Nostalgie De La Boue has tasted the local delicacies…

Durham is a rare university city with amicable town/gown relations. Absent are the urine-streaked, vomit-strewn streets of Cardiff and Loughborough, littered with hen night showdowns, A&E disasters and the peculiar sexual displays of the amorous Welshman (I am assured the sheep can take it.)

Rather, the indigenous population appears friendlier and far more civilised, more so than most students on our rather notorious tabloid-headlining bar crawls.

Is the lack of attention from palatinate perverts towards our local Lotharios quite justified? Or with recent nightclub changes uniting toffs, trustafarians and Durham debs with local lads, lasses and pasty-munchers, perhaps we should seek new hunting plains and cast our bedroom eyes further…

In the name of research (of course) I headed out on Tuesday night looking for a potential Durham dalliance.

Plenty of potential to be had in here

Klute proved a shark-infested pool with ample potential. My prey was easily spotted; no stash or chinos in sight! I made my way in his direction. Handsome and very muscular, we made quick work of three quaddies (on him, please…), and in a flash found ourselves in bed in the Viaduct.

Endowed well enough to make me (and all Cuth’s boys) blush, his job as a manual labourer made for a wild night of gymnastics and sexual quirks (Has anyone else heard of a Dutch Wheelbarrow?!) that would confuse a Belgravia boy quicker than an IKEA flat-pack kit.

Offering me a post-shag ‘tab’ afterwards (that’s a cigarette to you Southerners) our chat did not revolve around second-rate ski resorts or whining over deadlines. He was up and out courteously and quickly. The experience was quite refreshing, as the typical pull in Academy leads to a less than satisfactory amateur fumble in a sock-scented student pad.

And the cherry on the top? My bedroom antics will now unlikely become college gossip, the Flatwhite forecourt remains a ‘safe’ zone free of past pulls, and I roam the Library blithely, one less shag to worry about.

Meanwhile, in Newcastle

However, the grass is not always greener, as my good friend ‘Roly’ can testify.

A night at Digital in Newcastle ended badly for our poor ‘R’, who was target of the attentions of a local maiden at a chippy en route to the train station. Beer goggles obscuring his view of her sizable arse and fake-baked face, ‘R’ was obligingly purchasing her a battered sausage when she wrenched him into a taxi in the direction of her sex lair in Byker.

Just as they were getting down and dirty to the tunes of ‘Metro FM’, the girl rolled off the bed clutching her tummy and howling, before poo-ing everywhere and then passing out. Leaving the unfortunate ‘R’ with a scene akin to the Belfast dirty protests, he could little more than to chortle to himself, tweet the episode, and then make his way home to a hero’s reception.

Discussing this over breakfast the next day at Varsity, we decided blame lay with the shoddy food hygiene one expects of Northern eateries, but either way, self-defecation (as any DURFC member knows) is not something to be associated exclusively with local girls.

Anecdotes aside, it would seem County Durham and Newcastle have much to offer the sex-crazed student. The cast of Geordie Shore are all pretty sexy, indeed, the hench Gaz Beadle has been seen shopping at Tesco in the Market Square; form an orderly queue girls!

Of course, Ann Summers underwear and sex toy parties can be booked in-store on Silver Street, much to the excitement of those girls whose electric toothbrushes and doorknobs removed from dormitories at school have seized up or worn through. Gadd’s Town House on Old Elvet advertises a saucy Ruby Room with four-poster bed and roll-top bath, and Durham’s very own Debbie Dumpling ‘roly poly’ Kissogram promises endless cuddly fun to keep those cold nights at bay.

The freezing climate and penny-pinching student budget almost demand we spend the day in bed, and how better to do it than with local shag…