Its Freshers Week again. Tell stories of your first week at university here

I was a fresher's helper in the second year, and that was ace. I got pished with Curiosity Killed the Cat who gave me a pineapple (I have no idea why), snogged a lot of impressionable freshers, fell in love about five times, woke up in strange places with huge blanks in my memory far too often, and generally had bucketloads of fun. I can't remember anyone I met on either of those years remaining friends. Possibly because the first year I was shy and boring and the second year I was an obnoxious drunken slob.

The first person I remember meeting and liking was Nei1 R0berts0n, now manager of Belle and Sebastian.

Lowlight of my own fresher's week: too much boxed white wine at a dramasoc party leading to me snogging the official Ugliest Man On Campus (and a pervy THIRD year at that). Subsequent heroic vomiting including during my very first seminar.

Other lowlight: sudden epiphany/fear that I was NEVER going to fit in with these people and didn't want to, while at a poster sale (unsurprisingly).

Highlight: soooo much cheap booze! So many deep and meaningful conversations! No parents! Own room! Own shopping responsibility (although in fact I lived off Marmite sandwiches in my room for most of the week). Ducks! A new city to explore!

Sheesh, is a theme developing now? I never remember beginnings, only endings.

i had a great week. lots of drinking and house parties and dancing and a boat cruise and silly games and general mayhem. most of which took place while i was in coveralls (we wore them all through our 'frosh week' as it was called in canadaland). i even kissed a couple of girls.

my posters on my residence wall?
-new order (blue with yellow leaf)
-joy division (love will tear us apart - statue)
-depeche mode (101)
-the smiths (the queen is dead)
the year was 1989 by the way...

'Entertainment'-wise that week I was uh, priviledged to see -in no particular order- Roachford, Transvision Vamp and Julian Clary w/ Fanny the Wonder Dog. Passed up a ticket for Doolittle-era Pixies to go to the Ball where the Men They Couldn't Hang played and I got my glasses smashed-up and my face squished-in among the whirling throng. Walked all the way across Manchester by myself in the rain to see Thin White Rope play, only to find it had been cancelled and I had to walk all the way back home again. Yep, a throroughly dismal week.

Mind you... that was the year that they went to England for the summer, leaving me alone with the house, the car, and several hundred dollars which I promptly spent on drugs and booze. No WONDER I can't remember the first week at University.

I just remember my parents coming home and wondering how I managed to nearly wreck the front axle of the car...

The university had been overfilled with freshers and there were people (I shit you not) being given makeshift rooms in stationary cupboards. Somehow, miraculously, I got one of the few single rooms. It was like gold dust and made me feel better about watching the comically mismatched roommates bitching about each other. It all felt very Brideshead Revistited, possibly because half the people there were swanning around pretending to be in Brideshead Revisited.

I didn't click properly with anyone really other than a group of people in the furthest hall away from me (about half an hour's walk across campus) and we hung out and talked about which indie records we were into (this was 1997, they were almost without exception rubbish). I bought Urban Hymns and a Trainspotting poster. This shames me more than everything that will follow.

Then we drank several bottles of wine and went to the Fresher's party. I watched in polite horror as a rugby player drank a pint of his own urine. The nicest of the girls talked to me almost exclusively all night, but because I didn't know what to do with a girl then I completely failed to read the signals (like having her hand on the inside of my leg). We walked back together to a non-existant party. I saw her precisely twice over the next year.

The following week I drank far too much free bouze before the poncy Fresher's Ball and woke up in a hedge with vomit all over my new dinner suit. It took me three days to ascertain whether or not I had actually made it into the ball in the first place. I should've known I was setting myself up for 14 months of misery after that.

Last month I bumped into two of the people I met on that first day. They are now fully-fledged City boys. We went for a drink. One of them pointed at two African women in traditional dress and said "they look very 'exotic', don't they?" I don't regret leaving for a second.

Also, the freshers' helper people with their happy happy "come on! Let's go! Yeah!" attitude were DUD DUD DUD

While we got on very well (entirely platonically), I ended the first week feeling I hadn't actually bonded with anyone apart from her. It turned out to be an unnecessary worry, by and large, but I remember the emptiness well.

(Posters: Surfer Rosa, Mudhoney, The Orb all bought from the poster sale. It got a bit more personal over the next few weeks and months, but then it felt pretty much like an obligatory uniform)

I was the very antithesis of this when I was a freshers' helper. I was more "nah, don't bother with that, I can show you where the pubs are, you handsome young boy, mwahahahahah".

In that first week, I felt like THE MAN. I knew where all the good pubs and bars were, I knew my way around the town, I sat there flirting with student barmaids who I'd known anyway for six months and the other Fresher's didn't know any better. In retrospect this gave me an artificial air of confidence that propelled me through the next couple of years. Girls admitted to fancying me! We played pool until 4am and hung out at a mini rave in the woods. It was like everything I'd dreamed about since I was about 13. I borrowed lots of Warp albums to impress people and hid Urban Hymns in a draw. I also danced up on stage with my gay best friend and the Weather Girls. He maintains that was the pinnacle of his life.

I still didn't get on with my corridor mates - only two of 'em, both utterly dull, self-obsessed, closet Tories with major social problems. But one of them copped off with a girl upstairs and we hung out with their corridor a lot (about eight of them), and they were fantastic. Two of them are still close friends of mine to this day. The new 'couple' had split up within weeks, and that was where the battle lines were drawn for the next two years.

Thinking back, I met all my closest university friends a year later, but that week still stands out as a pretty amazing one.

I guess that sums up my entire attitude to people in my college.

i forgot that i spent a night with my 'gael' (the university is very scottish-themed: frosh group leaders are called 'gaels', university songs are sung in gaelic, even the sports teams are called the 'golden gaels'. go figure.). there was no sex but it was a good night of grope'n'tickle at her house. all of this was pretty exciting and seemed so 'grown-up' to me, considering my love life prior to this was pretty much non-existent. anyway our frosh group sussed the rendez-vous between me and our 'leader' and were shocked since she was pegged as a real brittle A-type personality goodie-two-shoes sort. i was kinda a hero too for whatever reason.

Its just occurred to me that the key to my future is to walk into the next party I go to and pretend that its Fresher's Week 1999 and that my happiness over the next three years depends on making friends with as many of them as possible.

Music collection mostly consisting of pre-Britpop indie. Pixies, Curve, Ride, Pulp among the faves I think. I had a huge Ned's Atomic Dustbin poster on my wall. Those were the days.

matt, why are you so obsessed about this?

(xpost to carsmile)

i was embarrassed and didnt want to um, disturb them, i wound up going to clean the bathroom. [i am sure there is tons of psychoanalysis to be had there] she came into the bathroom and said, "its OK, my parents watch us all the time" and all i could think was "OMGWTF?!" but declined anyway.

needless to say i did not last in that room for very long.

day 1 met up with a pretty waiflike indie-girl at the first days freshers thing.

day 2 Met her at an Indie night the next day and danced to the indie hits of the day.

day 3 Took her out the next night to see Pulp wowed her by taking her to the aftershow party

(thought it would all last forever)

day 4 we met up to go and see the Chemical Brothers after about an hour she felt ill and collapsed. I took her home and put her to bed spent the night on the floor and looked after her, next day she went back to her halls,

day 6 She broke up with me, spent most of the day in my room listening to Mellow Doubt (felt so very alone). Went out in the evening, got drunk, hooked up with another waif-like indie girl.

shame the ten pin bowling site has gone all pearshaped though (it was good when i was in charge - it had weekly updated league table and all!)

Jugglesoc is so much better than it has ever been. We're holding a one day convention in March if you're around.

Then why can't *I* find it?

s k i p l e v e l s @ g m a i l . c o m

Me too - although I think it lasted all through my first year, and I wrote everything down on pieces of paper that I kept with my chequebook.

The dorm was something I was utterly unprepared for. I was, in retrospect, something of a prude about the seemingly bachanallian drinking and shagging going on all around me, and I hated the ridiculous initiation stunts that the freshman kids were made to perform.
I did what most ostensibly-high-minded-but-secretly-wanting-to-cut-loose kids did and took refuge in the campus radio station and newspaper.

I've loosened up exponentially since then.

I'm probably having more fun watching Hollyoaks Freshers action than remembering my own.

Me too. Damn.

As far as what I did during the week, hang out during the day and get pissed during the evenings was the height of it. It was incredibly intense but I handled it really well and survived. Didn't pull though, but then at that point I'd only ever snogged one girl in my life so not a massive surprise. I got very close but (and you really couldn't make this up) we were physically separated from getting on the same bus after a night out because she was the last one allowed on! She later told my mate she would've... I'm pathetic.

Have I ever asked you who this was? I know this was a long time ago, and there have no doubt been countless juggling fire-breathing dudes in Edinburgh, but one of my exes fits this description quite well. In fact he was probably on your course.

This must be kicking off around now, right? It is TEN YEARS since I first went to university. God I feel old.

This is a brilliant thread, I wish I'd remembered to nominate it in the poll. It's the Alba Diaries that make it.

Also if Southall's looking I don't suppose there's any way you can look up the dates of Exeter Freshers Week 1997 is there? I'm curious as to when my ten year anniversary actually hits.

a girl i used to childmind just before i went off to university is about to go up, which is v. old-making. nine years. i'm probably less intelligent now than then.

I had an interesting Fresher's Week. Not least for the fact that I decided to start keeping a diary. Here, unedited, is all I managed to write before abandoning the project:

It could all happen in the space of a few hours, at least if I have my way. And there’ll probably be some poor bastard who’s been waiting for his moment with you, who won’t know a thing about it. He last saw you before I first did, but the next time, when he’ll doubtless try to renew whatever he was doing before, he won’t be able to because of me.

However, the more I sit here and write about it rather than act on my giddiness, the more chance there is that I’ll be the poor bastard, and the poor bastard I mentioned earlier will leap into my own role, and that isn’t fair, because you’re perfect for me, not him.

And maybe there just isn’t a poor bastard at all, and I alone have all the time in the world. Trouble is, I need there to be a poor bastard, even if he’s hypothetical. It’s how it works and it’s how I’m going to succeed.

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I have fallen in love. Sit back and enjoy the ride. For what it’s worth.

The Diary Of A Bespectacled English Student…

4/10/05: ONLY JOKING!!!!!!!!!!! Intriguing as the false start may have been, this isn’t (really) going to be one of THOSE diaries, the sort that wallow in perpetual angst and concern themselves exclusively with how much of a failed romantic the grievously maligned author is. To confess, I did actually write those words in utter seriousness last night, when I actually believed myself to have fallen in love with a girl on my course. Fortunately, love turned out to be merely great liking and therefore this page has been spared yet further bunkum. Although I guess it was probably for the best that she’s already taken…
Instead, this diary shall be a diary of observation, and of warm-hearted remembrance in times ahead. And I shall start by observing the extraordinary strangeness of our collective university experience thus far. It is quite clear that nigh-on everybody here is extremely nice, but more importantly, a little unhinged. Now, you try getting 79 unhinged young things in one place, removing the presence of any adults and replacing them with 19, 20 and 21 year-olds who are more than willing to indulge the freshmen with alcohol/cannabis/salacious anecdotes, and you’ve gone and cooked yourself a one-way goose to Decadence Town. It’s not as if the rites enacted have been purely kept to chemical mind-alteration however. The actual atmosphere of the place has almost a certain kinetic energy all of its own, almost like it can’t comfortably accommodate the sheer weight of brain wattage currently being haphazardly expended by its inhabitants like overexcited school-kids at a Laser Quest. The consequence of this is that I, and probably most others, have had to suspend our regular perceptions of common sense and write an entirely new, certainly much more interesting list which can cater for the many millions of directions each and every one of our minds is flying in simultaneously. The air is clear and yet hazy with anticipation. The path is crooked but spread out gloriously before us wider than the widest river. I feel silly with uninhibited delight but so does everybody else. I’m beginning to like this place.
So, what actually happened today? It’s not like me to take up the entire first page of my work with pompous, pretentious rambling (it normally ends after the second or third) but a return to plain narrative being required, I shall relent. Basically, we had our Matric dinner, which was gorgeous, even if the port did go very quickly, and I discovered that my tigerish Admissions Tutor isn’t actually the worst of company at the dinner table. My decision to forgo any sort of sustenance whatsoever during the day prior to that was also fully vindicated, as I was able to consume vast quantities of potato and cabbage, normally so cruel to my palate, without flinching an eyelid.
I must also ‘word up’, as it were, to the wonderful intelligence collective also known as my year, for their eccentricity, for their warmth, and for the fact that they seem to be enjoying it almost as much (or more so, W-, G-, J-, E-) as myself.
Don’t know who those mysterious fellows are what I’ve just mentioned? Don’t worry; a dramatis personae will be supplied at very short notice. I’ll just give you a clue as to the relevance of these four names, however, Diary: The free condom packs have not all remained sealed. I shall say no more.
Adios,
Louis.

6/10/05: This day has been epochal, like all the other ones, but much easier to explain as such. I have some advice for you all.
Never, ever, ever, ever declare your love to a Philosophy student unless you want it to be reciprocated with conversation rather than a relationship.
I now must write down everything I can remember from my conversation with this most wonderful, mindblowingly intelligent person (whom I still love).
I said let’s go outside and she followed. Neither of us liked the noisy bar-room atmosphere and as we both agreed the drinks were noxious. I said we should sit down on the bench and she agreed. I knew she liked me a lot from the conversation we’d been having. We had concurred on so very much and this is where I have to say why I loved her the way I did. I did so because she was a) nice, b) beautiful and c) intellectually something else. Something else, man. Like from a different universe. Her powers of argument, persuasion and reasoning are stupendous. Yet we are also quite similar in many ways. We both question. We both think divergently. We both love Romantic poetry, but (in her words) I understand it, being a trusting, optimistic idealist, and she loves it, without understanding a single part of the theory behind it, because she’s an untrusting cynic.
I thought I was a cynic…until I met Helena (her name).
That said, she did during the subsequent conversation instill a quite substantial amount of cynicism within me. I’m rambling and it’s great. I’m going to turn this into a story, or a play. Or even a poem. But this is story material. Onwards, fool…we sat on the bench and agreed how although some people regarded silences as awkward, we most certainly did not and we enjoyed several minutes of contemplation as my love for this girl grew.
I made her feel my heart. I’ll remember that. Then I said I had fallen in love with her to her face. Her reaction, you ask?
What is love?
I do not understand the concept of love.
I am not going to run away because I like you. I like you a hell of a lot.
No, I don’t already have a boyfriend.
Or a girlfriend.
Yes, but although being an idealist you harbour hopes of changing me around to you, would you genuinely WANT to change me like that? As you’ve said, you like me because I’m an intellectual challenge. If I lost the stubborn little cynic within me, I’d be a different person.
People always change though. I might change. You might change.
I feel a bit guilty. Nobody really does that to me.
I’m a very good liar.
You might be lying too.
I didn’t mean the thing about it being a lame chat-up line.
Would I still be here if you intimidated me?
Oh my GOD what have I done (whoops, one of my own reactions…)
This is one of my favourite ever conversations.

I came up with a barrier-leaping analogy with my arms. I defended my position well and I believe I made her think, which she evidently enjoyed.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, seeing as I felt 100% like doing both.
I hoped I could turn her over to my frame of mind. I tried to explain what love was. I tried to tell her how lovely she was and how this argument was making her lovelier, although what she was saying was making impossible the prospect of a relationship. We marvelled at the paradox.
I felt liberated. I curiously felt no regret at the time. She was extremely happy that I felt no regret. I still wasn’t completely sure she was being totally honest, but I am going to treat it as such. If I didn’t it just wouldn’t belong to my modus operandi.
Just imagine the weird couple in American Beauty, and magnify the weirdness factor by about apricot.
We discussed the concept of ‘bittersweet’ and she knew of it.
Did I want her body? Honestly? Yes. And I’m sure she knew it too. But it was her mind I was attracted to. The body is a kind of necessary add-on, thanks to my lovely hormones.
Of all the girls I could have said that to…
Plot of work: This conversation between the idealist poet and the cynical philosopher. They agree on much and understand one another’s position but she cannot go out with him. He doesn’t know if she’s lying or not (the readers however know that she is being honest, as is he).
She is terrified of mental asylums.
His challenge is to swing her around to himself. He cannot. In his delusions he goes too far and, ooh, dunno, kills himself for her or something to prove himself (not that I am going to do the same) and the tragedy is HERS because she actually loved him on her own terms but was unable to reciprocate him on his.
She winds up in a mental asylum and is unable to kill herself as she is put on suicide watch in a padded room.
The state of knowing something to be untrue (we’re both acting) but understanding entirely how it could easily be the case.
Hey—WAS she speaking the truth? According to her it doesn’t matter and according to me it does. She’s a good liar apparently but she seemed wholly genuine and ignorance is bliss but I really wanna know. In the story the boy will never know. In the story the girl will know he’s honest but try to keep her mind sceptical.
I’m rambling. I need to go to bed. It’s been a pleasure.
Footie trials tomorrow. Get in there.
Overandout.
Louis.

P.S. Estella from Great Expectations, anyone? ;-)
P.P.S. If the world-renowned diary editor J- R- had his considerably righteous way, anything in this pitiful document coloured, or should that be colored, Mr Bush, in red would be eradicated in a pronto manner.

o_0

See here's the thing

We have to take our clothes off
We have to party all night
And we have to take our clothes off
To have a good time
Oh no

Excuse me miss
I couldn't help but to notice how alone you are
I dig the attitude and how you're acting like you own the bar
Got me flashing keys and I don't even own a car
Like you ain't feeling my charm, because I know you are
I'm trying to see how your lips feel
Oh I'm sorry, my name is Travie and I'm pretty much a big deal
Oh, you've never heard of me
That sounds absurd to me
The way you stole my attention was flat out burglary
What do you say let's exit stage left so me and you can
Possibly reconvene and play some naked peekaboo
Cause after all the blouse you're wearing is kinda see through
And it's obvious I'm heading wherever you're leading me too
Such an angel with a devilish angle
And quite the certified sweet talker
And you're buying every line of it girl
And I don't really blame you
If I was in your shoes I'd probably do the same too

We have to take our clothes off
We have to party all night
And we have to take our clothes off
To have a good time
Oh no

Now here's another barn burner for the slow learners
Put your helmets on and take a seat on the short bus
Next stop, right around the corner from your momma live
No turning back so you better buckle up
Shit, don't be concerned with mine
I feel like a Speak and Spell way I got you learning my lines
Fine, pull the string, replay that shit
I change my name to "did he really just say that shit?"
Yep
I'll take a mile if you let me
Six-five, two hundred plus and so sexy
My legs going numb for keeping my phone on vibrate
To hide the fact your girlfriend keeps textin' me
And I've been trying to never mind it man
But every time I get a new number, she finds it damn
And you thought you had it sewn up
Until right around amazing o'clock when I showed up

We have to take our clothes off
We have to party all night
And we have to take our clothes off
To have a good time
Oh no

Got chicks, all hot chicks
Indie-rock chicks, and hip-hop chicks
Slim chicks, round chicks
Black, white, yellow, and brown chicks
Got chicks, all hot chicks
Indie-rock chicks, and hip-hop chicks
Slim chicks, round chicks
Black, white, yellow, and brown chicks

Good grief girl, you're giving me goosebumps
Standing there in your underwear and new pumps
It's like the more time we waste and less time I get to taste you
Honestly I could easily replace you
It's not a scam girl
That's how I am girl
Peter Pan, I'm a sucker for smacker's jam girl
It's clear I'm only here for good clean fun
Shut up and kiss me like the antidotes under my tongue
Whoa

We have to take our clothes off
And we have to party all night
And we have to take our clothes off
To have a good time
Oh no
We have to take our clothes off
And we have to party all night
And we have to take our clothes off
To have a good time
Oh no

Got chicks, all hot chicks
Indie-rock chicks, and hip-hop chicks
Slim chicks, round chicks
Black, white, yellow, and brown chicks
Got chicks, all hot chicks
Indie-rock chicks, and hip-hop chicks
Slim chicks, round chicks
Black, white, yellow, and brown chicks

I am almost crying with laughter at myself aged 18. ;_;

It's 12 years since I was a college freshman. Man. I don't really remember much about the first week of school but that's probably a result of one of few things I do remember - my first bong hits.

My diary from then is all like. "8/7/01: depressed. 8/11/01: depressed, too tired to write more. 8/13/01: Reading The Godfather for lit class; depressed." A trend that continues to this day! My secret diary is not secretly more boring than the ag report.

I am almost crying with laughter at myself aged 18. ;_;

-- Just got offed, Monday, September 17, 2007 8:03 PM (1 hour ago) Bookmark Link

what? that's like 2 weeks ago broseph. i think, with perspective, you may see 18 and 19, and heck maybe 20, as along a continuum, get me?

Numbers got contiguity!

Yeah, I know. I look back on 16-18 with a combination of loathing and amusement, but even, say, the ILX posting I made when 19 and early 20 looks idiotic and naive. When I'm 22 I'll doubtless view myself circa September 2007 with Passantino-esque disdain and lulz. That last sentence will seem really douchey, for a start. It's definitely a continuum; the question is, at what age are you at your most OTM about hating your former self? When you're 40 or so I can imagine a sort of peace descending, and an acceptance of youthful idiocy.

welp, keep us posted.

haha, it's like you're trying to call me a WHELP, which i guess i am in a way