As most of you who read this know, I go to Lancaster University. Lancaster is a small town in North West England, an hour away from Manchester and about an hour and a half away from Liverpool. It’s generally pretty quiet, being that its economy seems mostly based on students and old people. That’s not to say that there’s no families around, there are a few. It’s just that you can’t go into any shop without having to wait for old women to count their pennies or for students to decide how they’re going to destroy their overdraft.

There’s not really a lot to do most of the time, though its location lends itself well to getting trains out to surrounding towns and the countryside. One could feasibly go to the lake district for a nice little dander any day with half decent weather. That or head to Morecombe for some cockle picking if you’re feeling suicidal. I don’t mean to rinse Lancaster that bad because in all honesty I’ve had a great three years. Made some great friends, had some brilliant nights out and I’ve definitely had one toke over the line old friend. This is something I’ve become renowned for.

You can’t go to a small English university as loud as I am, with a thick but charming Northern Irish accent, a pair of pretty blue eyes and get wasted on a regular basis without gaining some kind of reputation. It’s like being the lad about town. In fact, a couple of years ago when I was heavier in both fat and muscle mass, there was little danger of getting into a fight. In my college bar at the height of business there was a bit of confusion about who was in the queue. Some guy was giving me jip and in turn, aided and abetted by alcohol my arrogance was spilling over into the realms of “Go fuck yourself, I own this bar”. Whilst he was getting scrappy and I was for going outside and punt kicking him through a glass window, his friend was grabbing him and going “Leave him dude, it’s not worth it. He’s a lot bigger than you and he’s Irish”. That to me was a victory. I was such a prick back then.

Anyway, I decided last night I would make a guide to the University on the blog. Just.. Not yet. I want to do one on the boat or plane on the way home from graduation. I want to be equipped with every experience before I tell people whether or not to come here for sure. What I do want to do is make a guide for those already at Lancaster and it’s not something I can do in one shot. I’m sure given a couple of days I could have a God damn dissertation written about the town and university. What I’m going to do now is make a comparison between town and campus. Here are six things I don’t miss about campus:

1) Porters - If anyone doesn’t know what a porter does, it’s basically the voice of authority for each college. Not the governor or principle of it, more like the policeman. These guys during the day walk around to check everything is in order or give you the parcels you were looking for. This is handy enough as they’re always there to sign for your package and there’s no where else to get mail.

At night, they can turn from day-time heroes to overzealous demanders of early bed times. That is to say that the very nature of their job is often a hinderance to students. No student ever wants to be told that they need to stop their party at 11 pm because other people might be trying to sleep. I understand that the noise needs to be turned down if people complain, but all too often I’ve been either fined, or told to go to bed by a balding middle age man who was never a student in his life.

In honesty there are cool ones, but its only in relative to the shit job they have to do. Being told to keep the noise down isn’t so bad when they ignore the fact you could be skinning up a fatty (hey, that happened once!) In town you have a lot more freedom, provided your neighbour doesn’t have a family and a job, you can get away with a fair bit of noise. In the case of the 12 Blade Street crew, we now have to keep our noise to a minimum until somebody buys the house from this guy. He is in fact a dick who writes far too many letters for noise we haven’t made in about a month. Trying to get the council involved is just not cool though.

2) Being told to tidy up the mess - In Pendle college, our entire flat got a series of money taking threats from the head of housing. This was all about the mess in hallways and in the kitchen that was preventing the cleaners from doing their work.
For a start, the only thing cleaners ever did was wipe down surfaces and mop the floor when there was already stuff on the floor. Rather than sweep up the mess, they just made a floor dirty by rubbing bits of meat into the ground with a mop. Then when they couldn’t do that, there were fines threatened of £80.

In town, you don’t have to deal with that sort of bullshit about hygene. You’re free to risk getting food poisoning from the stack of dirty plates you’ve accumulated in every room. When you have a dissertation to write, you kind of get used to having a mess in every room. I could not deal with false figures of authority telling me to clean up my mess or face a fine. When you’re sharing a house with friends, you can share the mess, not have to worry about it affecting people that should have no concern in your life.

3) Fire alarms - Oh how I grew to loath the fire alarms. In houses, I can deal with smoke detectors that whinge until you fan the smoke out of its way, but fire alarms that get out around a hundred people from their rooms at 3 am because the extractor fan doesn’t work and some cunt left the grill pan in the oven. Similarly in town if one wanted to go back to bed after a 3 hour seminar on a Wednesday morning, they could do so without being rudely awaked by a fire alarm they know works fine, but feel the need to test for four hours.

4) Poo days - This is the name given to those fine Spring and Summer days where some denizen of society decided to leave a manhole open, or I don’t know.. Send a dozen laxative dosed cows to take a dump all over South West campus. Whatever it is, it smells like the aborted foetuses of the queen of shit. Its like Bastard man unleashed his peduran in the middle of Pendle quad. Smells like bacon cooked in piss..

5) UPP - When I signed up to go to Copenhagen, I was under the naïve belief that the university would take care of my housing contract and for the third term, cancel my contract or at least let me off my rent. For months, I was worrying myself silly over the thought of being financially fucked in the middle of a Scandanavian country because I would have to pay the rent for a room I wasn’t going to be using. Luckily I ended up paying only £220 because some random goth girl needed the room for the guts of the third term. This scandalous manuveour was performed by the people that look after the halls of residences, not the university. UPP as you will learn from whenever they wake you up on a post-Carleton Thursday morning to change some random bit of shower head or light are a literal shower of bastards. I don’t mind the guys that fix things up, but the people at the administrators are absolutely useless whenever it comes to looking after the students. So much so that they should change the company name to Unidentified Profiteering Pricks.

I still lost my deposit despite the room being fairly good nick (okay, it needed a damn good clean but that’s about it) because they’re absolute twats. /Rant

6) College spirit - Okay, I’m going to qualify this. There’s a lot to love about college life. I love the social scenes that go with houses and halls on campus. I go down to Manchester Metropolitan to catch up with a friend every now and then and it’s just not the same. He’s sort of friends with his flatmates, but not like I was with mine, not even how I was with my other housemates. It’s not that he’s more socially inept from me, in fact probably the opposite, it’s just at Lancaster you’re not afraid to show your personality and we all have this feeling of being in it together. At other universities, they stick to their anonymity, finding it a lot more difficult to develop a good friend base. Part of this is the closeness of the college bars to halls, the competitions and an involvement in things.

Anyway, what I don’t miss is being awake at 3 am in the morning and some cunt’s still yelling “I’M PENDLE TILL I DIE!”. Mate, it’s Spring term, it’s about time you shagged your way around the different colleges to the point you shouldn’t be able to give any less of a shit. I’ll be honest, in the first week, I was the biggest college loving head case around. I caught on quick enough that it was a metric pile of balls and was neither funny or amusing unless you have the personality of a dead catfish.

However for every Conor Charlton there’s a twat who tries to start a fight outside of some club because he thinks his college pool team is harder than ours. Christ sake, leave me alone I’m trying to enjoy my drugs without you killing my buzz. Bowland pricks. I had to shake my head at everyone’s favourite balding 34 year old Lonsdale enthusiast as he was chanting his college nonsense in Holland. Bad times Skanky.

That’s about it for now. I feel you are now equipped with the relevant information to realize that there’s a load of shite you have to deal with on campus that you could do without. On the upside to campus, there’s the beautiful convenience of everything, the social life and well the proximity to Spar - Obviously as it is easier to obtain Spar Baguettes if you are on campus. This doesn’t need explaining, I’m not going to write another 500 words about how damn good the humble Spar Baguette is. Don’t be ridiculous, just check it out on face book - Temple of the Spar Baguette

Now I wouldn’t have done anything differently, but having your own house is great, try it some time.