How not to do freshers week

First year was a relief for me. At school I was just the fat bi kid. I then experienced what can only be described as an underwhelming failure of a gap year. (A word of advice – never ever go to New Zealand, there really is no point). University was going to be different. University was not going to be underwhelming. It was not going to be a failure. I was not going to be known as the fat bi kid. I just had to get through Freshers’ Week.

This was the stumbling block. For some reason I don’t create a good first impression, and the second, third, fourth and fifth impressions are not too grand either. I am a man you have to know for at least six months to grow to like… or to reconfirm that I am such a pillock. Freshers was, therefore, a time to be on my best behaviour.

The problem was alcohol and my inability to not drink it.

It didn’t, in all honesty, start off well. On my first night I downed a few and gave a STYC a running piggyback. In the middle of the piggyback I came up with the idea of hurtling myself (STYC akimbo on my back) in between two trees and shouting “TO NARNIA…!” Unfortunately, I had forgotten about the third tree until my forehead went crashing into it. Cue a night of meeting people with a huge bruise maturing on my forehead.

I mustn’t carry on like this. University was going to be different.

It was halfway through Freshers’ Week and I was drunk again. My flatmates thought it best to forcibly retire me to my room. Having your 15-stone frame lugged up two flights of stairs by people you have known for four days might be embarrassing enough for some. But I applied my uncanny ability to make the situation so much worse. I whispered into one of my friends’ ears “take me to Olly’s room!” I then said the single creepiest thing anyone has ever uttered – “…He won’t resist.”

Thankfully (for my reputation and for legal reasons) this request was ignored and I was put to bed. Most people might realise how much of a cock they were making of themselves. They would put the brakes on. They would try and not completely ruin their reptuation. Not me though.

Two nights later I was paralytic, in some completely random block, lying on a table. People were confused as to who I was, why I had collapsed on their table and why they were moving their kitchen utensils for the safety of this twit.

What happened next has never really been fully explained to me. I awoke and stumbled into a randomer’s room. More precisely I stumbled into their shower, turned it on, lunged at the nearest person and tried to force them into the shower with me. Cue a couple of seconds of amorous yet awkward fumbling and a lot of surprised faces. Luckily the lunge victim wrangled free and for everyone’s safety I was ejected from the building.

I started wandering back to my own block. By the time I got there my trousers had somehow been removed and wrapped around my neck like an extremely creepy scarf. To this day I still don’t know how, where or why this happened. I was met by the startled stares of friends. Matters were not helped when I pretended to be a bull, chased a girl around the kitchen and sang the Benny Hill Show tune, the anthem of the rapist.

Unfortunately, my friends now think this is the most hilarious story to retell at every available and opportune moment, especially when I am introduced to new people.

So, you may ask, what is the point of me reliving this? As a lesson – you have one chance to make a first impression and I failed. The rest of term was spent trying to convince everyone that I wasn’t a sexual predator, a moron and a complete freak.

You only get to make one first impression. Maybe don’t do the double shots.