I seem to recall nights of men behaving badly, trays of trent bitter from coop, home grown special finished off with watching trainspotting
Ahh, well my mates James and Trev got it right. Pick a degree that keeps you busy for all of about 5 hours a week (sociology, IIRC). Spend your first grant cheque on Hi-Fi separates and Pink Floyd vinyl. I learnt very quickly not to turn up at their house by any mechanised form of transport. Even an innocent cup of tea couldn't be trusted, and the gravy that came with their Sunday lunch had to be experienced to be believed.
I still recall a nervous visit from their landlord (a mate of mine's father) where he commented that the garden looked nice but that he didn't remember all those poppies last year, and desperately hoping he wouldn't notice what was going on in the greenhouse.

Funnily enough, I think they dropped out of uni and became landscape gardeners in the end.
