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One toke over the line, sweet Jesus
I once spent a brutal and unforgettable weekend with two good friends of mine up in Nottingham. David Randall, a European Politics student desperate to get away from anything political and James Davey, a man who likes to drink and enjoys a challenge. The weekend was only memorable in its entirety for a couple of us. To the other one, it was memorable in parts due to the lack of memory retained. At least I assume it goes something like that. I thought I'd cover some of the events that he can't recall, or would rather not try to. The main body of these memories (or lack thereof) center around the drinking challenge known at the university as "Campus 14".
"Campus 14" is legendary. It's revered even, and not many people are that enthusiastic about trying it that often, if ever. I don't remember anyone saying they've tried more than once and Nottingham is full of drunks, crackheads, and the very scum of human existence. Even after hearing the tales of the three people who died post-completion, something that would put your average sense-thinking alcoholic off, nothing could lessen James's desire to tackle it head on. The unfortunate phrase that would later come back to haunt him was something along the lines of "I can do it, EASY." Even I believed the jibbering fool at that point in the night, who wouldn't? This wasn't a vegetable or a small malnourished boy, this was a man, in the prime of his teenage years, who was clearly about to enjoy the best part of what he was about to do. I've always said pleasure is half the trouble, if not 5/8ths.
This is effectively the synopsis of that devilish challenge that he undertook: It’s fourteen different bars, it’s fourteen different drinks and it’s unrelentless, unrestrained and won’t say sorry when you try it and fail. You have to drink 14 doubles with mixers in two and a half hours, which may be alright if you could sit in a cozy environment, with a raging fire to one side and a posse of supporters to the other, but not alright when it grabs you by the balls and drags you to a new bar, a new location, every 10-15 minutes and shoves another hit down your throat as you cling to the bar gasping for air. I was witness to this, whilst joining in half-heatedly, in the end only achieving 8/14 of the drinks. I didn’t dare go any further, by bar 7 I was lagging behind the group’s movements, contemplating falling into the nearest bush and calling it an early night, and by that time I knew I was done for. I gave up but James continued, and for that much I salute him, but for what followed I can only look back on with fond reflection.
Trouble struck as we entered bar 12, by this time, a previously-confident drinker had retreated into a quiet and cautious kitten of a guy who had lost track of his mind and was only focused on the mission in hand – a single-mindedness that would ultimately lead to downfall; approximately 3 minutes after the 12th serving. I had a gin and tonic. I had recovered and was feeling thirsty. I have always had trouble trying to deduce whether a bar served Pepsi or Coke after a few shots, so I played it safe and took the softest alcoholic drink I could remember. I didn’t even stop to consider wine, Jesus that would have put the devil’s fork into anyone at that point. James disappeared, Dave disappeared, and I took a while to notice. I looked up from the black straw I was sipping my G&T from and saw a thousand unfamiliar faces. I took a deep breath and avoided their stares, I played it safe and walked coolly to the bathroom to have a drink from the tap and relieve some tension. When I returned to my empty glass, Dave’s empty glass and James’s full double Red Bull & Coke, I realised the night was on its last legs.
By the time I made it outside to the courtyard, the unfortunate challenger was sprawled face-down on a spacious grassy area, crawling around blindly in what I assume was an attempt to reach the flowerbed. At one point managing to get close to the target, he unfortunately failed to halt the delirious rotations, and ended up facing the opposite way once more. Mr Randall told me that by this time James had been throwing up for a while, so I took the chance to take in the scenery around us. I was later told that the courtyard I was standing in belonged to one of the more sensible and less-likely-to-throw-up-in-a-bush houses. Not that this would have made any difference at the time, but an interesting fact on reflection.
After a short walk back to the 11th bar house, and Dave’s room, James collapsed on his deflated inflatable bed and passed out. Despite my polite written request for him to cease all movements until morning, he insisted on getting up for the sink to rapidly remove more of the poisonous fluids from his system, before falling backwards onto the bed again for another go at falling unconscious. This pattern continued for the next hour or so, whilst Dave played some Pro Evolution Soccer and I read satirical articles on the internet.
Written by Jay.
"Campus 14" is legendary. It's revered even, and not many people are that enthusiastic about trying it that often, if ever. I don't remember anyone saying they've tried more than once and Nottingham is full of drunks, crackheads, and the very scum of human existence. Even after hearing the tales of the three people who died post-completion, something that would put your average sense-thinking alcoholic off, nothing could lessen James's desire to tackle it head on. The unfortunate phrase that would later come back to haunt him was something along the lines of "I can do it, EASY." Even I believed the jibbering fool at that point in the night, who wouldn't? This wasn't a vegetable or a small malnourished boy, this was a man, in the prime of his teenage years, who was clearly about to enjoy the best part of what he was about to do. I've always said pleasure is half the trouble, if not 5/8ths.
This is effectively the synopsis of that devilish challenge that he undertook: It’s fourteen different bars, it’s fourteen different drinks and it’s unrelentless, unrestrained and won’t say sorry when you try it and fail. You have to drink 14 doubles with mixers in two and a half hours, which may be alright if you could sit in a cozy environment, with a raging fire to one side and a posse of supporters to the other, but not alright when it grabs you by the balls and drags you to a new bar, a new location, every 10-15 minutes and shoves another hit down your throat as you cling to the bar gasping for air. I was witness to this, whilst joining in half-heatedly, in the end only achieving 8/14 of the drinks. I didn’t dare go any further, by bar 7 I was lagging behind the group’s movements, contemplating falling into the nearest bush and calling it an early night, and by that time I knew I was done for. I gave up but James continued, and for that much I salute him, but for what followed I can only look back on with fond reflection.
Trouble struck as we entered bar 12, by this time, a previously-confident drinker had retreated into a quiet and cautious kitten of a guy who had lost track of his mind and was only focused on the mission in hand – a single-mindedness that would ultimately lead to downfall; approximately 3 minutes after the 12th serving. I had a gin and tonic. I had recovered and was feeling thirsty. I have always had trouble trying to deduce whether a bar served Pepsi or Coke after a few shots, so I played it safe and took the softest alcoholic drink I could remember. I didn’t even stop to consider wine, Jesus that would have put the devil’s fork into anyone at that point. James disappeared, Dave disappeared, and I took a while to notice. I looked up from the black straw I was sipping my G&T from and saw a thousand unfamiliar faces. I took a deep breath and avoided their stares, I played it safe and walked coolly to the bathroom to have a drink from the tap and relieve some tension. When I returned to my empty glass, Dave’s empty glass and James’s full double Red Bull & Coke, I realised the night was on its last legs.
By the time I made it outside to the courtyard, the unfortunate challenger was sprawled face-down on a spacious grassy area, crawling around blindly in what I assume was an attempt to reach the flowerbed. At one point managing to get close to the target, he unfortunately failed to halt the delirious rotations, and ended up facing the opposite way once more. Mr Randall told me that by this time James had been throwing up for a while, so I took the chance to take in the scenery around us. I was later told that the courtyard I was standing in belonged to one of the more sensible and less-likely-to-throw-up-in-a-bush houses. Not that this would have made any difference at the time, but an interesting fact on reflection.
After a short walk back to the 11th bar house, and Dave’s room, James collapsed on his deflated inflatable bed and passed out. Despite my polite written request for him to cease all movements until morning, he insisted on getting up for the sink to rapidly remove more of the poisonous fluids from his system, before falling backwards onto the bed again for another go at falling unconscious. This pattern continued for the next hour or so, whilst Dave played some Pro Evolution Soccer and I read satirical articles on the internet.
Written by Jay.