Hurlstone In Progress: Same friends, different lives – The strange fun of visiting home friends at university

There is something semi-destabilising about seeing your home friends at their universities. They are the same people you grew up with, but are suddenly placed inside a completely different ecosystem, like a social experiment I didn’t consent to but must now emotionally process. It’s familiar and uncanny in equal measure. You know their strange habits, their childhood bedroom evolution, their mum’s voice, and now they have a new life, new flatmates, new routines and, in some cases, suspiciously nice accommodation.

Last year I visited my best friend in Manchester. I was living on the ground floor of Rootes at the time, so walking into her spacious, clean bedroom with a private bathroom felt like being shown a glimpse into an alternate universe where I had made better life choices. I was in awe. Genuinely silent. Reverent.

I travelled with a flatmate whose best friend also goes to Manchester. He insisted the coach would be cheaper.

This was a mistake of epic proportions.

They suggested we play ‘the ID game’… I immediately became convinced I had offended someone by ranking them too low in a category about who looks most likely to go to the gym – said person has since dropped out of university. I hope I am not to blame

The coach was an hour late to Coventry bus station, meaning we had to loiter in that aggressively bleak concrete purgatory with no food, no shops, and only a bottle of red wine I had received for my birthday. It was freezing. I was wearing a thin jacket and a going-out top, because I am nothing if not optimistic and delusional.

Once on the coach, things improved. We finished the bottle of red wine under the unsettling red LED lighting – a strange colour choice from the driver.

By the time we reached Manchester, after hours of being crammed in the seats, I was ravenous with hunger. We sat on a slimy bench to eat. My ‘burger’ from McDonald’s cannot have bread due to my coeliac affliction, and I was not provided with cutlery, so I had to hold a slab of saucy meat in my hands and chow down on it like an animal. My friend had Dixy’s Chicken, and we ate among pigeons. It felt correct.

I then directed us off the bus at the wrong stop as we headed to Fallowfield, forcing a longer walk than necessary, because I seem to enjoy adding light suffering to all journeys.

The next day, my friend went to a doctor’s appointment that was meant to take half an hour and lasted two. I wandered around Manchester city centre alone, feeling cool, independent, and vaguely cinematic, until my phone hit 1% and I had to retreat to McDonald’s, again, to charge it. A humbling character arc.

Old school characters resurfaced. One guy informed me that in primary school, my best friend and I used to call him ‘Professor Plumb’. He has no character traits that could possibly result in this nickname, but he seemed pleased with it

That night we had pres with her flatmates, who were very city-university-coded. Confident. Stylish. Slightly intimidating. They suggested we play ‘the ID game’, which I did not know about. I learned quickly and immediately became convinced I had offended someone by ranking them too low in a category about who looks most likely to go to the gym – said person has since dropped out of university. I hope I am not to blame. I also didn’t help myself by pre-ing with another bottle of red wine, which turned my teeth a concerning shade of purple-brown for the entire evening.

We ended up at 256. I became extremely drunk and danced near a long window of sorts while aggressively vaping. My friend later told me I looked like a stripper who had lost her way.

I ended the night back at my flatmate’s friend’s accommodation, listening to Pitch Perfect songs, which I remember almost nothing about, except that I spilt red wine on his authentic Moroccan rug. I still feel guilty. Apparently, it evaporated. It was Tesco’s cheapest bottle. I try to hold onto that.

In October, I visited another friend in Edinburgh for her belated birthday. Half my train broke, so everyone had to pile into the front carriages. I selfishly protected my seat as if it were my rightful land.

I visited my Manchester friend again. She now lives with the poshest girls I have ever met. Lovely. Financially incomprehensible

The birthday party itself was chaotic in a different way. Old school characters resurfaced. One guy informed me that in primary school, my best friend and I used to call him ‘Professor Plumb’. He has no character traits that could possibly result in this nickname, but he seemed pleased with it.

I was in charge of music – a great honour. Unfortunately, someone’s boyfriend kept hijacking the speaker to play songs from a cartoon I had never heard of. Another group thought it would be fun to put teabags into people’s drinks. Including the cocktails I made at great cost. This felt personal.

We later went to a club where the smoke machine was so aggressive that I couldn’t see my own hands in front of my face. The next day, we went to the beach, hungover, windswept, and fragile, where photos were taken of me in which I looked like someone’s old auntie. It was oddly wholesome.

My friends are still my friends, but with new references, new anxieties, and new influences. You’re kind of watching each other develop in parallel

Most recently, I visited my Manchester friend again. She now lives with the poshest girls I have ever met. Lovely. Financially incomprehensible. We went out. I was incredibly normal. No incidents or red wine. A sign of growth.

The thing about visiting friends at university is that it reminds you that everyone is growing up, just not in the same direction or way. My friends are still my friends, but with new references, new anxieties, and new influences. You’re kind of watching each other develop in parallel.

It’s comforting to see them, but sad when you have to leave.

I assumed I’d leave all these trips thinking, ‘Oh, I wish I had their life.’ When really I’m thinking I’m really glad I still have these people around despite being so far away.