Tab Rates vs. Tab Slates: Week 0

Tab Rates

2010. So far, so good. Apart from the early hours of January 1st – which one must always write off for reasons of extreme intoxication – and the hungover fallout of such revelry, so far the year is without complete financial collapse, natural disaster (touch wood) or re-emergence of Jedward. Speak to me in a fortnight and I’ll decide whether I still like it.

The Maintenance Men. There I was crying into my duvet, wearing tights, ski socks, trackies, four jumpers, a hoody and a hat as pyjamas (not journalistic embellishment – the woeful truth), cursing myself for labouring under the misapprehension that St Catharine’s College would actually turn the heating on for its students (oh, how naïve I was), when Mr Maintenance Man appeared with a space heater and a smile. Delirious with hypothermia (alright, I was a bit chilly, OK?), I threw myself at him. Apparently it is crossing a line if you hug the maintenance men, but I maintain the moment called for it.

Your Friends. Let’s face it, you love your family, but after five weeks of holiday you need a holiday from domestic bliss, or rather, domestic discord as one sibling after another reveals that they found a wine glass/a fag butt/worse in their bed and effectively bust your clandestine New Year’s Eve ‘gathering’. Remember those people you actually chose to be your companions (rather than snotty sister who you know is adopted, even if uncanny resemblances scream otherwise)? Embrace them passionately, get very drunk with them and pour out these emotions.

Feeling Flush. It’s beginning of term and – provided the Student Loans Company doesn’t commit another monumental fuck-up leaving thousands forced to adopt freeganism as a necessity rather than a political choice – your bank balance should be looking pretty sweet right now. Don’t think about the dark days at the end of last term when you’d forgotten what a tenner actually looked like. Reward yourself with a little pre-term shopping. You obviously deserve it, what with just having received piles of gifts at Christmas and everything.

Vitamin C. Get to Boots pronto. Refreshers Flu is coming and it doesn’t care who it takes down in the fallout.

Tab Slates

Cindies. Look. I don’t need to go to know it still smells, it’s still packed with people whose ill-judged fairy-wings, fake tan and microscopic skirt combo will make your eyes bleed and its drinks are still extortionately expensive (considering they contain more E-numbers than a ballpit of blue Smarties and the effect you’re feeling is definitely just a sugar high). You  may be a new person in 2010, but it doesn’t mean Cindies is.

Everyone Else’s New Year’s Eve. ‘Yah, well mine had the Chemical Brothers DJ-ing. You know, my cousin is, like, pretty much best mates with them.’ ‘Yeah? That’s pretty safe. I mean, mine only had an elephant and Arabian belly dancers. But it was in a Wiltshire country house – I lost my phone in one of the bedrooms and it took me eight hours to find it – I just couldn’t remember which of the forty-four I’d dropped it in!’ ‘Remember John’s May Ball? My New Year’s Eve? Better.’ Look. You had a ‘sick’ New Year’s. Well done. Spare a thought for the rest of us who had just as good a time with a bottle of £3.99 Soave and someone else’s three-bedroom maisonette to trash.

No More Borders. One of the most tragic victims of the recession (and not only because that big Borders off Market Square is almost certainly going to be transformed into a mega-Starbucks). I used to while away hours during which I should have been in the library reading all the magazines I’m too cheap to buy, without so much as a disapproving look from the staff, and it had the added bonus of being full of books (duh) so if I squinted my eyes a little I could pretend that it actually was the library. Plus, it was a great shortcut to and from Sainsbury’s. R.I.P. Borders.

May Week Anticipation. Yes, like the rest of you I’m joining every June event/May Ball Facebook group going but it doesn’t defend you against the fact that 1. it’s absolutely baltic and summer is – no, it doesn’t just feel – ages away 2. you’re still never going to get a John’s ticket and 3. you have to get through something rather nasty that goes by the name of exam term (freshers, brace yourself) and probably have to actually do an exam or seven before you can enjoy any of the revelry that you’re paying for now. Weep, weep into your set texts.