be me, second year mathmo at trinity
saturday night, walking back from the mahal with the lads
cutting through market square
fifteen chavs standing around the fountain being loud as fuck
one calls me a "posh cunt" because of my college puffer
i'm from fucking wolverhampton mate
bite my tongue, keep walking
next saturday, coming back from formal hall in my gown because i forgot to drop it off
same group, same spot
one of them flicks a chip at me. direct hit on the gown
"oi harry potter, do a spell"
i can feel something awakening inside me
something primal
following saturday i take the long way round past great st mary's
somehow they've expanded their territory. they're there too
like a metastasizing tumour of nike air max and vape clouds
one rides past on a bike. wait. that IS my bike
i recognise the scratched mudguard and the peeling trinity bike reg sticker
"OI THAT'S MY FUCKING BIKE"
give chase for forty metres before my supervision-atrophied lungs give out
collapse against the wall of boots
his mates are howling
i have never known rage like this
file a report with the actual police. they could not be less interested
a cambridge student got his bike stolen, alert the home secretary
post on Cambridge Confessions: "Does anyone else feel Market Square has become lawless on Saturday nights"
47 laugh reacts. 0 solidarity
i become radicalised
i start going to market square on purpose just to observe them. gathering intelligence
my supervision partner tells me i'm "becoming unhinged"
he's not wrong
week six of michaelmas. three supervisions in two days
my analysis essay got described as "not even wrong"
haven't slept since tuesday. i am a coiled spring of cortisol and instant coffee
saturday night. market square. alone
"it's the harry potter guy again!"
the alpha steps forward. full grey tracksuit. most aggressive middle parting i've ever seen
"gonna cry about your bike again posh boy?"
something snaps
i drop my sainsbury's bag. a tin of value beans rolls across the cobblestones
i square up
"COME ON THEN"
my voice cracks slightly which undermines the threat somewhat
he shoves me. i shove him back. his mate grabs my jacket from behind
i spin around swinging like a windmill
we're properly scrapping. rolling around on the cobblestones at 11pm
bouncer from the regal pulls us apart
i'm bleeding from my eyebrow. breathing like i've just done the fairbairns time trial
but i'm standing. i am STANDING
"you don't own this square," i pant, pointing at them
absolutely iconic line delivery if i say so myself
get back to college. tell the lads i finally stood my ground
they ask me to describe tracksuit generalissimo
"grey tracksuit, about 5'2, voice hasn't fully broken—"
room goes quiet
mate pulls up the cambs police community facebook page
"cambridge police remind university students that the young people in market square on saturday evenings are participants in the year 8 youth club run by St Andrew's Church"
mfw i've been in an eight-week escalating rivalry with a group of 13-year-olds
mfw i got into a fistfight with a child
mfw tracksuit generalissimo is probably doing his SATs next month