With Easter term fading into distant memory, livers beginning to recover from the drunken antics of May Week, and the majority of us having forgotten what a proper hangover feels like, it’s high time to get a couple of drinks in.

A quick glance at The Tab’s recent articles would suggest that the majority of the Cambridge undergraduate body is country hopping in the Middle East, saving orphans from the jaws of evil bankers in Africa, or sampling the ‘delights’ of the Thai nightlife, so these cocktails are perfect for sipping by a pool somewhere halfway round the world. Alternatively, if, like me, you’re enjoying a classic British ‘summer’, then these drinks do a commendable job of masking the feelings of hate and jealousy you get when reading any one of The Tab’s summer blogs.

Mango and Elderflower Collins

The Empire was built on Gin (probably, though I have some historian friends who disagree), and since two years in Cambridge has left me sickeningly bored of G&Ts, I reckon this is the perfect cocktail recipe to take out to the colonies.

Ingredients: 2 shots Gin, 1 shot Elderflower Cordial, 1 shot Mango Juice, 1/2 shot of lime juice, Soda Water

Directions: Bung the Gin, Elderflower, Mango and Lime into a glass and mix them together. Add a couple of cubes of ice, and top up with soda water. Fly to the caribbean, find a nice beach, lie back, and enjoy.

Pros:

• Perfectly refreshing poolside cocktail. Great after a hot day exploring a far flung city.
• The mango masks the unpleasantness of even the cheapest gin. Sainsbury’s basics all the way.

Cons:

• May be diluted on contact with rain.
• Flights to the Caribbean can be expensive. For a cheaper alternative, try Butlins, although this could lead to an unpleasant aftertaste.

Daiquiri

Personally, I feel that sugar is an unfortunate by-product of the rum industry. Fortunately, this classic rum cocktail finds a use for the stuff. With a 2:1 Spirits to Boring Stuff ratio, it’s pretty potent, so if you’re feeling dull you can mix it with fruit juice to make a refreshing long drink.

Ingredients: 2 shots white rum, 1 shot lime juice, 2 heaped teaspoons caster sugar. Optionally, juice of some sort – it works really well with innocent smoothies.

Directions: Either mix the rum, lime and sugar vigorously over ice until the sugar has dissolved, or, if you have a cocktail shaker, shake over ice until your fingers start to freeze to the shaker. Pour it into a cocktail glass (without the ice), sip, and wait for the alcohol to hit you. For something with a bit less kick, bung it all in a tall glass, and top up with some tropical fruit juice.

Pros:

• You can get rum, lime and sugar almost anywhere in the world. It’s a shame the same can’t be said for such luxuries as fresh milk.

Cons:

• I actually have no idea how the name is meant to be pronounced. Da-keery? Die-queery? This does seem to matter less after I’ve drunk a couple of them.

Tropical Mist

Piña coladas are the quintessential tropical cocktail, and no summer cocktails article would be complete without some mention of them. Unfortunately, the only recipe I’ve found that’s any good is a complete pain to make (it involves a blender), so here’s a cheap and cheerful alternative, with the added bonus that it’s an absolutely vile blue colour.

Ingredients: 1 shot Blue Curacao, 1 shot Malibu, Pineapple Juice.

Directions: Chuck everything into a glass with a couple of cubes of ice. Mix until it becomes a nice consistent colour.

Pros:

• With a cocktail this bright, you’ll never lose your friends in a bar.
• Quick, easy and cheap. Much like a mail order bride.

Cons:

• There is absolutely nothing classy about this drink – it’s sweet, tacky, artificial goodness.
• If you’re male, then drinking this makes you look about as effeminate as Gok Wan sporting a pink tutu. Not a look I personally go for…

Passionfruit Margarita

This cocktail divides opinion – if you like something sweet and refreshing, it’s probably not the one for you, but it’s got a good kick and a great passionfruit taste. If you use fresh passion fruit to make it, it definitely counts as one of your 5 a day.

Ingredients: 1 shot Tequila, 1 shot triple sec or cointreau, 1 shot lime juice, 1 shot passionfruit juice. (If you can’t find passionfruit juice, squeeze the contents of about 2 passion fruit through a strainer.)

Directions: If you have a cocktail shaker, slam everything into it with a handful of ice, shake hard, and strain into a cocktail glass. If not, mix it all over ice until it’s really cold, and then pour the liquid into a cocktail glass, leaving the ice behind.

Pros:

• A couple of glasses of this should keep you going from lunchtime till sunset, wherever you are in the world.
• Lots of people don’t like it. If you do, then there’s no need to share.

Cons:

• Unless you can find passionfruit juice (I couldn’t), it’s a bit of a pain to make.
• Lots of people don’t like it. If this is you, can I finish yours off?

Spiced Apple Pie

This is a really good, simple cocktail. If you’ve got nothing better to do with your time, you can make your own spiced rum – chuck some vanilla, a stick of cinnamon, a handful of cloves and some nutmeg into a bottle of cheap dark rum and leave for a few days, until it tastes good. Alternatively, if you’re really lazy, just omit the ‘spiced’ and use plain old dark rum.

Ingredients: 1 1/2 shots of spiced rum, apple juice, ginger beer (not ale)

Directions: Chuck the rum into a long glass, add a handful of ice cubes, and top up with a 50/50 mix of apple juice and ginger beer. If you’re feeling poncy, try sprinkling a bit of ground cinnamon over the top.

Pros:

• Really easy to make – just bung everything together.
• Tastes great – everyone should love it.

Cons:

• It’s not that alcoholic. Enough said.

Tom’s handiwork

The Match of the Day presenter has fired a volley of abuse at Surrey public school Charterhouse, where George Lineker has just finished.

George failed to net the hat-trick of B’s he needed to secure his shot at Manchester University, and Lineker senior reckons he has paid the penalty for the school’s decision to switch to the new Cambridge Pre-U system.

The former-England striker blasted: “We don’t know what’s going on with George at the moment. He did the Pre-U and they seem to have been marked much harder than the A-Level papers.”

George Lineker with former Big Brother contestant Sophie Reade

Having attended the prestigious £25,000 a year Charterhouse, known for its high churn-out of ‘A’ grades, Gary is livid  that his boy has not followed its tradition of returning top marks, and thinks the school’s decision has rebounded on his prospects.

“It’s all a bit frustrating, as it is the first year the Pre-U exams have been used, so George has been used as a guinea pig.”

The Cambridge Pre-U exams have been substituted for the conventional system in a handful of top private schools, including Dulwich, Winchester and Eton. It is considered to be a more difficult alternative, with the top mark being worth 5 UCAS points more than the new ‘A*’ in the conventional A-level system.

There have been suggestions that George Lineker’s ‘celeb lifestyle’ took his eye off the ball at school. On top of dating ex-Big Brother contestant Sophie Reade earlier in the year, he also took a week-long holiday to Tenerife just weeks before his exams as well as visiting his dad during the World Cup.

A source told The Mirror: “George got caught up in the celeb scene this year and it’s really affected his results.”

After scoring his academic own-goal, George ranted on Facebook: “didn’t get into a uni… cheers school u massive k**bers!”

A fleet-footed friend replied: “Just cos ya father is a celeb doesnt mean u go there automatically.”

Another photo of Sophie Reade in case you missed the first one.

Understadably the school have gone on the defensive. Headmaster the Rev John Witheridge said he was “delighted with our pupils’ excellent results this year.”

With less than a month to go until most freshers weeks kick off, it remains to be seen whether George will get another chance to go to university or whether his mis-firing revision has left him permanently on the sidelines. 

Q is for Quidditch

Prepare for tenuous link numero uno. But, wait! Before you scoff at The Tab for being supremely mentally-limited (“Pah! Who can’t come up with something for Q?”) -- may I remind you of the Catz (= St Catharine’s) students who believe that quidditch ought to be considered a sport and -- mildly disconcertingly -- don’t seem to be the lone maniacs in a sea of rational minds? Thank you.

Muggle Quidditch in action the USA

Now, on a more conventional note… Ultimately, if you want to play sport in Cambridge you will be able to do so at some level or another. Your college will have sports teams -- sign up at your college Freshers’ Fair -- and depending on the size of the college and the popularity of the sport, there may well be several teams. Other colleges are better provided for than others -- Catz has an astroturf hockey pitch, John’s has vast playing fields, Jesus just seems to have endless nets, courts and goal posts. And there’s plenty of space on that freezing cold river for the rowers.

Oh go on, you want to see them playing Quidditch, don’t you

Those who are really good at their selected sport may be selected to play for the university, which is called being a Blue. Male Blues will then acquire a blazer, a reliance on thrice-hourly protein shakes, and an army of Blue-Tack -- a Harem of variable looking girls who want to shag them purely because they play sport (and not at all as a result of any deeply-seated self-esteem issues).

Blue-Tack -- stop salivating. The laptop keys are sticking together

For those of us who are not particularly interested in sport, or rather, whose interest in sport extends only to the fact that we’ll never find a boyfriend if our arses are halfway down our thighs, then Fenners, the University’s gym is only £40 per year for undergraduate membership (same cost applies to post-grads). Check out the website here.

R is for Revs

Revs is Vodka Revolutions. “Wait! They’ve got one of those bland, slightly overexpensive chain bars in my town!” Yeah? Well I bet yours doesn’t have a roof terrace. Revs is a favoured swap location for the 2-for-1 food deals and features an alluring series of ‘shot sticks’ will seem like a really good deal in fresher’s week until you realise that they are, in reality, not.

S is for Sundays

There are two Sundays on which your immediate concern upon waking up is not, “who’s heading to brunch?” but rather, where’s that bottle of Glen’s vodka? We speak, of Caesarean and Suicide Sundays.

Caesarean Sunday is an event about three weeks into Exam term (see: E, Part One) , and is seen to demarcate the last day of boozing before exam hibernation begins. (Those who carry on after this explosion of revelry are considered Massive Lads in public, and The Walking Damned in private). Caesarean Sunday is when many drinking societies choose to initiate new members (see D: Part One) on Jesus Green, a verdant spot which, within a matter of a few short hours, bears some resemblance to the Battle of the Somme. Even if you are initiating, it is likely you will be as drunk as your initiees. After initiations, most of the university crowds around the Girton Green Monsters and the Jesus Caesareans, who then do gruelling battle until one is crowned victor. Following this, everyone piles off for a tactical nap (one possible explanation for the popular nickname for the Caesarians -- ‘the snoozarians’. There are others), and then normal Sunday rules apply: another battle to squeeze through the doors of Fez and Life and a hangover that leaves you sweating booze for three days afterwards.

The Caesarians and Green Giants do ‘battle’ in 2007

Suicide Sunday was, traditionally, the day upon which Finalists received their exam results. It is, however, post-exams and marks the beginning of May Week and therefore is a day of exuberant celebration and often tabloid hysteria. On Suicide Sunday, various drinking societies host garden parties -- The Wyverns being the most notorious of them all, so notorious indeed, that the university no longer permits these Magdalene gentlemen to actually hold their garden party in the town itself - one of which you are bound to attend, and some people manage two or three. These parties are characterised by abundant alcohol, boys in chinos, blazers and drinking society ties and mildly-offensive portaloos. Some boast music, or bouncy castles, others assume excessive booze is sufficient -- it is -- but expect to leave unable to stand. Another tactical nap, and then it’s out for your usual doze of Sunday night entertainment, except this time, no Monday morning supervision, but rather the glorious freedom of May Week.

T is for Townies

Strictly speaking, there is a strict townie-student apartheid -- unless you choose to frequent Wetherspoons, which you very well might since it’s cheap, and rather like The Mahal, rather hard to get kicked out of or barred from. However, in calling it Wetherspoons, or Spoons, as you indubitably shall, you expose that this apartheid is more complicated than preferred drinking locations, for no townie would call it Wetherspoons, instead opting for ‘The Regal’. And even if you go to Wetherspoons, you definitely wouldn’t go on a Saturday night. The apartheid remains.

An epicentre of Town vs. Gown apartheid: Spoons. Or is it The Regal?

This apartheid means that townies and students can coexist quite happily -- because separately -- and without any awkward altercations in which the former call the latter “toffs”, and the later retort with something horrifically classist that does nothing but strengthen stereotypes about Cambridge. Ultimately, us Cambridge kids avoid townie nights out because you don’t have to be a pussy to go here, but it helps. However, The Tab, ever heroic, ventured out one night, even daring to take a video camera. Watch the Tab TV footage below.

U is for the Union

Going down the union at most other UK universities usually involves four spirits for a pound, Cheesy Pop Wednesdays (!!) and an ex-member of S Club 7 performing a weak rendition of a 90s classic. But that is union-with-a-small-u. The Cambridge Union is a members only affair; less cheesy pop and nauseous childhood pin-ups (the girls anyway; the male members were never names you’d draw hearts around in bubblegum gel pen in your homework diary); more pomp, circumstance and an ancient debating chamber.

Aforementioned ancient debating chamber

It is not an exclusive members only club: any undergraduate at the university can pay to become a member, but unlike your JCR (see, J), you are not automatically a member of the Union by default of being a member of your college/the university. The Union attracts big name speakers to its sometimes contentious debates and holds various ents (including the innocently-named Pole Fitness) throughout term. Budding politicians: apply here; a position at the Union is likely to look good on any political CV.

V is for Varsity Ski Trip

Now, we’ve already made our feelings about Oxford very clear (See: O, Part Two). However, some Cambridge students are sufficiently charitable as to offer these Oxford students a glimpse (just that, mind you -- you can look but don’t touch) of how much better university would have been if they’d only been slightly cleverer and been able to attend university with the likes of us. We give you, Varsity Ski Trip -- in other words, a ski trip for both Cambridge and Oxford students.

The biggest student-run ski trip in the world, this year Varsity Trip is going to Val Thorens, in the French Alps, between the 4th and the 11th December -- just after Michaelmas (first) term ends. The trip is pretty affordable -- £299 for the first 299 people, and £319 thereafter. By all accounts, Varsity is a blur of apres-ski parties, with a bit of skiing thrown in for good measure -- both of which, no doubt, we’re better than Oxford at doing too. Booking opens on the 5th October -- if you’re interested, check out the website, since we’re promised this year’s trip will, “blow us away”. Furthemore -- we are also assured that total beginners are absolutely welcome. Whether this welcome is the sort of welcome that means we will actually be shunned by those who spent a Gap Yah on the slopes has not been ascertained, but how hard can skiing be anyway.

Recognise the voice?

W is for Work

Much of this alphabet thus far has focussed on how mental we all are, with our drinking societies and out ski trips and our shite clubs. We’ve managed to keep a -- studiedly -- cool face on until W. But let’s face it, we all got in here because, we are a bit nerdy. Not unacceptably nerdy -- well, most of us -- but nerdy enough to want to come and study at Cambridge, which isn’t a walk in the park. Earlier on in the year, The Tab‘s Opinion Editor Ollie Kay made the -- rather contentious -- point that we could have all gone to Bristol and come out with a slightly less valuable degree but had a bit more of a laugh.

First thing’s first, work at Cambridge has its own lingo.

Lecture = easy one to start you off. Sit in big hall with many others across the university who also do your subject. Someone far more learned than you will ever be speaks at you for an hour. You take some half-hearted notes and regret this lacklustre engagement come exam term.

Historians: prepare to be dazzled by the architectural aberrant that is the Seeley Library

Seminar = Either inter- or intra-collegiate affairs, small groups (probably about twelve maximum) of students and a supervisor, in a room. Good news -- in these sort of set-ups, one pompous, sickeningly well-informed compadre will take the reins and basically talk for an hour and a half, while you probably won’t have to proffer more than a grunt. Bad news -- you will probably have to deliver a presentation at some point, at which point your negligent attention span will be duly noted.

Supervision = The most scary affair, very small groups (often one-on-one) with a supervisor. In the most utopian of worlds, you are given a reading list a week before supervision, spend three days reading, one day gathering notes and thoughts, and two days leisurely crafting your opus, submitting before deadline and enjoying a cheeky day off -- during which, obviously, you crack on with next week’s reading. This never happens and leads ultimately to one of those supervisions during which you can see the supervisor’s opinion of you dropping from ‘responds with a start to swift movements’ to ‘possible vegetable’.

As for degrees: a Geoff Hurst is a First, a Trevor Nunn is a 2:i, a Desmond Tutu (sometimes referred to as a ‘cheeky Desmond’) is a 2.ii, a Douglas Hurd a third, and a Dan Quayle is a fail.

X is for X-Rays

The student diet is not a healthy one, and you are likely to feel pretty lousy quite a lot -- especially in the first few weeks, when like everyone else in the place, you will succumb to Freshers’ Flu, which is because you grotty little beasts have come from across the country bringing your various germs with you and infecting us all (because, unfortunately Freshers’ Flu is not exclusive to Freshers). Not to mention the fact that we all start copping off with each other. Just keep yourself going, like everyone else does, with a Berocca breakfast and a Pro Plus dinner, and you’ll live. If not, Trumpington Street medical practice is particularly central (just opposite St Catharine’s), as is Trinity Street Surgery, which is opposite Gonville and Caius college. And there’s a Boots in the Lion Yard centre, and a Superdrug on Sidney Street -- the same road as Sainsbury’s, where you can feed your cold with self-prescribed sweeties.

Y is for Youth

There are two colleges exclusively for graduate students (Clare Hall and Darwin) and four that admit only mature students (those over the age of 21 at the start of their studies) or post-grads: Hughes Hall, St Edmund’s, Wolfson and Lucy Cavendish colleges. Lucy Cavendish is a women-only, mature students college. You may be supervised by post-graduate students, but the nightlife is dominated ultimately by undergraduates -- probably because it can’t be that fun overhearing snippets of conversation about the 2010 A Level Geography paper. Nothing makes mortality rear its ugly head like the realisation that you are ageing swiftly away from your own demographic. However, by all accounts, the grad lifestyle is louche and has it’s own exclusive ‘scene’ which remains largely mysterious to The Tab.

Z is for Zoom Lens

Of course we copped out at Z. The Tab only has so much imagination, and X and Y were taxing and sufficiently tenuous as to leave us despairing of our vocabularies. Remember, we resorted to Work at W. What do you mean, “Zoom Lens?”, Tab? Well, remember, that one day, theoretically, this Cambridge degree is supposed to make you the ultimate in employability, capable of rising, phoenix-like from the ashes of the current graduate market and into a position to pay back a debt that increases with every pound you squeeze out of your unarranged overdraft. So for God’s sake, de-tag. Because no doubt, there are going to be some particularly incriminating photos of you emerging at some point in the next three years. The Tab‘s albums are merely glancing at the tip of a pernicious iceberg. At least there are clothes in these ones. So you have been warned. Don’t say The Tab doesn’t look out for you.

So. We hope the Cambridge A-Z has been of use to you new-faced, eager freshers. Well done to you, we look forward to bumping into you at some point, and do remember The Tab is always looking for new writers so get in touch if you’re keen. email editor@cambridgetab.co.uk -- no experience necessary.

I is for Internet

The internet is both vital and a scourge to the 21st century student. It is easy to do the reading for essays; and far too easy to plaigiarise. Where once you might have read a chapter and then written based on the knowledge you gleaned -- being informed by the source, rather than lifting from it -- now it is all too easy to cut and paste. Where once, when doing said essay research, you would have had other reference books open, now it is far too easy to have iPlayer, 4OD and YouTube open in the other tabs. Where once, you would have gone out and found a real girl to shag, now it is all too easy to find an online alternative on YouPorn, or The Tab’s favourite online sweetheart, Ariane.

Ariane: she’s well fit

However, saying that, no one I asked was quite sure about browser history: is the University Computing Service taking a note of everytime you consume illicit material? Oxford, ever a killjoy, has banned students from using Spotify, so The Tab would hate to think what they do to those found cruising the web’s seedy underbelly. We invisage a Miss Trunchbull-esque ‘chokey’. Tab tip? Delete your history; it’s always embarrassing when a new friend tries to log onto Facebook and the laptop Mummy and Daddy bought you helpfully predicts something else starting with F and ending with K. And please, sign out of Facebook. Facebook rape -- and never call it ‘frape’ -- is acutely trying on the patience of my poor News Feed. While we are not sufficiently gullible as to assume that “X loves the cock!!!!”, accompanied by your new profile picture -- a massive dildo being inserted up a willing arsehole -- is actually your way of coming out, we are sufficiently judgemental as to wish you to fuck off and make a mental note to lower you in our estimation, Fresher.

And while we’re at it…become a fan of The Tab on Facebook here. And look out for our new feature, YouTube video of the week, next term. If you can’t beat ‘em…

J is for JCR Committee (or Junior Common Room Committee)

No, it doesn’t make any sense to us either. Every student at a college is a member of their Junior Common Room; in other words, it is basically an acronym for the student body at any given college. Those who are involved in the JCR Committee will affect that this body is the defender of student democracy, communicating the myriad demands of the college population to the evil overbearers i.e. the Bursar and the Dean. This is, perhaps, stretching the truth slightly. The JCR is the body to whom you complain if your shower won’t perform on demand or your cross-corridor neighbour won’t stop taking toilet rolls back to his room to mop up his messy ‘cold’. Certain positions hold more sway (and college kudos) than others: the one you really want to be is ents rep, minimum responsiility, maximum street cred.

K is for Kambar

Kambar is Cambridge’s hang-out for the kool kids. Alliteration is cool, even if they disagree.  With some of the cheapest drinks in Cambridge and a Happy Hour between 10 and 11, you’d think it’d be slightly busier -- at least for an hour -- but instead the crowd revolt against anything that resembles protocol.  For want of a better word, it’s grotty on the outside -- next to some wheely bins and with its very own oozing alley to its left -- but a surprisingly spectacular Grade II listed building on the inside (think an edgy barn) and boasts closing times that make the rest of the Cambridge club scene look like pre-school.

Doors brandish instructions to redirect you “back to disco”

Said barn-like interior, bowls of sherbert straws on the bar and toilets that are impossible to navigate provides a welcome alternative to the Cindies/Life space/time continuum. It’s also the place to go if you fancy putting on a club night/renting a space for a birthday party. Contact them here. And look out for National Rail Disco - Kambar’s most popular night, and probably the only time you have to queue to get in. Alternatively, join the Facebook group so that you don’t have to look out for it, but will be generously reminded with notifications about its existence. See I = Internet.

Kambar: a little bit disorientingly cool in the otherwise dearth of cool that is Cambridge

L is for Life

Life is referred to by Townies as The Place, but to students, it is Life, the other of Sunday’s esteemed nightspots.  The Fez/Life divide is a social schism almost as deep-set as that of Oxford versus Cambridge (see: O). For those of you who will dismiss Life as Cindies’ identical -- and equally flabby and shortsighted -- twin sister, there  are nuanced differences. The music in Life is more varied (not strictly speaking wholly positive, given the variants to which it extends) and the smoking area smaller -- but not necessarily any less of a refuge from sweat and morph suit clad giants (we are short girls and the world is one viewed at armpit level).  Instead of walking upstairs to get in, you go down some, though granted the feature of stairs (to ultimately nowhere, rather like an Esher picture) is shared currency.

Drinks at Life are similarly extortionate, so the pre-lash is both advised and necessary if you are to leave in a moderately amenable mood. Most importantly: beware the ‘VIP booths’, where opportunistic rogue characters skulk, ready to leap onto (and quite possibly into) any poor catatonic damsel who stumbles their way.

A sinister sight: the ‘VIP booths’ at Life

You will discuss Life with the same world-weary condescension with which The Tab has written this, but you will go, probably every week for your first year and (possibly/probably) beyond. Unless you’re at Fez that is.

M is for Mahal

While much of Cambridge is shrouded in archaic rules, there is a small pocket of the town which is anarchic in the extreme. The Mahal -- a favoured swap location -- is a curry house located on Mill Lane, and in mystifyingly characteristic Cambridge fashion, isn’t actually called The Mahal but Bombay Brasserie. But forget we said that since few will actually understand what you mean if you drop it in in conversation.

Debris at the Mahal

At The Mahal, you can and will: throw curry; remove your clothes; stand on the chairs; chant offensive names at people; make people eat their curry with their face; throw up; sweat as if you’ve just realised you’re still drunk in a supervision; involve yourself in outspoken inter-collegiate battles with others who have also chosen to rent a sty at The Mahal, tossing gems such as ‘Sit Down, Shut Up’ and ‘[Insert college here] are gays!!’ at one another. Read The Tab‘s interview with the men who preside over this anarchy, The Mahal’s proprietors.

N is for Nanny

I’ll admit this is a tenuous link. Nanny in this instance is the role served by your bedder, (who would have been B if it hadn’t already been taken up with Bop). Your bedder cleans your messy pit; as you will soon discover, your bedder also becomes a surrogate mother, psychiatrist and, yes, nanny, all-rolled into one. Mother, because she scolds you gently for leaving your socks all over the place. Psychiatrist because she will (over-)analyse that parting gesture with you (was that a hug? Or more of a shoulder budge?), probably after walking in on the two of you at it on your creaky mattress in G block. Nanny because at some point, she will encounter you crying and comfort you with silly stories and matronly good-humour, which is something that Mummy never did and probably why you need bedder to fill this triumvirate of roles in the first place. Incidentally, bedder will almost certainly also see you naked, which Mummy certainly did a long time ago, and Nanny did too.

Your bedder will be your rock…if she can find you in there

Getting your bedder on side is vital: if you and she (and it is always a she) are ‘friends’, then she’ll be myopic when suspicious characters emerge from said room at 7am; cigarettes will be disposed of wordlessly; and an extra bog roll will be provided, without enquiring as to why the last one is propped on the bedside table next to a TV guide open on a photo spread of the Loose Women. But remember, they’ve been at this game way longer than you have. Superciliousness won’t cut it. Don’t throw roses at them. They don’t want chocolate. Just be polite, don’t cause offensive smells and try and keep the nudity as covered as possible. Literally. Although she’s probably seen it before.

O is for Oxford, or The Other Place

Have no qualms about it, you picked the right one. Affectionately referred to as ‘The Scum’, we’ve trounced them in three Varsity matches this term (Varsity match = Oxford vs. Cambridge match) - the boat race, the rugby and the cricket -- and the Times Higher Education supplement’s latest rankings put us at second in the world, while Oxford languishes at a measly fifth equal with Imperial College, London. Of course, it all depends on the data you read, but that is rather immaterial to issue at hand, because part of the Oxford-Cambridge rivalry is a bloody-minded conviction that you attend the superior institution. Don’t say, “But the Guardian ranks Oxford as the UK number one.” Say: “Bosh the scum!! Varsity triple!!” However, most of us retain a curiosity about “The Other Place”, and catering to that curiosity, The Tab boasts its very own Oxford columnist. Read his first entry here, and look out for his column in Michaelmas.

Thrashing the scum at the boat race, the single day of the year we all pretend we care about rowing

P is for Porter

Like the Bedder, the Porter has seen everything. And if you’re clever, again, you’ll keep them on side. Bedders and porters form the fabric of a college. If you keep them sweet, you’ll be wise, my friend: porters have been known to exercise discretion if they like you. What discretion, I hear you ask? Well, say you’re having a small gathering of amigos and aquaintances, and one of your fellow corridor residents -- probably unhappy about the neglected invitation, the dull sod - chooses to report you, it will be the Head Porter you’ll be facing come 8am the next morning. The Porter will decide if your case goes to the Dean. It’s kind of like a small-scale Mafia, except instead of a heavy-set Italian Godfather, it’s a slightly wizened chappy from Ely who’s worked at [insert college here] for 30 years and “looks out for his own”.

Helen Stephens, a porter at Selwyn, became the first female porter in the university’s 800-year history

He is also a useful pub quiz weapon, for useless trivia is the porter’s version of a degree. Porters are a trove of college gossip -- so watch who you snog (or worse) in the porters’ lodge. If he likes the boyfriend you’ve picked up, four days into term, then you might just find yourself divorced as swiftly as you were joined.

Return tomorrow for the last installment of The Tab‘s Cambridge A-Z.

Let The Tab teach you how to speak Cambridge…

A is for ADC

The hang-out spot of choice for the future Mitchells, Webbs and McKellens, the ADC or Amateur Dramatic Club is where the thesps come out to play. It usually boasts a weekly mainshow (7.45pm) and late show (11pm), as well as Smokers (during which the Footlights practice their stand up) and other performances that take its fancy.

Bright Lights, Big City: The ADC has launched the careers of many household names

It also has one of the cheapest bars in Cambridge, which stays open till 3am: plenty of time to consume a bottle and a half of passable wine and make a play for this week’s lead dreamboat. The ADC is also very supportive of new writing (as the website promises, “Indeed, one of the highlights of the ADC’s programme this term will be the focus on new writing“). To audition for a show, check out Camdram -- which also posts the audition times for shows performing in other theatrical spaces of which Cambridge has many. Also check out the Corpus Playrooms -- it’s the kind of ‘intimate’ space that thesps bang on about, but don’t let that put you off. Audience participation is not compulsory.

You can also apply to produce, direct, stage manage, etcetera, if treading the boards isn’t your thing -- again, check out Camdram for listings, and if you’re really keen, sign up for the ADC email nesletter (should be a stall at the Freshers’ Fair). Regarding performances, book online/via telephone or turn up and try your luck. And if it’s searing critiques that interest you, you can become a reviewer for The Tab which gets you two free tickets to a performance and a platform from which to exorcise as many shoulder chips as you can cram into 800 coherent words. Contact editor@cambridgetab.co.uk : no experience necessary.

B is for Bop

Part-Year 10 disco, part-Shagaluf -- many of your compatriots’ outfits are sufficiently miscroscopic as to induce optical haemorrhage, certainly didnt see that in the school gym -- ‘bops’, as Cambridge University affectionately, and mystifyingly, calls them, are an excuse for intra-collegiate incest. Other distinguishing characteristics include: walls that weep with sweat and amateur decorations that are liable to end up draped over that girl in the corner to protect her modesty by half-11.

Dreadful moniker and, lets face it, concept aside, bops are often a lot of fun, if only because their location in a college bar means you can get battered for a tenner. The best bops end up with an after-party in The Fountain and a complicated six-degress-of-separation game the next day as you work out who got with who who also got with her forty minutes later, who sucked him off next to the condom machine while ‘I Gotta Feeling’ was playing.

C is for Cindies

Soon to become your Tuesday and Wednesday night’s entertainment, Cindies -- technically called Ballare, and sometimes ‘ironically’ referred to as such -- is sort of like your fuck buddy from back home. A little flabby around the edges and someone whom you’d never introduce to your cooler friends, but consume sufficient units and squint a little (which, if you’ve drunk enough, should happen instinctively) and you’ll have a good night.

Cindies as you’ve never seen it before: empty

Specialities include the Top 40 playing on repeat, with numerous old, ahem, classics from the DJ’s iTunes making an appearance, and expect to see shenanigans to rival a bop and find yourself still awake at 5.30am, ears still ringing with the DJ’s stellar selections. Ultimately, you will discuss Cindies with the same world-weary condescension with which The Tab has written this, but you will go, probably every week for at least your first year and (possibly/probably) beyond. If you rise to the higher echelons of The Tab’s editorial team, you might even get to sample Cindies’ delights for free.

Cindies as you usually experience it: rammed and malodorous (the latter not discernible from photograph, but take our word for it)

Even esteemed alumnus David Mitchell has frequented Cindies in his time:

D is for Drinking Societies

Despite what the University Admissions Service would imply, there are aspects of Cambridge that remain elitist and impenetrable to certain unwelcome outsiders. We give you, drinking societies. Most colleges have at least one male and female drinking society, to which future members must ultimately be invited and endure a gruelling initiation ceremony, which can include such horrors as eating foul substances, drinking thrice your body weight in Sainsbury’s basics alcohol and performing embarrassing spectacles that often include whipped cream, sex toys and a huge audience.

Drinking societies exist to go on swaps -- which are basically an exercise in enforced matchmaking, although matchmaking glorifies the outcome of such trysts. Just like much of Cambridge’s social scene, hook-ups require some kind of organisational body too, based around a dinner at a cheap establishment, with cheap alcohol which you are required to drink quickly and furiously to lubricate the swap’s social cohesion programme. You will probably have to dress up too.

Lets not even imagine what they’re covered in

More importantly, drinking societies exist to impose the aforementioned heirarchy that the university would like to pretend doesn’t exist and to provide tabloid fodder under a headline screaming, “THESE are the future leaders of YOUR country”, accompanied by a suitably incriminating photograph of girls in hockey skirts and not much else. You will pretend you don’t want to be in one until you are invited to join one, at which point you sneer at the zeks who haven’t been invited. It’s 21st-century aristocracy: constructed not on a foundation of genealogy and class, but on how many jelly beans you can find with your tongue in a basin of granary flour after consuming three bottles of Sainsbury’s basics ale and a bowl of someone else’s tactical chunder.

But don’t let our jocular portrayal of drinking societies lull you into a false sense of security. In many colleges (Jesus, Magdalene and Girton spring to mind), a few senior drinking society lads take themselves VERY SERIOUSLY. Understandably of course, because being a senior drinking society lad is a very very important thing…

E is for Easter Term

Deceptively, third term is called Easter Term, thereby connoting various animal-shaped Lindt masterpieces and the awakening of new life. It ought to be given its correct name, Exam Term, thereby connoting a Pro-Plus and nicotine based diet and the death of your soul. Exam term really is as bad as that. It is febrile and oppressive and you spend many more hours trying to suppress that nervous twitch you have developed than actually revising anything. However, for those that survive Exam Term, at the end of the term there is May Week, which might be termed as Cambridge University’s apology for everything else about Cambridge University.

For Sidney Sussex’s Venetian-themed May Ball, they created a canal on their main lawn…

May Week means May Balls, no essay deadlines, garden parties and sufficient alcohol abuse to forget about exams anyway. May Balls are much more lavish than your leavers’ ball: a surfeit of food, alcohol and activity (even when it’s having fun Cambridge has to be an overachiever), and some big names too -- check out this year’s May Ball Blog for a look at who balls manage to attract.

…and Clare May Ball employed their very own camel

F is for Fez

Fez competes with Life (see: L, coming tomorrow) on Sunday nights for the hearts, minds and student loans of the university body. While Fez prefers light indie (think a lot of MGMT), in Life, you are at the mercy of a fat 40-year old virgin (probably) and his collection of Now CDs, otherwise known as the house DJ. Fez also smells better because of the incense sticks that fizzle away on every surface. So really, it smells overwhelmingly like a Body Shop outlet store (Peppermint and Jasmine mouthwash -- 75% off!!!!). But this is preferable to the aroma of Life, which The Tab can’t quite put its finger (or nose) on, but certainly isn’t pleasant.

Fez is smaller, but the smoking area is less lethal (read: not a cobbled alleyway that might as well be an alley of flaming coals when you’re pissed). Fez’s clientele is slightly less swap-heavy; you see a lot of fancy dress in Life. But ultimately, you’ll end up going to the one that is marginally less rammed. On non-Sundays, Fez is proving itself as a relatively esteemed music venue, attracting actual named DJs as opposed to fat 40-year old virgins (probably). Check out the website for listings - proper (i.e. non-student) nights tend to be more expensive, but perhaps a cherished hiatus from the usual bad-taste-without-irony fare of Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays.

G is for Gardies

Hidden in cobbled streets where young studious men would lean in arches composing notes to their loved ones, now sits Gardies, or more formally, The Gardenia.

Arty: Gardies as it is never usually seen

Boasting Greek men serving up kebabs, pizzas and falafel until the early hours always with a cheeky smile on their face, Gardies is a Cambridge institution, its popularity manifest by a thriving Facebook fan page. With its walls covered in photos of fast food fans and the permanent feature of the chain-smoking, dieting, and therefore not-kebab-eating girl outside, there is lots to stare at as mayonnaise drips down your chin and you contemplate the start of your hangover. Gardies is also a veritable papparazzi, taking pictures of you and your mates as you stand with mayonnaise dripping down your chin contemplating the start of your hangover. See below, and beware Greeks bearing Canons.

Stunning

H is for Hall

Either Formal or non-Formal. Formal hall is one of those unfortunate events that encapsulates the less inventive taunts school chums grunted in your direction when they heard you were applying to Cambridge: “Ha! You’ll have to go to fancy dinners wearing Harry Potter outfits and speak Latin!”; simultaneously, it is one of the more photographed events of any term, often deserving of an entire album on a new chum’s Facebook page. Hence, putting these elements together, means that moments after being tagged in twelve formal hall photos, you’ve had four derisive comments from home friends about turning into a posh twat.

Don’t forget your roots

Ultimately, formal is a fancy dinner where you wear Harry Potter outfits (gowns) and a Latin grace is delivered before you eat. (Unless you go to King’s where, rumour has it, formal is less formal.) The food is better than standard hall food, not to mention good value: you can usually end up with a three course dinner for under a tenner. Varies from college to college, but tends to be minimum two (optional) Formal halls a week.

Watch out for ‘pennying’: a game played at Formal that involves flicking a penny into someone else’s wine glass. If it lands in the glass, they have to consume all the contents of the glass.  Keen wits are rewarded to avoid being pennied: two years ago, one chappy at Catz, a little too innebriated after too many pennyfuls ended up projectile vomiting across the floor before the Dean had arisen from his throne.

Harry, Ron and Hermione loved fish-and-chips Fridays

Non-Formal hall is basically the canteen your college runs for every other meal. Cheap (but probably not as cheap as cooking for yourself on Sainsbury’s Basics), whether you go will probably ultimately depend on how proficient a cook you are, and what your college gyp room facilities are like. It is, however, a good meeting point, especially in the first few weeks when you need to keep reminding people of your face so that you don’t cease to exist.

Check out letters H-P here.

Having just competed in the London Triathlon, Jenson Button caught up with The Tab to tell us about his training regime and why the Make A Wish Foundation is so important to him.

Tabatha Leggett and Holly Stevenson: You have already completed two triathlons; what made you want to want to do it again, and what exactly does it involve?

Jenson Button: I got into triathlons a couple of years ago. They’re a great way to keep fit and it’s also nice to have something away from Formula 1 that I can compete in. The training involves some sprint triathlons which is a 750m swim, a 20k bike ride and a 5k run. And then the Olympic distance triathlons, which is what the London Triathlon is, involves a 1.5km swim, a 40k bike ride and then a 10k run.

TL and HS: How does training for triathlons compare to training for F1 races?

JB: My training works across both, so it’s ideal. There is also some F1 specific training that I do such as work on my neck which helps deal with the pressure of the G-force – I’ve ended up with quite a freaky neck for my frame!

TL and HS: Why is the Make a Wish foundation important to you?

JB: Make A Wish grants magical wishes to children and young people fighting life-threatening illnesses, and it is a real privilege to be involved with them. The kids are so inspirational and I’ve had the honour of meeting a number of them over the years.

TL and HS: What is the proudest moment of your career so far? Does completing a triathlon give you the same sense of pride as winning a race?

JB: I mean, crossing the line in Brazil, having achieved my life dream, was an unbelievable feeling. I’ve had some great moments in my career: from that, right back to finding out I had been awarded a drive in F1 for the first time. I have a lot of special memories, but Brazil would have to be my number one. There’s definitely a huge amount of personal satisfaction when finishing a triathlon, especially in knowing you have pushed yourself as hard as you can.

To sponsor Jenson Button, visit his JustGiving page here.

The country’s greatest university has once again thrashed its dark blue rivals, this time in a respected international academic league table.

Cambridge finished in fifth place in the Shanghai Jiao Tong University’s annual world university ranking table, beating all other UK institutions including Oxford, who were ranked a miserable tenth.

Cambridge has been ranked higher than Oxford since 2003, when the table was first compiled.

And current tabs do not appear to be surprised at the outcome.

Emily Guest, a second year student from Girton College told The Tab: “We beat Oxford in all of the main Varsity sports this year, and now, unsurprisingly, we’ve thrashed them in the league tables. Oxford doesn’t really have a lot going for it, does it?”

Another Cambridge triumph: The light blues bash their rivals in this year’s Boat Race.

The Shanghai Jiao Tong table, which was published last week, ranks universities on various criteria, including quality of faculty (40%), research output (40%), quality of education (10%) and performance vs. size (10%).

It has been described by one academic journal as the “most influential international ranking”.

It lists over 500 universities, and placed Harvard University at the top of the table for the eighth consecutive year. Following Harvard were the University of California, Berkeley second and Stanford University third.

The highest non-US institution other than Cambridge or Oxford is the University of Tokyo, which came 20th. 54 of the top 100 universities are in the US, 23 in mainland Europe, 10 in the UK, nine in the Asia Pacific region and four in Canada.

The other major global university league table, the upcoming Times Higher Education World University Rankings, will be published shortly.

Other UK institutions that made the top 100 are: University College London (21st), Imperial College London (26th), the University of Manchester (44th), the University of Edinburgh (54th), King’s College London (63rd), the University of Bristol (66th), the University of Nottingham (84th), the University of Sheffield (88th) and the University of Birmingham (99th).

Top Ten Universities

1. Harvard University

2. University of California, Berkely

3. Stanford University

4. Massachusetts Institute of Technology

5. Cambridge University

6. California Institute of Technology

7. Princeton University

8. Columbia University

9. University of Chicago

10. University of Oxford

For the first time ever, hopeful tabs have been required to score an A* A-level grade – awarded to those achieve at least 90% at A2 and got an A at AS level. In some cases, offers have included more than one A*.

The new standard offer aims to filter out the very brightest students, combatting the ‘grade inflation’ which has left thousands of students with the same straight A results.

A number of A-level tab hopefuls, however, have criticised the amount of pressure that the new top grade has placed on students aiming to be wheat rather than chaff. 

Kate, who successfully fulfilled the terms of her offer to join the fresher class of 2013 at Sidney Sussex in October, says the A* really “piled the pressure on”. Whilst the new top score is supposed to inspire students to push themselves, Kate felt that “in reality, all it did was make me panic during my exam, as I kept thinking of the pressure to get 90% in that paper. The pressure comes from it being the A2 modules that you have to perform in.”

Krishma, another (now confirmed) Sidney Sussex fresher, agreed: “I definitely think the A star changed the nature of the A level course by adding a disproportionate amount of pressure to my final year and, to an extent, made my achievements at AS less relevant…Upon receiving my offer, I had no sense of security that I had a place at Cambridge – even if I worked my hardest I didn’t know whether I could get over 90% in my A2’s. Cambridge should have waited for at least another year before making A* offers because, particularly in essay subjects, students had little idea what examiners were looking for to push them over the A/A* boundary.”

15,966 applications were received to fill the 3,400 undergraduate places in 2010, an increase of 1.67% on last year.

Welcome

Congratulations from The Tab to all those who made their grades today. You can keep up with all the latest news, freshers events and crucial gossip by becoming a Tab fan here and join the Freshers 2010 Facebook group here.

If you’d like to write for The Tab, Cambridge’s most read and most loved newspaper, just drop an email to editor@cambridgetab.co.uk – no experience necessary.

To find out about The Tab’s notorious News team join our group here or search ‘The Tab’ in Facebook to find our other groups.

See you all soon…

It’s difficult to be mean about Eliza Doolittle because she’s just so nice. You only need to look at her Myspace page to fully fathom just how sweet this girl is. She lists her interests as: ‘bubbles in my tummy,’ ‘birthday parties with chocolate cake and dancing for desert,’ ‘fringes touching eyes’ and ‘hair clips.’ Sickly sweet, but sweet nonetheless. Although she’s often compared to Lily Allen, she couldn’t be more different. Yes, she’s got a strong Cockney accent and writes songs about twenty-something life in London, but this girl couldn’t be further from the outspoken and often outlandish Lily. Eliza’s landed her dream job, and she couldn’t be more grateful.

‘I don’t think I’ve had any real low points in my career,’ she told me, ‘there’ve been frustrating points, and times when I’ve felt annoyed, but if I hadn’t experienced minor set backs, the good stuff wouldn’t be as fulfilling. I guess it’s all just part of the path that’s led me to where I am today. Gosh, don’t I sound philosophical!’ she laughed.

Philosophical? Not really. Admittedly, Eliza’s a bit silly, but since when did silliness harm anyone? This girl is just happy. And why shouldn’t she be? At just 22, Eliza’s already had a top 3 album and a top 10 single, and she’s filled her summer with festival performances.

‘The Secret Garden Party was my favourite,’ she told me, ‘and I’m not just saying that because it’s in Cambridge. It was so beautiful and the attention to detail was amazing. It was held in a massive field, and there was a gorgeous lake. And there were notes in tree that lead you to picnics. It was lovely.’

When asked what she’d do if she couldn’t perform, Eliza answered, ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly say. I used to wonder what I’d do if I couldn’t sing, but then I stopped. I realised that I’m crap at everything else. I realised that I have to do this, and started figuring out how to make it happen. I can’t imagine myself doing anything else. I have to sing.’

Eliza is, of course, no stranger to show business. Her father, John Caird was an RSC director, and her mother, Frances Ruffelle is an award winning West End actress and singer. And, her grandmother is Sylvia Young; as in the founder of Sylvia Young Theatre School that was attended by the likes of Emma Bunton and Amy Winehouse. ‘I guess being surrounded by performers made me feel like it’s a normality,’ Eliza speculated, ‘my family made me feel like achieving my dreams was a possibility. But I wanted to take different route to fame than the stage school route. I wanted to make it myself.’

Eliza performing Pack Up on Carnaby Street in June

I asked Eliza what she thought about X Factor and the musicians that come out of it, and she replied, ‘X Factor‘s fun. I love the TV show. But, when it gets to the top ten stages, it starts to annoy me. They perform the same songs over and over again. Pop music is fun, now and again. But not all the time.’

‘So, if X Factor music is pop music, what type of music do you make?’ I asked.

‘I guess I make pop music too. The difference is that my music is classic pop music, not bubblegum pop.

‘My music is influenced by so many people. I love Stevie Wonder. He’s amazing. In my mind, he can do no wrong. But I also love Radiohead, Jeff Buckley… the list just goes on. I like to think that everything I listen to goes into my brain and then I puke it all out and make my own stuff.

‘When I make music, I usually start with the melody, and then I add lyrics. The music making process differs from song to song for me. Skinny Genes is one of my favourite tracks, but I really struggled to make it. Sometimes though, my songs only take ten minutes to write. The ideas are all on the tip of my tongue; it’s like the song just has to be, and so it simply is.’

Eliza is refreshing in that she truly doesn’t take her success for granted. ‘I never expected my album to do so well,’ she told me, ‘I’m in total awe of how well it’s been received. And there’s nothing like the feeling of performing a song and seeing the audience singing along. That feeling blows my mind.

‘At the moment, Pack Up is my favourite song to perform. I know it probably shouldn’t be: I should be bored of it because I’ve performed it so many times before, but seeing the audience enjoy it and sing along is the best feeling in the world.’

When asked whether she reads her press, Eliza answered, ‘I try not to read too much. Of course I read my reviews. But, you have to take them with a pinch of salt. If you want to believe everything good that’s said about you, you have to believe everything bad too. And that would just be depressing because once the music’s been made, there’s nothing you can change.’

Eliza described her music as ‘summery, honest and melodic,’ and she doesn’t see herself changing career path anytime soon. ‘I’ll just keep writing,’ she told me, ‘my music will inevitably keep evolving. I love what I do, so why would I change it?’

It’s rare to speak to someone who is just so happy. Pack Up is undoubtedly the soundtrack of the summer, and Eliza couldn’t be more pleased. Despite what she says about ‘making it’ on her own, I’m sure her family have helped her to get to where she is today. But it doesn’t really matter. To speak to someone who is so hard-working, passionate and determined is refreshing. All that remains to be seen is how exactly Eliza’s music will evolve. There certainly seems to be a niche in the market for ‘classic pop,’ and I for one genuinely hope this girl succeeds.

Directed by Daran Johnson & Liam Williams; Written by Keith Akushie & the cast

Despite their enormous funds, it must be tough for the Footlights in Edinburgh. After every Smoker in Cambridge, inevitably, some incisive frequenter of online comedy forums will be heard to say “oh it’s just the same old stuff; comedy’s moved on since Monty Python — why can’t they?” And yet in Edinburgh, the poor little Footies perform every afternoon to a roomful of baby boomers most of whom, inevitably, will say only “I liked the bit with the silly walk’ (or, this year, “what’s Spotify?”). In the context of the Edinburgh Fringe, the Footlights do seem fresh and exciting — but that’s not what their audience wants.

I liked it though. First of all, the tone is set by the reassuring slickness of the scene-changes. It might seem like a small point, but amongst the press of sketch-packs baying for your approval in Edinburgh, sharp lighting-changes covering precise and careful removal of set marks the difference between puppies and hounds. Second, and more importantly, Good For You (which is, incidentally, a great title, eschewing the usual Fringe collection of silly words) is really funny.

Obviously – like any sketch show – it’s hit-and-miss, but in this show a miss is still good for a chuckle, while a couple of the hits had me weeping with laughter. The stand-out sketch is an account of the ‘History of Birds’; on paper it’s no more than a particularly fine example of ‘random’ non-sequitur comedy (The Mighty Boosh &c.), but Ben Ashenden’s performance – less a character sketch than a collection of extraordinary tics, wobbles and nervous animal cries – made the words he was saying almost incidental.

However, all the performers were very watchable; I would like to have seen more of a couple of them, especially James Moran, who did more than anyone else to wring extra laughs out of background or straight-man roles but had only one substantial character part (in an excellently-executed if not hugely original take on the Dead Poets Society ‘inspirational teacher’ trope).

Good For You is certainly one of the best amateur/student sketch-shows at the Fringe, but not quite the best. Although the Footlights’ characteristic verbal absurdity and dry satire of the sillier aspects of popular culture afforded a rich comic seam (‘“Miaow-miaow”. That’s Cat for “drugs”’), the writing lacks a bit of imagination. Several sketches revisit well-worn comic scenarios and characters: bullshit ad agency, undercover cops &c., while the characters are almost exclusively ridiculous caricatures or deadpan straight men, with no middle ground. A handful of subtler, more naturalistic comic ideas and characters would make Good For You an absolutely stand-out sketch show, at the Fringe or anywhere else.