An education...

A level results came out today and I hope that you all did well. I wrote this one almost a year ago. It details, the exact same time in my life three years ago, up until the first night of my freshers week. I think it's exceedingly relevant today, so without further I ado, I give to you... (I'm not quite sure what it is myself, but it's definitely something.)

There appears to be some misinformation surrounding university life. Outsiders are under the impression that the top brass of the nation’s children go to university to gain tutelage in a worthy subject of their choice like economics or medicine. In all honesty they couldn’t be further from the truth. While this aim generally remains at the back of the average students mind other things soon gain importance. 

So you’ve made it through your A levels, Congratulations!! After this you fall into four classes.

Class A: You have made your offer and you’ve made it into the university of your choice. 

Class B: You didn’t make your offer but you have a silver tongue and or very deep pockets so you’ve managed to persuade the university to accept your undeserving self. More power to you if you managed to do this without the loss of a library.

Class C:You were not very content with the offers you received in the first place, so after smashing your A levels you decide to adjust upwards. You trade your already decent university for a slightly better one. More grease to your overachieving elbows.

Class D: You have failed to make your first choice and you lack the deep pockets and silver tongue necessary to convince them otherwise. You now have 3 options.

• Go to your second choice. (It’s still a University you should be grateful)
• Go into clearing. (Hustle for a place studying anything in a reputable school)
• Take a Gap Yah and re-sit your exams at the first opportunity.

After you have sorted out your life, you embark on a summer of epicness and largesse because you are now a university student. I missed out on this stage of the proceedings because the night that my A level results came out Henry (Henry Robertson from a few posts ago) and I went out for celebratory drinks and ruined my vehicle. I remember the incident like it was yesterday. Henry was the better driver so I let him handle the Pimp Mobile (a cobalt blue Toyota corolla, the 2004 model). We drove from bar to bar, drinking all the while. By the time we’d got to the last bar on our pub crawl (Red) we were fairly jolly. I reminded him that my curfew had been broken several hours before and that we needed to return to my parent’s house before we were crushed by the full power of their parental justice but Henry refused to leave. He was in the entangled in the mother of all complications and he believed that meeting a certain girl to talk things over at about 2 in the morning would be essential to diffusing the situation (It wasn’t). After he attempted to douse the flames caused by his many indiscretions we got in the car and began the drive home. 

Henry being a huge fan of top gear, was never content to drive like a normal individual. He liked to push the car to its limits. His driving was fraught with over-revving and harsh braking. After going into a T junction a little too quickly and turning a little late, the left rear tyre of my vehicle burst. Henry lost control of the vehicle. I was snickering as the car veered off the road, climbed a ramp and wrapped itself around a street light. Henry, the Corolla and I all made it home. I’d really like to say we made it home in one piece but that would be a lie. We’d broken the radiator, and dented the chassis of the corolla. It would never be the same vehicle again. Any normal parents would be concerned for the safety of their only son, but mine seemed to be more pissed off with his survival. We were grounded until we went to uni. Had the above not happened Henry and I would have gone to Ibiza with our friends from school, for educational purposes. Our classrooms would have been the many bars, clubs and other reputable establishments that the island has to offer. 

In mid September you return from your summer to begin preparations to move to university. Your student loan will be arriving fairly soon so you’ll be looking forward to being your own master and commander. You think that your summer of largesse has prepared you for the rigours of university life but you’re wrong. Freshers week will serve to correct your mistake. Allow me to share the details of mine with you.

Sunday: Manchester - Pure - foam party

Massive foam party. Henry’s here for the week. His freshers start’s a week later. Mum came to university with me to sort out my Visa issues, rather embarrassing as I thought I’d finally be alone. It turns out that even in uni I’m not free of Parental guidance. Henry’s rather pleased. It means we get free meals courtesy of mum. Okay after seeing mum to her hotel room, we head to the noisiest Kitchen in halls (my kitchen was rather ghostly). After meeting too many people to remember we get down to the business of the night - Ring of Fire!. We all consume copious amounts of alcohol. It’s  good fun. I can see myself really liking it here. I can say the same for Henry, it’s surprising how nonchalant he is of his sensitive situation. Time seems to have slowed down, it’s either that or we started drinking ridiculously early, so we play Ring of Fire again. In the middle of a mob of 50 or so people (only one faction of the Grosvenor Halls of Residence Freshers) we March to Pure. It’s about 30 minutes away but that distance means nothing because we’re chanting like a group of fans at a football match. After out chanting every other drunken fresher group headed in our direction we arrive at our destination. At the sight of the bouncers, everyone in our party sobers up to ensure entry. Upon entry we proceed to the bar to pick up some liquid courage. Ill advised and spurred on by Henry I decide to do this by sliding down the banister of the stairwell. Needless to say this ends badly, with my arse on the floor but being a lad I brush the dirt of my shoulders and bounce to the bar where my new found friends have begun placing their orders. My glee is palpable, finally I get to have the university experience. It turns out that I I didn’t have to worry about lagging behind because Henry’s ordered for me. In the collective spirit of the whole freshers experience we down our various drinks. It’s funny how most of us drink like alcohol’s quinine. We frown at the contents of our shot glasses but we recognise that the magic juice is the best cure for our awkwardness and discomfort. After downing a shot we grimace like it’s been the worst second of our lives and continue to the next one... and the next one... and the next one. 

After our rituals, we’re ready to begin the night.I can’t accurately describe the dancing that’s going on. The only word for it is diabolical. The vibe is amazing because we all know that no one knows any one else. So you can literally strike a conversation with anyone without having to deal with the barriers that people tend to put around themselves. But for some reason on this particular night, I have decided that I have transcended the need for conversation. So I resolve to entice the females around me with an awesome display of masculinity and physicality. In my mind this will lure them to me like a male peacock lures his females to him with his immense plumage. I duck, weave, jump and roll. Then the night descends into flashes of memory. The foam cannons opened, Henry and I jumping around amidst the wet, slippery crowd. Henry disappearing with an unknown female. A lot of dodgy activity in the foam... I recall brown hair, sweet smelling breath, rosy lips and reasonable proportions. Then nothing, it’s like I’ve fallen asleep but I’m well aware that I was quite active. Undoubtedly wowing the crowd with my dance moves.

Monday: Manchester - Grosvenor place-floor G - Room 13

The first thing I realise as my eyes open is that I feel surprisingly well rested, which is quite surprising considering my activities of the night before. It’s then that I that I discover that there appears to be a gap in my memory. For a moment I panic because I feel like I may have raped someone during my blackout. Google comes to my aid because I search for rapes in Manchester and my search comes up with nothing. It’s then that I see that I have some black substance on my hands that has stained my laptop and my sheets. I take a quick glance around my room and I see black palm prints all over the place. My first shard of memory from the blacked out hours returns to me. I had scaled the fence to get to halls because my key card had refused to work. I did not notice that the top of the fence had non drying black paint on it. After letting out a stream of language most vile, I notice that Henry is missing from his honourable position on the floor of my room. FML!