February 19, 2016, by Charlie Porter
Things I Miss About Living in Halls
I hit snooze on my phone for the umpteenth time that morning, realising my window for showering, getting ready, eating breakfast and making lunch for the day is narrowing. A February breeze shrieks through the bit of my unsealed window, and I wonder if I should finally get round to telling my landlord about the mould-infested corner in my room. As I bury my face into the comfort of my pillow I can’t help but remember the luxuries of hall life oh-so long ago….
The Bed-to-Campus Roll
It’s 9:40am. My lecture on biographical and autobiographical writing starts in twenty minutes. The lecturer is probably pulling in to the university car park whilst I doze happily away in my pyjamas. No matter – all I need to do is the quick Bed-to-Campus roll, into some clothes (but perhaps will have to reapply last night’s make-up); a brief stop by breakfast for some toast-to-go and I can be in my seat with a minute to spare.
Friends Living Mere Metres Away
Unfortunately, over the years, I’ve lost many of my hall friends to the mountain that is Derby Road. “Oh, we’re living on Seely Road next year,” is a death sentence to me, or anything slightly vertical of Savoy Cinema for that matter. Of course I do still try my best to keep up with everyone but the labyrinth of Lenton just isn’t the same as walking across the courtyard to F block to go and see if anybody fancies watching the new Game of Thrones episode.
Unlimited Warmth
I once walked into my friend’s room in first year to find she was sitting at her desk in her underpants. “What on Earth are you doing?” I asked her, obviously, to which she gestured at the radiator underneath. “It’s so hot in here,” she said. “I had to take my jeans off just to do my work.”
Now let’s try and envisage that now. I knock on the door of my house mate’s room – “Just a second!” – is the muffled reply I get. I can hear a some shuffling about and a bit of grunting, before the door eventually opens. My house mate is wedged between the arm-rests of her desk chair, swaddled in two jumpers, a dressing gown, and a bath towel. “It’s your parcel,” I tell her. “Your microwaveable-heated slippers have arrived.”
The Magic Mealcard
From Chicken Joes, Willoughby pizzas, and the Portland Chinese restaurant, that bad boy could get you anything; all you had to do was give it a wave and a Hogwarts feast would materialise right before you. Whilst bullies like Broadgate and Raleigh would tease us for not being able to make our own dinner, we didn’t even have to think about what to eat, or collecting ClubCard points. Breakfast, lunch, dinner… even if the dinners were sometimes a little dodgy. The biggest worry we had back then was trying to get someone to wait for you if you had a late lecture so you didn’t have to eat on your own.
The Sheer Freedom
They always say, you never know what you’ve got till it’s gone. As my house mate and I sit here reminiscing about it we realise just how lucky you are in first year. You’ve got the uni-life freedom that you’ve wanted so much since leaving school, and you’ve still got the stamina to go to Market Bar, Crisis and Ocean in the same week – and yes whilst you’ve still got to pass the year, you can sail effortlessly through responsibilities and deadlines with a smile on your face and a song in your heart.
Treasure it, first years. Don’t ever wish your year away.
P.S. Microwaveable slippers are a real thing.
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