There are few things more frightening in this world than moving from small town or tiny village Ireland, to the wondrous joy that is the Big Schmoke. From leaving behind your doting Mammy dearest for the first time, to having to clean up your own sick, it's a beautiful world out there amongst the drunks and townies , here's my guide to getting through it:
1) Neighbours
Having next door neighbours for the first time in one's life may seem overwhelming at first, but alas, it is not as terrifying as you may initially think. Yes, growing up this was a massive plus point, as you could run around screaming and beating your siblings with sticks, building huts out of fertilizer bags and telling your Mammy "I'm not going to mass" just to see how fast she'd run after you with the wooden spoon. Now however, times have changed drastically as you can barely turn on the radio without the cranky pioneers downstairs banging on the ceiling and the pissheads upstairs attempting to throw their couch out the window. The most upsetting part though must surely be the emotional trauma of leaving behind your three inbred dogs and the five cats your parents have now come to call their children. A life without dog shit on your shoes can now commence.
2) Public Transport
Oh how simple life is back at home where there's only young Seamus and his eight seater taxi to ferry you around at your beckon call. (After dropping home half the parish before you, that is. ) Now that you're in the big smoke things are about to get a lot more complicated, you're not in small town Ireland anymore Toto. There's the bus (full of nutjobs once you cross the Liffey, just saying), the Luas, do not and I repeat do not, engage in any form of eye contact with people on the red line. Also, a small minority of Dublin bus drivers are like wild cats. Don't fucking anger them or they will scratch you, five cents is a matter of life or death here.
3) Decoding The D4 Accent
The first few weeks of my life in Dublin 4 consisted of me cringing every time someone from the region, or you know loike, Kildare, spoke. This has, over time, evolved into a mild form of selective hearing. Oh, you're from loike the country? Oh really? I've loike never even heard of that county. People I met in my first few weeks of UCD genuinely seemed to have never ventured west of Hueston Station. I was asked was Athlone a county one. I actually shit you not.
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4) Farm Life
D4's have a wierd complex about farms. They hear the word farm and think "ohmyfockinggawd focking formers smoll." To be fair, the only farmers they are ever likely to have encountered are the boiiis outside the Ag building. The classic D4 reaction to the overwhelmingly shocking news that you've lived on a farm is "what with loike animals?" No we harvest human parts, you smort person you.
5)The Social life/ actually having one
Up until now your social life has likely only consisted of 4 tins in the local "hip pub" meaning it has a strobe light and a DJ under the age of 52 (on Saturday nights and Bank holidays only) and a bit of dropping the beat from 3 years ago to the floor in the local sticky nightclub where you'll meet 3/4 of your extended family, your old teachers and maybe the local parish priest depending on how 'eclectic' your town is. Now however you're confronted with the utter fear of too much choice. Club upon club shove their promotions in your face, sexy gurrrls and cheap shots. Really, it was so much simpler when all you had to decide between was Supermacs or a four in one.
6) S.O.U.N.D.I.N.G O.U.T W.O.R.D.S
Any culchie worth their salt will know that one of the biggest challenges they will face in Dublin is not being understood and I don't mean in the tragically hipster sense of the word, more in a "they literally don't understand a shitting word that I've said for the past five minutes." You will, at some stage, take pride in that look that they give you, that look that means, "what in the name of dear Donnybrook fair are you on about?" At first it may seem a shade mortifying but you should just think of your accent as a tool you can use against them. Speak even more quickly and use those random Irish words your Granny does, mine calls everyone she doesn't hate "a ghrá". They won't have a damn clue. Ideal.
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7) Day To Day Life Without Parental Guidance
You should by now realise that letting you go to the big smoke and the even bigger college was probably more difficult for your Mammy dearest than when Biddy was killed off in a spectacularly Irish fashion. She probably "went for the spin" to drop you to Dublin and she probably cried the whole way home. She'll probably ring you every morning to wake you up and every night to tell you to not get pregnant. God bless her, she'll probably do the groceries for you and stuff them into five bags for life every Sunday evening, despite you protesting about how the f you're going to get them all onto the bus already rammed with laptops and class hoodies. Appreciate it now. Come third year she'll have copped on and won't give you so much as a teabag and a lecture.
8) The General Hatred UCD Staff Have For Everyone
Don't be a fool. Do not go into UCD expecting to be treated with tender loving care by the staff. Shockingly, for staff working in a large university, the vast majority appear to hate students. Mad isn't it. Who'd have thought it. Just speak slowly (see number 6) and you might just get out alive. Just.
9) Turfing around
One thing that you can be guaranteed of, should you end up living with a culchie in a student house is the token bag of turf they will likely dump in whatever room nearest resembles a living room. If there's a couch in there, expect the turf bag too. Anyone not from the country will be thrown by the large bag of crumbling, damp smelling earth sprinkled all over the torn lino. Turf to a D4 is what pesto and feta quinoa is to a culchie. Foreign substance. Come those chilly winter nights however, it won't be the quinoa keeping you toasty.
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10) Seeking Other Culchies
There is no greater joy than finding a fellow culchie in the most unsuspected of places. It's like finding a nugget of gold in the bog, a rare and spirit lifting joy. UCD is swarming with culchies, we're like bees around the honey pot or men around anything with big boobs. The lads stick out against the posh backdrop like a sore thumb, generally wearing a GAA jersey or a 'witty banter' t-shirt, super unflattering tracksuits and brown boxy shoes or velcro runners. Milan, watch yo' back. The ladies aren't as blindingly obvious to spot but one helpful way to single us out is our lack of 'casual bling' that probably equals the cost of supporting a Vietnamese child for 18 years. We also don't usually have mini coopers, tiny dogs or wear head to toe Abercrombie casuals, more "Penneys €10."
11) Living on campus
Living on campus is where culchies have the upper hand. The further you live from Dublin, the better chance you have of getting in. Now although getting in makes it sound as though you're now part of a prestigious members only club, in fact all that it means is that you'll be paying twice the price of living somewhere that's likely to be bigger, warmer, equipped with more than a kettle, having a successful house party that isn't shut down within the hour and just generally less shit. On the bright side though, you'll get to sleep in until ten minutes before your lectures every day and you will more than likely have an Erasmus student as a housemate who also can't understand a word you say. You're beginning to feel like the foreign one here.
12) What Doesn't Kill You
Although you'll end up having to say everything three times to anyone outside of Leinster, will repeatedly be screamed at by menstrual bus drivers, after months of being there will still be unsure as to exactly how many floors are in the library and will go through inhalers like the clappers due to the wafts of fake tan in the library choking you, UCD does have its perks. It's as good as going abroad for three years in that you'll meet all sorts of crazies, see more than one nightclub and will tone your arse walking around the lake in pointless circles whilst looking for the Health Science building. Just don't go home to your Mammy with a D4 twang or that wooden spoon will be out faster than you can say "mass."
