This autumn marks my tipping point: I’ll have lived up here as long as I lived in Suffolk, thanks to the august institution that is Leicester University. In 1995 tuition fees were but a gleam in the devil’s eye, and one could still go to Uni as a way of delaying getting a job for three years.
I am perturbed that finances are encouraging more kids to study from home. This Completely Misses The Point: you won’t get the chance to reinvent yourself, subsist on instant noodles and watch Quincy every afternoon for three years in your childhood bedroom. A degree’s not just about the difference in your pay cheque, whatever the bloody Daily Mail says. "One of the purposes... is to make the inside of your head a more interesting place to live for the rest of your life." (Scott Brophy, Professor of Philosophy, Hobart.)
Catered or self-catering? Catered halls tend to offer the best social life, but it depends whether you think eating school dinners for a year is worth it. Regardless of where you choose, it will rapidly become a rank cesspit of filth. The French exchange students erected a banner in our kitchen that said “Welcome to the porks house!” in protest against an overflowing bin that none of us were inclined to deal with. (Warning: attempts to impose any sort of cleaning rota will mark you out as a killjoy and ruin your social standing. You’re young, your immune system can handle it. And for the rest of your life, you will appreciate getting into a shower that doesn't have other people's plasters clogging up the drains.)
An earnest theology student recently told me she studied for 60 hours a week. Ludicrous. 20 hours should more than cover it, especially for arts subjects. My highest mark in my finals was for a book I hadn't even read, just regurgitated my lecture notes in the exam.
Finally: There is no other time in your life where you will consider 1:30am an early night... or 9.30am an early start. Enjoy it!
