How To: Deal with a Girton romance

Do Girtonians deserve love?

Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Girtonian?

Deny thy college and refuse thy thighs.

Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,

And I’ll no longer be from a college with a more reasonable access route to the main lecture sites.

I’ve been here for a year and a half, and I’ve seen enough Tinder conversations die once I’ve answered ‘college?’ to be desperate enough to try this.

Here’s how to deal with having a partner/booty call/friend (?!?) at Girton.

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First things first; you’ll need a bike, a bike lock, and bike lights. No-one said this was going to be cheap, and if you’re in it for the long haul you might even want to invest in a helmet and some high-viz. It’s a 15 minute ride from Sidgwick, five from Murray Edwards, and fuck off from Homerton. Next, get the research in. The perilous road to Girton will take you past such sights as: Ludwig Wittgenstein’s grave, Too Tiny Baby Clothes Shop, the UN Environment World Conversation Monitoring Centre, a Beefeater, and Alaska.

You’re going to want to spend nights, even if you’re not shagging, just for practicality. A day trip to Girton implies that bike journey twice, which is probably a half hour of exercise, which I wouldn’t inflict on my worst enemy. Girton (the main site) has beds you can rent from the Plodge for a quid, and Swirles Court (the off-site, mostly 2nd year accommodation) has 1.5 sized beds, so, y’know, squish up.

If your attempts at catering to their needs have run their course/you were too lazy to begin with, drag them to yours. You, you beautiful gal/guy/other, are stunning and a queen, and you deserve to have every meet up at yours, because you’re a great person with a wonderful body and your college isn’t a border-state to Narnia. Use your assets; by which I mean, if you’re from Selwyn, you can roll into Sidge the next day – it’s just good business. Same goes for Downing and Downing Site, Pembroke and Mill Lane Lecture Rooms, Homerton and nowhere.

Step 8; If you’ve made the journey, get the rewards. Girton, for all the shite it gets, is a beautiful college, and also weirdly the only place in the UK besides Lancashire you can find black squirrels. If you’ve dragged them to yours, reap the benefits of the chunky thighs you’ve put zero effort into deserving.


Girtonians are desperate for any human connection after every conversation goes ‘Girton? Generic joke? Forced laughter.’ Say something else, anything else, and you’ve got us. It’s (viz. we’re) so easy.

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From fair Huntingdon, where we lay our scene.