“Oh, what a night!”: the existential hell of freshers week.

It is September 1999, my first week at university. None of my flatmates are into punk rock, I’ve already looked.

Some have brought less than 10 CDs with them and one has a Jamiroquai album. This is not the bohemian paradise my parents promised me.

And now, against my better judgment, I am dressed in school uniform, along with a thousand…