All the things they don’t tell you before you start Leeds, but probably should

It all hits the fan so fast


It’s been four short months and I’m already wondering how I was so ignorant to the trials and tribulations that awaited me at uni. Nobody mentioned the painfully awkward proctorials, how impossible it is to have ‘just pres’, or how horrifying your first accidental visit to Space will be. A whole semester has gone by, however, and I have come, conquered, and returned (somewhat) enlightened.

You’ll start calling Leeds ‘home’

They’re building a Hilton hotel in my hometown. We only got a Nando’s two years ago. Everything seems to be changing so fast, but I call Leeds home now; I can’t bring myself to care about the commercial hub that Doncaster has apparently become. My cat doesn’t recognise me, my mum considers my veganism to be a personal attack against her cooking, and I lived out of a suitcase for the entirety of the four weeks I spent at home over Christmas. As if all these things weren’t trying enough, I’m under constant surveillance. Why am I making myself a bagel at four AM, my dad asks wearily? Because I can. Why have you only just started a two and a half thousand-word essay thirty-nine hours before it’s due? Because I can. Except no, these are not the questionable life choices that are acceptable under the roof of the people who apparently raised you better.

You are the only person that hasn’t travelled extensively

A bitter fire that you hadn’t realised you were capable of producing will rage deep in your heart as you listen to your tutorial group discuss the wonders of rural Thai beaches or the pros and cons of backpacking through the Alaskan wilderness. You’ll make plans for summer immediately so that you can return victorious in second year, full of amazing stories about your weekend trip to Edinburgh. There won’t be quite as many Instagram-worthy photo opportunities, and it will probably rain the entire time, but you’ll still feel culturally enlightened by the sweet sound of bagpipes and that tiny piece of haggis you might try. It’s as if one of the requirements for getting into Leeds is ‘have an epic gap yah and never, ever shut up about it’. (See, there’s that aforementioned bitter fire.)

Interrailing in Germany or a desperate weekend in Edinburgh? You decide.

The societies are mental, but the regret will be worth it

Perhaps this is exclusive to a certain group of snow sports fanatics (it definitely isn’t), but if you’d have told me six months ago that I would end my first semester downing pitchers of wine in Andorra to chants of ‘freshers – get naked’, I would have laughed. Oh, how naïve I was. I can’t make it through pres with new acquaintances without our various extracurricular pursuits coming up in conversation. Rumours of the Leeds Celtics cheerleaders and their bunny-costumed freshers circled quickly at the start of the year, then a friend of a friend tried to drunkenly explain the social rules of the swim team. Buried deep in the bottom of my wardrobe is the tank top I wore for a Scrabble-themed Otley Run way back in early October, complete with a cheeky “im job” Sharpie-d next to my R tile. I remember feeling vaguely scandalised by the lewdness of said graffiti; if only I’d known that was the tip of the iceberg.

You’ll stay in touch with exactly two school friends

It isn’t your fault that Kirsty’s now BFFs with some girl on her Fashion Design course. Or, given that you failed to message her once during your first semester, maybe it is. The promises of weekly Facetime sessions and regular visits will die as soon as you all get over your first week nerves. By Christmas, you’ll be so far gone that even a quick hello in the cheese aisle of your local supermarket will seem like socialisation overkill. It isn’t that you didn’t want to stay friends with them, it’s just that nobody thought to look into the price of trains from Leeds to Southampton, and making the journey for a few hours of small talk and a night out with their flatmates just doesn’t quite seem worth it.

There’s so much sadness in those brows.

Every uni has a reputation

A few weeks ago, I met up with some school friends for drinks. We’re all at uni, so conversation naturally turned to how we’re all enjoying it. Eventually, one friend turned to me and asked, in the kind of voice that suggested she already knew the answer: ‘Leeds is quite druggy, isn’t it?’ They don’t call it edgy edgy for nothing. It’s almost bizarre how unaware everyone is of all these stereotypes until you’ve confirmed your place, picked your halls and it’s too late to back out of spending every Thursday downing Jägerbombs at Donuts and then throwing them up in the nearest available bit of landscaping. It’s all about embracing what your uni has to offer, and spending Christmas raiding your mum’s wardrobe for something old enough to be considered vintage, because you can’t face going to Canal Mills in a too-tight Topshop playsuit ever again.

You’ll have the time of your life

I moved in on the sixteenth of September, and that already feels like years ago. Otley runs, spontaneous holidays, fifty quid’s worth of Donuts tickets and a couple of iffy weeks where I saw McDonald’s at three AM more times than I saw a lecture theatre. They tell you to make the most of first year while nothing counts towards much, and make the most of it I think I have. So what if I can cross a year abroad in California or the prospect of graduating with a first off my list? It’s definitely a strange change, and I can understand why uni proves to not be everyone’s cup of tea, but for me, there’s nothing quite like puking up last night’s VKs and tequila shots/my stomach lining to remind me how much I love Leeds.

I can explain, except I can’t.