I went to Tup Tup sober

One especially difficult Thursday morning, after a blurry evening at TupTup, a friend said “I never wake up after Tup Tup and think I made good decisions.”

I decided to put that theory to the test. I would try to have all the fun of going out but without the bitter anxious regret the next day usually brings. I would not lie facedown on my sofa trying to piece the night together. I would remember what happened. And I would would be sober.

After two years and three rounds of Freshers’ week in Europe’s alleged “second best city for nightlife”, and my mother consistently on the other end of the phone telling me I don’t need alcohol to have fun, I decided to see what it would be like to watch an evening of debauchery unfold stone cold sober.

Stage one: Pres

While getting ready, I swapped the getting ready glass of wine for a large coffee. At this point I already knew the night was going to be a struggle. Stopping at Mr V’s to stock up on knock-off Red Bull for my mental pre I encountered two battered boys dressed as Hugh Hefner who proceeded to tell me they were doing rugby initiation and had made the fresher eat catfood, mix a horrific number of drinks and they’d all been sick. This reassured me – surely my pres couldn’t be as bad as that. I was bitterly mistaken.

Being sober at a pres where everyone has already been drinking all afternoon is what I imagine it would be like to manage the children in Cheaper by the Dozen. Drinks spilled everywhere, dancing on chairs and heated argument over who got the song lyrics right. I walked in to immediately be floored by the two girls who had earlier in the day claimed “Mate, honestly, it’s fine, we won’t get that drunk” after I voiced my concern about their tendency to chase unsuspecting freshers the moment they have a drink.

Stage two: Da club

I walked in and was immediately rugby tackled onto a table and had ice shoved down my pants.  Apparently this is hilarious. Who knew.

Five minutes in, and after seeing some particularly intense full-frontal snogging, I knew I was going to be in for a treat. As the night progressed, I decided the smoking area would be my best bet to see what really goes on and gets said when everyone’s vocal chords are loosened. Within the clouds of smoke, the unashamed chirpsing is incredible: sweet nothings such as “I’ve got really good chat, but I left it at home, you’ll have to come find it” were being whispered/slurred into female ears.

After going with my friend to “casually walk past” the girl he fancied only for them to immediately start snogging and watch everyone around me got more and more drunk (and having more and more fun) I checked my watch, thinking to myself it must be at least 2:30. It was 12.

In a last-ditch attempt to enjoy myself I entered the dance floor. What I never realised is that when people drink and dance, they don’t dance – it’s more of a sway/stumble followed promptly by someone falling off the podium. What I never realised before is how annoying drunk people are, so refusing to completely waste an evening away from Netflix, as 12:30am approached and I battled my way to the front of the bar.

After all: if you can’t beat them, join them.