Five reasons not to miss clubbing during exams

When you see the club photos, not being able to go out during exam season is unequivocally insufferable.


But do you remember clubbing? It is not the free-for-all haven your mind conjures up every time you see an emoji-ridden snapchat or a TMI club bathroom selfie.


The reality

1. Clubs are too loud

Unlike parties, where you can maintain a conversation whilst simultaneously getting yo’ funk on, clubs make the former impossible and, given the ever-increasing number of creepy dudes trying to grind on girls half their age, the latter nauseating.

If you actually want to talk to people, then your best bet is the smoking area. Be warned, non-smokers, this one lives up to its namesake – expect to be asked ‘Do you have a [lighter/rizla/filter/bacci]?’ no less than 3 times before you skulk back inside to get another VK, because did I mention that since uni you’ve developed a debilitating alcohol addiction? Yeah.

2. Money

Because you’ve developed a debilitating alcohol addiction, your tolerance for ethanol-infused beverages has shot right up, which means so has the amount you’re spending on… well, shots. And beer. And cider. And cocktails. It’s like a magic trick – watch that wallet disappear!

You can count on Wetherspoons to delay your bankruptcy, but note my choice of verb here: delay. Come the end of the month, you’ll still be fighting desperately to get out of your overdraft, especially if you want to expand your bar-izons and grab a pint somewhere where the locals don’t outnumber you 10:1. But be warned: leaving this bubble of cheap drinks and Curry Club Thursdays means you’ll find yourself paying £4.40 for a pint at the more stylish pubs, and is that really worth it when the outcome – you, retching and struggling to stand as you try to hail a taxi at 5 in the morning – is the same anyway?

3. The Creep Factor

Creepy dudes are an epidemic that we ladies need to stamp out with our 5-inch heels before you can say ‘Excuse me, love…’.

Creeps come in all different shapes and sizes, and their creepiness is not limited to one gender, but as a lady myself I have experienced only the male side of this spectrum. I’ve had my gluteus maximus handled without my consent by many an 18-to-45-year-old male, and any girl who’s ever set foot on a dance floor will tell you the same. Such creepery is not limited to the buttock region, however. There are so many places men can touch you without your permission! Boobs! Waist! Arms! Shoulders! Earlobe! Yes, earlobe. That was not a fun night.

4. Waiting

And waiting. And waiting. For your friends, for a drink, for the cloakroom, for the toilet, for a cab. Waiting for the bouncer to check your ID because you’ve had a few major haircuts since the picture was taken. Waiting to retrieve your coat from the cloakroom. Waiting for your friends to wait for their friends, for a drink, for the cloakroom, for the toilet, for a cab. Really, it should come as no surprise that, on a UK night out, you’ll spend a solid 60% of the time queueing, because dammit if that’s not what we Brits do best.

5. The morning after

“I’m never drinking again”, you vow, chugging Lemsip like that Pornstar Martini you had last night and shoving fingers down your throat in a vain attempt to induce the rest of the vomit that didn’t quite make it out at 4am. Your mouth tastes like Satan’s arsehole. Your stomach feels like the first time you got period cramps, and if you don’t have ovaries? Now you know what it’s like to have period cramps. Your head feels like someone scooped out your brain, put it in a blender, pressed ‘max’, then poured the result in a pitcher with some ice and stuck a straw in it (I’m 99% sure that’s how you make a Strawberry Daiquiri).

Slowly accepting your imminent death, you look for any distraction and open your laptop.

Bad idea.