The Tab’s How To: Bridgemas

Making a Bridge a Home

bridgemas cambridge students Christmas festive uni life University of Cambridge

The Grinch hated Bridgemas! The whole Bridgemas season!

It might be deadlines, DoSes, devilish tourists, or perhaps another reason.

It could be the merriment of flatmates through the night.

It could be the stress of the Bridge squeezing him so tight.

But I think it most likely his chagrin had grown so tall,

Because he hadn’t read the Tab’s guide; for one, and for all.

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Who's going to storm out after losing Mayfair in Monopoly?

Without further ado, here is The Cambridge Tab's failsafe guide to making Bridgemas that little bit more like the real thing…

Decorating the tree
Just like that pine tree in the corner, your essay is a sad, dying lump, but that shouldn’t stop you trying to dress it up. For tinsel, don’t cite Wikipedia – cite the citations from the bottom of Wikipedia. For baubles, stick on some grammatical tricks and fancy words. Semicolons. ‘Aforementioned’. ‘Thus’.

For the angel, change the date so it looks like you did it earlier and actually have your work life together, rather than that you spent the last three hours desperately googling the ideological impacts of the French revolution and somehow now know less about it now than you did when you started.

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Baubles are time-consuming to add, but worth the work [ most definitely not an allegory for referencing]

Exchanging shit presents with that relative you see once a year and don’t really know

Corridor Secret Santa anyone? There’s inevitably a clique of you this could work for, but trying to get a present for those select few who have the social skills to make friends without forced contact with them for a term is painstaking at best and tear-inducing at worst. That said, 7 quid Schnapps isn’t a replacement for a well thought out gift, or just asking a friend what I want, is it? At least it wasn’t Lynx.

Visiting your relatives who live bloody miles away

Why not pop round to see a friend at Girton? We’re lonely out here. So lonely.

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The smile is a lie.

Dodging that Aunt who is a little weird and has probably hatched a scheme to steal some Dalmatians to make overpriced dog-skin fur coats

A tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme. Beauty (that’s you) and the Beast (that’s that one you matched on Tinder and now have to awkwardly avoid eye contact with entering, during and leaving lectures for fear the awkwardness will cause your actual death).

The annual family argument

What else is your DoS for? Yes, you told me the deadline was in two weeks. Yes, I know that’s out of term time. No, I don’t have the email on my phone.


It’s a bit like getting drunk and messaging that guy you hooked up with after Life in Week 2 saying ‘I know I made you buy me Gardies then threw up on your Patagonia jacket but that kiss really meant a lot, drinks?’. You know you shouldn’t, but you probably will.

Bad cracker jokes

Someone told me please, it’s Bridgemas, stop saying the names of deodorants. I said sure.

Pratt, Hemsworth, Evans and Pine climb a flagpole and laugh together. Happy Chris mast.

The less fit Jonas brother got tricked into thinking this bloke was a holy man. I had to tell him ‘He’s no Saint, Nick’.

A movie’s being made about a little boy who gets on a steam train to the North Pole, where he’s put through a tough bodybuilding regime. It’s called The Polar Bench-Press.

Father Christmas adopted an article from a Treaty, but it ran away to Cambridge. Santa’s clause is coming to town.

Dodgy Christmas songs

Just as the time you spent reading those jokes, dodgy Christmas songs are irreplaceable. They’re ingrained inside us all, whether you want them there or not, and no way is a measly month going to stop the spreading of righteous Bridgemas cheer.

With that in mind, do Bridgemas formals, Bridgemas dinners, wear inappropriately festive clothing to the last Sunday life of term, blare out classic Christmas songs, sing those classics at the top of your lungs after the mulled wine gets cracked out, and go to see college chapel carolling and realise you can’t actually sing. Don’t get hung up on the technicalities, and take a step back from the blizzarding workload.

Let it snow, bitches. Let it snow.