24 hours in the life of a Fallow fresher

Maybe not a day to write home about

Summer is long gone and so is Freshers’ Week. As it nears October, you’re settling into the routine of uni life – a steady rhythm of skipping lectures, napping, pretending to be a vegetarian and crying on the shower floor lamenting your work ethic (let’s hope you have an en-suite).

By the end of term one, trawling theroux old Louis clips on YouTube will be your only source of joy but for now, here’s a glimpse of your first week of uni!


Wake up to the dulcet tones of Radar (default) on your phone alarm. Hidden somewhere in your duvet, you fumble for the snooze button. You remember your first 9am lecture is today and, as the student with their life together, you decide to get up.


You leave your room and bump into your flatmate who hasn’t been seen in the kitchen since moving in. Oh god, oh no, please don’t talk to me for I have sadly forgotten your name. Hey… you!


You’ve made the magic bus just in time! There is a line of fresh faced fellow students awkwardly looking around for potential new friends on their first day. Losers, you think as you join the queue.


First lecture! You spot a group of people you met in Cargo last week and decide to avoid eye contact. You’re the mysterious main character that sits alone. Everyone is almost definitely plotting how to befriend you. You’ll probably end up on uom confessions as someone’s secret crush if you’re not careful.


Your day of expanding your mind is over. Ali G is across the road so you decide to put in some extra reading. Get on top of the work load and all that. Learning is your forte and really, you are more mature than your flatmates who are sat in the kitchen nursing hangovers.


what in the heck?! fourth wall = broken

You look at your laptop, precariously balanced on top of a computer keyboard as you sit shoulder to shoulder with some scary looking third years. Surprisingly, the lofi hip hop girl hasn’t managed to do your work for you so you do a lap of the library looking pensive before heading out.


Better get an iced coffee from Pret before returning home, you think. So convenient that there’s all these great food places on campus. I bet I’ll keep going to these all year.


Home at last! Your freshers bestie has just emerged from the pits of their room. You wave to them as the flat door swings shut. They grunt and head into the kitchen.


Time to relax. You sit in bed and open your laptop to an episode of Peep Show and doze off listening to Jez lust over Big Suze.


You wake up to the sound of your flatmate knocking on your door. Fuck off, you think as you call for them to come in. They want to use your cheese. You think you saw some mould on it the other day but humbly let them know that of course they can use your cheese, how foolish of them to ask.

They start talking about their latest hookup in extreme detail and do not take you picking up your phone and going on TikTok as a hint for them to leave. You sigh and suggest a trip to the kitchen so you can prepare yourself a nutritious lunch, being sure not to use your almost certainly mouldy mature cheddar.


Quorn nuggets with plain pasta and cheese and broccoli. Protein AND carbs AND veg in one meal. Perhaps you’ll wake up tomorrow with a six pack and a new lease of life.

An email pops up on your phone from ResLife reminding you they will be over for a flat check in half an hour. You tuck the traffic cone your hilarious flatmate took home from your first (and last) flat night out behind the kitchen table. Stealthy.


Return to the nest of your bed and lock the door so as to avoid conversation with your friendly local ResLife coordinator. You sit in silence for a few minutes, trying to be present and enjoy your meal. I’ll just go on TikTok for five minutes while I eat, you concede.


Dammit! Sometime in the last few minutes it went dark! You check the time. Alas, three and a half hours have passed and you are now convinced you have six different mental illnesses and your friends are all probably narcissists. A sudden inexplicable urge has come over you to buy a new moisturiser with snail secretion in, after all, was that a wrinkle you spotted the other day? 19 isn’t too young for baby botox, right?

Oh well. Time to get on it.


You arrive at New Zealand with your flat bestie who has brightened up and has instructed you of the plan for pres at her mates flat before Factory.


Three Dragonsoops and half a bottle of £3.65 chardonnay later, a boy you have never spoken to whispers in your ear and tells you to suggest a game of Never Have I Ever. You think this is an excellent idea until halfway through the game when he winks at you as he asks everyone what their bodycount is.


You’ve arrived at Factory but have lost half of your friends en route. Of the two that are left, one is throwing up in the loos while the other holds her hair back and is sobbing about how her boyfriend from school has ignored her since you got there five minutes ago. You pat them both on the back consolingly and text the guy you hoped to see out.


Guy-you-hoped-to-see-out is skulking around upstairs by the bar and pretends not to see you. He is recording his friends drinking jagerbombs and rapping along to Central Cee for his Snapchat story. You vow to try to get over him tomorrow.


You are in the bed of guy-you-hoped-to-see-out staring at the Pulp Fiction poster on his wall as he snores next to you.  Empty boxes of kejs sit next to a bottle of Dior Sauvage on his windowsill. You sneak out of his room, ensuring to take a prime vintage sweatshirt of his with you. It will either secure you another romantic evening together or can be sold on Depop for a hefty profit.


You fall into bed with your clothes on. No point brushing your teeth – you will just brush for four minutes in the morning instead.


Your head is pounding, you room is a tip, you feel vaguely nauseous and the hangxiety is already beginning to kick in. You’re not sure why you wake up unfathomably early every time you drink.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. It appears the temple that was once your body is somewhat desecrated. How is this the same person who had their life together merely 16 hours ago?

Your mouth has never felt so dry so you reach to your bedside table and glug down the remnants of a vodka orange with a side portion of self hatred. Ah well, TikTok is there for you to numb any negative emotion so you pick up your phone and scroll your way back to sleep.

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