Please stop touching my ass without consent

Clubbing in first year has been a baptism of fire.

And my version of appropriate club behaviour is not the same as the male population of Glasgow.

Stop with your ritualistic mating calls – let’s talk about objectification.

I don’t need to learn to take a compliment

When someone tells me they like my outfit, I usually give a sassy hairflick and brag about how cheap it was.

‘What this old thing?’

But when a guy shouts at me from across the bar that he wants to fuck me, I strangely don’t consider that a compliment.

So, no I will not smile sweetly or offer thanks.

I’m not a last resort

Techniques adopted by the bachelors of Glasgow include shrugging at you with a look that says: “Well love you aren’t gonna get a better offer.”

They think this will immediately cause me to fall into their bed.

It won’t.

Just because you’re drunk off one WKD doesn’t make it okay

Similarly, tapping my arse as I walk to the bar will not result in instant sexual chemistry.

But it will cause me to drunkenly assess whether it was you or my friend stood behind me that touched me.

Grabbing me isn’t the same as sweeping me off my feet

Scooping a girl up like a child and throwing her at your mate is 100 per cent not a guaranteed pull.

It’s much more likely she’ll engage in polite conversation whilst assessing how soon she can pretend to go to the loo, or accidentally drain her drink in one and head to the bar.

All the throwing does is separate her from her mates, and only once you have lost your friends in Kokomo have you felt true fear.

Don’t be that guy.

‘I have a boyfriend’ is code for fuck off

This means one of two things:

1. I have a boyfriend. Why have hamburger when you have steak at home?

2. Fuck off, I’d rather lick the floor at Viper than pull you.

‘Yes, they’re both my boyfriends…’

Buying me a drink doesn’t buy me for the night

As a firm lover of gin, I welcome any opportunity to get some for free.

So yes, kind stranger I will take that drink you so graciously offered me.

But no, this does not mean you have a free pass to my tonsils.

Gin is the answer and the question

Sort your chat out

No, I don’t want to hear about your penis the size of your forearm or how shitfaced you are, thanks.

Try and have a real conversation – or even just open with a joke.

Geordie Shore has a lot to answer for.

Doesn’t look like he’s up for a chat

I know clubs are not the ideal place for a chinwag, but it’s the thought that counts.

And there’s always the smoker’s I suppose.