Campus Safari: The Fresher

Every autumn, Leeds is hit with a sudden influx of untamed creatures heading north in droves. The migration of the Fresher (Naïvus Impressionable) is an oft-studied phenomenon, a magical journey that follows it from its arrival as an innocent, well-fed caterpillar, to its return after just one year as a malnourished, shell-shocked butterfly.

Though always trying its best to fit in with its more mature surroundings, the Fresher is not particularly skilled in hiding the tell-tale signs that it is a fish-out-of-water. Look for mainstream brands that are just out of their price range; Hollister and Superdry are still in as long as mummy is paying. If the clothes aren’t enough of a giveaway, just watch out for the fool weighed down by its idiotic choice to walk past the Parkinson building and gratefully accept every flyer that is waved in its general direction.

As far as the food chain goes, the Fresher is right at the bottom of the heap. It is prey to all creatures great and small: the Promo Zombies forcing leaflets into its hands and telling it to come to their ‘WORLD RECORD ATTEMPT FOR MOST PEOPLE DRESSED AS SMURFS IN ONE PLACE EVER’ night; the Rugby Lads throwing pint after pint of urine and vomit at it during initiations because “it’s for the team”; even the Hyde Park Hipsters selling them bundles of oregano and soap powder in the Mint smoking area because it’ll be, like, the trippiest night of their lives.

Even to the older students who don’t try and manipulate them the Fresher is still, for some reason, really fucking annoying. Maybe it stems purely from jealousy over their carefree dissertation-less lifestyles, or perhaps it’s due to the confused “I don’t have a clue where the Ziff building is!?” swagger that they all seem to adopt when on campus. Whatever it is, the Fresher has only to open its mouth to illicit clenched fists and ground teeth from all second and third years in the vicinity.

The main problem for the Fresher is a false understanding of what student life is really like – its only prior knowledge having been collected from American films where attractive people drink out of red plastic cups, the five days they spent in Magaluf last summer, and the one time they borrowed their older brother’s ID for a night out in Birmingham. They know nothing of the crippling social awkwardness of the first few weeks, the logistics of the messy one-night-stand, or the mingled confusion and dismay that comes with every single one of their socks inexplicably going missing on the journey between their room and the washing machine.

Yes, little Fresher, it really isn’t easy for you. But don’t worry; it gets better.