Situated at the apex of the north and west ends of St Andrew’s hubbub centre, I can’t decide if it’s the glorious nineteenth century architecture, our small community feel or the conveniently placed ‘cabbage patch’ garden immediately outside that comes top of my list of favourite things about Maccy T’s.

Whichever halls you end up in you will quickly defend it as the best, and McIntosh certainly won’t leave you begging for reasons why. Yes we have long lunch queues and some of the rooms are a little conservative, but I found the compact nature of the building lends itself to meeting lots of new people very quickly.

Indeed the changing shape of one room to the arrangement of the next is always an interesting detail, as are the general nook and cranny architectural features of such a grand building. The whole place bends around a crescent and has its own street to itself.

On only about the third night of Fresher’s week there were enough of us to throw a raucous and probably highly illegal corridor party that saw most of the circa 100 people come by at some point. And that is probably one of the highlights, the corridor parties that seem to come about quite spontaneously but which are much welcomed on any night of the week.

The size means that you will probably get to know most of the wardenial team who keep the place ticking over, and that can certainly be a benefit if you get into a little housekeeping trouble. Not that I ever did, of course.

There are a fair few shared rooms here but don’t dismay if that’s where you end up. Although it may seem a little less liberating sharing with a stranger, so many of the teamed up people there quickly saw the advantages of the company. My roommate and I were polar opposites but I like to think of him as one of my very best friends now. Trust me, you wouldn’t have thought it at first.

Best of all, McIntosh means practicality, or laziness, depending on which way you want to look at it. Never, never have I left for a lecture or tutorial with more than ten minutes on the clock. Maximum. And did I mention the view? Britain’s best beach, the golf course, straight down Hope Street, an unabridged sunset…