My fortnight of partying climaxed last night with our Freshers’ Ball. All week I had battled the infamous Freshers’ flu (it’s not a myth!) but for five or six hours all was well. Very well. Pulling myself into a suit, I donned a black tie and swapped that bottle of cough syrup for vodka.
The night started with pre-drinks and a photo-shoot of everyone all dressed up and looking fine. We took it in turns being the parents taking pictures of their children before the prom. Arriving on campus the makeshift venue was spread across four or five buildings with stands and carnival rides erected in the courtyard. The latter of which was hazardous. The more everyone drunk the more appealing the violent rides became which was of course a recipe for chunder.
First stop was the silent disco. With two channels on our headsets – commercial and cheesy – the result was a mash up of people slut dropping to Kayne, while others sang painfully along to the likes of Atomic Kitten. Taking your headset off for any period of time revealed this hilarious spectacle.
It was around this time that my craving for a bag of candyfloss struck. That popular alcohol accompaniment. I finished said candyfloss in a matter of minutes, feeding it to my friends and I suspect anyone else nearby who looked hungry. A chance encounter with a school friend was nice at this point and we briefly introduced each other to the girls we were with.
The rest of the night consisted of trying to dance to the live acts including Subfocus, Modestep and Ms Dynamite who all had one thing in common – I had never before heard any of them. Dancing proved difficult with no personal space at all on the floor, wedged between newly acquainted grinding couples. I was forever looking out for my 6ft5 friend’s head above the crowd.
The last funny event of the night came after I was dragged outside by the girls who wanted some air (they should have tried wearing a suit jacket). I attempted to call my friend who we had been separated from for hours. Naturally, I pretended that I was lost and in mortal danger, in need of rescue, before assuring him to the contrary and asking where he was. What I didn’t realise until the next morning was that I had managed a conversation with him, without him. That is to say I had been chatting away to his voicemail, presumably inventing his inaudible replies. This made for funny listening when the voicemail has been replayed many times since.
So my Freshers’ fortnight is over. This is not to say partying is however. Wednesday night is the “Big Night Out” – the South’s largest club crawl or something…
Anyway, normal blogging shall commence soon.