TOM RASMUSSEN is no longer a fresher. But he’s had an amazing first year.
I’m home. Home for me is in the North West – a dark, barren land called Lancashire (I can sense the Southerners wincing). After battling up and down the 87 stairs between my room in Queens’ and my car at least 16 times, mopping the packing-sweat from my brow (you all know what I mean), and saying many emotional goodbyes, the car door slammed shut and off I was on my last journey home as a fresher.
Everyone I spoke to in the last few days of term seemed really upset to be leaving first year. We all defended the most ridiculous decisions with the classic: “But this is the last time we’ll do this as freshers…” What’s more, the look on people’s faces when they realised that soon we will not be able to apply the term: “DOWN IT FRESHAAA” to any of our drinking activities resembled the face people pull when someone makes a joke about their parents having sex… awkward.
Truthfully, I was sad to leave fresherdom behind too. How could I not be? After the year I’ve had, it would be impossible not to feel a little bit emotional. In fact, all this talk about being freshers and moving on into second year made me reminisce about some of the memories this year has brought me.
Now, all freshers have the same few early memories: moving in to their beloved rooms, awkwardly bumping in to that weird fourth year on their corridors, and wondering if they’ll ever say any words other than: “Name? College? Subject?” in their time at Cambridge. Thank God Freshers’ Week is over!
But, as the year rolled on, we started to form a weekly routine. Tuesdays and Wednesdays meant trips to Cindies, queuing for approximately three hours, and then leaving after about seven minutes because it’s just TOO HOT. Mondays involved pre-drinks in Q12 (my room) followed by dancing down to The Cow and waking up with an aubergine on my floor, four empty cava bottles by my bed, and some half-eaten chips by my side.
My weeks have also involved the buttery (especially brunch at the weekends); White Chocolate Mochas in Caffe Nero (skinny with cream); too much food from Wagamamas; excessive amounts of shopping followed by refusing to check my bank balance; and forever trying to think of excuses to avoid my Tuesday night Biochemistry supervision (which never did work).
And this weekly routine is what has made my year as a fresher so damn awesome. However, there are a few stand out events which were so dramatic that they hold a special place in my heart. Like the time I fell from the top of the stairs at Wagamamas all the way to the bottom – taking out my three best friends on the way down.
Who could forget going to Peterhouse formal with a group of very special gay men from Clare – which saw a penis/church-steeple out at the table (not mine)? Or, spin the bottle in the bar led by a hilarious scouser who later unearthed a dildo and smashed a full bottle of wine and dancing-off to Lady Gaga (a small, fairly tame, snippet)? And what about the time we danced in the rain from Cafe Rouge all the way to Queens’ to Judas? And the time I officially became a lad…
Looking back at the last year had made me realise that I can’t do justice to the memories in writing. I’ve never laughed and cried as much I have in the year, and it’s been absolutely perfect. Although I’m looking forward to the new adventures that summer will bring, I’m already counting the minutes to 1st October – when we will l be an academic year older, but hopefully no wiser. Here’s to a long summer, an excellent Mich term, and ultimately Cambridge!