A Drinking Story.
(Disclaimer: I do not support binge drinking, nor will I ever drink the amount that I did that night. However, we all make mistakes, that’s what University is for!)
Let’s set the scene. My last year. I’d spent the majority of that week in the library trying to finish a dissertation that was stubbornly refusing to be coaxed into a decent piece of work, and I needed a break. I found myself hassling the second years from the Society I was involved in for a good night out (asking my classmates in third year was met with incredulous laughter). A friend of mine invited me to a club after pre-drinks at his with another of his friends. I jumped at the opportunity.
So I got myself tarted up, climbed into a taxi with a bottle of cheap vodka in one hand and made my merry way to the house. This is about the time when the night started going downhill.
You see, my friend has this, quite frankly, amazing drinking game which involves the video game “Worms 3D.” When I told him that I didn’t know the game, a pre-printed set of rules was shoved under my nose and a drink placed in my hand. I was playing whether I liked it or not. I managed to win the first couple of rounds (pure fluke) but ended up drinking about 3 quarters of that vodka before I’d even left for the club. That was strike one.
Next, I find myself at the club, not remembering if we’d walked, took a taxi or flown. Vodka and Cranberry being my drink of choice, and also being £1.50 for a single measure, five of those went down quite easily within the first hour of being there. That was strike two.
This carried on for another three or so hours, going back and forth to the bar acquainting myself with nearly anyone and everyone who was stood next to me (the two men I had entered the bar with had all but disappeared, chasing the skirts that had made their way into the club.) This was about the time I started adding extra shots of vodka in my drinks. Strike three.
At this point, its 1am and I felt amazing. I’d pretty much declared my love for everyone in the immediate vicinity, and I’m pretty sure all the make-up I’d put on five hours previously had made its way down to my chin in a mix of sweat and spilled drinks. I then made the mistake of going outside for a cheeky cigarette.
The cold air hit me almost instantly. Although I was wearing flats I’d managed to twist my ankle and met the floor with a resounding thwack. My eyes met the bouncers’, and in a moment of clarity I declared, “I’m not getting back in (the club), am I?” The bouncer affirmed this statement.
So I sent my friend a garbled text, and staggered on home. Everyone who has been to Lincoln knows that the University resides against the Brayford Quay. I happened to be walking down the other side of that Quay when my drunken self decided that it would be a good idea to run the rest of the way home. For the second time that night, I fell over. A few centimetres away from the edge of the canal. That sobered me up faster than I have ever done previously. I gingerly made my way back to my accommodation, where I stood in front of the bathroom mirror for 30 seconds, and promptly threw up.
The dissertation was put on hold for the next few days.