As a third-year, ‘When I graduate….’ is my default sentence opener. I treat Cambridge like a pitstop; just passing GO to collect my degree before I rejoin the race. One of the things I most look forward to is the independence of post-uni life. Cambridge can sometimes feel a bit boarding-school, which has led me to romanticise what it would be like to have my own place (skyrocketing house prices don’t exist in my delusions).

Instead of a boxy uni kitchen, I’d have an oven (!), sleek countertops, cupboards stacked with Le Creuset pots and pans, and a fridge with a water dispenser. I would have a bathroom all to myself, with a brass-footed curl-top bath pouting towards my double sink. Cityscape views and huge windows would be standard. Most importantly, there would be no blue school-corridor carpets.

“Normally, I’d dedicate these wee hours to vivid re-imaginings of every embarrassing moment from my past, but on this occasion, my worries were in the present; I felt alone”

This month I got the chance to live out my living-alone fantasy, when as part of an internship I spent a month living sola in Madrid. The first few hours were great. I played my music aloud, sipped wine while I cooked (pesto pasta, but still), and sprawled on the sofa to watch TV. I went to bed feeling very grown-up.

Then, at 3 o’clock in the morning, I woke up. Normally, I’d dedicate these wee hours to vivid re-imaginings of every embarrassing moment from my past, but on this occasion, my worries were in the present; I felt alone. As I skulked to the bathroom, I had an impulse to check over my shoulder. It took me back to childhood nights when darkness loomed, and safety could only be found by waking both parents. Fortunately for them, they were back in England, so I took my 20-year-old self back to bed.

After the first night, I became less of a scaredy-cat and began to enjoy the me-time (like being able to eat jamón ibérico straight from the packet without judgement). But the whole experience was a humbling reminder that though I feel ancient - especially in Kiki’s (formerly Lola’s) - I’m not as comfortably independent as I’d thought.

I now look at the new term, where I will be sharing a bathroom with ten others, with relief. More than that, with excitement, because when you think about it, Cambridge is one big sleepover…

If you’re making noise too late, you’ll be scolded. Sure, porters can be a bit gruff when you’re disturbing the peace in exam term, but nothing is as scary as being told off by your friend’s mum. Plus, much like stage-whispered conversations past bedtime, I think the threat of interruption adds to the fun of a post-Revs afters.

“When the man behind the Gardies counter hands me my tzatziki-lathered chips, I feel the same excitement as I did scurrying to the kitchen for Chocolate Fingers”

We still make Video Stars and iMovies, it’s just that now we call them TikToks. When learning the ‘Apple’ dance or badly lipsyncing to TikTok sounds, I’m no better than my 8-year-old self box-stepping to Olly Murs. I have yet to retire my Year 6 disco moves, so really the only difference is that my Video Stars had higher production value.

We have midnight feasts. When the man behind the Gardies counter hands me my tzatziki-lathered chips, I feel the same excitement as I did scurrying to the kitchen for chocolate fingers. Eating past bedtime will always be thrilling, although I don’t remember ever being charged a tenner for my trip to the snack cupboard…

Games are essential. Withdrawing a card from the Ring of Fire requires the same dexterity as Operation, and I think that Truth or Dare was actually more fun than Truth or Drink. I was a sore loser at childhood birthday parties, and still am, it’s just that now people think my competitiveness is ‘a bit’, and I’m not gonna be the one to correct them.

I still have the same conversations with my friends as I did at childhood sleepovers. ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ – I used to say ‘scientist’ because I liked my science teacher and I hadn’t come across organic chemistry yet. Now, a history student, I’m less sure than I was ten years ago. ‘Who do you have a crush on?’ We used to giggle at the mention of a boy’s name, now we giggle at Hinge profiles. Though questions about the future feel nearer and scarier, one thing is constant: snuggling under one duvet with your friends with a drink in hand (Fruit Shoot or Rosé, pick your poison) is joyous, and I hope it will never stop.

So, rather than wish my final year away, I’m going to appreciate this 8-week slumber party: I owe it to my younger self. And, if we make up a really good dance routine and perform it for our supervisors, maybe they’ll let us stay a bit longer?