This is how the library is basically a night out in your final year

Free entry for the VIPs

“The serious year, the year that counts, time to knuckle down.” Your parents and lecturers have been saying it to you for months and now you’re actually in the thick of it. You spend most of your time in the library and you can barely even remember what a Jagerbomb tastes like. But it’s not all bad news – the library is a social hub for final year students and is basically a night out anyway.

Picture the scene: you walk in, scan your ID and manage to sneak in that banned takeaway food because you refuse to pay extortionate vending machine prices. Maybe one of your mates forgot their uni card that day but it’s cool because you’re on first name terms with the librarian at the help desk. “Cheers Linda, I owe you one.”


As you make your way into the sweaty and crowded venue, you notice your friends have got a great spot, or maybe even a BOOTH. You squeeze in next to them for a chat and see if they want some of your Doritos while you use their exclusive plug sockets.

You try and find your own spot with enough chairs for all your study buddies but suddenly see someone you’ve barely spoken to since freshers. You try and hide your face but they’re already making their way over. Cue a three minute pointless conversation about how your dissertations are going.

Once you’re finally sat down you offer to get a quick round in from the cafe: “Red Bull anyone? Panini?”.


You put on your favourite new Spotify playlist, but you have to pass your headphones around to let everyone listen to the best new bangers because the only space you could find was in the quiet zone.


You take a toilet break and see someone from your course. You stay in the bathroom gossiping for a good 20 minutes before your friends text to ask where you are.


At some point, you head off to find a book you need to actually start working and soon find that you’ve lost all your friends and any sense of direction.


Your feet stick to the floor and you’re not sure why.

You head to the smoking area, not for a cigarette, but just to keep your mate company. You meet about six more people you vaguely know.


At the end of the day, the sugar crash has well and truly hit and everyone looks pretty fucked. Maybe someone is crying.


You crawl home and order a Domino’s.


Repeat the following day.