Warwick: capital of clunge 2010

Ahoy fellow Comrades, Admirals and…no wait a second, let’s get back to reality. Hello non-greasy, non-obese, non-twattish fellow students. Let’s talk Inbetweeners.

I’m sure there are those of you who desperately peeked through your next door neighbour’s windows to catch The Inbetweeners on E4 every Monday (preferably one who hasn’t got kids so you don’t look like a raging paedophile), and then watched it again several times on t’internet to get your fix. It’s understandable. Three weeks ago, I was one of you. That was before they decided to visit Warwick. In one fell swoop the legendary half an hour episodes which used to brighten up our non-eventful Monday nights (unless you’re still convinced that Manic Mondays can beat the magic of Top B…) went from hero to zero.

The impression that it managed to establish of Warwick University in a mere half an hour is probably going to make my friends at home equate me with some sort of pseudo-military imbecile. I can’t wait for them to scream “QUESTIONS?!” at me whilst pelting me with cans of Stella and demanding that I eat Bonsai Trees. It won’t take me long to snap, throw the Bonsai tree at them and end up in prison for GBH. Thanks E4; this is what you’ve reduced my life to. If it weren’t for the repeats of Friends that you continue to show I’d probably give up on you entirely.

Obviously there is some stick to be taken for going to Warwick. You know the sort of thing; everyone masturbates over University Challenge, some people are more friendly with the ducks on campus than they are with their actual hallmates and everyone on campus is paranoid about filling in those fun party forms. To be honest though, I’d much prefer that stick to the misinformed presentation that Jay and the rest of the deceptively pre-pubescent looking gang gave of us (Simon Bird’s 26!), which was a painful far cry from the truth. Tara’s sister looked like Phil Mitchell’s long lost twin, sounded like a sexless version of Vin Diesel and had the sense of humour of a menstrual bumble bee. She was also far too old. She seemed like she would fit in better at the local WI than as a full time student at Warwick. Me and my friends still get ID’d in pubs, struggle to grow beards and get asked what GCSEs we’re planning on taking in the future. I think she’s an imposter. If she’s actually at Warwick, I’m scared. She’s rough. She can take me. I don’t want her to be after my blood.

Her house was a pretty shoddy model of a student hovel. Aside from the fact that it was misguidedly placed in Warwick town, feigning to admit the shocking truth that our university is, in fact, in Coventry and not an antiquated little town with more scones than sense, The Inbetweeners failed to fully represent how crap the conditions of our houses really are. Where, I ask you, were the empty Dominoes boxes that the housemates were too lazy to move from their crusty bedroom floors? Where was the pile of unread Midweek Couriers, unpaid bills and threatening letters from the TV licensing company? Not one of the gang made any protestation at being greeted by the rotten smell of something that resembles an unholy mix of vomit and stale cat food, as is standard in student accommodation. Instead I imagine they were struck by the smell of lavender incense, vanilla candles and the latest installation in the Harpic Room Aroma range as they walked around the well decorated lounge, spacious bedrooms and fully kitted out kitchen.

Admittedly, there were some truths hidden within the depths of misconception. At Pop we sing/yell chants in the faces of our friends and we may adopt vaguely racist, moronic drinking games similar to those seen in The Inbetweeners. If you’re rich, your house might actually be fitted with furniture that wasn’t found discarded on top of Leamington Furnishers’ pile of sofas that even the homeless and the paralytically drunk would refuse to sleep on but, lets face it. It’s unlikely. The ‘Warwick students’ in The Inbetweeners look like they’re more likely to be in the audience of Jeremy Kyle than in a lecture on astrophysics. They appear to be homeless nomads who wander the streets of Warwick town at night hunting for all five students who actually live there playing their moronic and senseless drinking games along the way.

However, up to the debacle that was the Warwick episode it was a great series and a splendid show. Let’s face it, even though The Inbetweeners misrepresented us, it was still a good laugh and it was a far more entertaining romp than what’s going to fill its place in the coming weeks. Unless some freshers want to recreate the moment when Simon got wanked off in the middle of a holiday camp dancefloor at Manic Mondays or some finalist decides it would be a good idea to shit in the middle of his exam, it’s unlikely that the mild thrill of a Warwick reality will be quite as compelling as a half hour frolic with The Inbetweeners.

It’s just a shame that the pretentious little Cambridge graduates tried so desperately to sully our reputation and, in doing so, my enjoyment of the show. Clunge move, boys.


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