Ross: pi-VOT!
You’ve finally reached your new halls, after a long and tiring day. You may be excited, but your fully stressed out father is sweating buckets. He’s trying, and failing, to get that fifth bag of clothes, (which you desperately need), round the ‘damn corner’ and rambling to the person showing you around. ‘Dad, I’m pretty sure Hillary doesn’t really want to know all about Grandma’s hip replacement.’
Ross: I’m FINE…
Excited as you are, when the time comes to saying goodbye to your parents, you revert to a little baby. Like it’s the first day of nursery again, the homesickness hits. You try to busy yourself thinking about what alcohol to buy tonight (something that won’t break your bank- Tesco’s £2.00 Australian White, here we come). In reality, you’re crying inside at the thought of being left alone. No matter how embarrassing, your parents are pretty great, really.
Phoebe: THIS IS BRAND NEW INFORMATION!
It’s 16:25. Your new flatmate is rattling off an almost Shakespearian monologue about her ‘unimaginably amazing’, ‘interesting’, ‘arty’ life. You’ve been sat for the last hour, thinking; ‘No Sarah, I definitely didn’t already know that your Aunt’s boyfriend’s dog just had an operation on its spleen and that you went on holiday to Greece in 2012, with braces, and a bowl haircut’. Facebook stalking comes for us all in the end…
Phoebe: He’s her lobster.
When you realise, after quite some time, that you really aren’t the only weirdo in the world. You’ve met other strange people, who also, embarrassingly, know all the words to High School Musical’s Breaking Free, and are completely up for attempting drunk parkour in dressing gowns at 1am. You’ve pretty much established by now, you’re soulmates.
Monica: Welcome to the real world. It sucks. You’re gonna love it!
This statement will spring to mind every time you meet a rare second or third year in the wild. These creatures may appear to have a cheerful outward approach- “Hello, can I interest you in Exeter’s Dance Soc. Great fun and such a good place to meet lifelong friends.”- But you notice the pained sympathy behind their hungover, dead eyes.
Chandler: I’m hopeless and awkward and desperate for love!
Joey: Hey, how you doin?
It’s Freshers, the ultimate love fest. Most single students will be aware of the desperate and, in some cases, dangerous game that is getting with someone in a club. You will get punched, kicked, screamed at, vomited on and propositioned before the rare occasion that you are approached by someone you actually like. And so the games begin…
Janice: He told me his new address, it’s 15 Yemen Road, Yemen.
When said ‘pull’ decides he needs your number and wants to take you home with him, it suddenly dawns on you what a terrible, terrible mistake you’ve made. Time to grab the nearest flat mate and hightail out of there, with a fake number and the drunken response; ‘Urm, sorry, but Ryan Gosling is waiting to Netflix and chill back home, so, you know, really shouldn’t keep him waiting’.
Joey: JOEY DOESN’T SHARE FOOD.
2:30 am. Mega Kebab, Sidwell Street. ‘No, Tim, you can’t have a bite of my burger’, you say in your drunk mind. ‘It’s my burger. I bought it, and you don’t deserve any anyway. You didn’t save me when that guy tried to literally molest me, because you were too busy feeling yourself to Drake.’ But instead, you politely give in, watching your burger disappear into Tim’s hungry mouth. Ugh, stupid Tim.
5 months later, you’ll think Tim is the greatest human alive. Tim will be getting his own burger though, and none of yours.
Rachel: I mean, isn’t that just kick-you-in-the-crotch, spit-on-your-neck fantastic?
Your timetable appears. Three 8:30 lectures next week, and no days off. Your peaceful wish to get up whenever you like, shatters. Like the tequila bottle last night, on your brand new rug, it smashes all over your hopes and dreams. But it’s ok, because your friend has the same timetable. A ray of sunshine: you don’t have to go through 8:30 hell alone!
Pheobe: Je m’appelle Claude Joey: Jet aplee blooo
Freshers week is coming to an end, and you realise, with a shock the size of a small earthquake- that means work… Opening the books you haven’t yet touched and attempting the first week’s reading. You stare at the squiggly lines on the page. What are these things? Oh, Letters… Right… I know them. Don’t I?
We hope you all survive freshers week with lots of good stories to tell! And if your Freshers isn’t all that great, you’ve still got the rest of the year…