We might be in the middle of nowhere, but I swear we’re not that boring… Here’s 10 things that will happen to you at Warwick University.
For the average Homosapien, ‘Purple’ denotes the secondary colour, the mix between blue and red. For the average Warwick student, the word ‘Purple’ will send a shiver down your spine, make the hairs on your neck rise, and ultimately, remind you of the time you died at Pop Wednesday after pulling a triple-whack gamble during Circle, or that other Pop Wednesday where you ended up on the floor and escorted out by bouncers, or worse, the colour of the toilet bowel you spilled out your stomach contents into after your Society’s Social Sec thought it would be fun to get you doing a boat race with a more experienced drinker.
Purple is a colour of luxury, yet for the majority of students at Warwick, a costly luxury that leaves us hanging severely for the next 18 hours.
But hey, it’s not all that bad. You got a twitter favourite and a shoutout from the-man-the myth-the-legend-Disco-Dave, or pulled that cute guy from Chemistry labs that you’ve had your eye on since Term 1. Hey, you being sick even gave you a legitimate excuse to sack of your Thursday 11am seminar. Always look on the bright side, eh?
Alas! You got with Becky from your Politics seminar, and now she won’t stop messaging you and sending you snaps about something that reminds her of ‘that night’. Or, that lad from Men’s Hockey you thought was a real catch keeps turning up at your Rootes block and bumping into you “by coincidence”.
It happens to the best of us. The flood of alcohol and joy at having ‘Mr Brightside’ blasted out by Disco Dave every week really just kills our inhibitions, doesn’t it? And then you end up getting (and maybe even going home) with someone you really wish you didn’t in the first place.
Be it lack of attraction, personality clash or the case of pure and simple ‘ick and ew’, decisions are made to be either regretted or rejoiced, and frankly, that pull at pop last night was probably one of them.
But don’t worry, if you dodged giving them your number or Snapchat name, you’ll probably only be hiding from them in public or flushing red for a short period – in about a week’s time either one of you will have gotten with someone else and you’ll never have to look them in the eye again.
They’re big, they’re mean, they wear all black and only come out at night, and they drag you out of the outside or downstairs queue either because you, or you lad-mate Matty was simply too loud, or too drunk. Fair enough.
Or, when someone from further back in the downstairs queue shoves everyone forward, and you and Nadia end up losing your balance ever so slightly– you’re done. And it wasn’t even your fault.
Yet here we are again. Back of the line. Guess you didn’t need that Tuesday q-jump after all. The Uber will be here in half an hour by the time you get the chance to sweat all the alcohol off in the sweaty, enclosed space downstairs.
The best thing you can do to avoid it? Look down, keep quiet, and don’t say a word. Because, if you step one foot out of line (quite literally) the bouncers will be on you like a pack of hyenas, unleashing their bouncer-y fury on you and sending you to the back of the line, and you’ll somehow end up feeling like a schoolchild being sent to the end of the lunch queue.
But it’s okay, you’ll just come again on Thursday.
“It’s fine Jack, we’ll just go for a couple of beers and watch the football.”
“Come on Liv, I just want a cocktail to unwind.”
Said every fresher before they ended up being pushed back to halls in a trolley by their flatmate.
Oh Terrace Bar, how enticing you look with your okay-priced cocktails, outside seating overlooking the piazza and soft-beat chart music. Oh Terrace Bar, how wicked you truly are.
You’ll start off slow; a few pints or a pitcher to get you into the mood, and then someone changes the playlist to R&B music that really puts you in the seshing mood; somehow spirits get involved, and next minute, what started as a chilled social becomes rounds of Jaegerbombs, extra shots in your Cherry Blush pitcher, and those singles start to smell a lot like doubles.
Then it hits you. You’re DRUNK.
And you know what looks as good as a kebab when you’re steaming?
POOL. You can’t play it for love nor money when you’re sober, so there’s no chance you’ll be able to play at all when you can barely hold the cue straight. Or who knows, maybe you’re one of those prodigies who can only pocket shots when they’ve got alcohol in their system.
Either way, you’ll wake up for you 10am, knowing that last night, was a bad, bad decision. Until someone wants to go again 2 days later, then you’ll forget you nearly died a few nights ago.
You embark on a night out to Neon with your flatmates despite continuously preaching how you hate the too-packed place with it’s awkward layout, but find yourself having a fairly good time. Yet by 2:14, the taste of Jaegerbombs begin to wear off on you, and the last place you want to sober up in whilst waiting for the Uniexpress is downstairs where all the lads are moshing to ‘Feed ‘Em To the Lions’ like a Year 13 house party.
And as you trudge outside the club, the beacon of hope that is Vialli’s shines forth upon you.
Probably the only takeaway in the West Midlands that has its own bouncer, the smell revitalises your senses, and as you wearily splash out a £10 note on a 10-piece chicken nugget meal, you become drunk on pure, greasy goodness. It’s probably the high-point of your night as you indulge yourself in a conversation with a homeless person as you offer them a nugget (without realising they’d do better with you giving money to local charity). But nevertheless, you feel fabulous.
Of course, when you chunder it out later, you’ll probably come to regret spending so much on food you wouldn’t stomach in this state, let alone when you’re sober.
You probably heard various rumours (and seen that one photo of) geese attacking students at Warwick. Hell, there’s even that one rumour of a ‘racist goose’ in its stomping ground around Lakeside.
Ignore the rumours because in reality, it’s amazing being on a campus with such bustling wildlife – except when you go to sit down and enjoy the sun outside New Rootes and sit in a pile of freshly dropped poop, or get woken up in Westwood by the incessant sqwawking of whatever birds like to take flight from there every other morning.
Yet the reality is, the ducks, rabbits and geese will leave you alone as long as you leave them alone. They either look cute and harmless, or glare at you as if they’re going to merk you. But if you let them enjoy their blissful existence, you can enjoy your own.
In fact, if you’re that desperate to interact with them, these animals even have their own Facebook pages – I’m sure they’d love to hear from you there.
You clicked ‘Free One Day Delivery’ on that Missguided order without realising that you don’t have enough time between seminars to make the trek all the way to the other side of campus, or you simply don’t fancy walking to the edge of civilisation to pick up your new Jordans.
But let’s be honest – it’s not as long as it seems, and for those who live further up central campus and don’t have the time (or motivation) to make the D-of-E equivalent journey, then the shuttle bus will suffice.
Either way, your journey will be enlightening and eye-opening as you pass a myriad of ducks and buildings you never knew existed, and you tell yourself the journey wasn’t as bad as you thought. Until in typical British fashion, it starts to rain and you realise you’ve forgotten your umbrella.
The wait for the next bus begins.
You’re a fresher who is fooled by it’s cute vintage-esque aesthetic and the well-priced and well-varied caffeinated drinks, or your a 3rd-year wishing to escape the neo-liberal, capitalistic drag of Costa and taste something a little more homely.
Either way, you go there for a short reprieve from English Literature or a quick catch up with Phoebe from your Maths tutorial group, yet you end up avoiding responsibilities and stay there as long as possible.
Be it it’s homely atmosphere, warm lights, tasty treats or even the squishy sofas, there’s something just so homely about Curiositea that makes you want to go into Wonderland and forget about that deadline due in 4 days.
I applaud you. It’s a perfect place to forget about everything and let the worries slip away.
Need I comment on this one. No matter what year you’re in, your work matters. You pay to study here, yet your money isn’t good enough to fund more study spaces across cramp-us. The early bird catches the seat with a socket, especially in Term 3. If you’re lucky enough to land a seat after 2pm, hold onto that seat with all your life. It’s probably the only hope you’ll get during exams.
Rumour has it, that it’s stood since the dawn of time. Rumor has it, that it runs on the crushed souls of defeated freshers. Some even say it was stolen from some ‘rah’ Southern university as a spoil of war as a mockery to those vanquished.
Yet to most students, it’s merely a piece of artistic paraphernalia that we will never quite comprehend.
Why does it light up at night? To guide lost freshers on the way home from Smack? To provide a light in the hopelessness of university life?
And what does it mean? Is it an ode to the old glass-making factories of the black country? Or an ever constant reminder that there are just some things you’ll never quite understand? One good friend of mine reckons that it’s own desertion is a metaphor for all Warwick students trying to reach out to civilization from our cosy little bubble. How pensive.
Whatever the case may be, you can’t deny the mystifying presence of the Koan, and you can’t not pay your respects to it. Be it a cheeky snap for your Instagram #aesthetic, or simply trying to drunkenly climb it after hitting the pitchers too hard at Terrace Bar, you will find yourself staring up at this towering, spinning figure at some point during your university career.
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