Let’s be honest, no matter how ready you are to graduate, there’s a part of you that isn’t quite ready to let go of the student lifestyle. Whether you’ve been in Liverpool for three years or five, the city and everything you’ve done in it (and maybe shouldn’t have done) certainly leaves a mark. Yes, thinking about the amount of money you spent on vodka slushies in The Scholar might be a bit painful, but the good memories that come with it are basically priceless.
So, before you hand in your keys, post your cap toss photos, and pretend to have your life pulled together, take a look at those final things you secretly want to do, just one more time.
One last Monday night in The Raz
The smell hits before you even reach the door. You say you’re just going for the irony of it, but as soon as the DJ drops a DnB version of Valerie, you’ve got a fat frog in hand, screaming like you’re in the M&S Bank Arena. You swore off The Raz after second year, yet here you are, once again navigating the cesspit of a dance floor to find your friends who went to the bar half an hour ago, and still haven’t come back. You hate it. You love it. You’ll miss it more than you think.
One last walk home from Concert Square at 3am
You could get an Uber, but walking home feels like the perfect messy finale. There’s something about stumbling through Bold Street, passing the Cathedral, and dodging bins and regret, that you just can’t compare to anything else. A half-shouted goodbye, dropped punnet of chips, and suddenly it’s a deep conversation with two strangers outside Gourmet Grill. You follow one on Instagram, and the other cries on your shoulder about their ex. Vocal cords? Shredded. Dignity? Questionable. Vibes? Immaculate.
One last ‘study’ session at the Sydney Jones
We all go in with good intentions, but leave three hours later with five new TikTok videos in your drafts, a caffeine addiction, and a borderline illegal amount of gossip about your housemate’s situationship. Alas, the Grove Wing has become a second home, you’ve judged people from your perch in the window booth, and somehow survived exam season one flat white at a time.
One last Baltic Market splurge that ruins your overdraft
You only went for a browse around the Red Brick Market, but ended up paying £13.50 for a bao bun the size of a coin, and a cocktail served in something that looks like your nan’s urn. You end up sat sharing a bench with a couple on a first date and a dog in a bandana, you’re listening to a man with a mullet singing a terrible cover of an Arctic Monkeys song, and your first year situationship is making eye contact with you from behind a plastic palm tree. Your bank account’s crying, but your heart? It’s full.
One last panic visit to Asda in your pyjamas
At this point, the self checkout machine knows more about your life than your academic advisor. You’ve marched these aisles in your slippers and last night’s makeup more often than you can count, just to buy pasta, bin bags, and two reduced garlic breads. Making eye contact with your seminar crush while holding toilet roll and a bottle of Lambrini, you exhale a deep sigh as you make your final, dramatic lap of shame round the shelves. You’ll miss it really.
One last impulse drink at The Brookie (you said you’d never go again)
Every time you swear off The Brookhouse, it finds a way to drag you back in again. It begins with popping in for a pint after your final exam, and six pints later you’re giving a TED Talk to a randomer as to why your dissertation topic is actually a cultural masterpiece. You will absolutely see your ex-flatmate’s ex, half of the netball team you dropped out of in first year, and your least favourite lecturer sat in the corner somewhere. The toilets still don’t lock properly, but it’s simply a rite of passage.
One last sad girl walk through Sefton Park at golden hour
You don’t plan it, it just happens. You’ll be walking with a friend or sitting solo when it hits you: This park raised you. You’ve been here for the hungover strolls, awkward dates, the solo cry walks, summer drinks, and whenever that group of anti-vaxxers decide to rock up outside the café. You find a bench, you sit, and you reflect, mostly likely posting it on your social media, otherwise it didn’t count.
One last group chat plan that never happens
The picnic. The bottomless brunch. The karaoke night. All haphazardly arranged in the group chat, met with “yesss!!” and one too many smiley face emojis. On the day? It rains, or someone’s “running late” and you end up necking bottles of cheap prosecco in the garden promising to “actually plan something before results day”. You won’t, but it’s the thought that counts.
And just like that, it’s the end of an era. You’ll miss the way Liverpool makes chaos feel like home, along with its ridiculous nights out, the half baked plans, and the walks home with no clear destination. Sure, you’ll pretend you’re glad to move on, but really, you’ll miss the sticky dancefloors, the frantic last minute essay marathons in the SJ, those chaotic nights where plans fall apart but somehow end up better than expected, and the weird comfort of trudging through rain-soaked streets at 3am with friends who’ve become family.
That’s because, somewhere between the rats, the quad vods, and the late night laughs, this city has wrapped itself around your heart, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
