Like all Cambridge institutions – CUSU, Footlights, Mainsbury’s – Week Five is an icon in its own right: supervisors are even instructed to give out less work during the seven-day struggle (a low workload that they eagerly make up for in Week Six). But is Week Five truly deserving of the academy award for worst week on record?

My Week Five began with trying out a new hobby on a group of poor, unsuspecting victims: I went all the way to Fitz in order to lose my stand-up comedy virginity, a metaphor that anyone who was unfortunate enough to see my five minutes of terror will understand. I got a few nervous giggles, but some people were definitely avoiding eye contact with me by the end of the night. Either because I was too funny and therefore intimidated them, or because my continued jokes about my reproductive organs made them want to impose a restraining order.

"Is Week Five truly deserving of the academy award for worst week on record?"

My Saturday was spent struggling with an essay on a philosopher I could barely read in English, never mind his native German. Turns out eight years of studying a language still can’t compete with Google Translate. The essay and I met again on the following Monday, where the paper copy gave me a savage paper cut, whilst my professor attempted to explain that I perhaps wasn’t suited to Philosophy.

That night was passed at a college bop, where my attempts at dancing ended with me on the floor, and ABBA's 'Lay All Your Love on Me' stuck in my head for the rest of term. The bop being an alleged bonding opportunity between St. John’s and our Oxford sister college Balliol allowed me to truly answer the question of where I would rather be. The answer is at home in Hull, far away from either cursed place.

And in all honesty, i'm quite worried about the lack of work I seem to have done this week. Indeed, I spent Sunday night in charge of my friend’s makeshift cocktail bar on a one-man mission to poison everyone through a self-created recipe for the perfect rhubarb and custard cocktail. Turns out there is no such thing as the perfect rhubarb and custard cocktail, because all variations taste like Calpol. Back to the drawing board we go.

But all in all, Week Five has been bad, but not catastrophic. The acting was ok, dialogue terrible (I have personally run out of interesting conversation starters) and the cinematography was blighted by the fact it kept getting dark at 3.30pm.

7/10 stars. Wouldn’t see it again.