Vote now: What’s the worst thing about going to Nottingham?
It’s ok, you can say Rutland
When you tell your mates that you go to Nottingham, I’m sure you’re greeted with the same reaction as most. Longing looks of adoration at our beautiful campus and picturesque lake. But you’re here, you know it’s not all rosy. We’ve complied the definitive list of everything shit about going to Notts, pick your favourite and the winner will be presented with their very own certificate.
Have you ever really looked at Hallward, like really really looked at it? I have and I can tell you it’s a sight that will forever haunt me. All brown errything is literally the design brief that must’ve been given to whatever misunderstood individual designed the rough-surfaced shitbox that is a lone 60s throwback in an otherwise picturesque campus. Also why is it so hot? like there’s really no reason for it.
Does this really need an explanation?
If you’re at Notts, chances are you’re from somewhere where it’s fairly unusual to see fully grown adults wearing tracksuits wandering round a busy city centre at midday on a Tuesday. But you’re at uni now, this is the real world, so you’ll just have to put up with scary old men calling you ‘duck’ and smiling at you with their weird toothless mouths.
Why does it exist? Who thought that shin-high podiums were the best thing to litter about the dance floor in a haphazard way? Why can you buy Grey Goose in here when the floors are stickier than a teenage boys laptop? All questions that I’ve considered when faced with a Forum night out. And yet, no one has ever been able to explain why in 2015, a club like Forum actually still exists.
The Hallward Starbucks queue
You think you’ve timed it beautifully. You wait for the mad lunch time rush to die down because only amateurs get coffee between 11.30am and 2pm and you waltz up slowly to the Cafe in the comfortable knowledge you will get your much needed caffeine fix in under ten minutes. How wrong could you be. Each time you think you’ve mastered this godforsaken waiting game more blurry eyed students line up to get their soy gingerbread latte and you end up 20 minutes later still waiting for your double espresso as you dodge people getting to the toilets and vending machines regretting full well the decision to getting a degree in the first place.
The distance to Humanities
Science students have it so easy. They can just stroll into Uni with the full knowledge that all their labs, lectures and tutorials are packed between the North and East entrances. They cannot appreciate the excruciating task of getting off the 34 at Portland Hill to only have to continue your journey for an additional 20 minutes. On foot. And if you do venture on to the 36 or 35 which get you somewhat closer you still have to walk a million miles and experience the local population. Yikes.
The wait for a 34 in the morning
You and countless others stand cold, bleary-eyed, gazing over the horizon of Derby Road, begging, for one more 34 to trundle into view. You left such ample time to get to campus, how can this be happening? Bus after bus filled to the brim, rolls past you, the smug faces of punctual students mock you as you frown defeatedly at each, callous bus driver. A wave of unease washes over the disaffected crowd, should we walk? Shall we just go home? Does the 35 go to uni or Beeston? What the fuck is a Skyline? Finally you settle for an i4, your tardiness is met only by your sense of injustice.
University Park: It’s a fucking tent.
Jubilee Campus: Where anyone who’s anyone in Lenton goest to pump iron, get swole, make gains, you get the picture. Except you can’t do any of those things. Row after row of heaving vest enthusiasts line each and every piece of equipment in this parade of flexing adonises. Seriously why is everyone here so beautiful and chiselled? If by chance you do happen to fall onto a free bench you’re immediately asked how many “sets” you have left and hastily make way for someone much more intimidating. £200 well spent.
Fuck off hill
This really only applies to freshers but memories of it still haunt me in my final year. We all know it, we’ve all attempted it hungover in the freezing cold or in dangerously icy conditions. It’s the only route that separates us from Portland and the quickest shortcut to our seminars when we’re late for that 9am. But undoubtedly we have all been defeated by fuck off hill. Does the uni expect us all to be up to the same fitness as a First team hockey player? No, so this mountain that stands so intimidatingly on the Downs between the Sherwood/Derby/Lincoln cluster is certainly an apt reason for freshers to not get out of bed and never attend their seminars.
Sainsburys in Lenton
Well Lenton in general. It is a hotbed, a social hub, a reminder of every person you know, kind of know of, you like and you dislike. Who do you see when you’re looking good, hair is on point, makeup done nicely? Absolutely no one. But, nip down to Sainsburys under the coat of darkness dressed so rudely in a pair of trackies and a stained jumper, face completely bare and at your most vulnerable – who do you see? Obviously everyone. Lenton’s proximity is still an incomprehensible concept and there is no place to hide if you want to or need to.