I'm so hip it hurts. I mean, my hip hurts.

London postbox
Originally uploaded by LizzieCatt.

Attend Oxford or Cambridge universities and people will assume you are posh, clever, and probably a bit pleased with yourself.

Study at RADA and people will assume you are a talented actor, and probably a bit of a pain in the arse.

What does it mean to have gone to a university that is currently advertising its clearing courses (and yes, one of them is my course) on Popbitch?

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Eh?

I know Goldsmiths is trendy, the Independent described it only yesterday is "eternally hip". But advertising on Popbitch is pushing it a bit, isn't it?

I loved Goldsmiths. I'd go back if I could. The place is so fucking laid back its horizontal. With the exception of the visiting Japanese history of art students, who would get up at 8am to chop carrots into matchsticks then rush quietly off to the library, everyone was exceedingly chilled. I don't really see my friends from college that much and marvel at people who still do everything with "uni mates", I couldn't bear the idea of having to spend the rest of my life hanging out with people I happened to meet in 1996-9.

Goldsmiths was voted one of the coolest brands in Britain a while back in the Superbrands report, beaten to the top spot only by Selfridges, Dazed & Confused, Agent Provocateur and Hakkasan restaurant. It may not churn out prime ministers, but it has spunked up Alex James, Graham Coxon, Julian Clary, Damien Hirst, Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood. And Lucien Freud, my favourite painter.

New Cross was an utter, utter dive when I was living around there, apparently the de-diving squad has been in and tarted up the place up now. The tarting up, I'm told, includes the New Cross Tavern (The Tav), where the pool room was accessed by hopping from dry tile to dry tile through the permanently flooded gents' toilet. Julian Clary, Vic Reeves and the legend that is Laa-Laa the Teletubby launched their careers on the stage in the back room, but I never saw anything along those lines. Less Vic Reeves, more a slightly mad bloke with a lazy eye offering female students what he claimed was powdered amphetamines but apparently was glucose, cupped lose in his grubby palm.

There weren't any black-tie balls, I have yet to find occasion to wear a ballgown. Most people wore head to toe Carhartt - carpenters jeans and those funny hoodies that felt like they were made out of wetsuit. When I graduated (the same day Harold Pinter got an honorary degree, which was weird), there was a bit of a do on the lawn, they everyone went home for a spliff or took their parents to the pub. The reason I chose Goldsmiths is that it had no medics, scientists, mathematicians, no sporting teams or sporting culture to speak of, no braying, pearl-wearing idiots and because it was in London. Having lived just outside zone six my whole life, I was gagging to experience London properly. And my god, did I. It was fan-bloody-tastic.

But I was never aware of the university being achingly hip or any of that carry on. There's nothing achingly hip about mouldy, death-trap flats in Catford or spending 12 hours bunking off in the Union, drinking Jack Daniels and coke and eating Nik Naks. I'm not sure who would describe the Wednesday night Club Sandwich event as really fucking cutting edge, and I'm thinking in particular of the weekly Michael Jackson medley at the end. "Are you coming to Sandwich" was certainly not the rallying cry that had a hotbed of creative talent gelling its geometric fringe, yanking on its Peruvian yaks' wool booties and leaping on a skateboard down to the Tianamen building (seriously). It was more shit-faced female students snogging each other to get the boys to buy them drinks. I am not friends with any young British artists, actually the one girl I do keep in touch with works as a librarian for the civil service.

Perhaps the whole cool thing is a conspiracy by Lewisham Council to trick media wankers into moving to south east London? Maybe I was so busy reaching for the lasers that I failed to nurture friendships with shark picklers? Perhaps all the cool people hid when I was around? Or maybe I'm just SO FUCKING COOL, the coolness couldn't touch me. Yeah, that'll be it.