“What colour are your bins?” is the foolproof question for distinguishing Wools, those from the outskirts of Liverpool, from Scousers, those from the city itself. So as someone who doesn’t even have a purple wheelie bin, I did not anticipate the sheer amount of times during Freshers’ Week I’d be asked to say “chicken and a can of coke” by people I had only just met. I also severely underestimated how many times I’d be questioned about where I draw ‘the line’. Only after my first day of Michaelmas, when the group of people I was sat with concluded that the north was “anywhere above Watford”, did I realise what I had gotten myself into. I was shocked at how many Londoners I was surrounded by, and even more shocked to see how many of them were able to bond over the countless mutuals they had on Instagram.

“Greggs is replaced by Gail’s, St. John’s Market by Market Square, and there is a noticeable absence of Nike 110s”

Even after two terms in Cambridge, I still find that with each move from the North to the South comes a huge cultural shock. Greggs is replaced by GAIL’s, St. John’s Market by Market Square, and there is a noticeable absence of Ket Wigs, Hugo Boss polo shirts and Nike 110s in the town centre. I’ve welcomed being able to throw on whatever clothes I want to go clubbing; just eight months ago it would have been impossible for me to imagine a night out where the bouncers wouldn’t turn you away for wearing trainers. Sometimes when I’m getting ready for Sunday Lola’s I feel a strange sense of yearning, reminiscing on the days when I’d give myself a curly blow, don the smallest dress I own, and put on a pair of shoes I can’t walk in for a night of clubbing in Concert Square.

“I thought my hometown had nothing to offer me other than a penny arcade and a fairground”

Obvious as it may seem, I’ve come to realise that I don’t need to feel as though parts of myself change with each journey to and from Cambridge. Whether it’s the North-West or the South-East, there’s always a bit of home waiting there for me. I’ve been able to find a great sense of community in Cambridge on account of my ‘northernness’. I met one of my closest friends here because she heard my accent from a distance and made a beeline to come and chat to me, and joining Northern Society in my first week here led to me meeting so many new people who have had lots of the same experiences as I have. It is because of this that I’m still able to see uni as my home away from home. I can enjoy normal student life while also knowing that there’s always a friendly face or a comfortingly familiar accent to keep me company when I need it.

There’s a uniquely northern experience which all of us who move away eventually go through, a kind of stubbornness that has made me so suddenly proud of where I come from: a seaside town whose only claims to fame are having the nation’s first and only lawnmower museum, and being the birthplace of the comedian Lee Mack. But the experiences I’ve had since moving to the South have helped me to leave behind a life spent dreaming about moving away from home, believing that the only place I could find proper success was somewhere far, far away. I was convinced that my hometown had nothing to offer me other than a penny arcade and a fairground, and that I would never be properly fulfilled if I didn’t ‘escape’ the North to look for something bigger elsewhere. Being in Cambridge has helped me to realise that I don’t need to stay in the South forever, and has caused me to find a new appreciation for the places that I grew up in.

Even though I could never bond with my Southern friends over a love of proper chips and gravy or getting dressed up to go on a night out ‘Scouse Prinny’ style, I do love them really. And, really, it’s their loss that they don’t get to go home to cheap pints, tap water that’s actually drinkable, and unprompted conversations with strangers on public transport.