Pimp My Campus: The 4 best potential party venues on campus

Jeremy tries his hand at being the gangsta version of Kevin McCloud.

I don’t know what you heard about me.

Kids, your Uncle Jez has noticed a general air of despondency about his Benthamites lately; I watch you all trudge past my cabinet with your noses streaming from the cold, bundled up against the harsh February weather, forlornly clutching the meagre remains of your lunch like you’re all extras from that dreadfully depressing Les Miserables moving-picture.

I can only assume that your collective misery is at least partly down to the recent absence of my “Jeremy’s Journal” column on The Tab – although Consuela assures me that it’s truly a tough time of the term for you all, what with exams looming, winter prolonging itself and motivation succumbing to the perils of that Netflix thing I’ve heard that one may attain nowadays.

Well no more of this melancholy, I say! We had none of this nonsense back in the 18th century. I work from my principle of “the greatest happiness for the greatest number” – and even the troglodytes among you must recognise what this means. YOU MUST PARTY, MY YOUNG PROTEGES.

So, in a manner befitting the 21st century “swag” ethos, I give you my four best potential party venues on campus – with a little spare cash, some 32-inch spinning rims in chrome, a few bottles of Petron and a complete disregard for university regulations, these UCL locations could easily be “off the hook”, so to speak.

Venue 1: The Flaxman Gallery

Who said the library was only for geeks and squares? Picture this, my young charges: a revolving bar around the glass pedestal, and a vodka fountain flowing from the tip of St. Michael’s spear. Of course, this would involve having to alter Flaxman’s statue somewhat, but J-dog and I shared a century – we’re like brothers. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.

PRICE FOR PARTYING HERE: Medium protest from the Service Desk, a few slapped wrists, and Flaxman turning in his grave.


Venue 2: The Malet Place Tunnel

I’m talking 12-inch subwoofers lining the entire tunnel, I’m talking dancers in gold bikinis over the entire bridge, I’m talking red carpet and gangsta entrances through the double doors (Oh no wait, I’m not talking, I’m a stuffed corpse. Never mind.).

PRICE FOR PARTYING HERE: Print Room Cafe coffee hipsters whining about us “ruining the chill vibe”, and some cheesed-off medics. Haters gon’ hate.


Venue 3: The Other Cabinet

One word: RAVE. I know how much you modern youngsters love to cram yourselves into small, dark, cramped, noisy places in order to disguise your lack of social skills/attempt copulation with others/sweat out all your insecurities – so why not this fetching oak-clad location? It’s even situated directly opposite my own Cupboard of Love so I can get involved with the party. Just because I’m permanently seated doesn’t mean I don’t know how to shake a glowstick and get off my head (PUNderful, I know) on acid, I assure you.

PRICE FOR PARTYING HERE: Crushed limbs a definite risk, and a responsible adult watching you at all times. Uncle Jez never blinks.


Venue 4: The Portico

With minimal structural damage to the portico’s floor, those circular benches could easily become a bitchin’ pool. “But Jez!” I hear you cry, “A pool party in winter?! That’s preposterous!” Never fear – I propose we convert all of the pillars into those wonderful modern outdoor patio heaters, meaning we can pop bottles throughout every season!

PRICE FOR PARTYING HERE: Probably your degree.


Don’t say your Uncle Jez isn’t good to you in these hard times. One request, if I may: let’s leave “Where’s Your Head At?” off the playlist, shall we? It’s not big and it’s not clever.