You go to Kent Uni

Sat in the back corner booth of Wetherspoons is a group of boys swirling house white, referring to themselves as the Bullingdon Club.

Wearing un-ironed Ralph shirts and identical pairs of navy boat shoes, these chaps are living under the illusion that an overnight love of Port has transformed the squad into a high-brow elite.

Having not even scraped the entry requirements for Oxford, it’s irrelevant to them that the closest their institution comes to having a mens club is the Real Ale Society. Who cares for traditions when you can order a whole bottle of red for £12 and pretend its vintage for the purpose of social media?


Buller buller buller


Bring me my fave Château Lafite Rothschild

Sweeping the nation, one don lad at a time, is the Riot Club epidemic.

Posing with the Famous Grouse that was nicked from Daddy’s cabinet during the Christmas break, these boys are swapping pulling for pâté and chundering for chinos. No longer satisfied by dirty pint pres, they’re purchasing Co-Op’s finest cheese platters in the hopes it’ll make them seem just that bit more sophisticated.

With laser-quasar being the closest they’ve ever come to a shoot, the pretence of holidaying in the South of France (Disneyland Paris) and having their signet ring passed down through the generations (begged for it at Christmas), is helping these squires remould the uni stereotype.

Gone are the cheeky nights at Nando’s. The pussy patrol is dead. These cufflink wearing bellends would rather have a ten bird roast.


Dripping with wealth


Ready for a night of debauchery, boys

Putting money where their mouths are, they are the boys who’ve paid £100 between them for a table at the club. Raucous as a litter of kittens, the Bullingdon bullshitters will later post countless pictures of their “mad one”, all proudly holding up the one bottle of Moet to share between 10, as though it’s a trophy of wealth and/or non-existent swag.

Void of any female attention throughout the night, the not-so-riotous Riot Club will shrug off this absence by maintaining the belief that the best nights are spent with the boys and just the boys. Oh the tales of debauchery. What girl could appreciate their top banter and love for fine dining anyway?


But you go to Kent


Money, good genes and impeccable taste

They think with their dickie-bows instead of their dicks, but is this a step in the right direction for uni legends everywhere? Or will this new trend to recreate the group that some of our Nation’s political leaders once belonged to have a more detrimental effect on the consciousness of the lads?

Who knows. If it means boys will start swapping snapbacks for pocket squares in attempts to look like Douglas Booth, then who cares.



  • Benedict Walter-Jameison

    Excuse me but I cannot help be feel at least slightly insulted by this article. I think that you’re generalising men under one totally incorrect banner. I for example have no interest in being part of the Bullingdon Club, I don’t like tearing up clubs and bars whilst drinking Dordogne wines and eating wonderful Tuscan ubriaco cheese, but instead I spend a lot of my spare time working in a charity shop, where I not only found my real calling in life – helping others – but also met a lovely lady that taught me how to grow out the dreadlocks I still fashion to this day. I’ll also have you know that I haven’t been on holiday to the south of France with mama and father in three years, instead preferring South East Asia and India, where I can just go off the beaten track and do my thing, find myself. I love it out there, it really allows me to clear my head, get away from the hustle-bustle lifestyle of my parent’s Chelsea home. And I’m just one of many examples; not all young men are rich toffs without a real understanding of the world, some – like myself – have seen the world in its realness and entirety and know how hard it is for others that aren’t so fortunate in life.

    • Jeez…..

      Chill out!

      • ..

        Read the irony