What your Leeds Uni halls says about you
Charles Morris is apparently a bit posh
As soon as you move to Leeds, the halls you live in start to define you.
If Leeds Uni is a sorting hat, then its halls are its houses – and the time has come to separate the Gryffindors from the Slytherins.
Let’s be honest, you don’t live in student accommodation – you live in a glorified Premier Inn. Despite it looking pretty on the inside, be prepared to have no social life outside the five other people in your flat, as you’re sucked into the least community-driven halls to ever have graced the Uni/Beckett no-man’s-land.
If you’re lucky, you might get to know the people next door. Most likely the awkward silences between you will have you not leaving the flat if there’s the slightest chance of bumping into them.
Hey, at least there’s a Tesco downstairs.
You’ve made it. You’re now part of the elite – a member of the most oversubscribed halls on campus. People will slander you with words like “posh”, “rah” and “toff”, but note the tone of jealousy in their voices. And if you’re upset about it, you can go and have a little cry about it in your en suite bathroom.
You probably haven’t even cooked a single meal at University. Yeah it’s ridiculously expensive, but daddy’s paying and you’re catered, so why wouldn’t you treat the Refectory like the set of your very own Mean Girls? After all, you’re so spoilt that you literally don’t even need to go outside to get to your lectures.
You really wanted Central Village but there was no more room and instead you were given Concept Place, the boring cousin of Central Village who probably does Geology. Sure it’s nice and en suite, and there was even a mental party once, but no-one knows where it is or if it’s even a real place – it’s aptly named. Even worse, the only quick way to uni is up a vertical hill the size of which even Brian Blessed might give a double take.
No-one wants to make friends, even though the pool and ping pong tables in the common room give you a chance to awkwardly make eye contact with each other now and again. You only briefly thank each other when your ball finds its way over to their pool table, and that’s about as riveting as conversation gets really.
The only thing which unites you is the annoying rate of fire alarms caused mainly by the guy in 307 who can’t work a toaster, and the mutual love of the helpful bald guy on reception.
Tatler thinks you’re great, but Tatler doesn’t know shit. Made in Chelsea stars went here, and so do the posh reality heroes and rugby boys of tomorrow – but despite the beautiful people, it’s all just a little bit dull.
An elitist society in its own right, Dev is the closest we’ve got to an Oxbridge College in Yorkshire. Split into catered and self-catered accommodation, the only time the muggles and purebloods meet is for the free dinners you get for Christmas and Burns’ Night – as long as you’re prepared to wear a robe.
The only thing more depressing than Henry Price itself is the fucking massive graveyard outside.
You’ll spend your whole year getting absolutely arseholed to get over the fact you’re living in what looks like a Swedish prison – at least you’ll be able to roll from your bed into your lectures in two minutes, still in your duvet.
The coveted sweet spot of Leeds Uni accommodation, a room in James Baillie proves you’ve got it just right. You’re not uptight enough for the posh halls, yet you have enough self-respect to not apply for the shit ones – although none of them have to brave the walk up North Hill Road.
You’re the self-proclaimed edgy halls, and despite your protests in the first few weeks, you’ll end up wanting to be DJ EZ just as much as everyone else. While in other accommodations fire alarms might constantly wake people up, with your school rugby sock over the fire detector you have no such worries here.
And even though you may claim to not be as posh as Charles Morris or Dev, mummy and daddy will still end up paying for your ket as you try to erase the memories of prep school and pony club.
Everyone puts it as their second choice, but no-one ever gets it and no-one knows why. Does it really exist, or is it some kind of open day fever dream? It must, because Harry Styles came here once. Shame it’s the only interesting thing to happen at Leodis, ever.
Possibly the worst halls in Leeds, mainly because you’re in the arse-end of the city and you’re banned from having fun. You try and have predrinks but can only invite three people because the security guard is keeping an eagle eye on you, and even if you’re quiet he’ll still hunt you down and tell you to leave at half 10. Looks like it’s a slow journey to HiFi round the corner in a taxi that still somehow costs £8.
You applied for Henry Price because you were scared of sharing a bathroom with more than one person, but you ended up sharing with five on what looks like a cross between a council estate and the asylum from Shutter Island.
After a couple of weeks you realise it’s not so bad and it’s cheap, which means you can afford to go out as many times in a week as you want and still afford the taxi home. Plus, no-one really cares how much you trash your flat, because the ‘that’s how I found it’ excuse is actually pretty feasible.
Lupton shits on all the other halls. No, literally – that bloke who took a shit outside Charles Morris? Lupton legend.
You applied for Charles Morris, and you didn’t get in. You could have got past that if you’d been put in Devs or Oxley, but the sadistic fucks have given you a room in a dingy terraced house in your first choice’s looming shadow. Prepare to spend your year bitter and inferior.
Don’t let the awkward meet-and-greet barbeque put you off: life can be good in the halls nobody has actually heard of.
Winners live up high. If you’re in a ground-floor flat, you’ll be facing right onto the street and waving goodbye to any privacy. Unlucky if you were handed one of the dungeon flats on the floor below too. At least there’s One Stop for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
North Hill Court
A pimple on the beautiful face of James Baillie, North Hill Court is populated by the pale, awkward people who stand in the corner at the JBP Fun Day and try not to draw attention to themselves.
Are you even in Leeds?
Everyone hates it when you invite them round for pres – you’re too far away and yet you insist on walking to clubs in the freezing cold. A dark, desolate place populated by people shunned by their first choices, even the Beckett halls surrounding you are more impressive – and that’s saying something.
Contributors: Duncan Claber, Emma Healey, Jess Austin, Kiran Morjaria, Emily Willson, Jake Leigh-Howarth and Natalie Cherry