This ominous third year (aka final year; year of no fun and kick in the face) has already started taking its form in book bags, overdue library book notices and more coffee than is strictly normal. Then there was a key moment for us all; mine was in week five. As I found myself rubbing my eyes through the tenth minute of what was meant to be, according to my professor, 10 hours of weekly seminar preparation, I realised I had to get a grip. I didn't even need that amount of sleep in a week in my first year to get through all the lectures, reading and fancy dress.

The third year becomes your last chance to prove yourself. I've almost given my second year to Nouse the student paper, my first year to silliness and in my final year I'll have to fill in all the gaps. I want to roll down Clifford's Tower, drink in pubs I've never been to, crash first year parties, go to museums and take day trips.

During my last all-nighter on the editorial team for Nouse I made a 'to-do this year list' and the ticks are multiplying. But for once as I play harder, I work harder! It used to be that playtime just took up work time but now playtime is what makes work time easier. All my wholesome weekend fun is turning me into a proper geek, but I'm throwing myself into my studies and really enjoying it, particularly if I've got a bag of broken biscuits and someone to pass inappropriate notes to.

"All my wholesome weekend fun is turning me into a proper geek, but I'm throwing myself into my studies and really enjoying it."

It's not all warm socks and nerdy trips, though. I've had a glimpse of the glitterati lifestyle. Last month the whole of last year's editorial team went down to London for the Guardian Student Media Awards. Several glasses of free champagne and one C-list celebrity host later we were named the second best student newspaper in the country.

With typical third year attitudes we've come back thinking: have done well, must do better. We're all back writing, reporting and looking back on a year of hard work considering our various goals and ambitions. After spending an evening mingling with lots of real-live-grownup journalists, or in my case physically walking into and blushing at Mr Alan Rusbridger Editor of The Guardian, it's difficult not to realise the competitiveness of such a sector. Particularly during, dare I say it, these difficult financial times.

All students are thinking long and hard about the looming prospect of unemployment but somehow I've still got itchy feet. I want to tick off my third year to-do list as quickly as I can and run off into the 'real world' to give it a go.

Well, almost. I want to go soon but not quite yet. I'm still a little sentimental about uni life and feel like an old hand at this student malarkey. Freshers should probably excuse me if I lay a work-ravaged hand on their shoulders and tell them to "make the most of it". They should also excuse me when me and my third year cronies bowl into their block and dance in the kitchen squealing that this was where we used to live. Those kids just don't know they've got it so good.