24 hours in Stephenson Halls

For many of us, Stephenson Halls are a relatively unknown mystery. Shared bathrooms, catered food, a library and a floor full of 15 boys, what could possibly go wrong?

4am

The alarm goes off. It’s bright and early, you’re tired, you didn’t manage to have a great sleep with the constant shuffling in the corridor and the odd conversation or laughter heard through the paper-thin walls, but it’s time for your 9am. Except it’s actually 4am, and it wasn’t your alarm, it was the fourth fire alarm of the week. Welcome to Stephenson Hall.

5am

Still noisy from people coming back from a night out, because apparently there’s nothing better than blasting “Get Hyper” at full volume in the early hours. Sleep is overrated anyway. You can struggle to reclaim a few hours through the prized midday nap, but you know deep down, you’re going to be shattered tomorrow. Just like every other day.

Guys can you keep it down pls

6am

You hear your flatmate get up to go rowing. But he doesn’t like to talk about that.

8am

You wake up at long last. The corridor is a mess. The kitchen is a mess. You make brief, fleeting eye contact with the cleaners as you navigate the empty cans from pre drinks the night before to get to that god awful cubbyhole you call a bathroom. They’re not going to clean any of this, and both of you know it.

Of course, it’s a shared bathroom. Two shower rooms, two toilet cubicles – imagine a prison and you’re almost there. Suspicious wet patches, the worst smells imaginable, this place really is one you want to be spending as little time as possible in. After waiting the necessary 15 minutes warming-time; a quick, depressing, five minute shower is all you can manage before it’s time to get ready and get out of this place for a few hours.

Nice carpet

1pm

The kitchen looks exactly the same as when you left, the cleaners having mustered all the willpower in the world to take the dishes from the sink and move them to the draining board: apparently everything else being “too dirty to clean”. OK, that makes sense. You settle for Super Noodles, placed in a bowl and covered in boiling water since there’s no oven or hob and the microwave has been stolen in part of last night’s pranks. Good choice.

After that delicious meal, and it’s time to either head back into uni, or settle down in the corridor for some fine “banter with the lads”. All 15 of them.

The resident squirrel

2pm

Those who are lucky enough not to have all day lectures/labs find themselves socialising in the corridor at this sort of time. Due to a lack of kitchen/any other social space, sitting on the floor is the only option. It’s usually quite pleasant, some music on (much to the annoyance of those trying to get in that prized midday nap), maybe a bit of guitar playing, if you’re lucky you can manage to get a decent cover of Seven Nation Army going, if not it’s just noises and the odd attempt at singing.

5pm

Dinner time. Co-ordinated perfectly on the group chat, aptly named “Chat Shit Get Removed”, you all set off to The Edge. It’s not that the food isn’t nice, the Rodeo Ranch Burger is truly something to behold, it’s just extortionately expensive. The downstairs options do leave a lot to be desired however. Still at a high cost, you usually have a choice of something half decent, a vegetarian option, or mass-produced slop in a some form of wrap or pastry. But since it’s a Thursday, and you’ve already run out of money for the week, it’s going to have to be a 50p game of pool and a free cup of water. Tasty.

8pm

Trial. The one word that strikes fear into everyone on the corridor, because out of this cesspit of madness, there’s a justice system. The rules are easy to follow, generally don’t be a dick head, don’t piss anyone in the flat off and don’t cause anybody else emotional distress. But there are tougher rules to follow: you cannot speak of the weather without approval of the flat weatherman; a minimum of four people must go for a hair cut at any one time; any form of breakage resulting in a “shoe pint”.  A standard punishment includes downing a pint of Frosty Jacks. Simple, yet effective. Other punishments have included downing a bottle of wine through a hoover nozzle, having a 1.5L bottle of the sacred Stevo drink Bellarini strapped to each hand, and eating a ghost chilli.

This mess is emotionally distressing

9pm

So you’ve been to Select and Save, you’ve got your £2 bottles of Bellarini,  and you’ve soldiered back looking like the functioning alcohol you fear you have become, since the shopkeepers now identify you as one of the locals. Its time for pre drinks. Red or black dominates for the majority – a very simple game that is guaranteed to render ever the most seasoned drinker useless-, as your flatmate has learnt you haven’t chundered at uni yet and is determined to ensure you don’t make it out. Thanks Dan, it worked, and now the sink is blocked with god knows what.

Those who manage to soldier on will continue to play drinking games; drink the cheapest and nastiest of all alcohol and cause damage to the corridor and its surroundings through many a game of Ultimate Frisbee.

Come on hun you can do it

12am

The four out of the starting 11 stumble down the stairs, sick on their creased t shirts from a nasty downing of a pint, and attempt to get into a taxi that isn’t theirs. Off they go into the night, only to return four hours later and start the whole cycle again.

The boiz