and heart-breaking. Who knew there were so many perils that came with getting 90,000 views on TikTok?

Can you even imagine? Someone only wanting to be your friend, so they have a better chance at winning your Depop giveaway?


Back at the flat finally. Stroll past the leaking bin bags outside and greet your flatmate who’s only just woken up. Morning mate.


You’re ravenous, time to do some cooking. Find a pan and a fork from the pile of washing up in the sink. Oil, soy sauce, and whatever vegetables are lying around the bottom of the fridge, it’s time to stir and fry.


Taking that back to your room, you stick on an old Theroux to remind yourself why you came to university after all. You’re cool, nutritious and you’ve, quite frankly, got your shit together.


After all that concentrating in uni, of course your attention is going to waver. No disrespect to Louis, but TikTok is just far more entertaining. How the hell is this algorithm so accurate?

Your For You Page knew about your undiagnosed ADHD before you did. Can’t concentrate on that now though. Must go and pester flatmate about the plan for tonight. Alas, they haven’t woken up yet.


5:30 and it’s already dark. March man. Oh well, time to drink. Sending “Mr 4pm wake up” off to the Welcome for his first stroll of the day. You now have an abundance of vodka, maybe a Henry Weston, or even a Lambrini if you’re fancy.


Cover those operating table lights with bin bags, or Sainsbury’s bags for added ambiance, gather round the table, and let pres commence.


The game of higher or lower quickly escalates. Soon half the pack of cards are covered in sticky squashka and half the pack of flatmates are busy funelling, chunning, crying, or all three at once.


The flat above you, who woke up at 6pm, are just emerging as you’re heading out into the night. “Don’t ask questions”, they think, as Dan headbutts the door, tearfully cracks open another tin, then falls down the stairs.


You arrive at Lakota for a DnB extravaganza. Flash your provisional at the bouncer and waltz right on in. Giant pupils and sweaty bodies surround you.

Ah, there’s the boy you hoped you’d see tonight. You didn’t hope to see him skanking in a sweater vest though. Ick secured.


The sixth Jager bomb down, and you are greeted by the all too familiar blackout.

You emerge back to reality in the smoking area, talking about how you think everyone should “live in the moment”. So true king! Now you are the one crying and Dan’s tutting. Another strike on the liability chart for you.


Ubering back with about half of the number you started with. Success.


But if you thought you were going straight home, you are severely mistaken. “Stop here please mate” the hungriest member of the party declares. And you are hit by the stark yellow light of M&Ms.

If you’re lucky, you might even get chirpsed in here. The nights not over till its over, my friend. Inevitably, your vegetarianism goes out of the window for a second time today. Doner kebab with a side portion of shame.


Falling into bed; shoes on, coat on. Opening your laptop… it’s Theroux again. Is this the same man that saw you just eight hours earlier; when you were cool, nutritious and had your shit together?

Glugging down a litre of water from your Chilly’s bottle. You’re going to have a crippling hangover tomorrow. But you can get Theroux it.

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