Sober At Cindies

I vommed in my curry. It was bound to happen at some point, although I was hoping for a slightly better nickname than ‘curry chunder girl’. My first chun at the Mahal was no less messy than I expected it to be.

The following day I was feeling rather peaky to say the least, but it happened to be a friend’s birthday; I was thus obliged to commit the cardinal Cambridge sin – that awful deed which the second years had warned of, a task more daunting than getting into this university in the first place – I went to Cindies sober.

Now the Daily Fail may love to report on our Bacchanalian pursuits, yet the real story is not how much we drink, but rather why we down bottle after bottle of Sainsbury’s Basics wine: it’s because we have to. I defy anyone to have a truly enjoyable night in Cindies whilst sober, surrounded by the heaving, sweaty masses, all wearing face paint/ togas/ a pained look of sexual depravity which comes from spending all week in the library.

To add to the fun, I go to Girton (and no, obviously I didn’t apply there but yes, I do love it). Tell any drunk student this, and they will invariably retort with the ground-breaking observation that “it’s quite far away, isn’t it?” Is it? Really? Please tell me more, because my HUGE LEG MUSCLES and I hadn’t quite noticed. Considering we’re at the best university in the world, you guys could put a bit more effort into being a bit less inane.

However, the true horror of the night was only realised when I witnessed a sight to which no civilised person should ever be exposed. I’d vaguely noticed it on my first outing to Cindies, but I’d been too drunk to properly register it.

Yes, guys and gals, I saw a group of fully-grown men on a ‘lad’s night out’, drinking VKs. Now, I feel that I’m quite a radical girl – I sometimes wear black and navy together – but this was too far, even for me. Over the past few weeks I’ve learnt to love all the quirks Cambridge has to offer, from pennying and punting to the endless amounts of work (only kidding, I do English), but this particular habit will never ever seem normal.

It wasn’t until a friend emptied the entire lining of his stomach all over the smoking area that I discovered the one silver lining to being sober. After walking him home to Jesus and tucking him in like the sweetheart that I am, it suddenly dawned on me that I was locked in his college.

That’s right, not locked out, but in. It’s one thing to keep the plebs out, but to lock the students in…no wonder they all get firsts. I panicked. I looked for an escape route. The gates of Jesus stood before me, gate-like and imposing. No better ideas came to mind. I threw my bag over and scaled the railings, jumping down on to the other side.

If I’d been hammered, I’d have ended up more Splat-woman than Catwoman – Jesus may not save, but sobriety does.