I went to the club sober for a month and realised clubbing is awful

I decided to ditch alcohol for a month and become best friends with a two litre bottle of Volvic. By “for a month” I mean I went sober for the majority of a month.

The whole experience began as a road to Damascus sort of thing (the parable, not the Holylands street). After a drunken night during Rag Week, a trip to my local church to get my Ash Wednesday and a good dose of Catholic guilt, being a good Christian I vowed to not drink for 40 days… but being a bad one I allowed myself key events off like “Saint Patrick’s Day”, “that one time Basshunter came to Box”, and “my mates 20th birthday”.

It was a tough month, and I nearly quit a few times when I hit 2am, surrounded by my drunken friends slurring along to Golddigga. Go ahead folks. Go ahead get down. I saw it all.

I learned some vital things on my sober nights out. You all smell. And I smell too. The club is a big, messy, sweaty place filled with spilled drink, exhausted dancers and individuals who can’t button their trousers never mind wash their hands. All I have to say is take advantage of the perfumes available in the toilets. Like Loreal, they’re worth it.

The smell is bad but what makes it worse is amid the pounding music and foul stench one may be violently set upon by a drunk affectionately taking the opportunity to get up close and personal.

It seems if the drunk clubber sees someone they haven’t seen since last night at that other club the first thing they will do is launch themselves on their friend/acquaintance/classmate/that one guy from freshers – all hugs, no personal space.

There’s nothing a drunk likes more than to squeeze the life out of a loved one’s lungs and scream into their ear how good it is to see them again. As a sober man, just let me go after five minutes, that’s all I ask.

Outside of drunken cuddles, the main thing any sober person will notice is that no matter what, every song is the song of the drunk. They know all the words (kind of) and must dance. They’ll grab your arm – nearly ripping it from the socket- and proceed to the middle of the dance floor.

The drunken clubber will literally go through their own granny to get to the dance floor; they don’t care if you have crutches, if they spill your drink, smash your glass or split your whole friend group in two. The monsters. And it’s around the middle of the dance floor they realise it’s just a shitty remix, or a different song entirely. Oh well, they love that song too.

The dance floor is a scary place and not for the faint hearted: it is a crowded place and sometimes you lose your friends. And sometimes you bump into people. For fellas it’s ok, you get a dodgy look but a pleasant pat to the upper arm sorts it all out.

When it’s a girl you bump into expect a torrent of abuse, or a slap, don’t worry though, some other boy will do the same and she’ll get distracted.

But that initial five seconds of fear is enough to make everything from your first day at school to your last lecture flash before your eyes. Pure dread.

To be fair though most men have it coming.

Like a David Attenborough documentary, life at the club (very much like a watering hole) is dominated by the mating process.

Here you will see the pack of males approach their selected target and slowly dance near her.

At this stage the female of the species will signal to her own pack to either retreat and allow the process to occur, or form a protective ring.

This is known as the chastity ring.

You better call it quits, you’re not getting a wee kiss tonight. Go get a kebab with the boys and save yourself the hassle, never mind the embarrassment of looking like a perv.

It also means girls won’t give us men a hard time if we accidentally bump into them, which would be of much relief to the sober man.

Being sober in the club has not just given me insight into the mating process of the intoxicated student but also allowed me to see the living hell that is the life of floor staff in the nightclub.

For some reason when you drink everyone in a uniform seems to stop existing. Treated as subhuman, an instrument of the drunk revellers pleasure the staff put up with some stick.

To the drunk if they vomit on a stairwell or smash a glass it just vanishes like magic, life is swell! When you’re sober it’s tougher to ignore the suicidal looking member of staff muttering curses under their breath at your friend as they drop their empty bottles of Stella to the floor.

So to the beardy fella from Limelight with the mop,

I am so sorry on behalf of all students in Belfast.

But it’s not just the club which was a revelation, upon leaving the sober mind is met by hordes of grunting, sideways walking and violent-if-provoked individuals.

If you’re drunk you’ll be fine. You’re just another member of the herd.

For a sober individual the sight of a drunken rugby player mauling a curry chip to death with his bare hands can turn the blood cold. Tread carefully and be on your guard.

Reflecting on my window into sober life at uni, I’ve realised, obviously, it’s harder to have fun when you’re sober. But the fun you have is more genuine.

This epiphany came to me as I Carlton danced to every song in every club, not caring about anything more than the circle of people I was dancing with.

I learnt drinking doesn’t make your night better, it just makes the boring parts more bearable.

As well as this you don’t wake up with the beer fear and the idea in the back of your mind that some place, some where, an angry member of staff is planning your murder.

The most obvious benefit of the experience is that I woke up without a hangover every morning and because of the two litres of water that carried me through pre-drinks my skin looked great.

Being sober doesn’t make you morally better, but if you’re not careful it can make you pretty smug.

If you or any of your friends are sober and think you might show the signs of smugness, catch a grip, get a Club Orange and hush up.

But like all things, it had to end. It’s good being sober. It’s healthy too. But sometimes you just want a pint with your mates. Everything in moderation.

I experienced life as a sober man from the drunk man’s perspective. Personally I recommend a good dose of the Hannah Montana’s. Uni should be full of both the drunken and the sober experiences. Put it all together and you know you’ve got the best of both worlds.