All praise be to Master Bastard and Sergeant Muscle of the Hulk Division. Stevie Martin explains Durham’s unspoken stereotypes…

Welcome to Durham! It’s a beautiful, friendly, varied place; so many different types of well dressed, middle class white students with a penchant for Pimms and Lemonade that you may find the boiling multicultural melting pot a little too much to handle. Many Freshers’ will have heard of, or be vaguely familiar with the term, ‘Rah’, but if you haven’t then don’t worry. They’re usually very simple to spot: next time you’re sitting in an especially boring lecture, slowly rotate your head from left to right whilst keeping your eyes open. All these people are Rahs. It used to be that a Rah was identified by the apparel they sported. Uggs, pashminas and an unquantifiable amount of eyeliner were the basic requirement pour la femme and for the boys it was unkempt hair, polo shirts and upturned collars. Now, the stereotype has been overplayed so much that this hyperbolic, exaggerative tone barely causes an eyebrow to flicker. Why harp on about Rahs when there are so many other Durham students you are likely to meet?

Little Miss Rip-Your-Insides-Out-Through-Your-Mouth
Apart from the catchy title, this girl is the type of person you would definitely bring home to your mother. Who would then undoubtedly proceed to forget your name, begin calling her ‘daughter’ and within three weeks cart you off to a workhouse just outside New Delhi. She decorates her room with artificial flowers, she sits on the lawn making daisy chains, during exams she will buy little presents for everyone, she curls up in her room writing essays with a mug of cocoa and a comforter wrapped round her Disney pyjamas. Why, I hear you cry, does she rip your insides out through your mouth? Because as you stumble blearily to college dinner having just woken up, so hungover you can barely speak, still in last night’s makeup but gasping for something hideously greasy and unhealthy, you hear her singsong voice chime, ‘Oh, okay just one more glass! Honestly, I can’t believe I’m having a second!’ The absolute worst part of this? You cannot tell a living soul because what are you supposed to say? That she was put on this earth solely to make others feel inadequate? No. This girl is made from sunbeams and kittens’ noses, which is why you must sit and stew in your own self loathing until your insides are slowly ripped out of your mouth.

Sergeant Muscle of the Hulk Division
He doesn’t say much. You might see him on the way to some training session, or – if you’re unfortunate – on the way back, dripping with sweat and covered in blood. He has his own shower, due to nobody wanting to use it after him, can be found in the corner of the dining hall consuming mountains of food and is usually the owner of an Adonis-like physique. Sadly, he’s too busy leaping on top of sweaty men to notice the opposite sex

Mrs. Mum
Usually found in coffee shops having some tea and cake with a rather scared looking friend, Mrs Mum doesn’t drink, she doesn’t party, she doesn’t miss lectures and she wears fluffy slippers to breakfast. Her blood is probably 90% warm milky beverage, and not only will she harbour marginally irritating habits such as the ‘thumbs up’ sign, adding ‘-age’ onto the end of every word (‘up for some kluteage?’) and describing a particularly nice item of clothing as ‘groovy’ or ‘fab’, she will feign interest in all of your personal affairs. This girl is not your mother. If you are taken in by her Ovaltine scented room with it’s fluffy toys and light-up kettle and find yourself confessing your darkest most hideous secrets then it would probably be best to end your life right then and there. Not only will they be known by all, she will probably twist them and make her own contributions involving an innocent puppy and a sandwich maker.

The Individual
Anyone who isn’t White or Middle Class.

Mr Rugby Boy
He’s loud, he’s cheeky to the tutors, and he accidentally on purpose slips in his private school background at every opportunity. Of course, there are many members of your college Rugby Squad, but only one Rugby Boy. The guys need a leader, someone who organises the drinking games, who decides which club to go to, who gets 85% in his essays despite spending most of his time flirting outrageously with the nearest pair of breasts he can find. He’s the private schooled lads lad, and despite being hideously unattractive, slimy and downright annoying, manages to sleep with every attractive girl in your tutorial. Is it his bulging biceps? No… there are people with more impressive physiques (see below). Is it his hideously contrived middle class accent? The way in which he saunters around with his collar turned up? Or is it the fact that he is secretly slipping magic fairy dust into everyone’s drinks? It doesn’t actually matter, either way you’ll still invariably become his prey.

Master Bastard
The funniest, craziest party animal in college, Master B is in the bar every night, completely inebriated and guiltily admitting that he has an exam the following morning. He’s a wicked dancer, wouldn’t know a library if it shot him in the face, has missed all his lectures owing to hangovers, yet is the best guy to be around; fun, cheery and up for anything. Everyone knows him and everyone loves him… until results day wherein he gets a double first and nobody can quite look him in the eye for a few weeks.