Disco Dave, the drama and purple: every reason we love Circling

Circling. Perhaps the most infamous Warwick past time. In an almost romantic way, the sticky floors, the noxious fumes of purple and vomit mingling together, the screaming of social secs, the unholy chorus of mildly inappropriate drinking songs, the flying vegetables, the obscure costumes and the hideous edifice that is the Copper Rooms, come together to form a sort of drinking ritual that defines our Wednesdays.

To the uninitiated, this Faustian nightmare would sound like a sort of medieval-style student purgatory inhabited by the souls of those who failed to obtain a 2:2 at the end of first year, but to us, it is our staple. Perhaps our obsession for this obscure practice comes from the fact that there isn’t much of a night life to speak of at Warwick; with only three proper clubs, we have to make our own fun.

Perhaps it is the uniquely depressing experience that is a long Floor Five session that inspired this bizarre ceremony.

The man, the myth, the mullet.

Perhaps it is the anticipation of the man of mythic status of Disco Dave, a bewigged DJ famous for having more cheese on his laptop than they do in Cathedral City, or for his rather unseemly matchmaking abilities.

Perhaps it’s the endlessly flowing purple and knockoff Jaegerbombs which can leave you with a hangover more menacing than Disco Dave’s music selection.

Purple (pûr′pəl) (n); basically a snakebite but served in a plastic cup exclusively at Warwick University venues.

Or maybe it’s Bar Rouge (that bit off the side of the main room with a bar and a lot of shady corners), a haven for quasi-animalistic courtship displays, making for an ideal spot for the dubious club sex-tourists among us.

It could be the outrageously complicated drinking games, that can catch out even the most seasoned sesher; the obscure rules and even more obscure mental arithmetic are designed specifically to baffle Russell Group drinkers.

It could be the camaraderie of forcing a fresher called Jay to neck three pints after his drunken omission of the number seven, and then his failure, twice, to EG.

Maybe instead it’s just an opportunity to let off steam; a defiant cry in the face of the endless barrage of seminars, lectures, labs and existential crisis inducing emails from Student Careers and Skills.

Whatever it is, we know for sure that it is one of the highlights of being a Warwick student.