I Slept With Him

If Charlotte Bronte were to write a précis of the defining moment in my current romantic entanglement I like to think it would read something like this: 

“Reader, I slept with him. A (not so) quiet party we had: he and I, a lot of booze and the entire cast of UMSU Panto Society, were alone present. When I got back from his, I went into the kitchen of my flat and I said: “Housemates, I am having an affair. ‘Twas consummated this morning”.

Admittedly, such an account will hardly have Jane Eyre shaking in her hobnail boots; heck, it’d possibly even make big-knickered Bridget Jones look smug, but I’d contest that it’s perhaps a none-too inaccurate depiction of romance for the average student. Seemingly, while our words may be worthy of Darcy and Bennett, our actions are more in keeping with Chantelle and Preston (dare I mention Spears and Federline..?) The backdrop more Maccy D’s than Pemberly. Granted, I say all this with the complete conviction of a girl who has actually been on a “date” to the aforementioned golden arches* but let’s face it, binge-drinking and casual sex - ah yes, those trusty student allies, and not entirely figments of the Daily Mail’s imagination in this case - don’t exactly set you up for an affair to remember so much as, depressingly, one that you literally can’t (dare I mention a brief encounter..?)

Even if you do get past the distinctly unromantic territory of the one night stand, the fuck-buddy and “seeing each other” there is still no real promise of good old fashioned hearts and flowers on the more committed side of the barbed wire. Personally, despite being suitably boyfriended, there are many reasons for a lack of romance in my life most of which, along side a burgeoning fruit cider habit, could be attributed to a “student” lifestyle. In no particular order these might include deep-rooted immaturity, the realities of cohabitation, severe cynicism and an Editor who “jokingly” hints that the break-up of my relationship would add a nice human-interest angle (read bitter rivalry) to Student Direct’s columns this year... Ok, so the last one’s about shifting newspapers, but the rest I maintain are fostered by student-hood.
The thing is, in my experience, whilst at university couples only tend to venture out from the no-man’s land of dating vagueries when they’re certain that they’re serious about each other. While this is great in essence (and sickening if you’re single) it spells out complexities and banalities (**see “wall-to-wall” below) in equal bamboozling measure. On the one hand - perhaps more so than non-university bound couples of a similar age - as a student the notions of marriage, mortgages and maternity could not feel more alien, not least because exorbitant loans and alcohol-soaked reproductive organs make the latter two increasingly more tricky.
Moreover, recent generations of students have borne witness to the ushering in of the age of the post-gradolescent; we are increasingly being confronted with an even longer stretch of postponed responsibility due to the evermore desirable, even necessary, Masters degree.  Yet, on the other hand, the nature of being together at uni means that in some ways paired-up uni couples experience many of the trials and tribulations of long-term partnership that even older married-types mightn’t have to face. We don’t just have ‘whose turn it is to do the shopping?’ and ‘your place or mine?’ to grapple with, but also: whose gap-year plans to follow, whose career might determine your post-student destination and the potential doom-laden, echo-ey phone lines and angst-ridden emails of long-distance. All in all, it amounts to commitment with a middle-sized ‘c’ if you will. Inevitably, given such a compromise, something’s gotta give, and perhaps this is where romance gets written out of the university mini-drama. But, (in a departure from my normal hand-wringing) is this all bad? 
Could the end of romance - in the Clinton’s cards, overblown gesture sense - actually be the beginning of the end of clichéd old relationship traumas and protocols? Who knows? Perhaps unconventionally structured courtship patterns could see Cosmopolitan magazine short on features; forget the ramifications of having sex after the first date - what about having sex before the first date? Or if not, maybe as a nice anti-dote to the WAG-inspired sub-culture of late, the lack of ostentatious chocolate-box romance could mean that more and more university-spawned couples from our generation stay together for the “right” reasons. At very least, if you strip away the material trappings of affairs (of the heart or otherwise) that are so oft construed as romance, and you still want to be with someone, you know there’s something real there. And after all, isn’t that what Bronte was getting at with plain Jane and grumpy Mr Rochester?
So am I saying it could be happy ever after for my fellow columnist and me? Well to be completely honest with you, our twin senses of humour, mutual intolerance of punctuation abuse and habit of finishing each others sentences have me persuaded to only one possible conclusion: that we must be in someway related.

*To give my date his due, this rendezvous was my idea, having embargoed the original plans due to an absence of funds and the presence of a stinking hangover. However, I hope you agree that these facts hardly negate my argument...

** (Bedroom)Wall-to-wall
Dan Calder says: So-
Jennie Agg says: So...
Dan Calder says: How was your day?
Jennie Agg says: Not too bad, fish-face. Yours?
Dan Calder says: Ok. Bitch.
Jennie Agg says: Oooh I got some really cheap prawns in the bargains section of Sainsbury’s today...
Dan Calder says: Really?! There weren’t any when I went! You must have got the last ones.
Jennie Agg says: Gutted. I suppose I’ll share them.
Dan Calder says: It’s not the same...
Jennie Agg says: Suit yourself. Night dear.
Dan Calder says: Night.