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Sarah Foster

October 16, 2008
Sarah Foster

I can see the Minster from my mildewed shower

Ah York, how I missed you. Iâ€™d managed to survive three whole months without accidentally treading on a duck (when youâ€™re rushing to a nine fifteen lecture, this is almost as traumatic for you as it is for the poor duck) or being overcome by the urge to run up Cliffordâ€™s Tower after one to many Dusk cocktails, only to remember that actually I have zero ability to scale very steep slopes and giving up three seconds in. There were three months of my life that didnâ€™t involve dodging cow poo and speeding bicycles as I wandered down Walmgate Stray or debating the relative merits of the Nags Head over Rumours. Instead I spent those three months trying to explain to friends from home that while York does sound a little odd that honestly itâ€™s a very nice place indeed. (â€œI mean, yes, my Student Union president is a pirate, but surely that sort of thing happens all the time? No?â€)

But then I remember that there are a massive number of you reading this to which the above references mean nothing. A great mass of people who have never had to use the phrase â€˜duck rapeâ€™ in everyday conversation (or worse, had to witness it outside your bedroom window). People who have never had to take a ten minute detour round campus because every single bridge over the lake is closed. People who have never eaten an Efes takeaway!

I envy each and every one of you. Yes, being a fresher does have its many downsides, Goodrickeâ€™s kitchens being just one of them, but thereâ€™s nothing as great as discovering all those things that leave me, the world weary third-year, too jaded for words. I pass Milkshack without even batting an eyelid at the concept of a Jammie Dodger milkshake, even though sitting here; contemplating the possibility of a Jammie Dodger milkshake makes me smile just a little bit.

I donâ€™t even notice the numerous street performers anymore, not even the one who looks like Frank Sinatra. The cobbled streets of York have not lost any of their beauty; I think Iâ€™ve just become a lot less adept at noticing it. Last year I could see the Minister while I was in the shower, which for some reason sort of spoiled its architectural beauty for me. Looking at beautiful buildings when youâ€™re surrounded by mildew tends to do that to a person. But this shanâ€™t be the case for you. For you all these things are new and sparkly and exciting. You ought to run around campus, marvelling at all its concrete glory, amazed at why anyone would ever decide to build Central Hall to look like that. You can digest the numerous urban legends of York. (Mini in the lake! Jimi Hendrix vomiting in Langwith!) You can get at least three hours of entertainment by asking everyone you live with you pronounce the word â€˜bathâ€™. It shall be immense! At least until week seven or so.