A week ago I left a tiny town in the Midlands to go to the big city of Manchester, armed with three suitcases of clothes, 15 pairs of heels and tales from my second year predecessors ringing in my naïve ears. I knew I was in for the most hectic week of my life so far, but I now know that no stories or advice can really prepare you for the carnage that is Freshers’ Week!
I never would have thought, in the moments after my parents had abandoned me and I was quietly sobbing into my alien single bed, that I would spend the night completely wasted in the halls’ bar with a group of people I don’t know from Adam. From that first night I knew that university would be like no other experience; people from all walks of life come together (aided by a bottle of Glen’s finest vodka) and make the best of friends. I found myself dancing on stage to the Cha Cha Slide, which seemed like a brilliant idea at the time; but in the morning, during a cheeky vimto-induced haze, I realised I actually just looked like a complete idiot. But it’s all okay, because everyone is drunk and makes a fool out of themselves – that is the beauty of Freshers’.
From then on it’s been a whirlwind of pre-drinks, flat parties, dancing on tables (and almost getting kicked out of Birdcage for doing so) and painful dissections of the night before with my flatmates at the kitchen table. Forget learning how to cook a healthy meal or remembering to clean my room, my time has been occupied by mastering the art of climbing down three flights of stairs with six-inch heels on, finding the best chicken dinners in Fallowfield and taking twenty minute detours to avoid a head-on collision with the stranger I shared a rather intimate, drunken moment with in 5th Avenue the evening before.
It has been a long and strenuous week, worsened by having to drag myself out of bed while Kanye West and Jay-Z are still ringing in my ears. Catching the bus and sitting through induction talks, while wondering whether anyone would notice if I vomited in my pencil case, have proved to be particularly difficult. One week in and uni has already become a hindrance to me; a second priority to ensuring I get to Boots to buy false eyelashes before Pout. One can only hope that I pull myself together in time to pass the end of year exams.
Now, lying in bed with a box of multivitamins, a free Domino’s pizza and a bunch of everlasting memories, I can finally reflect on my Freshers’ Week. I think that whilst everyone will have their own take on the week I feel we are all united in describing it as one word: unforgettable. Roll on the next three years, and here’s to the many more hazy nights, embarrassing moments and life lessons sure to come!
