Certain things in a student’s life are essential. Clean underwear is a decent start, swiftly followed by a (fairly) consistent supply of toothpaste, and then a reliable phone charger.

Coming in at undeniable first place on the student necessities list, however, is food. Think price, availability, speed, hangover-cure-rating, deliciousness, family-friendly-spots-for-that-surprise-parental-visit, and *whispers* nutritional value. Peak power rests in the hands of the sustenance-savvy.

Don’t fret, I’m not forcing avocados on toast down your gullet. In the words of grime icon Skepta, “nah, that’s not me”.

Those who know me will attest to my incessant gut-gorging. That celestial chocolate fudge-cake with the cream cheese frosting at Wagamama is the stuff my dreams are made of.

I wear my designated brunch tee with pride (see above), and worry not when beany hash-brown stains refuse to shift from my banqueting armour: instead, I proclaim with pride and grace, “TREAT YO’ SELF” – words to live by, I’m sure you’ll agree.

“There’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a bourbon and a decent chat”

Just because I love food doesn’t mean I love all food. Fussy eating is my forte: I don’t like fish, I don’t like olives, and the idea of a pudding which isn’t doused in chocolate or a similarly sugary sauce truly disturbs me.

Courgettes make me wretch and mayonnaise makes me gag. I can’t support friends who believe vegetable crudités are an appropriately fulfilling snack, and refuse to be associated with anyone who doesn’t swear allegiance to Our Lord and Saviour, Father Cadbury.

To me, refined Italian cuisine means Ferrero Rocher cuddled up against mounds of ice-cream, dribbling with molten Nutella. Adventurous eating is nibbling at week-old bread without bothering to scrape away that slight crawling fuzz of blueish mould. Healthy living is pocketing a Vit C tab and poppin’ that pill before I hit up the fourth consecutive Deliveroo fix.

The dash to brunch = high-intensity exercise. Sampling every flavour in the Fudge Kitchen = nutritional variety. Food in both hands = balanced diet.

In short, I’m tragically unhealthy and appallingly grease-ridden. However, it is a new year and it is a new me. I’ve accepted that pizza will always be a part of my genetic makeup, and that biscuit crumbs will always have a home on my duvet cover. It might take every ounce of my self-control not to single-handedly inhale a Domino’s Big Night In Deal (upgraded to large) in one sitting, but you know, love me or leave me.

Instead, I’ve chosen to embrace the new term as a chance to sample the finest food Cambridge has to offer alongside my friends, and to peek collectively at the pathway to premature cardiovascular disease.  

Ultimately, eating is a social act. Sharing is caring – sacrificing that last Rolo is an act of utter devotion, splitting that tub of Ben & Jerry’s is a sign of mutual respect. Even when eating alone, food is a time for social reflection, for simple indulgence, for conjunction of the body and mind.

Food fuses a personal connection, whether one of disgust and distaste, or one of admiration and appreciation. For every upturned nose at the pungent whiff of sprouts, there’ll always be an unabashed Brussell scoffer; for every bloodied, meat-feasting fiend, there’ll always be a vegetarian delicately declining Formal’s lamb chump.

Bread and Rutter: Bould Brothers Coffee

Food unites: I met my college spouse through mutual love for Shrek 2 and potato wedges, and shortly thereafter proposed with a 24-person chocolate cake.

Food also divides: nothing, and I mean NOTHING, is a greater betrayal than finding your S.O. lies on the wrong side of the Marmite love/hate rift.

With this in mind, make Lent 2017 a time for good food and good friends. Take time to eat and be merry, and to look out for those who need a cuppa and a biscuit – there’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a bourbon and a decent chat.

Look out for each other – schedule a group meal; get takeout and watch a cheesy film; make your mate a toastie when they’re feeling down; leave college just for Van of Life chips; get your bestie some Haribos ’just ‘cos’.

You can’t buy happiness, but you can buy mountains of reduced Valentine’s chocolates (and they’re kind of the same thing)