Secret Diary of a BNOC

We asked an anonymous BNOC to keep a diary for a week. Here’s what she got up to…

amnesty international Blues bluetack BNOC cambridge apostle's cobbknob CUSU Lola's magic circle May Ball ospreys pitt club pittstick

We asked an anonymous BNOC to keep a diary for a week. Here’s what she got up to.

Monday

On my way into town

On my way into town

It turns out the cricket player I ‘played cricket’ with last night is only a half Blue. I worry that the Easter vacation and time away from the Bubble have made me lower my standards.

After beasting my 10 o’clock supervision, I headed to CUSU for our executive committee meeting. Embarrassingly, I was the last person to arrive, as Varsity’s fashion editor stopped me on King’s Parade to snap my impressive street style. I was a little disappointed to hear that she wasn’t from the Tab, because my vintage coat and ironic retro glasses deserve to be appreciated by a bigger audience. I don’t really know what we decided on at the CUSU meeting, beyond agreeing to increase the office budget for paper clips. Oh well, I did a damn good job chairing that discussion.

Tuesday

In the morning, I thought I’d kill a couple of hours at the Arc Café after selling doughnuts at Sidgwick to fundraise for Amnesty International. There I was, busily brainstorming for the sketch that I’m doing for Footlights, when I logged onto Facebook and found that somebody had posted about “the gorgeous girl in the blue dress” on the Spotted: Cambridge University Facebook page. Creep. Concerned about another stalker becoming obsessed with me, I went to the UL instead.

Ugh, bane of my life

Ugh, bane of my life

In the afternoon, I hosted cake and tea for the Christian Union. I’m not sure how to reconcile my “girl about town” lifesetyle with the rigorous moral demands of my religion, but I’ve decided that it’s all fine as long as nobody at the Christian Union discovers my double life.

Wednesday

Decided to miss my first lecture so I could research for next week’s mooting competition in Oxford. I’m determined to bring glory to Cambridge, following our unfortunate performance at the Boat Race this year.

I returned to my room to write my speech for Thursday’s Union debate. I do so many extracurriculars it’s a wonder I managed to finish both my Union speech and that policy paper I’m writing for the Wilberforce Society before the Pitt Club party at 8. I excused myself early, despite the protestations of their president. I wanted to enjoy the sense of superiority and the adrenaline rush which accompanies jumping the queue at Cindies. Life’s great when you’re an Osprey.

Thursday

Found an invitation in my pigeonhole for a Cambridge Apostles’ event in a couple of days. Problem: it clashes with the swap I’ve organised with LMBC.

I emailed a certain Magic Circle firm at lunchtime to enquire about sponsorship for the Cambridge Hub’s annual conference. Everything will go smoothly, as Daddy promised he’d speak to an old chum who works there. I spent much of the afternoon berating my JCR Ents committee, who deserved it because I specifically said BLUE, not green, glowsticks for next Friday’s bop. Afterwards, I negotiated an excellent deal on port and champagne for the May Ball.

What the fuck are these?

What the fuck are these?

I couldn’t stay for drinks with the Master after reading grace at formal hall in the evening (another perk that comes with topping the Tripos the previous year). It coincided with my debate at the Union, and the fact that I had promised to take Lembit to Lola’s after demolishing his arguments.

Friday

Headed to the boathouse early, despite my wicked hangover. I still find it surreal shouting orders at Patrick Boatmanthe Patrick Boatman — but that’s the quality of sporting achievement one expects when coxing for the University team.

I powered through my reading list ahead of schedule, so, following dinner, I went through the script for that ADC production in a couple of weeks. There was a fair bit to memorise, although I can’t complain as I’m cast as the main character. My night ended, like many other Friday evenings, at fair Gardenia’s, where Vaz begged to have his photo taken with me.

I run this town

I run this town

Saturday

Travelled to the BBC recording studio in London this morning, where we made it to the finals of University Challenge. The other team weren’t bad, but their captain became flustered and forgot his answer every time I gave him one of my signature seductive side glances.

I had to hurry back to Cambridge to finish my blog post for the Huff Post, update my LinkedIn page and email fellows in my capacity as faculty rep to lobby for larger water coolers in the library.

Sunday

I feel entitled to sleep in today.