Why your third year in Liverpool will be the best of all of them
Prob still true if you’re doing five years tbh
“First year is the best, our grades don’t matter!” say the naïve first years. “Second year is the best cos it’s not first but you know what you’re doing!” say the irrelevant second years. Well, actually, your third year will smash both the previous years out of Abercromby square easily. “BUT THE DEADLINES?!!?” you scream. Hakuna your tatas lovely lil liver birds, there’s more to it.
You finally stopped caring about grades, and you’re happy with a 2:1 even though you should care more
At this point, honestly anything will do. 60? YES. RESULT. MAMA, I MADE IT. Long gone are the days of slaving away for firsts and crying in the SJ about the cruel lecturer who gave you a 68 when a 2:1 is a 2:1 either way.
You’re not living in a house with people you rushed into a contract with after two months
Flashback to first year when you’re happily going about your life in Carnatic and Kate on the floor above you asks what your plans for next year are. “Oh I don’t know yet Kate, maybe move somewhere off Smithdown?” Before you know it, you, Kate, the guy she’s sleeping with and Sophie and Christie have posted an Insta saying you’ve signed for second year’s house. Obviously Kate and her FWB call it off half way through second semester and Sophie and Christie fall out. It’s a nightmare for a year but eventually by third year you’ll have found the right people and will settle in to your six bed on Langdale for a stress free year.
You’re more driven to do everything you’ve not done yet
Things like everything you’ll do when your parents visit and everything you’ll do when your mates visit, but also things you’d never tell your mum about like going to lectures drunk and trying to single-handedly eat a whole £10 family bucket from Chester’s.
You’ll be closer with your best mates than ever
By third year, you’ll have had hundreds of drunken taxi rides and hungover cuddles with them. You’ll have lived with them long enough to (maybe) accept all of the annoying things they do, and they’ll have signed for a shit load of your parcels so the trust levels will be up there. You can probably predict what meal they’ll have every night and what time they’ll go to bed – it’s a bit creepy but it’s all love really.
Loads of modules have no exams
Says it all really. Probably more one for the arts students. The opportunities are endless with FINALLY 15 credit modules, easy peasy presentations and self reflective essays. Bring on a May finish.
You know your tutors like they’re your mates
At this point you’ve probably experienced a big range of emotions in front of them, essay-related or not. You’ve told them how you don’t get on with your housemates, how your boyfriend dumped you because you’re so stressed about your dissertation, and have maybe even shed a few tears. Seminars are more like AA meetings and office hours like personal therapy by the time June rolls round.
Your overdraft doesn’t really matter
Realistically – there’s only so much debt you can be in. It’s fine. Embrace it. It’s your final year. Treat. Yo. Self.
You’re probably gonna have a job (probably?)
Of all the applications you’ve made, someone will pull through. Don’t stress. You’ve got this.
You know all the uni stereotypes
From cheerleaders to law students, you’ll be well versed with all the stereotypes of those accross North and South campus, and will deffo be able to work out who’s actually going to the gym in their gymwear.
You know where to sit in the SJ
It’s a source of contention for all, and there is no one right seat. But, by the time you get to third year you know what seat works for you. For some, it’s the back of social study, for others it’s right at the back of the second floor Grove Wing. Wherever it is, you’ve become suitably accustomed to the lifestyle and the people around you, and library bae is never far away.
You know to hand in your essay at 1:40pm because vital will crash at 1:42pm
It’s almost like they know, isn’t it? You’ve completed your essay in the nick of time and yet it is Vital who lets you down. It’s upsetting, it’s disappointing, but most of all it’s predictable. By now you’re handing in at 1:40pm at the very latest.
Every. Single. Time.
In second year you learnt that you need to get to Juicy bang on 11, in third year you actually do it
How many nights were wasted in Baa Bar when all you wanted to do was bump n grind in Shipping Forecast? In your final year in this wonderful city you realised you actually do need to book your taxi for 10:40pm and be queueing five minutes before doors open.
You don’t feel left out of Tab jokes
LMSS? Chavs and Fags? What does my Smithdown road say about me?? All will be answered by the time you’re in your final 24 weeks of uni.