Cambridge’s most injured freshers
Proof if it were needed that nerds can hurt themselves whilst having fun
Often find yourself comparing Cambridge’s three day Fresher’s “week” to those of your sick mates at Bristol and Leeds?
Unfortunately, clicking “join” to various nights out headlining obscure DJs who nobody actually knows won’t convince anyone you’ve become any cooler. Below are a few Fresher’s injuries to remind ourselves that we can party.
This guy with a massive love-bite
Poised outside the Sistine Chapel that is Fitzwilliam College showed a guy looking effortlessly chic having fag with a few friends. I thought to myself; how does one pull off such an air of sophistication? It’s Week 2, surely you’re feeling just as displaced and intellectually inadequate as I am?
Then I clocked it – the Steve Jobs polar neck teamed with the flowy scarf. Below this masquerade lay a hickie that might as well have been a birthmark sprawled over his neck like ink on blotting paper.
The moral of the story is; beware of any Sidney Sussex post grads that haven’t reached the Van of Life yet on a night out.
This girl who tripped over
There is always that one person who incessantly moans about how much work they have. We’re on a night out – Shut. Up.
The kind Fresher above has found a solution for us. She is now off lectures for a fortnight with lenience given to the deadlines of her essays. On the way to Turf last Sunday she slipped over (in total sobriety) face first into some concrete. Six hours in hospital, along with two friends and both her front teeth chipped (Lara Stone 2.0) she has taken her fall with utter humour and pride. Big respect.
Just don’t ask who did her makeup on Halloween.
This other girl who tripped over
Despite the rampant activities of Magdalene Fresher’s (I know right, such Fomo) the greatest casualty of all involved a fall of about a foot off the ramp by Porter’s lodge. This wonderfully coordinated Fresher has now torn her ligament which takes a hefty 8 weeks to heal.
Half of her Fresher’s week was spent on crutches, which I suppose is a way to make an entrance to your first lecture but also a fucking nightmare when maneuvering yourself around the sticky human bean tins that are Life and Cindies. Some recognition was given though by townies labeling her as “hardcore” as well as serving as the ultimate benchmark; if she can survive these weeks then so can I.
The pride of lots of people on lots of swaps
Where to begin? Having been pleaded to not say a word (turns out I write for the Tab, sorry mate) I do feel a certain allegiance to the dignity of these poor Freshers. Whether the menfolk of Caius called for an ambulance or the guys at Jesus were “actually really really straight” is irrelevant.
And of course there’s the other associated injuries to the soul caused by swaps. The paralysis involved in Aldi’s finest Vodka, social anxiety and being in denial that The Lion King is a club anthem. Sorry, take that back, questioning Cindies might as well equate to the blasphemy in acknowledging Oxford’s superiority. “I LOVE CINDIES” (repeat until able to regurgitate to next year’s Fresher.)
The idea of boy verses girl teams eating and drinking themselves into a stupor in the hope that shit gets weird is bizarre – and yet has somehow become so normalized in the past few weeks. The basic premise of a swap invites all forms of injury be it physical, integral or social.
They’re bloody good fun though so who the hell cares.
Me seeing my dinner again after a whole bottle of wine
If you found yourself vomming into a cesspit whose fumes might have even numbed the sense of shame then don’t worry. We’ve all been there. Myself included on my 20th birthday at Fez; all that Gap Year maturity flushed away in an instant.
No one escapes freshers’ week with their health and dignity totally intact. No one.