When I decided on a University, I didn’t really think about the city or the location. I could have arrived on the first day of Fresher’s week to discover I’d be living by a castle with moats and awesome turrets and it would have come as a complete surprise. In fact, I think anyone would be surprised to discover this. But you get my point.
I was most interested in the course, which as it turns out, is a pretty damn good one. That’s what was important. Not the city.
Everyone said to me before I left, “You’ll be living in the North – you’ll be freezing!” I scoffed at their foolish, caring ways. I live in a house that is almost a hundred years old with practically no heating system and a ghost in the living room. I know what cold feels like.
But the thing is, they were right. IT’S BLOODY FREEZING.
The halls themselves are lovely and warm. You can cook bacon on the radiators, it’s so toasty. The problem is when you leave the house. When your main subject building is over two miles away you spend an awful lot of your time outside. In the rain and sleet. Getting cold. Really cold.
I don’t do cold.
I rang my parents on Tuesday under the pretence of asking about buying books. In reality, it was so I could tell someone other than my equally cold and disgruntled flatmates about how miserable the weather is.
My parents met at a University where the halls were so cold, frost would expand on the inside of the window panes. This has somewhat hardened their views on surviving brutal weather as a student.
“My heart bleeds for you,” my mum says sarcastically down the line. “In my halls…”
“…There was ice on the windows,” I cut in dejectedly. “Yes, you’ve told me. Many times.”
“Ice on the INSIDE of the windows, young lady! The INSIDE!”
I think this path to sympathy has been closed for road works. Unsurprisingly, it’s unlikely to be open again for another four weeks.
I think the combination of many late nights, general fear of being late to every lecture and the fact I still can’t quite believe I’m actually at university was taking it’s toll. Usually I like rain. When you don’t have to sit in it for two hours in a seminar.
I woke the next day feeling less miserable. My shoes were steaming merrily on the radiator and the smell of wet moss had finally left my bedroom.
I remembered I had left my snow boots at the back of the TARDIS wardrobe (Do most people need this much space for their clothes?!) and fished them out.
Predictably, it didn’t rain that day. But at least I didn’t have to come back from my lecture and lie on the floor with my feet in the sink.
The walking a minimum of five miles a day is not such a problem anymore. It’s not that I don’t like walking. I walk six miles with my mum back home every day for fun. So that’s not the problem. The walking five miles up a hill with three text books, two notebooks and a pint of milk is the problem. But it’s getting less excruciating. Plus, I’m going to have excellent leg muscles by the end of the three years. Which can only be a good thing.
My Nan just text me. She said, “Hope you’re well and having fun. I saw the flooding on the news, hope you’re okay and didn’t get caught out in it.”
I assured her there was a canoe in the cupboard and a shovel in the hall for the snow so not to worry. I wish the shovel thing was a lie. It’s not.
God help us all.
And you thought I was kidding.
Images courtesy of Google