Editor’s Letter: “Reminiscing is a dangerous art”

Reminiscing is a dangerous art. So many times I have found myself mentally reliving my various first year escapades.Coca Cola kitchen fights, frying pan ping-pong, hiding a friend’s underwear the night before an exam, filling his running shoes with water & putting them in the freezer over- night. Poor Ollie. We’re still friends. Let’s face it, first year is what university is all about. When your Dad tells you his university days were the best of his life, he’s probably referring to his fresher self. For those of you currently experiencing this bubble, make it count.
Truth is, you don’t get those days back. Come next year, your life be- comes a little more serious. The prospects of internships & graduate jobs become a reality, your degree actually starts to count for something, and given you are no longer allowed to live in halls you find yourself resenting buses. Seriously, I spend most of my time on the U1!

If you’re looking for enjoyment in second and third year, there is none. Only joking.

If you’re looking for enjoyment in second and third year, there is none. Only joking. First year is great, but your final years can be just as entertaining, just don’t spent your time reminiscing. Despite my hatred for buses, living off campus is actually great. Okay, you can no longer stumble back to your bed after a night in the Copper Rooms, unless you fancy stumbling a few hours down an A-road that is, but you have way more access to pubs, clubs, restaurants, clothes shops & coffee shops. You can also begin to work your way up societies, and join new ones. *Cough Cough* The Boar.

Keep expanding those social circles! In these years, you may just define your career, leave a legacy at the Uni and meet that special someone. That should be exciting! Yeah, life starts to get serious, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still have fun. Make the most of the time you have left. You really won’t get it back. It might not be as good as first year, but it’s a damn-sight better than not being here.

Much love, Warwick. Cue the angry mob of lecturers, hall supervisors and my personal tutor. Sorry guys.