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Going out in third year makes you realise how awful clubbing in Cardiff is

Why is Will Griggs still on fire?

Dissertations, double the workload, and the overarching dread when people ask what you're doing next year – third year is stressful. Now it's responsibility and every waking minute is spent repressing the ever-growing list of things you have to get done. The real working world is on the horizon.

But you convince yourself that it's third year, aka the last year to party. But being an oldie you remember back when it was The Lash and Flux and you had the energy to stay out till dawn. But it's final year, last chance make some memories. On to the Lash…

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VK's were sweeter in first year

In first year queuing in the rain wasn't so bad, you had the naivety of youth on your side, and were still high off those Taly pres. But after about 15 minutes in the queue you now know you're far too cynical for this it's and every 18-year-old is getting on your nerves.

Finally getting in it's just way too hot. It was never this busy before. Everyone is dripping in sweat. These shoes are usually comfy but right now your feet hurt, your back aches and sick to the teeth of people falling into you and throwing their empty VK bottles at my feet or off the balcony. All thoughts are of PJ's and food, along with the comfort of bed and maybe a cuppa.

Enthusiasm for dancing very much gone by final year, as being surrounded by hoards of first years dressed to the nines still screaming DOWN IT FRESHAAA weeks after Freshers' week has ended (we've all been there – move on please) is a tad annoying.

"Was I this annoying in first year?" Probably, but at least now there's a legitimate excuse not go out. It's too hot, too young and too ugh. "Am I a boring third-year? Probably."

Third year is a pain. It's a hell of a lot more work, only for it all to end suddenly at graduation. Staying in is sort of a must, and even if you do make it out, chances are everyone at the club will have only just finished A-Levels. There is one bright side though – at least if there's enough alcohol running through those veins it'll be fine when you do eventually make it out…

Out tonight mate? Nah diss work sorry. *Opens Netflix*