3 Months In And Our Freshers’ Columnist Is Still Alive

So, what exactly have I been up to? So many things. 

“Ronan, you’re a Uni student now, you can do it all.  Everything and anything”

But other stuff too. I’m integrating into University life a bit more: I actually started going to the Poetry and Spoken Word Society after putting it off for about four weeks; it was really good and it is great value for money. Why would you not go? I said to myself, “Ronan, you’re a Uni student now, you can do it all.  Everything and anything.  It’s easy peasy, don’t sweat it: do taekwondo, ju jitsu, badminton, baseball, do it all, Ronan, do it all! Everything and anything! Kettle Soc! Join kettle Soc Ronan! Do it!”

Rampaging through Uni Park, foaming at the mouth, trying to find societies to join in order to validate my existence was not something I fancied though. The whole “going out” thing has continued however. Halloween was fairly eventful.  One of my mates got kicked out and – because I’m proper nice – I went out and looked after him while he threw up on the steps of that Church by one of the many McDonald’s.

A struggle ensued trying to get him into a taxi however; it was as though he’d been mistaken for a lion that had been shot with a tranquiliser dart by a trigger-happy zookeeper. But that’s enough of that; I don’t want to become too locked onto these aspects of my life, there’s plenty of other stuff going on to write about. This column shouldn’t just be about getting drunk and doing stupid shit!

The next weekend I went home, met with a couple of friends in my local Spoon’s and got pissed.

“I’m obliged to say family is the most important thing (Jesus – I cannot believe I’ve just said that)”

At least it was home: London. The tube journey to Enfield (home of the world’s first cash machine), the smell of fumes billowing out the back of those old Red buses, that feeling of pollutants slowly killing you from the inside-out in the same way the cosmopolitan and mechanic nature does. Ah, London. My family live there too and I’m obliged to say family is the most important thing (Jesus – I cannot believe I’ve just said that). My mum, dad, and my sister (I do have a brother too, I’ll talk about him a bit later, can’t be bothered right now).

It was nice to be back and all that jazz but sleeping in my own bed was absolutely horrid: it’s a single and my one in Nottingham is three quarters and I’m about as tall as an averagely-sized willow tree. Very uncomfortable. Yet it still warmed my heart. What’s the famous saying? “Home sweet home”, “Love thy Neighbour” (I hate my neighbours), “Family’s really important so cherish them bare init”? You know what? Just to encapsulate the importance of family I’m going to put a very memorable quote from my fifty-seven year old, irritable, but humorous to look at, father: “You better not fucking write about me in your column, Ronan.” On that bombshell I left home, hurt and amused in equal measure at that parting comment.

On the evening I got back I “went to” the fireworks at the Recreation Ground. I say “went to” in inverted quotations because I was on a packed, sweaty tram when they went off and I missed all of them. All of them, the Catherine wheels, the other ones, the even bigger other ones! I was pissed off. The rides were a rip-off too, £3 for teacups, you are having an absolute laugh. I’m probably being hyper-critical because I’m just a bit of a contrarian, what can I say?

What was extremely top was getting elected onto the JCR committee for my hall: I am the Welfare Rep for Florence Boot and I am currently loving the high life in which I get free tickets to Pom Pom and Pryzm on a Monday. That said, it is a bit of a joke with my track record that I’ve been chosen to essentially safeguard the wellbeing of 200 other people but it’s too late, I’ve been elected, they can’t kick me off,  screw anyone who tries to take this away from me.

“Before I knew it I was back off to Nottingham, back to my Flo Bo. Back home”

The rush of exclusivity went straight to my head as, at the end of the week, I went off to see my dear, old brother Connor, in Leeds, with whom my sister, Aoife, was also staying with. The only problem was my brother forever believing he’s in fact organising Project X whenever we visit, leading him to get all stressed out about whether we’re “having a good time”. What an absolute plum. To be fair, we went to a Jazz bar, which is a pretty bloody classy thing to do if I do say so myself. I felt rather out of place with all the adults that were there with me being, of course, still a child. Before I knew it I was back off to Nottingham, back to my Flo Bo. Back home.

But was I going back home? What was home to me now?

“Each of us do make up a community, a little family, whether we bloody like it or not”

Not to get too deep and emotional but it is worth questioning. Some cold bastards might say “No, Nottingham is not my home”. But is this place not our home, at least a little bit? We’ve got people here that we’ve grown to like, and each of us do make up a community, a little family, whether we bloody like it or not.

And isn’t it family that makes a home? Otherwise it is just a house. It’s just wood, bricks, and mortar. Just like how, without emotions and all that, we would be mere guts, flesh, and bone. A home is warm, loving, and actually pretty nice. Our home is warm, loving, and quite nice. We’ve got that feeling here in Nottingham which speaks volumes about the people here. Love thy Neighbour, hug thy neighbour, f–no, just love and hug.

What I want to get across is this: Nottingham is our home, sweet, home and there is no escaping it. We are all stuck here, so we might as well enjoy it together. It’s for the best, trust me.


Ronan Sullivan

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2 Comments on this post.
  • Anonymous
    5 December 2017 at 21:03
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    really enjoying this column it’s very funny

  • Anonymous
    10 December 2017 at 01:20
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    Really funny read:)

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