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College Insider – Worcester

Our insider introduces the fluffiest member of the JCR

Everywhere you turn in Worcester, you see Chanel. And no, I’m not talking about thousand pound skirt suits, but the Provost’s West Highland Terrier.

It’s a strange Sunday morning when I don’t run into Coco Chanel, out for her morning stroll round the lake, on my way to brunch. There’s nothing like a tiny white bundle of enthusiastic yelping and friendly tail wagging for a hangover cure. And the anticipation of the meal ahead isn’t bad either. Sunday brunch at Worcester comes to about £1.40 for a plate heaped with a fry-up and pastries and, if you’re suave and subtle like me, you can usually nick a couple of bowls of cereal as a bonus. If the bursar is reading this, may I amicably suggest that you consider installing CCTV at the self-service bar?

Worcester isn’t generally considered one of the superlative colleges—it isn’t the richest, or the smallest, or even the sportiest. Occasionally it gets called the prettiest, and I wouldn’t disagree. But the label I really think Worcester deserves is the keenest. I cannot imagine another college where a girl’s Cupper’s football match, at 10am on a freezing cold Sunday morning in January, would gather a crowd of ten to fifteen people, from across year groups. Sure, we may have pitches on-site, but last term’s building works meant that getting to them involved a bit of a trek—it wasn’t just a matter of rolling out of bed. We take it pretty seriously, and it’s something I would sacrifice a lot to remain part of.

But let’s be clear, Worcester isn’t some kind of pastry-filled paradise, peopled only by fluffy dogs and supportive friends. It’s a college like any other, and of course, it has its problems. For example, my first year room inhabits a concrete block about half a mile away from main quad. A tactical befriending of someone living on main quad is the answer: many a night I have crashed on a certain friend’s beanbag for a box of Brannos’ finest and a quick power nap, before heading back to my room.

With Trinity beginning, the inevitable approach of the post-prelim lake swim is beginning to cost me sleep. The prospect of emerging from a grueling set of essays, only to be doused in whipped cream and bubbles, and then forcibly dunked in ice-cold, swan shit strewn waters is not exactly the stuff of daydreams. But, a Worcester challenge is a Worcester challenge, and who I am to fight tradition?

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