Wow. It’s quarter past two and I’m still lying in bed with a beasty mug of tea and a bar of Galaxy; disgusting behaviour. I’d say a good 25-30% of my university life has been spent this way, but it’s really not quite as nice as it sounds. For a start, it’s not like I expect to be greeted with tailored memory foam and opulent layers of cashmere in student accommodation, but the dishevelled amalgamation of springs and fabric beneath me can make bedtime just a little uncomfortable. In fact the springs are pushing their way out of my mattress at such a rate, I often strip back my covers to double check my house-mates haven’t been hiding strange items in my bed as a practical joke. So why do I find myself to be confined to my horrific state of a bed mid-afternoon? Well, I’m a student – why do you think?!
It’s the one time I ache so much already that the springs poking into me make no difference to my discomfort. It’s at such a time I find myself asking “WHY did I go out last night??!” and declaring “I’m NEVER going to touch another alcoholic substance ever again. EVER!”. So why in the world am I always so desperate to ‘get on it’ again in the matter of days?!
Drinking alcohol is a huge part of social life at university, and I truly admire those who can have an amazing night out stone cold sober – but why is it so difficult for me? Sadly, it’s all about confidence. I don’t ever really fancy a glass of wine with my meal, I never truly crave a ‘stiff drink’, and I don’t drink every day – I mean come on – I’m hardly an alcoholic! (okay that’s probably a matter of opinion…) Still, when I do drink, I know what the real reason is behind it. It’s not just alcohol units I’m consuming, but dutch courage.
To me, there is nothing more terrifying than walking into a room full of people you hardly know and being forced to be make conversation with such intimidating beings. There are two locations at university where you will find yourself in such circumstances: lecture halls, and nightclubs. Okay so if you want to be picky, you don’t really have to talk to anyone in either of these places, but I reckon just walking into the room to begin with is bad enough – WHY does everyone have to turn around and STARE when you walk through a door?! I mean I’m sorry, is it more polite to walk in backwards? Crawl through? Or do I just have something on my face? Now trust me, if I could turn up to a lecture drunk and get away with it, I would. Unfortunately I am not in any way inconspicuous when intoxicated. The two just don’t go together. At all. In fact if I’m lucky enough to actually find my way to the right lecture at the right time after a few Jägerbombs, the chances are I’ll be so distracting that I’ll only be thrown out again anyway.
Nightclubs are funny places really aren’t they? One of my oldest friends once referred to our local nightclub as a ‘cattle market’, and I pretty much just laughed in her face. But thinking back, she probably hit the nail on the head. Guys will stand around the dance floor eyeing up the fresh meat, and when one of the desperate-looking moos takes his fancy, he moves in. Granted this may not apply to all men, and I’m sure there is often a role reversal where it’s the girls doing the chasing, but there certainly always seems to be some sort of mission taking place; a mission to get laid. Now I’m not going to lie, throughout my first year at university I was absolutely loving the male attention – a cheeky pull would boost my confidence and give me something to smile about. But now? I just want to be left to dance with my girls please! If one more guy ‘accidentally’ pushes into me / pinches my bum / undoes my bra (YES, REALLY) I’ll actually turn lesbian. No wonder I need a drink.
So please boys, I know you’re all highly intoxicated, but do you think you could possibly refrain from turning into complete perverts? It’s ruining my night and my faith in men. And maybe if you acted more gentlemanly I would have more reason to stay out a little later? I’m still only 19, but I might as well go out with a zimmer frame and my knitting. By midnight I quite literally do a Cinderella and lose a shoe. But both of them. By choice. My feet are in pain and I don’t care what I look like, I just want to go to bed with a cup of tea. And you were wanting me to go to bed with you? Take me for dinner and treat me like a human being, not a cow in a cattle market.
Then we can talk about a roll in the hay.