Confident, stylish and proud. Forward looking and innovative, yet conscious of a history which has shaped the world. Birthplace of the computer and cradle of the Industrial Revolution. The city where the atom was first split and where atomic theory was formulated. The wheels of industry and progress transformed Manchester into the hubris of a global empire and this industrial past has shaped the state of our country today. Women’s suffrage, Communism, Classical Liberalism and modern Capitalism grew out of the seething fires of industrial Manchester, and leave a proud legacy for contemporary Mancunians. Today, Manchester has transformed itself into the undisputed cultural and economic powerhouse of the North. A city famous for its music, football and student scene Manchester will thrill medicine students from St Andrews finishing up their studies, along with their thousands of counterparts. From the trendy bars of the Northern Quarter, to the medieval oasis of the Cathedral gardens – through to the gothic grandeur of Albert Square and the clubs and pubs of Oxford Road. Here’s a proud Northerner's pick of what the city has to offer.
Remembering last night's 4am cycle past Notre Dame following a heated debate about the French elections over €2 wine in a friend's candlelit apartment, I feel a certain bitter sweetness at the thought of this year abroad coming to an end.
In St Andrews, style matters. If you took a look at most American universities, you would probably see girls hurrying to class wearing Nike running shorts, a North Face Jacket, and an L.L. Bean book bag. Boys would be similarly decked out in casual attire, baseball cap in tow. But at St Andrews? Well, I think we all know that just doesn’t fly.
Though I emerged from the sweaty sea of students at the Freshers’ Fayre without information for St Andrews Swing Dance society (SDSA), I still had an itch to attend a class. Unfortunately, I was soon caught up in schoolwork and the thought retreated to the back of my mind until Owl Eyes reignited the urge and I finally cleared my diary.
Thanksgiving: a perfectly carved turkey, fiery orange mashed sweet potatoes, professionally decorated pies, a lace tablecloth and a spotless kitchen. All this is well and good, but my Thanksgivings have certainly never been like that. At most Thanksgivings, my family talks about a time when the turkey wasn’t cooking, so they chucked in the microwave for a bit.
You can’t listen to Rihanna without wanting to belt out the lyrics at the top of your lungs. You can’t listen to Mumford & Sons, or the Kings of Leon, or even the Pocahontas soundtrack without drifting off into a daydream. My rule is as simple as this: music with words will distract you. Want to know why you have only written 200 words in the past four hours? You’ve been singing along to Colours of the Wind, that’s why.