On your average University Sunday morning, when one finds oneself fully clothed, viciously embracing a close friend, whilst screaming for your housemates to help you end it all, the traditional protocol is to wedge oneself in the crease of the sofa with a selection of takeaway menus littered around your fatigued carcass. On this occasion, so inspired were we, having awoken in yet another platonic spoon, that (still sofa-wedged, takeaway-laden) we decided to delve into the foreign realms of online chatrooms; I, motivated by a journalistic quest for discovery, obviously. My friends, motivated by a desperate quest to get laid.  

I’m not sure whether it’s wonderful or soul destroying that on Valentine’s Day 2013, Pornhub allowed its users to watch Premium videos for free. Whilst I’d love to say it restored my faith in humanity with this blessing for frisky singletons, as soon as my excitable male flatmates informed me of this treat, every inch of my porn-ignorant brain still screamed ‘SCAM’ and I implored them not to do it.

Call me old fashioned, but I’ve long championed the idea that relationships at University are much like a monster breakfast on a hangover. While satisfying at first, they are both inevitably followed by nausea, submission to the foetal position and declarations of life-long abstinence.


Hey gals, guess what? Bad news I’m afraid. Apparently next time you have one too many VK’s down at the Union Bar and end up spewing all over guy-with-bad-breath-from-your-medieval-literature-module, you’re not just accepting a fate of notoriety within the English school. You’re actually also saying “hey babe, I know I haven’t given you a second look all night but you know what, I’m really gagging for a shag…how about we do it here, on this badly lit, secluded park bench. I might act a little nervous or even pass out half way through, but ignore all that. I know I’m paralytic, but trust me, I want you”.

 Student Living

 Recently in a coffee shop I overheard a conversation between a group of friends. They were having a ‘heated debate’ about the expectations women have of men; men paying on a date, or men asking women out. Their discussion spiralled out of control and became a slanging match, every member of the group trying to speak out about society and the current problems still happening today. The problem with this particular argument was that it was offensive, partly untrue and hypocritical. I feel, and I am sure some of you can agree, that it almost feels like we are walking around on egg shells, scared of doing anything in case someone somewhere points the finger and tells us we’re sexist for going to lunch with our girl mates, or ageist for over-taking old people on the street (we all do it, right?!)

The obvious phallic shaped food. It's not just the shape but the concentration on your face as you rotate it, testing the best angle to shove it in before you take that first chomp, wide eyed and relieved it fit. Forgetting you earlier smothered it in ketchup and mustard leaving you with a rainbow tash as you try to chew and swallow the first bite so that conversation can continue and he can stop staring at you like you've been talking about periods for the past 10 minutes. It might seem sexy to act out oral sex over dinner, but it's not, some things are definitely better left in the bedroom (park, car, kitchen, whatever you fancy).

It’s Saturday night. The drinks are flowing, the outfit is ready, and you are on it. Except by that I mean the hot chocolate is flowing, your onesie is ready, and you’re sat on your computer watching re-runs of Fresh Meat, wondering what went wrong.

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