A very Cambridge Christmas message from The Tab

Dear Cantabs,

By now, the stress of Michaelmas is but a distant memory.

The sight of cyclists in your home town no longer fills you with rage, but gives you a sort of longing for the stampede of bikes across Kings Parade at 9am, and you are actually considering embarking upon the holiday reading you’ve been set out of boredom.

Whilst Cambridge nostalgia may be getting you down this Christmas, we are here to tell you that Christmas really isn’t that different to the town you accidentally called home in front of your mum who then proceeded to cry that your dreary town is no longer home.

I think I’ll go home in the first week of January

This may well be timed at the same time as the Queen’s speech, but please be assured that any monarchal parralells between us, and well, the Queen are merely incidental. Shame on you for being cynical and assuming this is just one big exercise in vanity.

Here are our festive greetings, to remind you that even at Christmas, Cambridge is never really that far away:

You argue over everything/nothing

If there is one thing the presence of relatives at Christmas is good for, it is arguments. One remark from your sexist uncle over who should make the Christmas pudding leads to outright anarchy, with your shiny new #cambridgevalues ready to swing out in full force. Weeks of endless tiresome drivel you’ve endeared yourself into calling ‘debating’ at the Cambridge Union and pledging your allegiance to CUCA have trained you up perfectly to defend #freezpeech, and what better time to do this than Christmas?

This is all one big nightmare, you tell yourself, as Grandma refuses to acknowledge the deconstructionist and theological perspectives you’ve brought to her discussion of “the true meaning of Christmas” that you called shallow. And obviously any family Scrabble game is unfairly mismatched when your unsurpassable wit is brought to the table. There are no safe spaces when you’re around, you intelligent Cantab.

Who stole Christmas?

Everything you do is geared around excess and indulgence

That feeling at 8pm when you have to unbutton your jeans and be free after indulging in what has to have been four times your daily calorie allowance isn’t too foreign from the Cambridge experience. Champagne with breakfast, a constant supply of food, booze, booze and more booze – really you might as well be at a May Ball.

The only real difference between right now and your hedonistic life in Cambridge is the absence of hacks who consistently try to network with you at 2am over a late night G and T. You can be fucking glad your aunt Judith isn’t running to become NUS delegate.

We work so hard

You listen to awful music

You moan like hell about the constant playing of Mr Brightside in Cindies but really you know that terrible music really is where your heart lies. Tis the season to sing awful carols, yell ‘Fairytale of New York’ at the top of your lungs after one to many glasses of champagne, and break out the falsetto to Mariah Carey. Christmas is basically a bop, except your dad has taken over the DJ-ing duties from some fourth year from Fitz who was paid £20.

Might as well add your g-parents to the guest list

You better watch out, you better not cry…

… because a detached, old bearded man from College knows all about the Bridgemas party in your room. You were naughty.

Being stowed-away in the warming, forgiving indoors against the harsh winter climate is like being stowed-away in the warm liberal-elite Bubble against the harsh political nuclear winter outside.

Refusing to leave your house and making yourself a blanket nest to avoid the freezing winter weather (storm Barbara is a bit of a bitch) really isn’t that different from Cambridge. Whilst there political rivalries may seem like the be all and end all, but really Cambridge is a cozy cotton-wool world. Brexit? Fuck off I have an essay deadine. Trump? Not that much of a crisis compared with the bollocking I just received in a supervision.

Much like Cambridge, Christmas is the time to eat, drink, argue over nothing and repeat. Just don’t turn on the news.

See you in January

There might be a deeper meaning to all of this 

You know, like getting a degree or the triumph of familial values over consumerism. There might be a deeper meaning. No, no there’s not.

And even though there’s a lot you could be doing today, as with any day in Cambridge, you’re still sitting here reading the Tab. 

Happy holidays one and all. The all seeing, all knowing, formidable Tab will be watching over you in Lent.