"Hands Up, Who Likes Me?" (1991)

In 1991 I went to Lancaster University.

I'd just turned 18 and it should have been the most exciting thing in the whole world!

Freedom! Staying up late! Alcohol! Sex! 

(AKA: Debt! Vomit! Hangovers! Infrequent, crushing disappointments!) 

But I was shit-scared. I'd only done GCSEs and A levels as a delaying tactic. I didn't want to make decisions about life or work or anything because I didn't have a clue about any of it. For a lot of people, going to University is a career move or a chance to broaden their horizons but for me it was simply a way to hold back the 'real' world. 

I only knew one other person who'd been to University and he was always swanning about in a straw hat and a cricket jumper. He never really talked about life as a student but he did keep calling everything (and everybody) back home 'sooooo boring' in a fake posh accent. Did I really want to end up like that twat?

Everything else I knew about University was stuff I'd seen on The Young Ones.

I didn't have anybody to take me to University, so I dragged my bags to Bishop Auckland bus station for the Primrose coach to Lancaster. It was a shitty, overcast day - and I sat crunching Extra Strong Mints in a desperate attempt to settle my stomach. This became a routine and I eventually graduated from Extra Strong Mints to Tums and Bisodol tablets, slowly turning my stomach to chalk. I tried to blot out my horrible, nervous thoughts with my personal stereo - I'd just bought 'Trompe le Monde' by Pixies and I listened to it over and over again at maximum volume. 

The trip across the Pennines was actually quite nice with some spectacular scenery - but I couldn't enjoy it. The constant din of Pixies didn't help. What the fuck was I going to do at University? I didn't know anybody! I'd be living with complete strangers! And I certainly couldn't look after myself (I knew this because my folks were always telling me so). 

Once I got to Lancaster I realised just how young and daft I was. Everybody else was a year or two older - and some of them had spent the Summer working in bars or teaching people to ski on European mountains! They'd been backpacking in other countries - without any grown-up supervision! Most of them were being dropped off by their parents! And their parents had big cars! And their big cars were full of duvets, pots and pans, Corn Flakes and loads of other useful stuff! 

I was jealous - not just because of the things people had, but because their parents were actually there for them.

Nearly everybody I met took drugs. I thought you were supposed to wait until you lived away from home before doing this stuff, but everybody seemed to know about 'skinning up' and 'getting off their tits'. And then they talked about it. Lots. Some people never talked about anything else. I smiled and nodded as they went on about 'buckets' and 'teenths' and 'roaches'.

I'd never met people like this before. It was like first contact with 200 different civilisations all at the same time. That should have been brilliant, but it just made me feel 8 years old. How did everybody get to be so much more grown-up than me? Why were they so keen to do so many grown-up things?

My accomodation block seemed to be packed with posh kids and rugby players. The place reeked of deep heat, cigarette smoke and farts. Where were all the hippies with their acoustic guitars? And why wasn't anybody planning to bring down the government?

Some of my neighbours were members of the Lancaster University Young Conservatives. I thought students were supposed to be anarchists or lefty revolutionaries - but loads of them were studying Politics and Economics because John Major had inspired them. For fuck's sake.

I might have been the most unfashionable 18 year old in the world. I was listening to Deacon Blue, Huey Lewis and The News,Texas and Tin Machine - and I was still watching Doctor Who.

I had no social skills. I didn't know how to start a conversation, never mind make myself seem interesting. I also took everything anybody else said a bit too literally - if somebody asked me 'how's it going?' I'd launch into a detailed description of how good or bad my day had been, not realising that the expected answer was 'great' or 'cool, how are you doing?' I did not have a clue about how to interact with people of my own age. 

People say 'just be yourself' when you're trying to mix with new people but I thought that was a terrible idea. I wasn't quite sure who I was.

I'd also grown up terrified of pubs and clubs because my folks always told me they were rough, violent places. I'd spent my teenage years in my bedroom - drawing comic strips and watching videos. Nobody wanted to hear about that: they'd just think I was a sad bastard and they'd have been right. People probably thought I was surly or anti-social, but really I was just very shy and completely terrified.

I walked around the Freshers Fayre trying to find a way to fit in. I thought I'd better student myself up a bit. I bought some Morrissey posters and joined the Film Society so I could watch arty films. I tried to re-brand myself as an introverted misery-guts. It wasn't much of a stretch, to be honest.

In the end, I made up all kinds of shite. Despite the fact that I'd never kissed anybody, never even held hands with anybody, I lied and said I'd just ended a 'long-term relationship' and was still getting over it. People would nod and look concerned. Piece of piss. 

The less I said about my imaginary doomed romance, the more tragic it seemed. I also made up interesting, slightly scandalous stuff about my family to explain why they hadn't dropped me off at the start of term and why they never came to visit. I didn't know what else to do. Making stuff up seemed better than admitting I was a nothing and a nobody. 

I felt pretty terrible about it. I thought I'd get caught telling so many lies - maybe I'd bump into somebody from my old school, or maybe I'd just lose track of what I'd said and drop myself in it. But it never happened. 

After a while it just became a routine. And for all I knew, everybody else was talking shite as well. I heard loads of people bragging about how often they got stoned or had sex - and they had to be making at least some of it up, didn't they?

I also started drinking. I found it easier to be around other people if I was a bit pissed. I probably had at least one drink every single day. In the long term it didn't help. I couldn't afford it and I also found out that I'm not a very nice drunk.

The people I spoke to the most were people I never even met. Lancaster University had an all night phone service for people who needed someone to talk to (I've just checked and they still do! https://lancaster.nightline.ac.uk/) 

I'd have never phoned The Samaritans when I was 18 - but knowing that there was a service for students made me think that it wasn't just me who was struggling. Everybody else seemed to be having a great time but the very existence of Nightline proved otherwise.

At first I didn't want to call. Talking about private or personal stuff just wasn't something I could do... As a kid I stopped telling anybody anything because people just took the piss (or saved the information for later, so they could use it against you when they wanted something).

When I finally did summon up some courage it was all surprisingly simple. The other person just said hello and asked how I was doing. And then it all came pouring out.

I used to call Nightline at least once a fortnight. It stopped me sitting in my room drinking tinned cider on my own. It was the only time I spoke to anybody without feeling the need to make shite up. I told them how lonely I was, how scared I was, how unhappy I was...

The Nightline staff were incredibly patient. They listened. No matter how many times I phoned up and talked about the same things - they listened. They let me vent. Once, they even invited me up to the offices for a cup of tea but I was too scared to do that - I could talk on the phone for hours, but I didn't want anybody to see me.

I should have gone for that cup of tea. I should have taken some biscuits and had a cup of tea with the Nightline volunteers. They deserve a huge amount of thanks (and biscuits) for helping me through that year.