An ode to the VK
I never knew true love until I sipped my first VK
At one of my first nights out at the SU, I questioned my flatmate’s sanity when he proudly bought himself a VK. It’s not exactly the manliest drink around, surely we’ve upgraded by now from the drinks we enjoyed as rebellious pre-teens?
It only took until the end of Freshers’ Week for me to swallow my pride and succumb to the VK. Oh how I wish I’d been less stubborn and given in sooner. My mind was well and truly blown by the revelation of this new, cheap and tasty way of boozing. The only nagging doubt was whether the low alcohol percentage justified the cost. Thankfully, this is where the art of strawpedoing comes in handy. A few strawpedoed VKs throughout the night, a moment to recover from the brain freeze, and you’re all set.
At the start of the night, the back wall of the SU is lit up with the florescent glow of orange, green and blue bottles. Orange and passion fruit is the clear frontrunner when it comes to popularity and they’re quite possibly the nicest thing I’ve ever tasted.
While each flavour has its good qualities, you always know it’s getting to the end of the night when all you can see is a few lonely blue and green bottles left in the almost empty fridges. You’re very lucky if you make it to closing time and you’re still able to purchase the mighty orange and passion fruit VK.
SU regulars are easily recognised by the amount of VKs they have in their hand at any one time. If you’ve just got one or two in hand, you’re still a newcomer to the VK game. The true pros field can be spotted by their use of the VK claw. Why bother making several trips to the bar when you can carry a VK between each finger?
Practicality seems to be the VK’s strong point. It’s as though the bottles were made specifically for ease of use, allowing you to hold loads at once and avoid slowly sobering up while queuing at the bar. They’re also pretty helpful in avoiding the dreaded dribble top. It’s a lot harder to spill half your drink down yourself when it’s a bottle rather than a pint you’re carrying around. We’ve all woken up in the morning to Jäger-stained clothes, but with VKs the dribble top is a distant memory.
Not only does the VK claw allow you less queuing time at the bar, but heading to the VK bar at the back of the main hall means you don’t have to fight your way through the crowd of idiots at the main bar brainlessly waiting for the SU staff to pour drinks at a pace so slow it’s painful to watch.
The VK also makes for a far cheaper night out too at a mere £1.90 as opposed to the ridiculously priced £4.20 double vodka and mixer. Who among us wouldn’t jump at the opportunity for a cheap night out?
Discovering the power of the VK in my first week of uni is probably the most important thing I’ve learned across the two terms I’ve been here – and that includes my degree. It didn’t take long before I was off the vodka altogether and fully indulging in the life of a VK consumer. If you’re still not on the VK train, I suggest you get on board soon.