Sydney Life

If you had told me in second year that there would be a time in my university life that I would make it through four weeks of semester having only visited Manning Bar twice, I would have laughed in the face of your naivety. Manning was my second home, for lazy lunches in the sunshine, afternoons that drift into evenings on the balcony, or concerts & club events that rock the stage. I knew the tech guys, the bar manager, the Access office crew, and the guy who booked the gigs. You could go alone and know there’d be someone there to talk to. We’d catch up and joke about our growing qualification… a Masters in Manning.

Manning is for everyone. The dreamy philosophers arguing away the reality of their existence, the angsty musos, the comics-turned-heroes at Theatresports, the popped-collared private school socialites, even the activists planning their revolution. It’s centrally located, multi-floored and multi-purpose, and there’s always something going on.

Yet somehow my devotion has waned, as I get deeper into my honours year. It seems that for ageing students like me, particularly in a discipline based across on the dark side across City Rd, Manning is just too hip, too crowded, and too far to go for a beer. You’ll find us up the road from Merewether at the Royal, out the back indulging in lazy yet unavoidably nerdy behaviour. (We skipped Hermann’s altogether, yes they have happy hour cocktails, but who can relax on those pouf chairs?)

So what? (I hear you say). I have a new social hub and watering hole, what’s the big deal? But the thing is I am struck by the thought that this change is just one symptom of a greater something that’s part of the evolution of my education. I’ve got limited contact hours, higher expectations and academic responsibility placed upon me, and I am increasingly alienated from mainstream uni life as it used to be. Don’t get me wrong, I was super-involved before, and this change is not necessarily a bad one. I guess I just never expected that fourth year could be so different from the previous three. All the core elements seem to have changed.

Aside from academically I guess the main thing I’ve noticed is that I don’t have as many ‘hello friends’. You know the ones you probably don’t have in your phone & maybe can’t even remember their names, but they make you feel a sense of belonging anyway. Scratch that, I don’t have as many real friends anymore either! It’s not just because I’m not in at uni as much, or because I’m not meeting new ones through different tutes and lectures. A lot of my friends have finished up their degrees and gone into the big scary real world or skipped the country for some travelling. Which basically means that those that are left are doing honours with me. A wonderful, inspired bunch for sure, but definitely a narrowing of my social experience. If I am not busy doing honours work I am hanging out with honours students, the people who understand what its all about, and want to whine and chill and discuss thesis topics just like I do.

Which leads me to Monday night bingo at the Royal, surrounded by at least twenty other honours students from across the disciplines of Political Economy, Government, French, History, and Economics. I’ve never played bingo before, but the fact that it’s stereotypically for old people makes me think I might like it, as I become increasingly intolerant of the usual features of ‘cool’ places that send me running from sensory overload with their flashing lights, smoke machines and loud music. Although you only have to have a credit average to get into honours, my companions tend to be the ones who are more academically motivated and interested in their degrees. Together they are tackling a range of diverse, fascinating, and unique topics.

But don’t be misled, they are also quickly susceptible to tomfoolery. Within the space of half an hour the group is gradually decked out in all manner of odd gimmicky prizes. A triumphant Government student who got the most loot continues her game with her prized possession - a tacky gold pharaoh pen. Her political economy counterpart has stolen her cap and is doing her best to pull off the trucker-nerd look with someone else’s reading glasses. To top it all off is the French student who is now practicing her shimmy, satisfied by the rattling sound that’s coming from the monkey rattle wedged into her cleavage, and completely unaware of the unique bogan-esque look that her new beanie adds to the picture. In the meantime we are all simultaneously amused and horrified as we pass around the signed pictures of our host Tim from Big Brother, posing in his underwear.

Perhaps the transition into fourth year (and old age) won’t be so different after all ☺