Category Archives: University

Being sober in a club.

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Apres Avant-5.6.10 - 125We all know the drill with nightclubs right – drink, dance, smoke – increasingly frequent toilet brakes – then repeat in various different combinations – strangely the dancing usually consumes more of your time the more drunk you become. The experience, however, is entirely different when your not overspending on tequilas or dancing with single ladies your convinced want a piece – it is like a minefield, of crazed hormone-erratic  maniacs trying to seduce their woes into a numb salvageable pain.

The over-squirted scent of bubblegum and candyfloss cascade whilst bass-pumping and ground thumping speakers try their hardest to do the minimum amount of damage to your eardrums – and without the warm arms of alcohol to insulate your body standing in the cold is like taking a dip in an ice pool!

The weirdest thing is you start to try and justify what you’re doing, and why your trying to dance in that way, or pretend to smile at music you have no interest for, maybe trying to amuse yourself with two measly bitter-sweet drinks knowing that you can’t have anymore because you’ve got to drive home – either way, its like the worst experience in the world.

Even just trying to hold a drink among the screaming intoxicated rabble desperately trying impress their mates with a seemingly endless line of over-priced drinks is a mission. Just for the record the things that you think on a night out will be a great idea like people pretending to scream in selfies, or scantily clad women clambering tank-topped giants, with the elder gentlemen trying to fit in, gawking at what they’d wished they’d done in their youth – when your sober look damn right embarrassing, for all parties involved!

The  only solace that can be taken from an experience like this is that you realize you’re exactly the same on a night out – they are you, stumbling, fumbling and making an absolute fool out of themselves – a horrible realization – which has led me to the realization that clubs without alcohol would literally be the worst thing ever – like a year seven disco, replacing alcohol with sweets and fizzy drink!

Rule of thumb – if you’re going to a club sober, you’re going to have a bad time.

The view from the back of a lecture.

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I am sat two chairs in on the back row. I see the backs of heads staring desperately day-dreaming, unwillingly trying to shrug the hangover from the previous nights alcohol consumption – sweltering among body heat, broken radiators and insulation – heat only comparable to a scene from the puzzling pig-masking, murder mystery thriller Saw.

Rustling handouts, proceeded to interupt the lecturer spreading yet more ephemeral words to non-concentrate recipients, sporting a vibrant discombobulation half golf and half hiking attire – from top to bottom. Unrelenting waves of yawns, creaks and sighs flooded the room erupting like volcanoes and dampening the already disinterested crowd, followed by whispers from a rowdy bunch near the front row – not so very quietly telling others of the blast she’d had with her gal-pals – it sounded like suffocating, scrambling for air as you panic, wish and hope but in your last moments think of doubt, fear and somewhat acceptance.

Students scattered in twos and three clinging like pack animals; I was alone. On my right the incessant tapping of mac books distract me from the task at hand; concentration. My eyes drift and land on a helping hand, the co-managing lecturer, of the subject, sits beside the entrance. Her hair mangled and untamed, like a student, broken and unappreciated she smirks chortling merrily compressing the disfigured wrinkly-skin hanging from her chin.

My mind drifts pacing slowly towards the window, there is a gap that only appears every so often from an inadequate breeze slowly creeping in pushing the blackened blind from its purpose. There is a fence towering above a puddle. Sometimes a bird will sit in it, often it doesn’t, but sometimes it stands perplexed holding its chest out looking nonchalant in a stationary manner. With no pen and paper I sat trying to must some sort of aspiration to maintain my attention.

The fact the slides were in widescreen mode wasn’t aiding my cause, an apology had been issued but technical appliances can only absorb so much incompetence from human users. His words sail awkwardly across the room, comfortably piercing our auditory receptors.

Purple, pink and blue, rest aggressively asserting in the corner of my eye. I turn facing this multi-coloured monster. Slabbed, draped and inconclusively strawberry short-cake splattered clown look-a-like wearing fake-glasses the size of the moon. She sits slumped chewing her necklace, when her phone vibrates. She instantly picks up, unlocks and replies to her “lover” ending the message in the more X’s than Simpson Halloween specials!

The time finally runs out, and coming to the end of something unbearably uninteresting could never have felt better, only afterwards realizing that I just paid £103 to not pay an ounce of attention.

On top of a table.

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Upon the table stood a thirty-two inch Alba perching against the east facing wall which stared precariously over the condiments that were mangled, overlapping and oddly placed. A green translucent jug, sticky and overturned, lie between empty bottles of beer and cracked glass. Plates, scattered and covered in scraps of uneaten food. Post-stick notes together and separate, ripped and untouched stuck to deodorant cans and caps of bottle drunk. Tobacco pouches strewed and tawny orange stains littered the laminate wood, that it rested on. The pitter-patter of mouse clicks, keyboard keys, and Xbox buttons hung like wasted decibels only outweighed by the bellowing screams of a kettle. Disks, cards and sunglasses accompanied the collaborative mess almost pushing the boundaries close to falling off the edge. The remnants of takeaways past chewed, spewed and splattered with sauces of red, brown and white in a rustling grease paper box. A consumed peach schnapps bottle held its structural dominance standing triumphant among the scuttling rubbish surrounding it. Pointless receipts and stubby coloured glasses, designed for shots, held up a half full packet of JB like ants couriering their food to their queen. Carved keys, and wallets encapsulated the unending growth of the taxing environment that sustained all walks of life, from ants to moths. The smell of poultry, ash and regret licked effervescently above and beyond the table dissipating further into it’s surrounding. Cigarettes burnt and stubbed into, lids of plastic, tin and yoghurt pots still with foil half covering the only accessible point.  Green and continually bending plastic garden chairs tucked under, pushed out and somewhere in between allowed the makers of this wasteland to continue, essentially enabling the tables demise. Once friends they now feared one another, as the scratches and screeches of the chairs moving position startled the compressed fibers that made up the four legs of the table; striking fear, angst and disappointment within an old friend. It had long been since the table held nothing but it’s own weight, it wondered if it ever would.

Power Rangers The Movie Drinking Game

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After coercing our film-loving, plot-illuminating housemate, Meg,  into watching the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. We decided that instead of watching this like the sober finches of the Galapagos, we would endure the ninety minute calamity-classic doing a shot every time we noticed a cliché catchphrase like “see ya later alligator” – Ivan Ooze, intentionally compromising pun “I’ve got a bone to pick with you” – White Power Ranger (whilst fighting dinosaur skeletons), and ridiculous music that is played over scenes of no importance at all.

So the rules are simple – a sip, of a prolonged duration for minor instances of cheesy: behaviour, lines, music, sayings, bad green screens – the key is to be understanding of where each incident could be categorically organized into a scale; so anything 5> would be sip and 6< would be a shot! The drink of course is your decision, the shot is always nice to have something between the strength of vodka but stronger than schnapps – not too much and not too little, that’s the dream!

After twenty minutes of rib-tickling, lip-smacking idioms of far too obvious description, a bottle and half of shots has been annihilated. Continuous hand shaking and rhino-mercenary but-kicking has lead me to believe that this is the future of student drinking games. Never before have over-dramatic news broadcasts, and villain-induced witticisms been so damaging to ones liver!

Just to mention: “uh oh, were in trouble” – is genuinely part of the soundtrack. They also have a giant red button which kick’s other specifically similar sized robots in the metal genitals – convenient.

During one scene, you may remember, a rhino explodes into thousand of pieces after being corkscrew kicked so hard – needless to say a lot of alcohol has been consumed. Not even mentioning the collective skating, hand shaking, cockpit-swaying, child-filled mono-railing, glass-shattering building shaking brilliance that the power rangers ensue,

One genuine issue about the film is the fist-pumping white ranger has to be the leader – of course, seems a little racist, considering the black ranger is reduced to being a frog! – well done Brian Spicer! Some may say it was a different time back then, others simply suggesting that being the black ranger surely the crotch is the most appropriate place for him – can hardly imagine the white ranger having an equally sized time down there – ah stereotypes.

So spread the word, drink the dream and think – what would Zordon do?!

Hangover; Sleep, eat, sleep.

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I often think that there is much more to alcohol than the night you drink it – often during the hangover period do we reminisce the hilarity of your mates dubious ramblings or fabulous faux pas knocking into, stumbling over and fumbling with other beverage consuming participants which becomes an accolade by it’s own defying right.

The true beauty of alcohol comes with the company of those around you, its an enabler at the very least. Often I’ll hear people say “It’s a sign that you’ve had a good night” – which irritates the hell out of me – so it may comes as surprise to you that I think that the statement has a certain degree of truth.

Prior to coming to Worcester the weekend would consist of, going out Friday and spending all of Saturday (student nights here are mid-week) with the people from the night before – living the absolute dream. Getting a domino’s hangover, conversing, having gloried opinions of people and ideas and watching terrible television shows – Its an angelic feeling being hungover, and almost always undervalued!

The best part of the overture is spending it with people who make you do stupid things, laugh when they should help, abandon one another in the pub, manipulate into buying alcohol, tease about sexual escapades, fight, then presumably make-up and call ridiculous names to.

When my parents said “Hangovers get much worse with age” maybe there is less of an appreciation for the hungover feeling or maybe it is because they haven’t awoken to Charlie snoring in the corner, Angus mangled and face down in bed, Ramron romanticizing an open bottle of spirit, Dave with fists bloodied or Thon with his trouser by his ankles whispering “the Germans are a community of high repute: yours sincerely, Goldeen”. – That is what alcohol is really for.

I like to think of being hungover as a different kind of drunk – when your irritability conflicts with your desire for greasy food and calling people bastard-face seems like an appropriate term of endearment – post-drunk.

Marvin’ at University

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For the past month, I have been so very low on funds that I have discovered I like beans on toast – the cheese helps. I have only regret, financially, about the past six months. It has been a frivolous campaign of unnecessary expenditure (fast food, alcohol anything other than nutrition), I had a whale of a time, however I have now almost come to the end of this journey with only enough coins to purchase bread and value tins of beans – I’ve been secretly stealing cheese from my housemates.  

It appears pride had issued myself a sweet blow to the chest, as a retort, for waving my overdraft in the face of social adversity. Even with the best intentions of obtaining a disposable income competition, availability and experience have dictated otherwise, and so I am left in this predicament. 

So instead of denying my inept financial woes, I have decided to celebrate my toast and beans diet, and label it the Boast diet – get it. My initial worries were incomparable flatulence, but after a week or so the results reside neither side of anything other than normal. However, because of such a poor diet, weight loss has also ensued, not a substantial amount but It has definitely made a difference. So if you’re feeling larger than normal, not got enough cash in your pocket or want to save some pounds and pennies then take a bean from the book of poor financial decisions – spread the boast! – Pun intended. 

University life – Part One (The Beginning)

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Three weeks have past, one of the many lessons I’ve learnt is how easy it is how to distress a fire alarm, caused by water-vapor from taking a shower – frankly, the noise is indescribable. Additional lessons include: dividing pizza with scissors, learning the bin schedule and eating beans on a semi-regular basis (three to four times a week).

Freshers is fabulous.

For some, university is daunting, for some it’s as if nothing has changed, and living the next three years in potentially another part of the country is just as mundane as breathing. Either way everyone is susceptible to change and the consequences that the decision entails.

A typical day through a students eyes:

  • Sleep
  • Tv
  • Xbox
  • Lecture
  • Booze

(In that order)

The Financial Situation:

How ever discredited ‘Student Finance’ is, they’re still doing almost every student a massive solid. Every grant given, every penny spent on the institution of education is an investment into the future economic status of our homeland – A plus if you ask me. To be completely honest, I reckon, that nearly every penny of the grant that is given out is spent on: cigarettes, alcohol and toilet roll – Up to debate. It’s pretty safe to assume that an unholy amount of students will be in more than ten grand debt by day one of 2014; me included.

I think there is an unwritten law that, by nature is innate, and only academics can achieve this way of life, this way of thinking. It connects and unites students alike, me and you, you and me and gives us common ground. We stand proud as a ‘race’ and I’m spent.