...is usually heavily subsidised in the pretty university town of Cambridge. For those unfamiliar with the mores and norms of student life here: comedy events, tea and cake afternoons, fancy breakfasts, bouncy castles and metres of bubble wrap are laid on at strategic times throughout the year (around exams, during ‘week 5 blues’, in the mornings) to ensure students neither crack nor crumble under the heavy work-load with which they are burdened. No, no, no, we mustn’t busy ourselves with trying to dispel our own worries; that would be unproductive, non-academic, stress poorly spent; and no, reducing the pressure isn’t an option either: there’d be a big pile of welfare money just left lying around on its arse all day, not knowing what to do with itself. Some colleges are so kind as to provide priests to patrol the clock towers on suicide watch during exam term; that’s right, really tackling the root of the problem.
In spite of the pastoral care, flair and welfare, some maverick students –would you believe it– decide to break away from the institution, grappling with the feat of relieving stress their own way. As it turns out, Parker’s Piece plays host to some of the more creative endeavours undertaken by those striving to just let it all out.
Taking this notion in its most literal sense, the other night I witnessed a delightful couple getting dirty in the dark (again, truly fulfilling every sense of the word), right in the middle of the grass: Who ever said stress relief had to be discrete and socially acceptable in public? What, no-one?! They should have; it was sordid.
Also disgusting, and following a similar vein as far as concerns slimy mess, bad jokes about eggs, crudity and crudités, last night saw the residents of Park Terrace traumatised by this atrocity:
In one vile swoop, we were egged, teabagged and apparently set up for a comedy banana slip prank; basically, all the worst things that can happen between humans and the contents of a compost bin. Given my current line of observation, I immediately jumped to the conclusion that life was all getting too much for someone, and this was their way of dealing with it: I’m sure psychologists will agree that often, causing stress for others is a projection one’s own anguish, and that throwing things at the house of unsuspecting victims works a treat. Bastards.
On the other hand, our compost bin was probably just rummaged by a badger (or another animal, one more likely to actually live in these parts; I’m no expert... a chinchilla?!). A hungry animal? Perhaps. A stray looking for shelter? Could be. Or maybe the situation reveals a far more morbid truth: Behind their apparently carefree frolics and blasé attitude towards their limited dexterity, unfortunately animals, the poor things, get stressed out too.
We humans really have nothing to complain about; what with our opposable thumbs, we should be laughing 24/7. And if things do start to get you down, I advise you take a leaf out of the book of a young gentleman who spent at least an hour and a half yesterday just back-flipping over and over again on the spot, just beside the Parker’s Piece cricket square. I understand we’re not all acrobats – hell, if we were, we wouldn’t be here, we’d join the circus where it’s all fun and games, everyone’s happy and there’s no pressure whatsoever to perform – but I reckon jumping up and down for a while would have a similar effect. Mister Twister definitely had the right idea; after breathing some fresh air and shaking his brains up a bit, the guy looked tired, but satisfied and chilled out. And what better way to be? Certainly better than scurrying around at night with garbage juice on your filthy little mitts, that’s for sure.
yay for opposable thumbs
ReplyDelete