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The Meaning Of Life From A Student Point Of View
University! Now there is an organization! I always said that if someone could model a society based on university values, they could count me in. This means that the majority of the population will not have to work very hard, will not be paid much but will be regularly fed and allowed to. They spend half their time at the bar buying as much half-priced beer as they can absorb in one night. If cannabis and other illusory aids are legally and freely available as optional extras for the more creatively inclined, the idea of any fixed moral standards will be abandoned in their favor. “A little of what you love does you good!” And should anything happen to threaten the splendor of this perfection, these country-citizens, the guardians of world knowledge, will be within their rights to protest with banners and march. The anthem should be something by Motörhead.
What am I saying here? I’m coming down, I think, on the side of a more romantic view of life, more “love driven” than “greed driven”. There are serious differences between the two, one filling our hearts with warmth and security, the other dangerous and all-consuming, yet no two people can agree on which is which. For my part, I couldn’t believe my luck. The first day at Baddock Hall was like nirvana, a spiritual existence of pure bliss. More than half of the four hundred odd students were single available women. It was the perfect opportunity for a little greedy love-nourishment.
I was so happy that I couldn’t help but giggle as I opened my bag in one of the four hundred single bedroom units that I had been allocated and overlooked the sloping green gardens and lush trees. The room was small, just big enough to accommodate a single bed and a desk, but it was just what I needed. I smiled because I got my car. There she was in the car park, my slightly dented but proud maroon Marina with her vinyl back seat polished and waiting.
Unlike at school there was no sense of being in the wrong time zone at Bristol. In fact everything was modern and liberal and fair. When we paid close attention to the school we were surprised by the attitude of the lecturers as they literally did not care about us at all. Two or three times a week in lectures and tutorials, he told us a bit, then left us to it. They depended on us.
I stayed in bed until twelve o’clock the morning before the freshers’ party, then panicked when I realized I’d missed one of my lectures. But then I remembered that this was not Trollope’s. Here, nothing happened, nobody noticed if you got lost, so I went back to sleep. It was very fair. We have been given access to the best education, the best brains and it is up to us to make good use of it.
Freshers’ Week was an opportunity to meet experienced students and join the various clubs and societies they had come across in moments of laziness, an odd assortment of activities and time-consuming drives that, in my mind, didn’t match Rita’s ten minutes. Stripper, and until it is over we can apply ourselves to the more serious business of learning. Between lectures and tutorials, which took up a total of twelve hours a week, our time was our own, which seemed great, but the importance of self-discipline soon became clear.
Most lunchtimes I found myself in the vast refectory, where you can get a decent meal for less than a pound. It was next to the Wills Memorial Building, the centerpiece of the university, a large, neo-Gothic structure at the top of Park Street that looked like a cathedral and was built by the wealthy Wills family, tobacco magnates. Students wandered up and down the grand staircase in the foyer all day to and from the century lectures, but despite the crowd I found myself very lonely in the early days, as everyone’s lectures were at different times and in different buildings around. city
Early on I contacted my brother Mario and some of his friends in the law department. He was in his third year and close to graduation. It was obvious that he felt superior to me for the first time in his life. Oxford slipped my fingers and I was a miserable rookie at his old uni. He was fine with me, passing the odd comment, but it was clear he had no intention of including me in his circle, which was fine by me. I wanted the freedom to explore and was glad my older brother and his friends weren’t breathing down my neck.
The car made me popular very quickly. At the end of each day, four or five long-haired Badokians would wander into the car park anonymously, hoping for a lift. I didn’t mind because it was good company. After a while, I started charging ten pence each way to pay for my first beer each night.
The best time to meet people is early evening at the bar after dinner. Baddock Hall Bar had a pool table, billiards, darts and an unlimited supply of cheap beer. Most nights we sat with our feet up on the low round tables waiting for something to happen. There was always music in the background, the Police, or the Pretenders, or Blondie, artists who were making waves at the time, and soon a small group formed around me. At first it would be just the two or three of us, then others would join in if we looked like we were having a good time. Sometimes fifteen or twenty idle mop-heads each sat in a large circle. Making his own semi-obvious contribution to whatever relevant and important discussion was going on.
We felt it was our responsibility to change the world and make it a better place. The message we’ve had since the 60s was that students can make a difference. But we always had one thing in mind that got in the way. One night Gerry, a biochemist from Northern Ireland with an explosive orange Art Garfunkel hairstyle, put it succinctly in neurological terms: “It’s jost enter biochemical function,” he was saying in his charming Belfast lilt, and paused to listen some more. . “Tere is different. As parts of the body are stimulated, signals are sent through the metabolic process to the tabernacle stem to form tericulars and activate them, so you feel pleasure. The process is restored in the lack of oxygen and excessive pumping of the blood round the body, which gives you sex. In between there’s hot and mess. It’s all connected to the hypothalamus you know. The tat bugger is responsible for all kinds of things. It notices a lot of things about our body, it has its own memory and it becomes habituated, so it’s easy to get addicted to sex.”
A small cheer rose at the last moment. We were already members of that particular club. I was impressed with Gerry’s understanding of neurology but determined to keep him far away from me the next time I was trying to pull over.
Once I was introduced to a Greek Cypriot colleague who thought he was doing me a favor but I found him to be the most cautious, most maritime, future bank manager I’ve ever seen, and I was done after one or two meetings. Better to avoid it. Instead I spent more and more time with the tall, hook-nosed geysers from London, the East End. He went to a few Millwall games and came out on top. His name was Chukka, six feet four inches, his arms like an orangutan, long and pendulous, making great arcs in the air as he walked. He always had a twinkle in his eye and a pair dangling from the side of his smiling mouth. In the middle of the second term he met and fell in love with Linda, a dwarf blonde girl with a pretty face, who was always in sexy leather or denim like Suzy Quattro. Like Chukka, she was straight and had no airs or graces, and they were a fun couple to get to know. There was about two feet of empty air between them due to the height difference but that didn’t stop them from sticking face to face forever, he doubled over to her and she came on tiptoe toes like two lovesick schoolgirls. Children
Our social life is a curious mixture of the two conflicting impulses that govern our behavior, trying to sound intelligent on the one hand and acting like a brute on the other. Some people came down more on the side of one than the other, like my neighbor Sheridan who was a pure geek and never seemed to leave his room but spent the whole time studying, focusing on the mating patterns of lesser spotted eagles or some such. Indiscretion while listening to the outrageous tunes of Steely Dan, while others spent the entire first term not studying at all and instead devoted their energies to testing the limits of their endurance for the party.
I walked the middle path, attracted to people who aimed for the best of both worlds. I met people who refused to be pigeon-holed or type-cast, the true characters of life. I’ll never forget the people I worked with at uni: Chukka (who was really Charles) got his nickname from the volumes he vomited after a good night out but planned to come first in chemistry; Gerry, a brilliant biologist who sees the future at Greenham Common protesting nuclear weapons handcuffed to chicken wire or buried in some swamp in the path of bulldozers coming to stop the building of a flyover; And little Linda, whose lovely, tiny posterior made us pause for thought whenever she played air-guitar to rock anthems, but one day she would be working as a researcher in a cancer unit, doing great work for children. These were unpredictable people with a decent future.
We can talk about anything without fear of criticism or attack. I was struck by a fair and constructive way of organizing things in which people of the same age and with similar interests could be encouraged to live together and share the same dialogue, regardless of religious or political boundaries and without fear of persecution. It resembles the ancient Greek symposium, the intellectual fruition of fifth-century Athens. He became noble as he was financed by the state.
Despite our high aspirations, small talk during the first few weeks focused on what course everyone was taking, the societies everyone had joined and how much work everyone was getting, which varied from department to department, in other words general student trivia which soon became boring and some of us had to deal with accommodation. Completely taken out of the hall and brought into the city to mix with the civilians.
In the city we used to drink amongst friendly Bristolians, hard working people who are not trying to improve the world but are doing menial jobs for minimum wage, watching football at weekends and getting pissed off at night. In the future, when my life is about to get more complicated, I will think of that simple commitment, a thousand English cities, a million UK neighbors, and see that as the perfect lifestyle. But I worried that I would never fit in, never be normal. Being bright was a curse and many students felt it, attracted to the complex, abstract, mysterious and unanswerable. I’ve always been like this. I still have a slip of paper with me when I was ten years old that I wrote: “Things to do before you get old: (A) Find out if there is a God, (B) Find out what happens after you die, (C) Learn the meaning of life.” .” With that kind of luggage, what were the chances of having a good time along the way?
All bars, to survive, boast cheap student nights of the week with wild themes, rowdy events that only the delinquent and underprivileged would be crazy enough to attend.
One such occasion, and the most important, was the Vicars and Tarts Ball. The great thing about being at Baddock Hall was that we got to see all the girls at their best before we went out, so we could plan our girl strategy well in advance. They loved any excuse to get into their fishnets and parade in front of us at the bar. And some boys were even more creative than girls. We’ll pile into taxis like actors “The Rocky Horror Show” The first big gay musical. Whenever we came downtown, we owned it.
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