Nine frustrating things only Cardiff students will understand

I think we can all agree on these things

1 year ago | UPDATED 1 year ago

Cardiff is undeniably a fantastic student city. With good nightlife, great prices, friendly people and some of the most beautiful areas of the UK only a short train ride away, what’s not to love? However, there must be balance in the universe, and these nine things are sure to make any student question the virtues of life in the Welsh capital.

Seagulls that run the streets

Right photo via YouTube

Scientists somewhere crossbred a hyena with a pterodactyl. The resulting creature escaped, proliferated, and is now commonly known as the Cardiff Seagull. When these winged mutants aren’t busy carrying small children away from villages, or tracking down Dorothy for the Wicked Witch of the West, they amuse themselves by disemboweling bin bags without predjudice, leaving once-lush locales such as Rhymney Street looking like an amateur rendition of the opening scene from 28 Days Later. Just try and spot the difference above. The seagulls are just not satisfied with a diet of abandoned kebabs and weeks old pesto pasta, these feathered fiends have been observed eating pigeons, rats and each other. They may soon move on to small pets, much like their Devon-based cousins. Nature is a beautiful thing.

The constant queuing everywhere you go

Do these images give you deja queue? Whether you’re gulping down the last of that warm can of dark fruits you lifted from pres, or straining under the weight of the small hoard of pesto and pasta you’ve secured for yourself, in some misguided hope that you’ve cushioned yourself from the inevitable post-4pm shortages, chances are you’ll be waiting a while.

Not being allowed to jump into the giant pile of VK bottles under the SU stairs

Some may call it the eighth wonder of the world. It’s calling to you. The bouncers wouldn’t notice. Your mate got away with it last week. You’re seven VKs down. Your blood type is VK. You are VK. Become one with the pile.

The inability to ever find a seat at the library

At least Garfield seems to be having a good time

You’ve finally decided to knuckle down. You’ve dragged yourself to the ASSL, made the long ascent up the stairs (because only psychopaths study on the ground floor) and now you find yourself awkwardly scouting the rows for a decent seat with an outlet, but to no avail. In a pathetic attempt to appear as if you possess any control over your life, you plonk yourself in a middle seat, your wizened laptop’s ailing battery barely able to provide a meagre hour’s study time. Overcome by the wretchedness of your situation, you take a pen and scrawl some dejected message on the desk, your hopeless scribbles joining the thousands of others who share in your terrible fate.

Feeling the rain on your skin a little too often

No one else can feel it for you, only you can let it in, but we don’t want to. Even better when you’ve decided to wear that cool (totally not waterproof ) outfit to impress your seminar crush. It’s best when the rain decides the perfect end to your night out is a soaking even the Nickelodeon slime tank would be jealous of dishing out.

Assorted Queen Street danger

Hard hats and safety goggles must been worn at all times

Queen Street is the beating heart of Cardiff. Unfortunately, it could probably do with a visit to the cardiologist. Whether it’s the occasional screaming matches/fistfights that seem to kick off just as you leave Greggs, or the shady characters trying to sell you definitely-not-stolen goods out of a carrier bag, there really is something for everyone. Hopefully they’ve got a new laptop battery in there for you.

Getting stuck in front of someone trying to go viral on T&A Kebab TikTok at four in the morning

Overflowing with talent

You look great love, you really do, and I get it, you know Omar, and you’re definitely his favourite, but after the onslaught of Jaegers and VKs I’ve put myself through tonight the last thing I need is any obstacles between a large chicken doner and my mouth. The poor chicken didn’t die for this, and if I have to wait any longer watching you embarrassingly flap around I might well up and join it.

The emotional trauma of being gaslit by the Live Lounge toilet man into thinking that aftershave would somehow salvage your already mediocre rizz

Maximum Armani, minimal punani.

Getting lost in Saint David’s

It’s like Pan’s Labyrinth, except the real monster is the cynical march of unrestrained capitalism and spaffing your loan on air maxes that will go to pieces in five months time. It’s Cardiff’s very own Backrooms. Even though you may never see daylight again, take solace in the fact that it’s at least got a Slim Chickens.