Confreshions: the week that the world couldn’t stand still.
"I just left my knickers in the tutorial"
On the 21st of September 2011, The writers of peepshow brought to our screens ‘Fresh Meat’, Channel 4’s admirable attempt at re-enacting what would be occurring on crumbling corridors across the country.
As a society, we tend to look back upon those hazy seven days with a mix of nostalgia and nausea at the scent of super noodles or the rustle of a premier bag.
The new frontiers of Facebook, pull cam and the peril of a NatWest student overdraft have however catalysed our memory loss far further then that suffered by our fresh fore-fathers. In order to reminisce in that “its fine if you get over forty percent” feeling, we took a team to the hallowed halls of Rococo’s, relieving the lashed-little-lambs of last term's transgressions.
Shitting on your own door step – not meant in the allegorical sense, It seems that the fresh class of 2014 should probably consider nappies. A substantial number of fresh unabashedly reported heroic feats of defecation. Whether it be on the top of timepiece, in a girl’s sink, or simply in one's undergarments, shit just seems to happen in first year.
If your gunna do it, do it right- the best thing about university is that there are no parents. You can slay whatever beast you may find on the d-floor and not have to worry about the great escape at breakfast. Being the hyper-masculine lad that I am, I was not fazed by the predictable problems with plumbing, ‘loving thy neighbour’ and gap year encounters with the sexually ambiguous, yet some of the flock had definitely been led astray. On Thursday I learnt not to have sex in the same bed as your sibling, not to spoon your flatmate’s visiting mother and not to call 999 about that perpetual screaming from upstairs. All have been duly noted.
She’s got me spending– The in-house ATM is always a cruel mistress, but nothing is as seductive as the Monday mosaic card reader, as she sulks amongst the spirits, tempting you to push all her buttons. The next morning you awake alone, wiping away your tears with a fistful of receipts. However, student spending has appeared to have become more creative. One student recalls making peace on the corridor by ordering one of every single burger served in McDonalds and twenty chicken nuggets just in case he bore a grudge. Another famed fresh booked himself a week in The Big Apple solo, another sold his soul to foxy bingo, another delivered 20 free samples of tampons to the most antisocial member of her corridor. It seems that we begin university with more money than sense, in order to graduate with more sense than money.
From what little we may remember of Freshers, I feel it is important that we do not forget the friendships that were cemented over cracked toilet seats, emergency dominos deliveries and early bullshitathons in the class rooms of peter chalk. Freshers week provided us with the opportunity to meet the world, and not remember their name the next day, join an extortionately priced society to only attend to socials. Without it, We would probably leave the south west , clutching our first all the way down the M4, before realising we had no one to celebrate it with.
So here are our top three confreshions:
3. “When I realised he was ginger I was sick on him”
2. “I just left my knickers in the tutorial”
1.” I just wanted a cuddle, so she answered the door and she looked minging. Then I was sick, on her mum. It was her mum.”
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