Students do Lent

This week marks the start of Lent. On Wednesday 13^th February (Ash Wednesday), people will be attempting to give up their favourite indulgences for a painstaking forty days – my housemates and I included.

For some unknown reason (a reason which I now regret), we all decided to set ourselves the challenge of abstaining from something and sticking to it for the six week period. We then put our own student stamp on the Christian tradition and agreed that whoever failed to do so should face a penalty, which was quickly decided upon.

The guilty party would have to run down our road completely naked (with a high possibility of being filmed), while apologising for their lack of willpower. Working out what to give up involved much more discussion, however, with masturbation being swiftly ruled out by the two guys. We eventually managed to compile our list, settling on tea, coffee, ready meals, crisps, chocolate . . . and alcohol. Oh yes, and guess who drew the short straw? That’s right, me.

Why would I agree to give up alcohol, I hear you ask? Something I am now beginning to wonder myself. It started out as a joke, as the one thing everyone thought that I wouldn’t be able to give up. In one of those ‘I’m going to prove you all wrong’ moments, I told my housemates of little faith that I would in fact be able to survive without so much as a sip of my beloved Sainsbury’s cava or a Font cocktail passing my lips.

It then dawned on me that I would have to become a social recluse. Under no circumstances could I be ‘the sober friend’ on a night out. I am not one of those people who can have a ‘quiet one.’ A single drink magically morphs into about twenty, which at best, turns into eating more than is humanly possible in McDonald’s and spending the following day with my head stuck in the toilet. Or, at worst, turns into a serious case of life ruining. Under this category, I put activities such as drunk texting my whole phonebook (family members included as well as past or potential love interests), face planting the dance floor (painful and embarrassing), arguing with taxi drivers and being kicked out of the club by a drag queen called Miss Penny Crayon (an all-time low, one of my best friends and I will admit).

So alas, it looks as though my fate is imminent. Indecent exposure awaits my criminal record. Or, alternatively, I could emerge on Saturday 30^th March as a reformed and highly dignified young lady. Frankly though, this seems to be the less likely of the two. Only time will tell.