Stages of a midterm flump every Leicester student will recognise

Freshers’ is long gone and now you’re into the tough, gritty and downright stressful part of uni life. The deadlines are piling up, money is at all time low and you’re probably wondering if you can eat out of date food. Here are the tell tale signs of that midterm flump.

You’re running out of money

During Freshers’ Week you felt like you were a part of the Wolf of Wall Street crew. The student loan made you believe that you had unlimited funds so kitted out in the waviest garms money could buy, you proceeded to buy rounds of ten Jagerbombs for all your flatmates.

But now you’re broke and about £900 deep into your overdraft. You don’t want to tell your parents and the thought of getting a part time job and actually being a constructive member of society makes you feel sick.

So instead you decide to super scrimp and make whatever money you have left last until the next loan day. Eating those nachos on campus is suddenly no longer an option as you collect pennies from the floor of your room to try and buy a loaf of bread. You begin to regret everything you’ve ever paid for and constantly remind people of the time that you bought them something. Think “Hey man, remember that time I bought you a VK?” or “I swear you owe me entry to the O2.”

You’re still sleeping with that fresher / your flatmate

Maybe you met dressed as school girls at the Freshers’ school disco. Perhaps they were one of the newbies to your society who you managed to impress with your status as kit sec.

You’re still protesting to everyone “It’s casual!” or “We’re just having fun”, but now it’s been every Wednesday night for seven weeks. His flatmates know how you like your cuppa and your mates actually know his name. Horror.

If you’ve met up when sober, it’s time to admit it to yourself – you’re in a relationship. It’s cuffing season after all. Embrace it.

If you don’t see it going anywhere though, now’s the time to cut it off. No one needs heartbreak before Christmas. Getting off with a fourth year in plain sight in the O2 is effective, but best to be avoided. Let them down gently unless you want to spend the whole year avoiding eye contact in the union.

Oh, and if you’re sleeping with your flatmate? You’ve already fucked it, I can’t help you.

Food is minimal

A fridge with food in it is a distant memory

You started the term off eating and drinking like a king. Your kitchen was filled with extravagant items like Ben & Jerry’s, Absolut Vodka, and smoked salmon. But now, with next to no money, you are left in a state of hunger and despair.

You are forced to do your weekly shop in Price Busters or Lidl as you scour the out of date section for the best bargains. Branded items are long gone and replaced by the supermarket essential ranges. Some of the food you make now resembles something your pet would eat and you regrettably drink Glen’s Vodka despite it tasting like bleach.

Treating yourself and eating out a legitimate restaurant is no longer possible, the closest you’ll come to this is a greasy item from the Food Factory after an O2 night. But life still goes on and so for the fourth night running you make yourself beans on toast.

You’ve not done your washing in weeks

The pile of clothes in the corner of your room now stands at 4ft high and resembles more of the mountain than a manageable laundry load. Either you can’t afford the cost of the halls washing machine or you’re just simply too lazy to wash anything.

You wear the same outfit day in, day out – usually those grey tracksuit bottoms and a white t-shirt which is suspiciously turning increasingly yellow. You have pretty much given up on your appearance altogether as it is much more practical to just wear the items which are believed to be the least dirtiest. You no longer pick clothes with your eyes but with your nose.

When the weekend rolls around, you have no outfit no show off with in the O2 and so you just forget about going out. Just do your washing. You’ll feel a lot better about yourself.

You suddenly have a lot of work and not a lot of time

The time for complacency has slowly but surely started to wear off. That essay that seemed so far off back in sunny September doesn’t seem so distant anymore.

You’re suddenly starting to regret those midday lay ins, the hungover hours, and the evenings of endless procrastination. So you rush to the library only to find you’re not the only one playing catch up – it’s packed full of everyone from panicked freshers to stressed third years. Having heaved yourself into a remote corner of the third floor in a hope to spot that elusive seat, you’re only more conscious that time is ticking.

But there’s no need to hit the panic just yet. There’s still time. Maybe go on a night out as a reward to yourself for finally knuckling down.

The O2 has lost its appeal

You are now the girl on the left

Freshers’ Week had you thinking that the O2 was the next Fabric. Feeling fleek in your new Air Max’s, holding every colour of VK under the sun and jamming to the fresh riddims being blasted out of the Scholar. Life was perfect.

Fast-forward a month and your situation couldn’t be more different. You’re wearing a leopard print onesie, VK tastes worse than kale juice and you’ve realised that the DJ is only skilled at hitting the shuffle button on an iTunes playlist filled with a weird mix of Taylor Swift and Wacka Flocka Flame.

Barely able to afford the cost of entry and still sleeping with that fresher, you stand in centre of the main area looking up into the candescent disco lights and finally see the O2 for what it truly is. Just go home and start the essay that’s due tomorrow at 12.

By Max Longley and Tori Scott