The myth of an Oxford summer

Ah, summer in Oxford.

Blissful (and not for the likes of us)

Everything seems so full of joy and hope. Nothing could ruin the pristine tranquillity you feel as you enjoy the activities that come with summertime in Oxford: the punting, the croquet, a jug of Pimm’s al fresco at the King’s Arms, ditching the college library to read actual literature in Christchurch meadows, imagining Tolkien and C.S. Lewis doing the same thing.

Wait, what? This isn’t how you spend your days?

Don’t worry about shaving those legs, ladies, there’ll be none of this

‘To summer’ is a synonym for ‘to lounge around’, so perhaps it isn’t surprising that the reality of Trinity in Oxford doesn’t exactly reflect these idyllic visions of life here held by outsiders.

Here’s how your actual day may be:

6.30 am It’s happened again. You are woken by yet another overreaction from the faulty smoke alarm. You tumble out of bed, attempt to cover your modesty and head to the front door. The people who are your dearest friends by day are groggy-eyed and surly. After an awkward silence (if only…) as it becomes apparent you have acquired some new housemates overnight, the alarm is fixed and you return  to bed.

Thank God for the ‘Snooze’ button

8.30 am You oversleep, thanks to that lovely wake-up call. You don’t have time to shower and it’s baking hot outside, so you’re sweating when you arrive (late) at your 9am lecture. This is probably the most fresh air you’ll get all day. .

11 am The ordeal of lectures is over for another day; that of essays is not. You look wistfully out the window at the glorious sunshine as you settle in for 6 hours’ procrastination. You pop a pro-plus in the hope this will make life better. It doesn’t.

7 pm You consider an evening run, but, like every day, you cannot be bothered.

9 pm Time to crack open that basics vodka: you’re off to Bridge tonight. Your alcohol consumption makes your body far too receptive to the prospect of a night trapped in Anuva  -you almost don’t get in at all because you can barely stand up. You blame this on your shoes.

Midnight You sneak into Bridge VIP, only to be bitterly disappointed by how shit it is.

‘I’ll smile for the camera because I know this is going on Facebook, but please take your hands off me’

You spend the evening dodging the scary guys in Blues jackets, before getting with some equally awful soppy guy who’s wearing a Hawaiian necklace, which will inexplicably sit on your shelf for the rest of term.

When they play ‘Hey Baby’ you decide to call it a night; DJ Otzi is not worth failing your degree for.

You stagger home in the biting cold, wishing you’d forked out for the cloakroom fee. So much for summer.