I Got Ditched at UCL

(my heart still aches to this day)

In keeping with the seasonal idea of giving stuff, I thought I’d give you the sad tale of getting ditched at UCL, a London University ranked highest in the country for English, that I have an offer from and will, unless I have a gargantuan meltdown in my A2 exams, attend.

A few weeks back, the College ran an ‘English offer holders open day, in which we offer-holders were invited to the building for an afternoon, to check out the library (full of statues of people being murdered for some reason) and participate in some mini lectures and seminars. The educational element of the day was exactly what I expected in terms of close language analysis, and the points raised were genuinely interesting, serving only to reinforce my desire to go to UCL.

However, I was ditched by the one ‘friend’ I made on that day, to great feels. After spending the afternoon awkwardly joking about the bin lids and our interviews to each other, we we split up into two separate groups for the several mini seminars and, although the English Admissions Tutor’s warning of losing ‘your best friend in the whole world’ was a little extreme, they hit the nail on the head in terms of the inevitable social division within the group.

I’m not angry at UCL for splitting us up; pre-determined divisions ensured each seminar would be full of people, as leaving it up to choice could mean everyone goes for the texts they’ve read, and one bloke is left alone in the ‘graphic novels’ seminar, a talk which proved to be ultimately enjoyable and informative, but that no-one would have picked out of their own volition (because we’re all snooty, offer-holding fools that want to read Shakespeare over cups of fair trade coffee and worry about the nature of the Coalition, that have no time for the perceived childishness of comics).

This split, however, meant my friend of statue-mocking and Doctor Who plot-hole finding enjoyment was gone by the time I finished my seminar; I looked in the common room and the teaching room, and the corridors and the stairs, but they were nowhere to be seen. In retrospect, not looking in the women’s toilets was probably a good move here.

Defeated, I headed home, finishing an enjoyable, but ultimately lonely, day. I never got that girl’s surname, so I can’t stalk her on Facebook, and I don’t think she got mine, so the chances of her reading this blog are smaller than this blog actually being read by people.

However, I have some to realise the importance of these ‘temporary friends’, a term in great need of revision I know; often, we will be shoved into new and short-lived situations, especially when we’re teenagers and parties and University interviews populate our lives, and so having fun people to meet is a great thing. At a lot of these functions, we are encouraged to be ourselves, which can be, understandably, very difficult; meeting someone with a shared interest in TV won’t make a lifelong friendship, or even one where you know that person’s name, but that relationship can make the event more relaxed, and allow you to present the best side of yourself.

It was the same at my Cambridge interview; I sucked, but loved hanging out with the other guys who were applying for English, and having someone to vent at after my fail-tacular attempt at an interview felt good – we got to play the modest persons’ game of ‘Oh, I’m sure mine went much worse than yours’.

I’m not angry at the girl for ditching me, she’s probably got a life to get on with well outside of my and my online ramblings and Football Manager playing habits (the new game is fantastic, though), and I’m glad that I was able to make a friend for a day and have a great day at UCL.

Temporary friends, I salute you!


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