I wish I was in Castle Leazes
Bowsden’s a bit crap
I’d always assumed I’d end up in a place like Ricky or Leazes, with my pretty average social skills and sound chat.
But on 14th August 2014 I discovered that my nesting place, ground zero for my university social life, would be Bowsden Court.
If you’re one of the many who have said “Oh, I’ve never heard of that before…”, Bowsden Court is officially the least vibesy halls at Newcastle. It’s situated in leafy South Gosforth, housing about 200 undergrads. We like to think of it as a slightly more niche St. Mary’s or Hendo.
There’s some lovely family flats and there’s a small play area just outside that with it brings the constant sound of childen’s laughter. It’s a very nice place, the flats are big and most of the people are pleasant.
I’ve spent all year saying it doesn’t really matter that we’re so far, both geographically and emotionally, from all the action. But now I’m calling it… Bowsden’s shit.
Since coming to uni I’ve spent over fifty hours commuting. The metro has become a second home. Every time I see the Leazes or Ricky crowd rock up 19 seconds before the start of lectures a spike of jealousy drives through my bitter heart as I imagine what could have been.
We’re so far away that organisers of Freshers’ week arranged a “party bus” so we could get into town. They thought because it had a sound system we wouldn’t realise how lame we were.
But the problem runs deeper than losing that precious snooze time. It’s the FOMO – there’s nothing quite as classic as getting the last metro home at 12am. I can’t remember the last time I made it past Sam Jacks. Instead, I’m forced to a send a series of strategically lit Snapchats in my lonely, if spacious, room. The walk is a two hour odyssey and a taxi’s just too spenny, and there’s never any “Bowsdenors” about.
Realistically, you’re more likely to find a of Geordie shore cast member than someone from “Bowsden”.
But the Leazes crew, they’re everywhere. They see each other in the dining halls, in the laundry room, having a cig (they’re all cool and smoke) and getting cash out from the cash machine. They all whinge about how grimy it is but we know they wouldn’t have it any other way
Sure, I’m lucky to be blessed with absolutely delightful flat mates and we’re friendly with a couple of other flats. But the lay out of Bowsden means we’re very tight with four people but not with many others. It’s a bit like being at school – you rub along with people but with a smaller pool of “friend talent” you’re less likely to find people you click with.
But the worst part of living here is the constant judgement. If you live in Bowsden, because it’s not Ricky or Leazes, you must be a total weirdo. First impressions count – and students are the most judgmental people on God’s green earth.
So please remember, we only don’t invite you for pres because we are embarrassed by our half an hour commute. We’ll regularly beg to stay on your floor to save us a few quid on a taxi ride home. But, most of all please don’t judge us. Give us a chance.