Christmas came and went, and far too quickly. Some people went to Church. Some watched the Queen's speech, some watched the Christmas Special of Strictly, most of us ate too much, and the decorations are finally coming down. (Or being binned by your cleaner. Au revoir, Wilkinson's metallic baubles). For many, the season of Goodwill means festive quantities of alcohol, and a New Year's Resolution to quit drinking for January.
Yet for the first-year university population of Great Britain, Christmas was our time to sober up, dry out and let our livers' recuperate. The first term of university, for the vast majority of students, passes in a haze of party-going, new experiences, and inebriated parties. Alcohol is the focal element of Freshers' week. For the first few weeks, the parties are most nights. Every club competes to draw the newbies in, before the realities of student finance kick in, offering free shots, drink deals and extravagant parties. For those of us who hadn't really been exposed to this kind of drinking culture before, it's a hard job staying afloat in this befuddling onslaught. For some, it is a liberation. Away from their parents for the first time and keen to make the most of the experience, they plunge head first into it, going out at every opportunity and trying out every new experience. For others, myself included, it was more of a culture shock. Trying to be cool with accounts of drunken exploits, with people drinking until they vomit and then keeping on going, with bleary eyed strangers staggering into you and floors sticking to you and the relentless, furious pursuit of pleasure was nerve-wracking. I didn't know how to drink or handle alcohol-related social occasions, but I realised within the first few hours that if I was going to get to know people and establish myself as one of the crowd, I couldn't just hide away in my room; I had to leave my comfort zone and try this strange new world out.
So I did, in mild ways. I went to a couple of club nights at the university club, although I haven't ventured into town yet. I've been to bars and 'pre-drinks', which is the main drinking session of the night. I've played drinking games and seen other people drunk. And I've been drunk myself, just the once.
For some people reading this, that list of accomplishments will make me look terribly prudish, and I want to make it clear that this blog post isn't about passing judgement on other people's lifestyles. Clubbing might not be my cup of tea, but that doesn't mean it's without merit, so don't take what I'm about to say personally.
For another, probably smaller group, these confessions won't look so great, and I've thought seriously about how important this blog post is to me. Do I want to tell my family, or even a future employer, about the time I lost count of how many beer-pong drinks I'd downed and couldn't walk in a straight line? Not really. But I think that it's important that I talk about it, because it happened, and I couldn't rightly give any kind of critique of teenage drinking culture without seeing it, and even experiencing it myself. (This is the same justification I give when I confess to reading Twilight...)
Do I regret the last term? No. Whether drinking is good or bad, in the circumstances it was important to engage with this lifestyle because of its centrality to the social bonding process of starting university life. You meet people, you make funny memories with them, and you break the ice. It is vitally important that you do this within the first few days of university, or you will miss out on the one chance you have to become part of the friendship group in your halls, and possibly isolate yourself for weeks. The first few weeks at university are hard, and can be very lonely, and it is really important to try to be around other people, and be around for them too.
But I do regret that one time.
But why do I regret it? After all, I was only mildly drunk. I didn't have a hangover, although I was a wee bit less focused than I could otherwise have been, I was with people I trusted, and I had a reasonably good time. When I needed to sober up to do something serious, I was able to, because I did stop drinking when I felt I'd gone far enough. Over all, I would say that I was sensible, and there's nothing specific about my actions I regret. Socially, it was useful because it gave me a chance to be part of the group, to 'prove my stripes'. I managed to 'down' a drink (mostly down my front); I giggled spectacularly, and I can now talk with a semblance of sympathy about what it means to drink, or be drunk.
Yet still I regret it, and I want to talk about why.
The first thing was the experience of being drunk. At the time, I thought I was enjoying myself, but part of me was happy because I knew I ought to be happy. The thing is that something about drinking culture creates this skewed perception of alcohol. We see other people enjoying themselves, see its connection to social activities, and for years its unavailability makes it seem tantalising and mysterious. Alcohol promises to make you the popular and sexy. If you can drink the most, you gain social kudos for being able to hold your drink. And for some people, this holds true. If you find drunk people sexy, and if you think that you look sexy drunk, then being drunk is not such a bad social choice for you. (I'll get on to other reasons why it might be good/bad in a bit.) And the truth is that this is true for at least a part of the people who behave as if it is true, because this is how the perception spreads, and many young people like myself, new to alcohol, are left with the impression that drinking will somehow make you attractive.
I don't think I ever fell for this, not entirely, but it would be a lie to say that I haven't been swayed by the pressure to drink and be part of that culture. Alcohol in itself was never a great temptation. My parents introduced me to alcohol casually, allowing me to drink small amounts on special occasions, and later have the occasional drink with them - a half pint of beer on Friday night, or a glass of wine with a meal - so that I wouldn't be overwhelmed by the availability of alcohol when I turned 18, and I'm very thankful that they did this. On the Continent, where children drink small amounts from a young age, levels of alcoholism in young adults are far lower than in Britain, meaning that their familiarity with alcohol means that the temptation to overindulge is significantly reduced. So trying new drinks and the desire for alcohol itself wasn't a problem. The thing is, I don't believe that it usually is, until alcoholism sets in. The craving is for social acceptance, and we've learnt to associate that with alcohol. I like to drink socially, and so I did. Not all social drinking leads to the easy road to alcoholism and self-destructive behaviour, but alcohol IS addictive, and every drink calls for another, and another.
This brings me to the second, and most important point, in explaining why I regret getting drunk, and I'm going to start explaining with a bit of context, because I think this is an important point in explaining why drinking related events are so central to the 21st century student experience.
The last year of school is intense, and introspective. The process of writing your personal statement and applying to university forces you to focus in on yourself. You summarise your entire life, list every experience and job and hobby you have. You work out what you want to do, and why. The process is demanding; you go through moments of horrendous uncertainty and highs of total self-belief. For those who get their required grades, all our highest hopes of ourselves are confirmed. Having spent the last two years reading as widely as possible, trying to get work and life experience, and filling my every moment with personal-statement worthy pursuits, I felt confident in myself. As someone who has always struggled with self-belief, and whose default is to belief that I am incompetent and dislikeable, it was the most incredible feeling.
Then you start University, and immediately all of that is wiped away. You have no hobbies, you know no-one, and you feel very young and inexperienced. Your academic achievements don't stand out because everyone is on the same intellectual level. (I'm not complaining about this, I really like it). You have to effectively start from scratch, re-establishing yourself, working out who you are again. It's a great opportunity and a great way to become an adult, but at times it can feel very demoralising. Combine this need to rediscover yourself with freshers' and its inundation of alcohol, and suddenly, alcohol is part of your daily life, and plays a significant part in the experiences that make you who you are at university. Over the next few weeks, you have the opportunity to find other things to define you: your course, your societies, maybe a job or some involvement in the local or university community, but not all students take this opportunity up. For a minority, alcohol related pursuits become their defining feature. They study, they socialise, and the university brands it 'Work hard, play hard.' By saying this, I want to make it clear that I'm not accusing anyone, least of all the lovely people I've met at University, of being one-sided, or obsessed with alcohol, but trying to explain my fears about the dangerous place it can take in people's lives. Most universities try to encourage their students to do extracurricular activities, and my university, UEA, is particularly good at this, acknowledging that working and partying do not make a complete or healthy life.
And maybe, for some people, drinking and partying is perfectly compatible with the person they want to be, and I'm not going to criticise that. But it's not right for me. When I wake up in the morning I want to feel proud of the things I'm doing and who I am, not ashamed or embarrassed. I want to be in control of my life. As fun as drinking games can be, I'm the kind of girl who likes curling up with a good book and a cup of tea, or chatting with a few good friends in a Costa, and one of the things I've learnt about myself this term is that I don't want to compromise that and change who I am by going with the (alcohol) flow. And I don't think I'm alone in this. Most people have settled into University, finding the pattern of day-to-day life, and kept alcohol in its' proper place - a nice, social drink, to be drunk in moderation. Yet still the ghost of Fresher's week, the emblem of the worst of our attitudes to drinking, hangs over us, encouraging young people to recreate it over and over again on nights out. In all the weeks of university and working out who I am, as an adult, a few tiny moments stand out: conversations with friends, the single hour I spent collecting for charity in town, submitting creative writing in an assignment for the first time, going to poetry open mic nights. In some of these special moments, I did have a drink, but none of them were defined by alcohol. And that's the way I mean to go on.
At some point in the near future I'm going to write a follow up blog post, dealing with some other issues around drinking, such as ways to combat our negative drinking culture. Concrete, our student newspaper, published a survey this week about drinking and drug use at the university. I was a little shocked at some of the results, and I'm worried that the pretty high drinking/drug-taking levels reported won't put prospective students off coming to the university, as for one the results will only be representative of the state nationwide, and I haven't seen any drug-taking in the three months I've been here. I did actually reply to that survey, so my answers are part of their statistics :)
Please feel free to send me your comments and messages, but please be kind and don't take anything I've said personally - I didn't write this with any particular person or group in mind. You are all lovely. Put the Nerf guns down, people...
As always, thank you for your patience and perseverance in getting this far.
God Bless,
J.R.
(2,841 words... The newspaper comment columns have just been waiting for me!)
I don't think I ever fell for this, not entirely, but it would be a lie to say that I haven't been swayed by the pressure to drink and be part of that culture. Alcohol in itself was never a great temptation. My parents introduced me to alcohol casually, allowing me to drink small amounts on special occasions, and later have the occasional drink with them - a half pint of beer on Friday night, or a glass of wine with a meal - so that I wouldn't be overwhelmed by the availability of alcohol when I turned 18, and I'm very thankful that they did this. On the Continent, where children drink small amounts from a young age, levels of alcoholism in young adults are far lower than in Britain, meaning that their familiarity with alcohol means that the temptation to overindulge is significantly reduced. So trying new drinks and the desire for alcohol itself wasn't a problem. The thing is, I don't believe that it usually is, until alcoholism sets in. The craving is for social acceptance, and we've learnt to associate that with alcohol. I like to drink socially, and so I did. Not all social drinking leads to the easy road to alcoholism and self-destructive behaviour, but alcohol IS addictive, and every drink calls for another, and another.
Then he had thought about what his position actually was and the renewed shock had nearly made him spill his drink. He drained it quickly before anything serious happened to it. He then had another quick one to follow the first one down and check that it was all right.``Freedom,'' he said aloud.Trillian came on to the bridge at that point and said several enthusiastic things on the subject of freedom.``I can't cope with it,'' he said darkly, and sent a third drink down to see why the second hadn't yet reported on the condition of the first. He looked uncertainly at both of her and preferred the one on the right.He poured a drink down his other throat with the plan that it would head the previous one off at the pass, join forces with it, and together they would get the second to pull itself together. Then all three would go off in search of the first, give it a good talking to and maybe a bit of a sing as well.He felt uncertain as to whether the fourth drink had understood all that, so he sent down a fifth to explain the plan more fully and a sixth for moral support.``You're drinking too much,'' said Trillian.His heads collided trying to sort out the four of her he could now see into a whole position. He gave up and looked at the navigation screen and was astonished to see a quite phenomenal number of stars.``Excitement and adventure and really wild things,'' he muttered.``Look,'' she said in a sympathetic tone of voice, and sat down near him, ``it's quite understandable that you're going to feel a little aimless for a bit.''He boggled at her. He had never seen anyone sit on their own lap before.``Wow,'' he said. He had another drink.``You've finished the mission you've been on for years.''``I haven't been on it. I've tried to avoid being on it.''``You've still finished it.''He grunted. There seemed to be a terrific party going on in his stomach.``I think it finished me,'' he said. ``Here I am, Zaphod Beeblebrox, I can go anywhere, do anything. I have the greatest ship in the know sky, a girl with whom things seem to be working out pretty well ...''``Are they?''``As far as I can tell I'm not an expert in personal relationships ...''Trillian raised her eyebrows.``I am,'' he added, ``one hell of a guy, I can do anything I want only I just don't have the faintest idea what.''He paused.``One thing,'' he further added, ``has suddenly ceased to lead to another'' --- in contradiction of which he had another drink and slid gracelessly off his chair.Whilst he slept it off, Trillian did a little research in the ship's copy of The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. It had some advice to offer on drunkenness.``Go to it,'' it said, ``and good luck.''It was cross-referenced to the entry concerning the size of the Universe and ways of coping with that.
Thinking about it retrospectively, alcohol let me down. On one hand, it has been useful socially, but there's no reason to suppose that the only way to socialise is to drink. On the other, it didn't do what it promised to do. I didn't look tough, I didn't feel sexy, and I certainly didn't look sexy. Inelegant at the best of times, watching the mobile-phone footage of myself drunk was painful watching. I looked spectacularly graceless, I was incapable of saying anything intelligent, and I looked messy and horrible. Admittedly, I was only in our communal kitchen so I hadn't dressed up for the occasion, but it watching myself fall off chairs and slide down the freezer, laughing hysterically at myself, I have never felt so unattractive!(Douglas Adams, Life the Universe and Everything, Control+C'd off a slightly dodgy looking website)
This brings me to the second, and most important point, in explaining why I regret getting drunk, and I'm going to start explaining with a bit of context, because I think this is an important point in explaining why drinking related events are so central to the 21st century student experience.
The last year of school is intense, and introspective. The process of writing your personal statement and applying to university forces you to focus in on yourself. You summarise your entire life, list every experience and job and hobby you have. You work out what you want to do, and why. The process is demanding; you go through moments of horrendous uncertainty and highs of total self-belief. For those who get their required grades, all our highest hopes of ourselves are confirmed. Having spent the last two years reading as widely as possible, trying to get work and life experience, and filling my every moment with personal-statement worthy pursuits, I felt confident in myself. As someone who has always struggled with self-belief, and whose default is to belief that I am incompetent and dislikeable, it was the most incredible feeling.
Then you start University, and immediately all of that is wiped away. You have no hobbies, you know no-one, and you feel very young and inexperienced. Your academic achievements don't stand out because everyone is on the same intellectual level. (I'm not complaining about this, I really like it). You have to effectively start from scratch, re-establishing yourself, working out who you are again. It's a great opportunity and a great way to become an adult, but at times it can feel very demoralising. Combine this need to rediscover yourself with freshers' and its inundation of alcohol, and suddenly, alcohol is part of your daily life, and plays a significant part in the experiences that make you who you are at university. Over the next few weeks, you have the opportunity to find other things to define you: your course, your societies, maybe a job or some involvement in the local or university community, but not all students take this opportunity up. For a minority, alcohol related pursuits become their defining feature. They study, they socialise, and the university brands it 'Work hard, play hard.' By saying this, I want to make it clear that I'm not accusing anyone, least of all the lovely people I've met at University, of being one-sided, or obsessed with alcohol, but trying to explain my fears about the dangerous place it can take in people's lives. Most universities try to encourage their students to do extracurricular activities, and my university, UEA, is particularly good at this, acknowledging that working and partying do not make a complete or healthy life.
And maybe, for some people, drinking and partying is perfectly compatible with the person they want to be, and I'm not going to criticise that. But it's not right for me. When I wake up in the morning I want to feel proud of the things I'm doing and who I am, not ashamed or embarrassed. I want to be in control of my life. As fun as drinking games can be, I'm the kind of girl who likes curling up with a good book and a cup of tea, or chatting with a few good friends in a Costa, and one of the things I've learnt about myself this term is that I don't want to compromise that and change who I am by going with the (alcohol) flow. And I don't think I'm alone in this. Most people have settled into University, finding the pattern of day-to-day life, and kept alcohol in its' proper place - a nice, social drink, to be drunk in moderation. Yet still the ghost of Fresher's week, the emblem of the worst of our attitudes to drinking, hangs over us, encouraging young people to recreate it over and over again on nights out. In all the weeks of university and working out who I am, as an adult, a few tiny moments stand out: conversations with friends, the single hour I spent collecting for charity in town, submitting creative writing in an assignment for the first time, going to poetry open mic nights. In some of these special moments, I did have a drink, but none of them were defined by alcohol. And that's the way I mean to go on.
At some point in the near future I'm going to write a follow up blog post, dealing with some other issues around drinking, such as ways to combat our negative drinking culture. Concrete, our student newspaper, published a survey this week about drinking and drug use at the university. I was a little shocked at some of the results, and I'm worried that the pretty high drinking/drug-taking levels reported won't put prospective students off coming to the university, as for one the results will only be representative of the state nationwide, and I haven't seen any drug-taking in the three months I've been here. I did actually reply to that survey, so my answers are part of their statistics :)
Please feel free to send me your comments and messages, but please be kind and don't take anything I've said personally - I didn't write this with any particular person or group in mind. You are all lovely. Put the Nerf guns down, people...
As always, thank you for your patience and perseverance in getting this far.
God Bless,
J.R.
(2,841 words... The newspaper comment columns have just been waiting for me!)
