Dear reader, today marks a key moment in history. Here you will read a Johnian defending Homerton College. With my own college failing miserably to accommodate for the boppers among us, I have been forced to search far and wide and have found myself adopted as an honorary Homertonian.
The pre-Christmas bop sold it to me. The theme of ‘what you’ve always wanted for christmas’ allowed for all manner of costume. I felt robbed of first prize, my Dalmatian outfit above and beyond the efforts of those apparently creative Education lot. The bop airs those items from the depths of one's wardrobe which are too ghastly for any other fancy dress event.
The Homerton refreshers 'virtual playground' bop again impressed, despite resulting in an influx of Mario and Luigi duos. Amongst my drunkenly hazy memories I do recall the astoundingly cheap drinks beating town prices. Such elixir of the Gods provides that much-needed social lubricant, especially important when intruding on another college’s bop.
But there are bad aspects of bops. A Homerton toilet bowl welcomed my first ever morning-after vomit, the results of a lethal cocktail of wine, whiskey and blackcurrant squash. Intruding on an unknown college environment also leads to late night DMCs (deep, meaningful conversations) with relative strangers.
The bop is a much loved Cambridge tradition. We love it perhaps for its resemblance to those much loved school discos filled with horny teens and Haribo. It’s also perhaps loved for the novelty of dancing/snogging/ vomiting in the very halls in which Britain’s literary greats wrote their masterpieces. Or maybe our love stems from something less romantic, such as the simple appreciation of very cheap alcohol in very large quantities…