It’s a student’s prerogative to have wild nights out. Outside of the student bubble it is assumed that student life is a haze of vodka-lemonade and late night kebabs; that our days begin at midday and end mid-morning and that the club scene is the lone pinnacle of our existence. Fresher’s was indeed a whirl wind of heavy nights and bleary mornings but I have to admit, since being in second year, I’m significantly less interested. These days going clubbing seems to merely serve as a reminder that I actually rather dislike going clubbing.
Nevertheless, on Halloween, when my housemates and I decided to head out for one of the ‘biggest nights of the year’, expectations were high. After some deliberation we decided on the Spice Girls as the basis for our Halloween costumes with the thought that little else was scarier! However, as we pulled up to Mint we found there were more horrors to come. The first thing I saw was a scantily clad girl in a mean girls-esque outfit with less material than I would consider adequate for a belt. My hope for the night instantly took a dramatic down turn. I’m not entirely sure if it was the testosterone filled zombies, sticky floor or multitude of people with no concern for personal space which added to this dejection, but it took a hold and was going nowhere. It appeared I wasn’t alone. By 1am there was just Baby and Posh holding up the fort and by 1.30 there was a spice girl’s reunion in McDonalds.
Since being in second year it seems my house mates and I have become shamefully incapable of going out and staying out. A powerful yearning for fried chicken always ‘one-ups’ our desire to stay in the club. I can’t be sure whether it’s because we’ve morphed into premature geriatrics or because, deep down, we never really liked clubbing anyway. Looking back it seems strange that I ever truly endorsed the prospect of spending hours brewing blisters on my feet and wishing I could nurse my empty tummy.
But I have a theory. Perhaps this new found attitude to clubbing is due to the fact that by second year you’ve made proper, lasting friendships: people you actually want to talk to rather than smile at awkwardly across a crowded club. Fresher’s brings an expectation of a string of chaotic nights and a phone book full of names without faces. Second year brings the sort of friends that you can be honest with when you would rather finish your seminar questions than go to Quids in and I have to say I prefer it that way. So the next time someone tries to persuade me to go to any ‘bed’ which has flashing lights rather than a duvet I think I’ll most likely pass!