Bridging the Gap...Introducing the Tartlets

OK. Firstly we ought to introduce ourselves. We are two students who are a little bit like partners in crime. We pride ourselves on our drunken antics and suspicious morals. We are young, sometimes a little floozy and describe ourselves as “The Tartlets” individually known as Eddy & Patsy. We prefer spontaneous fun to planned parties; we smoke Marlboro Lights and drink Rose and Vodka. We agree that Aussie hair products smell best and the girl who used to live opposite us had a mouth like a cat’s bum. Being smug makes us feel warm and fuzzy inside, but we’re too cavalier to openly dislike anyone.

We’ve found it’s always hard to break down the divide between Oxford and Brookes. Brookes are the 'fools on the hill', Oxford are the 'uptight wankers', and with so many students from either side only serving to strengthen these stereotypes, it seems friendships between the universities have become the exception, not the rule, as many of you will know already. We have made it our undertaking to break down these barriers, and let’s face it; if people want to buy us drinks we really don’t care where you’re from.

So we headed out for another night this week and it’s fucking freezing and pissing it down. This particular night we were heading to a house party. Have already lost Eddy’s car once this week we still decide to throw caution to the wind and park Patsy’s car on a random street and pray we can find it in the morning. Fags in hand and brandishing a half drunk bottle of Rose we slip through Oxford’s dark residential streets, taking swigs on the way.

Upon arrival at our intended destination there appears to be a frosty reception from the neighbours. We ladies can’t be arsed with confrontation and so took flight.

We headed for some quiet drinks at Anuba, which soon turned into accosting a barman, renaming him 'Babygirl', and bullying/cajoling him into matching us shot for shot in tequila.

P&E “Babygirl! Babygirl! Have another, have another!”
BG “I couldn’t, I’m working”
P&E “Just one more, don’t be a baby girl”
BG “Ok Ok”

This line of conversation repeated itself and continued for an hour or so…

(Side note: we later saw this barman relegated to glass collector due to his generous shot measures and poor coin counting skills. Nights are now spent ducking this particular young fellow).

So by this point we’re fairly inebriated and feel like dancing, which just wasn’t the same in the street or in the bar, so we throw ourselves towards a club with violent determination. Tottering to the entrance of the Bridge, tequila confidence got the better of us, so we slipped into the smoking area, up the stairs, and attempted to mislead the door man into believing that we had a stamp by just waving our hands really fast in front of his face.

This did not work.

However, we were not deterred and after a little bit of smooth talking, cooing over a picture of his children and a vague offer of babysitting, we were in!

P&E “Awwwww you’re child is so adorable” Bouncer [bashfully] “Oh go on girls, in you go” (followed by perhaps small inappropriate pat on the bum…)

All was well. We had penetrated the establishment and it was a fast realisation this was no ordinary night at the Bridge; it was in fact a 'Midsummer’s Night's Dream' themed evening. This led to attempts at some magical dance moves on the turf, grass floor, an excited hug and a giggling heap, and having to be helped up by some gentlemanly but severely unimpressed Oxford boys. Some hazy incidents later, (including making claim upon an empty bottle of champagne, shaking it at the bar staff, trying to convince them that someone had drunk it and demanding a free replacement) we called it a night, much to the relief of the blazered Oxford boys and the pearl ear-ringed girls.

Walking home seemed like an economical idea to the inebriated tartlets. However we urge you not to follow this idea of complete drunken ridiculousness. Not only did it continue to rain (ruining our naughty Kebab Kid snacks), but we also got rather misdirected and eventually, lost. A drunken call to an ex-boyfriend at Trinity, in the hope that he could put on his cape and come rescue us, was only one more thing to cringe over the next morning.

E “Sorry. Are you asleep?”
Ex “I was”
E “We’re lost”
Ex “So?”
E “But we’re lost- cant you come get us?”
Ex “No I can’t”
E “Fine. You’ll be sorry if anything happens to me.”
Ex “Just get in a cab”
E “Get bent, I’m not getting a fucking taxi you fucking twat. I can’t believe you’re being so fucking unreasonable. Is this because I dumped you? You really need to get over that.
Ex [Hangs Up]

Oooops…

Being unable to physically cross the road when we finally did get back to halls, we actually had to call our housemates to escort us the final 200 yards. And the rest, well… we’ve all had hangovers like it.

Anyway, given that many people refuse to leave their usual ritual of Brookes or Oxford nights, Edina and Patsy suggest you go join a different party this fortnight and we have devised some fail-safe rules on how to successfully bridge the gap…