Modern Architecture in Cambridge in the 1940s

Second installment then, following on from yesterday's bit about Modern Cambridge - today, we look at what the writer makes of the 20th century architecture and spaces of a rapidly changing Cambridge.

The University Library
Walking due west from Market Hill, across King's Parade, down Senate House Passage, through Clare, over the bridge, along the avenue and on to the other side of the Backs Road, we enter the presence of the most controversial building Cambridge has had for generations: the New University Library.

To begin with, it has administered a violent shock to the Cambridge centre of gravity. Hitherto, that has traditionally been in the group formed by the Old Library, the Senate House, King's Chapel and the University Church of St Mary. The University Library is by its nature the cathedral of intellectual life, and the old site was the physical as well as the intellectual centre. The new site implies a new focal point across the river and widely separated from the rest of the university. That in itself was something of a disturbance, but the actual buildings are even more disturbing, for they have changed the whole balance of the panorama.

The main cause of trouble is the tower. Not only is it an unbeautiful object in itselcf, but there is no means general agreement on the necessity of a tower at all. With the tower placed at one end of the facade the trouble would be lessened, and with the tower left out altogether it would be lessened even more. But there would still remain the long narrow windows, running up from ground to cornice... they give the effect of a warehouse. In a sense, perhaps, a library is a kind of warehouse. But in a University Library, some observance of tradition and some reference to the Humanities might not be altogether out of place.

The interior looks, and doubtless was, very costly.

Cambridge has not taken kindly to its New Library and it is difficult to imagine future generations regarding it with affection. Still, taste performs its curious revolutions, which generally take about a century. Caius is due to be much admired by the avant-gardists of some twenty of thirty years hence, and perhaps the library will come into its own around the year 2020. By then, of course, some far worse things will have been put up.



Downing Site and New Museums Site
Its great characteristic is opulent heaviness, with an extraordinary mixture of Edwardian vulgarity and undigested learning... This extraordinarily depressing area is one of the most intense concentrations of scientific knowledge in England...Nobody would imagine, if he did not already know, that these meaningless shapes are really laboratories and museums which draw students and scholars from over the whole world. There are however, one or two of these institutions which do not actually hurt the critical spectator.

'Modern Cambridge' in the 1940s

I bought a book from Cambridge market yesterday, embracing my graduands nostalgia pre-emptively, called 'Cambridge', written by John Steegman in 1940. When Steegman died, he bequeathed his life's papers - unpublished articles, letters, diaries and all - to King's College, but his Cambridge book is one which did get published. Flicking through it, it seemed pretty interesting but one part jumped out at me - Modern Cambridge. This part contains writings about Modern Cambridge c. 1940, Modern Architecture and, best of all, some predictions about the future of Cambridge. Here are some good extracts for us all to ponder over - and ask, what has changed and what hasn't. I'm going to serialise them, so I am. Today, we have Modern Cambridge (1940s). Next, Modern Archtecture (1940s). And finally, 'The Future of Cambrdige (1940s).

I've categorised them for you.

For those who went to Comprehensives
But there are other qualities about Cambridge that make it not the most suitable place in the world for the son of humble parents. Class-distinction is nowadays a thing "gentlemen don't discuss in public," but it exists and will survive in England longer than elsewhere in Europe. It is strong at Cambridge, as at Oxford, nowadays chiefly because it is a rather new phenomenon. It used not to exist because the universities had long since ceased to exist for poor scholars and had been gradually taken over by the priveleged class. As privelege has tended to disappear in the last two or three generations, attempts are constantly being made to open the universities to a wider world. The fact, however, remains that they do still exist primarily for people of a certain social rank, of a certain financial standing, or a certain standard of pre-University education, and with a certain domestic and family background. What all these "certain" standards are cannot be defined, but every one really knows what they imply.
The poor man from the elementary school really does not very much out of Cambridge. He is not likely to make many friends and will almost certainly remain a fish out of water. He would be much wiser to go to one of the newer universities where he would feel less discontented with his lot. Discouraging though it may be for social reformers, the man from the elementary school is unquestionably excluded from everything that makes Cambridge worthwhile. For him, Cambridge is not worthwhile.

For thespians
The A.D.C. corresponds to the O.U.D.S. of Oxford, but does not have to engage professional actresses, being content to rely on the wealth of talent to be found among the don's widows, wives and daughters.


For CULC and CUCA
Athletics and politics are indulged in by most young men at both the universities. The extreme cultivation of both activities is indulged in by minorities, which are always noisy and which, suffering from the arrested development which is the heritage of English youth, bring with them the habits and cliches of the school playing-field and debating-society... Undergraduate politics are not a matter of great importance or interest, and it is sheer nonsense to regard the Union debates as being barometers of opinion.

For Lefties
All young men tend to the left in politics if they are gifted with eloquence, and to the right if they are not.

For finalists
The aim of Cambridge teaching is not to show young men a quick route to success and not primarily to train them for a specfic type of job... The avowed careerist will probably find Cambridge unsympathetic to his ambitions, and the impatient man had better cut out the place altogether and go straight to a training school or a business-house.

For those MPs calling for the scrapping of the Oxbridge MA
What is Cambridge for? Not primarily to give a man the degree of B.A., as he can get that at London or Bristol and will have to work harder for it probably; not, certainly, to enable him to proceed to M.A., since that, happily, can be done by simply paying a fee instead of having to sweat for two years over a thesis. This is one of the few pieces of privelege which is left to us, and only a prig would sanctimoniously deplore that a Cambridge M.A. which is bought has a far greater prestige than a London one, which is worked for.

For us all
The parent who sends him son up to Cambridge must be quite clear about the meaning of "education"; he must realise that in these days it is something of a luxury, since one of the things it does not mean is "to train for a specific job or occupation." Among the things it does mean are "to form habits, manners, mental and physical aptitudes"; "systematic instruction in preparation for the work of life" and "the culture or development of powers and the formation of character."

Doing Starbucks Differently

It's very easy to make the argument that British society and culture are stultifying and homogenising; talk a walk through your town or city centre and chances are, you will be seeing the same shopfronts as would anybody else walking in their town centres. In terms of cafes, a cursory glance through Doncaster town centre yields Starbucks, Costa and Nero, as does Cambridge. The staff outfits are the same. The tables and chairs are the same. The background music is the same. The drinks are the same.

But the Starbucks experience is different. Starbucks Doncaster and Starbucks Cambridge, despite their aesthetic similarities, each reflect back the characteristics of the micro-cultures and norms of the locations in which they are situated. This irrevocably alters the normative behaviours of Starbucks and, as I found today, subtle differences in expectation alter the ways in which people practice Starbucks.

For me, Starbucks is first and foremost an overpriced, noisy thinking space. The silence of libraries sets off my internal monologues, or even worse my internal singing of Rihanna's 'Unfaithful'. So off I toddle to Starbucks with a backpack full of laptop, books, articles, notepads and my portable foldable lectern (yes, yes, I know).

In the Cambridge Starbucks on Market Square, you can go in for your morning coffee at 8am, safe in the knowledge that it will be packed out with students. People's shoes come off as they settle themselves, mocha in hand, for a cross-legged power-read of Austen, or Bourdieu or whoever. If the music stopped, all you would hear is the scribbling of pen and paper and the whirring of laptops - the soundtrack to a lecture hall. Buying your 8am coffee and croissant justifies your occupation of a table for the rest of the morning. Friends work together in silence, each doing their own work.

I naively entered Doncaster Starbucks today with similar expectations. I skulked around the store in the quest to find plugsockets and was alarmed to find there were only 3. I got a Chai Latte and perched myself at a table, plugged in my laptop, whipped out my two notebooks and placed them on a chair. I would have benefitted from the lectern, but I knew it would cause too much of a fuss. I became aware, as I worked away, that I was receiving quite hostile glares from other customers, as if to ask why I thought I could monopolise a table with my books. People stick around in Starbucks far less in Donk than in Cam; they drink it down and leave.

On Maslow's hierarchy, Doncaster Starbucks satisfies the physiological need, whereas in Cambridge Starbucks it is all about self-actualisation.

Ultimately, this reflects the way in which citizens of each town utilise and interact with their built environment. For the Cambridge students, whose disposable income is boosted either by parents or by bursaries, the town centre isn't just a place full of shops but is the place where they live, learn, sleep, socialise and rest. Thus, in Starbucks as one of the few places,there are a multiplicity of functions that can be served.

But for Doncaster, the town centre represents solely a place of commerce. Shopping is not conducive to leisure, certainly not to leisurely academia. The way in which Starbucks is used is as a break between shops.

This explains why people looked at me today as though I was a table-hogging twat.

Leaving Cambridge - Cambridge Tab

Published by Cambridge Tab - 13th March 2011

I guess this is goodbye. Like many of you reading this, I will be hanging up my gown for good after we graduate this summer. Maybe I’ll only ever get it out of the loft as part of some novelty act to entertain grandchildren, or maybe I’ll sometimes return to it, look at the wine stains, and smile in blissful retrospection.

I realise it is only early March, so you might think these words are premature. But, for many of us, the end of this week will be our social death. We will return to our hometowns, and after a few days of liberal access to the food bought by our parents, shit will start to get heavy. Exams. Careers. Training Contracts. Grad schemes. We will realise that exam term requires nothing less than an emotional and intellectual burnout if we are to remedy the unrestrained laxity of the previous eight terms.

I don’t want to say farewell to Cambridge in the midst of exam term anxieties, and I don’t want my lasting image of the university to be the menacing empty frames attached to Senate House, awaiting their chance to present our fates to us. So, I’m going to start my goodbyes now.

I’m going to miss weaving through Chinese tourists on King’s Parade, as each of them makes his own version of the images of the chapel identical to those on Google Images. I’m going to miss hearing a chorus of church bells to remind me that the lecture I should be attending at Sidgwick site has begun. I’m going to miss a city where I am so settled that I recognise café staff when they are out of their uniforms. I’m going to miss feeling safe enough to walk home at any hour of the night.

I’ll miss the libraries, where I’ve enjoyed plunging into the depths of human knowledge maybe twice a term. I’ll miss the idiosyncrasies of the lecturers, who have morphed from the distant celebrities of first year into the three-dimensional stop-and-chat partners of finals. I’m sure I’ll even pine for Homerton.

On a more personal note, I’ll miss Cambridge SCA, the local charity I’ve been involved with since first year. It has insulated me from the worst excesses of the bubble. I’ll miss the two kids I visit each weekend on Big Siblings, whose disregard for genteel social norms rivals my own, thus making them perfect companions. I’ll miss the organised chaos of the Bounce project, which I’ve done since first year, in which we put on a sports session for kids aged five to 15 in the apt location of the Pro-Am Fighting Centre.

Next year, if I want to talk about something, or share a problem, or rave about an idea, I might have to arrange to meet with somebody, rather than just knock on their door since they live 10 metres from me. This thought is unsettling to say the least.

And, I suppose a final farewell ought to be to you, The Tab. I shan’t lie, I thought you were all going to be intolerable twats – the other writers, the editors and especially you: the readers. I thought I was going to have to defend myself, as you systematically ripped the shit out of me every week, and denigrated my autistic non-appreciation of your drinking culture.

But, the overwhelming majority of you are absolutely not twats (by which I mean you sometimes validate me). Even those who are twats are okay, because I see you as my twats. My own loveable Tab-twats. It has been a pleasure.

To Cambridge as a city and a University, to the people, and to the redtop I unexpectedly grew to love, this is a fond farewell.

Getting into Cambridge - Cambridge Tab

This was published by Cambridge Tab on 6th March 2011.

My week has been unusually steeped in politics. I spent a hefty gobbet of it pestering academics to sign CUSU petitions in order to protect maintenance bursaries. The thought of students from ‘non-traditional university backgrounds’ arriving in Cambridge and being unable to spend their time and others’ money with the same wanton disregard as me is despicable.

Admittedly, I’m being facetious in order to boost my authorial voice, but seriously: the cuts to bursaries are savage, and will present a huge obstacle to raising access.

Everyone knows that Cambridge is pretty intense, and this intensity extends beyond the listless cravings for validation, which see us taking blankets and toothpaste to the library. As graduation beckons, I’m starting to get the first pangs of future nostalgia and I’m beginning to see the city with alumn-eyes.

Before arriving in Cambridge, I was annoyed that I couldn’t get a job. Now, I don’t know how anybody would survive balancing paid work with study. Even this – the ability to have three years to dedicate to learning – is an absolute luxury. It didn’t feel like a luxury two hours ago, when I was embroiled in a tempestuous hissyfit in Starbucks because of my inability to develop a ‘new angle’ on the interplay between sexualities and eugenics. But, it is a luxury – one that should be accessible to anybody who loves learning.

So, what got you into Cambridge, good reader of The Tab?

Money definitely counts. A furtive glance down Trinity Street is enough to prove that most Cambridge students haven’t been dragged face-down through poverty to get here. I disagree with the idea that some social groups are intrinsically more intelligent than others. Money is no substitute for intellectual success, but it certainly acts as its catalyst.

Money can buy you financial stability in your home life, private tuition, private education (if you like that sort of thing), the entrance to cultural events, the ability to mingle in the right milieu, enriching holidays, school trips, and The Gap Yah. Of course all this stuff has a huge benefit. The point is: culture counts.

So, what got me here? It certainly wasn’t money, but I would be bullshitting to the extreme if I said I worked hard. I didn’t get here because of natural intelligence either. I think I got here because of my curiosity: priceless, but limitless, curiosity.

Curiosity can open doors for you regardless of where you come from. Mine wasn’t an Enid Blyton-like inquisitiveness, and I didn’t have any amazing rites of passage from it. I was just interested to know about different people’s lives.

Curiosity impelled the 14-year-old me to make the naïve and potential life-ending blunder of taking a video camera into Doncaster’s red light district in order to interview the women who were working as prostitutes. It made me ask questions. It made me enter competitions. It made me write poems and stories. It made read books.

I’m beginning to think that being successful is all about having belief in your ability, and surrendering yourselves to your passions. Most kids have stuff that fascinates them, but then they grow up, get Facebook, spend their time moping about, and start being all pubertal. Our culture is so staid and docile.

The best thing we could do to get more people to consider Cambridge is to encourage more people to cling onto their interests and passions. We need to demystify our weird university and welcome curious people, regardless of their background, with open arms. Cambridge is their turf.

Pennying: A sociological defence

This article is available here, on the Varsity website.

Changes in government regulations mean that the customary game of Pennying is, generally speaking, a bit illegal now. This would bring only small benefits to us as students – coy penile jokes would no longer need to be made to explain that yes, indeed, that cylindrical pocket bulge really is a ‘roll of quarters’.

In any case, it is not as though something being illegal automatically prohibits you from doing it. We are selective about which laws we get uppity about. Whilst cycling, I jumped a red light and an old man, with alarming aggression, bellowed the Highway Code in my ear. Then, his feet neatly in the stirrups of his high horse, he proceeded immediately to cycle through pedestrians on the pavement to avoid the road traffic. A hideous hypocrisy that proves a point; laws are to be negotiated, not obeyed.

Like that decrepit velo-maniac Methuselah detouring onto the curb, we ought not surrender the tradition of Pennying for the sake of obedience: instead, we need to defend it from its detractors and recognise the symbolic virtues of social harmony that are borne of dropping the face of the Queen into the wineglass. There is more to pennying that the Senior Tutors acknowledge – it is not solely the prelude to tomorrow’s lingering staircase scent, nor only the tentative foreplay to a hangover and the loss of one’s dignity/phone/self-restraint.

Contained in that cheeky drip-drop of coinage are enshrined the values of our student community.

Despite the grandiose idealisations of Oxbridge elitism as unerring hedonism to the soundtrack of Received Pronunciation chatter and popping corks, the truth is generally more mediocre. The sight of students mindlessly trudging about the New Museums Site day after day with their two-strap backpacks loaded with essentially pointless facts is so grim it kills any pretensions of Cambridge being a bastion of high-IQ joy. We are generally depressed, knackered and overworked. Traditions like pennying, with the unspoken compulsion to comply to institutionalised drinking, provides a short-term solution to the building anxieties that bubble up throughout term. Without such opportunities for emotional release this highly strung atmosphere would destroy us. Pennying is a social safety valve.

The idea that people might be forced into drinking against their will isn’t quite grounded in social reality. Formal hall is not some egalitarian lottery where you could be seated with anyone – you sit with your social group and the pennying norms modify according to your allegiances. The chance of Henry the leery drinking-society bruiser emptying his wallet into the unwilling wine glass of Jane the shy socially-awkward member of RepressedSoc is slim. Generally, the piss-heads will incapacitate each other and the sensibles either don’t penny or do so in a tame and prim manner. Colleges all have strict social divides and pennying locates itself between their differences. It reinforces a sense of social solidarity which brings group members together.

Here it is worth remembering the wise words of Mary Douglas, that ‘dirt is matter out of place’. Formal dinners are the right location for drinking – the very notion of formal hall should evoke the Bacchanal spirit of the medieval banquet, not the respectful bread-breaking of a monastic friary. A certain red-faced sense of abandon is meretricious in its own right. It would be a different matter if some randomer from John’s unloaded his shrapnel into your Evian in the library or dropped a couple of Euros into your soup-flask in a lecture. But no, formal hall is the rightful home of Cantabrigian joie de vivre.

Pennying is more than just a physical act. Inside the interaction of pennying partnerships are contained the social ties which bind us together, so we should not let them be impinged. You have nothing to lose but your inhibitions!

Chucking Punts! - The Battle on the Cam

We live in a world riven by conflict, riot and genocide and thankfully for the average Cambridge student, no news of this manages to permeate that resilient old defence mechanism, the Cambridge bubble. Traditionally, Cambridge has been a self-sufficient microcosm in its own right: news comes in the form of Varsity gossip, not the BBC - and traditionally, this has preserved the city, and the university, as a little shelter of tranquility. But tradition is vulnerable and angry, being humped and reamed on the riverbanks of the Cam. A spectre is haunting East Anglia - the spectre of Punt Wars.

Punting on the River Cam is a £2.5 million business, targetting the 4 million tourists who visit and it is as susceptible to the gritty spoils of capitalism as any competitive industry. Two boats owned by 'The Punting Company' have been sawn in half with an electric jigsaw. It is reported that the arsenal of the punt saboteur would warm the cockles of any Dick Dastardlian supervillain - stink bombs thrown into boats from bridges, washing-up liquid squirted on the back of the punt, making for a slippery surface for the pole-wielder.

The punt operators may adorn themselves in boaters and waistcoats, but behind the facade of stereotyped attire lies the phrenologically suspect skull dimensions of a social menace. Their hardcore misdemeanors are not being peeped at askance - this social ill is being approached with the gusto of an American oil war. Cambridge City Council has deployed 3 'punt police' officers who swan along the riverbanks in high-visability vestments. It may be working. Sam Matthews is the unfortunate owner of the two punts that were sawn in half by, one would presume, a rival punt company and his views are thus - I think, even though I am the victim of the most heinous crime in punting history, that the enforcement officers are doing a good job.

And away from the riverside, touts can be seen harrassing potential customers from Kings up to Johns; here competing for custom with the myriad Big Issue vendors. One is reminded of the Gauntlet event on TV's Gladiators, as you are forced to criss-cross the narrow walkways of Kings Parade, Trinity Street and St Johns Street to avoid being accosted by these clipboard-grasping manstallions. These men too are not strangers to dirty skullduggery - a nurse had her hip broken as she was caught in a fracas between two rival touts. Police have had to investigate 31 altercations between touts, and a knife has been used. Is nothing sacred?

So allow this to be a warning. The noble tradition of the punt is being eroded by the scraping claws of capitalist moneyspinning and no-one is left unscathed. The punt-owned petit bourgeoisie are having their boats sabotaged. The touts are beating seven stages of fiery hell out of one another outside Fopp. Nurses are having their pelvises (pelvi?) shattered. And more than anything, the Cambridge Bubble is being burst from within and all Cambridge students deserve the chance to live in a carefree microcosm where they can be entirely oblivious to all that goes on in the real world. It's tradition, and we should allow it to be raped no longer!

The Etiquette of Cambridge Stash

The most obvious place to start here is to define 'Stash' for those non-Vulgarian Cambridge students - stash means branded clothing, such as hoodies stating 'University of Cambridge', 'Leeds Met' etc.

The item in the above image is the best-selling stash, but it is, despite its simplicity, one of the most culturally and symbolically laden items one could ever wear, if one is a Cammy student.

First up there is the awkward dichotomy between the stereotypes of Cambridge and the stereotypes of hoodies. The stereotypes of Cam students run far and wide, but a general consensus rests around excessive-privelege, arrogance, confidence and, essentially, wealth. Quite how justified these stereotypes are is beside the point in this case. Then you have the stereotype of the hoody - it is now a term in the political lexicon. 'Hug a hoody' has the same aversive connotations of shaking hands with a leper or being stuck in a lift with somebody in an overcoat. The hoody is the symbol of vandalism, of disruption, of intimidation, of gangs of youths, of evil juvenile delinquency ... and a loads of other old bollocks. The 'Cambridge Hoody' is then, in itself, quite an absurd idea. Sure it would be better to have University branded elbow pads, or Tailcoat-stash... But no, Cambridge Hoody it is and it is due to this awkward bifurcation into the contradictory connotational worlds of privelege and delinquency, that the social mores and messages of wearing it are so bizarre.

We go first to Cambridge itself, that sexy little city in the otherwise non-descript area of England known as the East. In Cambridge, the majority of people you will see in the city centre are students at the University of Cambridge. Nonetheless, a walk down Kings Parade will inevitably lead to passing by a multitude of 'University of cambridge' hoodies, there are a few explanations for this. 1) If the wearer is Chinese, there is a greater-than-average chance it is a tourist, 2) It is a practical item, 3) inferior college?

Ooh contraversial! I propose that those students who are wholeheartedly ideologically integrated into their college are more inclined to wear their college stash. Thus, if one wears a 'University of Cambridge' hoody in the city itself, chances are you are at a 'lesser' college. The hoody then comes to represent an assertion of one's belonging in the institution.

The message that is given out by wearing the Cambridge hoody whilst in Cambridge is one of a need to assert one's group membership, and an awareness of this risk.

This is very different when back on provincial turf. I refer specifically to Doncaster, previously home of mining, horse racing, railways, now home of an English Democrat mayor, a BNP MEP and 4 poundshops. The Cambridge hoody in Doncaster is a wholly different cultural symbol. I daresay I am more dubious about wearing my Cambridge hoody in Doncaster, than I am about wearing my Labour Club hoody in Cambridge! One has a right to be proud about making it to Cambridge surely? The town centre populus is dotted with 'University of York St John' hoodies and 'Univeristy of Hull' hoodies yet nobody bats an eyelid. But what of the Cam hoody?

By wearing the Cambridge hoody in Doncaster, it is effectively dividing the wearer from the group - to compare with Social Anthropology, it is like Malinowski wearing his Victorian garb whilst in amongst the Papuans. The Cambridge Hoody thus symbolises difference in the same way that does a sari, a turban, a hijab or ... a kimono.

Another difference when back in Doncaster is people's interpretation of the wearers intention. People may consider why would an individual wear such an item. My reckoning would be that there may be presupposition that it is a manifestation of vulgar pride, big-headedness. This is something very much against the folk culture of Doncastrians! Any writing on the chest, male or female, effectively invites people to observe you and judge you, as they would a book. And what messages you see?! When I see people wearing anything with the lame French Connection puns - FCUK fashion, FCUK my life, FCUK my wife etc - I instantly categorise them as a twat/idiot. When men wear the intentionally offensive shirts with messages like - On Your Knees, Suck it and see - I instantly think they are lower class. The wearing of University of Cambridge on one's chest in a poor area may be tantamount to bragging.

I find this interesting because we now come to the realisation that the 'University of Cambridge' hoody has adverse social and cultural effects for the actual Cambridge students who wear it, whether at Uni or at home. Thus, the people best adapted to wearing the University of Cambridge hoodies are those not in any way linked to the university. In this way, they are not representative of their own identity, but the tourist wearing of the Cam Uni hoody is testimony to the powerful identity of the University itself. People effectively become billboards.

Yet still I own one. Yet still it remains tentatively on my coat peg on my bedroom door in Doncaster. Dare I do it? Dare I?

Being at Home

I'm puzzled by the fact that I am drinking a lot more alcohol, a lot more frequently, at home rather than at uni. There seems to be no logical reason for this; at least none that jumps out, so I'm going to have a thoughtsplurge (my neologism) all over this fresh little blog.
At university, I am free to do whatever I want whenever I want, theoretically. Before uni, one of the main reasons I would give to myself for why I don't go 'out round town' was that my parents would bemoan me coming in late. I think even then I knew there was an element of pseudo-consideration going on there, but this is beside the point.

Why am I drinking more? At first, independence appears to be the reason, though sure then I would drink more when at Uni than now - now that I am once more cozened in the parental influence. So maybe then it is some level of consciousness that permeates into my sense of independence - a 'self aware independence'. I am here aware that I am independent and am hence able to drink as an act of maturity inflation - castigating my child-self?

I'm not even remotely like an alcoholic and I'm sure my drinking habits are actually pretty close to the norm - maybe even below it - but it's all relative I suppose. This is an on-going thought - this whole idea of the paradoxical Doncaster/Cambridge self is quite perplexing. In fact, forget sleep, I will do this.

OK, when I first got to Uni, in Freshers Week etc, I was striving to not be typecast as a Northerner. I am pleased to be 'du Nord' but I don't and didn't then want it to become me. So at first I was in a weird flux where I was trying to be this 'Cambridge' type I didn't yet know nor understand.

As the term went on, I became much more self assured - I enjoyed the modest eccentricity of allowing my bizarre hair to wreak havoc and grow in what can only be called a horizontal style. I found it easy to make small talk and banter; vodka helped this, but it became less of a necessity as the weeks went by. What started to emerge was a sense of my Doncaster identity moulding itself into the Cambridge form. The occasional vulgar joke or three about murder, snobbery and rape became more possible as I became less self-regulatory. This is good; liberating and character building. This was the second stage.

The third stage is what I am experiencing presently, and it is arguably the easiest and most enjoyable. Now in a stage in which Doncastrian personality and cheekiness has branded itself alongside a Cambridge sense of eccentricity, outspokenness and the insatiable appetite for challenge, it is the end of term and time to return to Doncaster. It seems pathetically predictable that change would come; silly to think it was only 8 weeks. But here, one can bask in the provincial glory of having left the province and returned willingly. Coming home serves to rejuvenate the ego that may take a battering in such a friendly yet blatantly competitive environment at uni. Coming home, people you know can hear about all the quirky things you've done and the people you've met and how everything is so much different [read better]. Coming home is like staring into the lake of Narcissus - lovingly gazing back is the altered you, altering yet more so simply by being self-aware.

As for the next stage, I predict going back will be very interesting in a social psychology sort of way. All of the qualms and worried that accompanied the first term have been quashed. I predict a heightened sense of self-worth amongst the majority, coupled with the amalgamation of many new years resolutions founded upon status anxiety and raw ambition. I can barely wait.