Obituaries for term three (II)

Where do I even begin? How am I to fill the empty void in my soul that would have otherwise have been filled with pints at T bar, last minute revision breakdowns, and Eurovision on the piazza? Yes, I’m being overdramatic. But term three deserves to be remembered in all its glory.

One of my favourite things about term three was that it made even the ugliest things beautiful. Rootes, where I was in halls last year, is a prime example: suddenly it was was not merely crumbling architecture, but a centre of life and excitement. 

The walk to Circuit Laundry was transformed from an ordeal to a pleasant walk, with the knowledge that it no longer mattered that the dryers didn’t work, as warmer temperatures meant your clothes wouldn’t take two weeks to dry. 

The walk to Circuit Laundry was transformed from an ordeal to a pleasant walk

The grass outside New Rootes, once exclusively the home of rather unfriendly geese, became a hotspot for various barbecues, with the smell of burnt burgers and shouts from football games adding to the newfound ambience. Yes, I did once get hit in the face with a football whilst returning from a lecture, but I didn’t get angry, happy in the knowledge that the sun was shining, the geese were honking, and it was term three.

Gone are the days of watching the sunset from the Oculus, the balcony of T Bar, or on the piazza. Once I thought watching the sunset was an activity typically enjoyed in middle age, to pass the time before Coronation Street. But being on campus made me realise that this was a time of tranquility, an excuse to stop revising (or, rather, give up the pretence) and enjoy the beauty of the transition from day to night. 

We must not forget the main event of last year’s term three that made it so historic. For weeks, pursued by incessant advertising, we debated whether to part ways with £50 for a ticket to the SU’s summer party, only for the decision to be made for us with the cancellation of the entire event. Somehow the promise of face painting and a performance from Busted, coincidentally performing at a free festival in Coventry the following week, was not enough to justify the extortionate price. 

The grass outside New Rootes, once exclusively the home of rather unfriendly geese, became a hotspot for various barbecues

Term three, for all its ups and downs is undeniably one of the most memorable times of the university year. It is sad that freshers aren’t going to experience summer in university halls. Second years won’t see Jephson Gardens in its prime, and will have to wait ‘til next year to know the feeling of walking to Neon without being freezing cold. And although I cannot speak for third years, I can only imagine how gutting it must be to not have a final ten weeks to relish the last few months of being a student.

I guess you never truly know what you have until it’s gone, which is a cliché, but does seem overwhelmingly relevant in this context. It almost feels like a break up, except worse because there really is no chance of a reconciliation: term three truly is the one that got away.