Living with boys turned me into a Langdale Lad
From never-ending football to a drunk pumpkin situation
It’s a well known fact that when you go to university you change – whether that be your appearance, drinking habits, degree or soul (vibesy shit).
But I never expected to change from the girl who wears floral patterned dresses to a full-blown Langdale Lad. As soon as I met the people I now call my pals, I knew instantly I got on better with them than most of the other people I had met. And there’s no denying it: they are proper lads.
Obviously, there’s the bollocks surrounding the stereotype that ‘if a girl says she gets on better with lads then she’s a slag’. If the people who believed that got their heads out of their arses, they would realise boys are just easier to get on with than girls, and this is coming from a female.
Boys on the other hand are upfront, don’t bullshit you when you ask them if you look like shit and tell you when you’re being totally unreasonable or, frankly, a bitch. If you don’t want that mind-opening information, remain in your all-girl group and remain none-the-wiser. I’m sticking with the boys.
From a drunken year of mistakes in halls, we decided that we should all get a house together. I never once shuddered at the thought of living with all boys, even when asked about a million times ‘why?’.
Which, FYI, does get really annoying. I’ve told you I live with all boys, I don’t judge you for living with all girls so please don’t give me the fourth degree. Why is it that when I tell people this they have a look of such worry it’s as if they think that I’m going to be killed in my sleep? They’re harmless, I promise.
I knew that when we all moved in together it would be a little different. I didn’t expect my quiet sanctuary to be so quiet anymore with football hooliganism raging downstairs (thin ceilings really are a bugger). But I did not expect to be achieving a 2:1 in football studies by semester two. Upon going home for a weekend and having a half an hour chat with my uncle about football, I realised something really wasn’t right. What have I become? I’d been exposed to so much football for weeks on end that I’d actually learnt a hell of a lot. Thanks boys.
One thing in particular began to shock my family, and my mates, back home. Beer. I’d never been one to drink beer; I was more of a fruity cider or a girly vodka, blackcurrant and soda kind of girl. But I guess being surrounded by beer-drinking football hooligans really rubbed off on me. Beer is the way forward.
Some of my best moments in this house are from sitting around with my housemates and drinking beer. Although it did almost cause fatalities at Halloween. Picture a large knife for carving, a girl who doesn’t know quite how much beer she can handle yet, and frightened onlookers trying to prize the knife away from her hands. Sorry pumpkin, I did a really shit job last year, I’ll be better this year I promise.
It’s all well and good turning into a Langdale Lad, the drinks are cheaper, you moan (a little bit) less about the football and you get on bloody great with your mates and never fall out.
But best thing about it is the look on old mens faces as I stroll past them in the Brookhouse with beer in hand. ‘That for you love?’ They say, as they laugh. Guess what grandad, it is for me and I’m going to bloody enjoy it.
Uni might have turned me into a lad but I’m having a bloody great time.