If you’re reading this, you’ve either got a poor taste in student media or are nursing a hangover (weakling). In any case, I offer some belated condolences for your arrival at this “University”.
I hope you’re enjoying the glorious architecture, riddled in decay, mould and probably some form of exotic insect nest. Rumour has it that that a vengeful sea urchin rests under the campus’ murky waters, rising only when the rugby team accumulates enough “Lad Points” to awaken it. The last person to unleash the Kraken was none other than former Vice Chancellor Brian Cantor upon arriving oh so long ago.
Throughout these next few years stalling unemployment, you’ll be subject to many new experiences.
First, you might be shocked to find an oddly dressed scarecrow walking around campus. Rest assured this is none other than your student union president , Kallum Taylor. The self styled “Great Leader”, Taylor speaks with an Orwellian-tinge, as per the disciples of the National Union of Soviets.
I must be honest though – it still upsets me to think that instead of a revolutionary purge of the Bourgeoise, “Bustice” instead refers to the time when Taylor convinced the bus driver to go take him to Morrison’s. Needs must when you run out of hair gel, I guess.
Second, will be the expansion of cliques that infest the university. And while back in school the football meatheads may have ruled the roost, you’ll find that an army of hipsters form the campus gestapo. Communicating mostly through hashtags, they can usually be found on campus promoting yet another totally unique dubstep night, though the super trendy reside at the Library’s Costa Coffee, telling everyone that since their gap yah, all they want to do is liberate Africa.
This, of course, puts the country’s natural rulers in a bit of a pickle. Take a moment for this minority – the spawn of wealthy gentry, they will always remain a disappointment to their parents after failing to get into Oxbridge. But YUSU, being the progressive student union it is, have provided a rehab outlet for this group.
Often referred to as ‘CalSoc’ , the rulers that could have been meet each week to discuss how they’re getting on interacting with the poor, before continuing their weekly ritual, imitating what life could have been had they lived a few centuries ago. Don’t be alarmed by the eccentric garments- (though its worth noting there is no underwear underneath it) – as we all know, such existential breakdowns can be difficult to overcome.
To end my final column , a note regarding your freshers’ experience.
For the ladies, its important you know that most of your male STYCS signed up in the event that they could trick you into coitus. Exploit this well, and you might be able to have a ravenous week without even touching your purse.
As for the boys – despite what American sitcoms imply, if you weren’t great with women at school, you’ll be horrendous at university. Try not to be the kid who hangs out in darkest corner of clubs, and definitely don’t be the creepy kid who appears behind the York Hornets’ collective ‘selfie’.
On that note, I bid you farewell.
And remember – it’s not too late to transfer.