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A view from the (Cam)bridge

As I report weekly from the other side of the M1, our familiar friend, Rivalry, is sure to raise his brazen head in the weeks to come. So I’m just going to get it over with here and now. I take your Burton, Beveridge and Bentham and raise you Byron, Babbage and Badiel. I take your lascivious Union Prez and Big Brother big-shot and raise you one Mr.G (that’s Ali G to you Dark Blues). I take your moth-eaten banquets and your gown-clad, latin-mumbling, musty-smelling traditions and I raise you…Er, well, you see it’s much the same round these ends.

If we’re all honest, the rules of play are more or less the same in the Bridge as they are in the Ford. We are but bickering siblings, denying our shared ancestry when competition strikes, but then reuniting in the camaraderie of the “Oxbridge” name when need be; which is usually when we’re faced with the shared opposition of irritatingly glossy, painfully prosperous American cousins. That said, I’m sure it still hurts when Cambridge is ranked the best university in the world and his bro sidles in sixth. We’re Ed, to your David.

So, fresh meat arriving at either slaughterhouse this week faces the same dripping axe and thus requires the same advice. You will grow accustomed to the fact that everything in your set looks like it should be a horcrux. You will learn to loathe tourists – especially the Yankee twangs that waft past the porter’s lodge exclaiming, “Can you believe they built all this just to film Harry Potter?” You will soon see the sense in ten-on-ten blind, double dates that go by the name “Crew Date”. And lastly, you will learn that bicycles get stolen, supervisors hand out Thirds and your chap may find another, prettier, funnier, thinner, girl…but Fifth Week does end.

Then there’s the lesser known advice I was given by my trusted companion, The Metro, last week. As soon as you arrive, you must join the Oxford Union. Apparently members of this esteemed institution receive perks beyond the mere debates and drinks that are advertised. Just flash just your Union card for a ten per cent discount at the local sex shop.

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