I’M A Bullingdon Road resident unlucky enough to be surrounded by first year Students this year and as I write on this Wednesday night, the sirens are wailing on the Cowley Road as ‘pre Fuzzy Ducks’ ‘post rugby’ parties are happening all around. Here is a poem entitled The Students are back.

It must be October the quiet has gone, We’re surrounded by chaos, parking space none, The elite of the brains have come here to study, But for us it’s trouble, I’m telling you buddy.

There’s pounding music, slamming doors, Screaming girls and thumping floors.

Strutting studs behind too thin walls, And raving parties with flying balls.

The Freshers preen, displaying their feathers, In the streets, they hold get-togethers.

They’re chosen, young, raging and raw, And don’t give a damn who’s living next door.

Glasses smash throughout the night, Followed by laughter or a bitter loud fight, In the street below the sirens wail, A culture shock, when they end up in jail.

Supermarket aisles, filled and groaning, With Ugg boots, Pyjamas and G-Strings showing, Bemoaning the fact they “Can’t shop like Mummy”

And now have to put “Value” food in their tummy.

Their rubbish spills out and starts to reek, They don’t get the idea of ‘jobs every week’ These tasks are boring, a real tiresome chore, For ‘They’ rule the world, of that, they’re sure.

I know this makes me sound middle-aged and grumpy, But I don’t want to hear their rumpy-pumpy, Or the hollas of ‘Goal’ or the shouts of “Howzat”

As the cricket, or football lands on my cat.

For thirty-six years I’ve lived in this place, At peace with my neighbours of every colour and race, Each year brings anew the wonder of youth, But progressively alas, they become more uncouth!

ALI CLEMENTS, Bullingdon Road, Oxford