How many of you have ever been clubbing sober, by choice and not under the duress of a drinking ban or 9am deadline the next morning? My bet would be not too many, even if Cambridge certainly isn’t as ‘boozy’ as many other British universities. A recent survey carried out by the University found that only 38 per cent of students think that getting drunk is part of university culture, compared to 85 per cent in a corresponding NUS survey. Yet whenever I go out I come across students who seem a little worse for wear. Not me, though: as someone who tends to enjoy themselves more the less they drink, I am a dedicated ‘sober clubber.’

Personally, I can’t extol the virtues of sober clubbing enough. As someone who without fail goes out sober, I can testify to the fact that it is perfectly possible to have an amazing time on a night out without a single drop of alcohol passing your lips. Don’t believe me?

We all know that alcohol is bad for us, that it’s hugely fattening, that it’s a poison, and that it floods our bodies with toxins – but at this age there is a tendency (very understandable) to presume indestructibility. My father’s mantra is ‘listen to your body’, and the way excessive alcohol makes me feel is a clear sign to me that it is not doing me any good. In fact, I find the thought of toxins coursing through my blood and rather off-putting. Quite simply, for me the enjoyment obtained from the experience of being drunk is not worth the guilt of what I’ve done to my body and the physical effects the following day. And I’m not just talking about a thick head or a hangover: I mean a stomach as churning as the tempestuous seas of Homer and Virgil.

“I feel that if something is so awful that it’s only bearable if you are drunk and your awareness is blissfully fuzzy, then you shouldn’t be there.”

I am, as a friend once affectionately described me, something of a ‘purist.’ Not because The Guardian lifestyle pages tell me it’s trendy, but simply because it makes me feel good. I don’t smoke, I eat lots of green, I do yoga, I even drink decaffeinated Rooibos tea. When other aspects of my life are clean and balanced, to me it would seem silly to blow down the house of cards with excessive alcohol consumption. Sober clubbing is just one piece in my clean living jigsaw. 

Another element of the clean living jigsaw for me (which doesn’t have to be as ‘boring’ as you may think) is getting up in reasonably good time in the mornings and trying to make the most of every day. In my case, sober clubbing is accompanied by a good dose of foresight and planning: it means I can go out and limit my suffering the following day to being tired, rather than tired and hungover with a throbbing head and a dry mouth. I go out sober because I like to feel fresh when I wake up in the mornings, I like to feel as though I can conquer whatever the day will throw at me: it’s an awful lot harder to fight, let alone win, a battle when you have a splitting headache. A wasted day, with the previous night’s bacchanalian revelling to blame, only cranks up the pressure as the essay lies unwritten and the deadline creeps closer, piling more stress on the already swamped Cambridge student. 

So why on earth do most of us do this to ourselves? There seems to be a belief among many members of our generation that alcohol is necessary to have fun. I must confess that I am a dedicated Turf and Arcsoc-goer, but when I occasionally make an appearance at Wednesday Cindies for whatever reason, people look at me in astonishment: ‘how can you bear to be here sober?!’ To an extent, this sums up our generation and the culture among young people in Britain. Personally, I feel that if something is so awful that it’s only bearable if you are drunk and your awareness is blissfully fuzzy, then you shouldn’t be there.

Equally, however, there is absolutely no reason we shouldn’t enjoy sober forays into the clubbing scene. Anyone who has ever seen me on the dancefloor will know that I am an incredibly energetic and enthusiastic dancer. For me, with dancing comes a sense of being alive and, if I’m sober, I have full control of those invigorating movements. Exaggeratedly stamping my feet and leaping up and down is not just a way of unsticking the soles of my feet from the adhesive floor in Life. It is, like it or not, how I dance. And I may be sober, but I’m having as much fun as you are. 

Out to impress

To those of you who have never attempted sober clubbing, this will not make any sense, but I frequently experience a phenomenon I like to think of as musical intoxication. It requires good music, a decent sound system and an open mind, but it is perfectly possible to not touch a drop, and yet still feel transported to another plane, buoyed by the rhythm of the music and the energy of those around you. This can be a rather heady and unique sensation, but to achieve it requires a level of consciousness beyond reach for those whose minds are swimming in alcoholic confusion. 

While I am a great believer in sober clubbing, it doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy a drink occasionally. It’s just a case of ‘everything in moderation.’ And besides, having spent a lot of time growing up in the Mediterranean, for me drinking is generally enjoying a few glasses of wine with a meal. We don’t consume sugar in order to put on weight, we do it because we like the taste. I have a similar attitude towards alcohol. Quite simply, I just don’t feel as though I need to be drunk to have a good time. 

On several occasions I have heard friends on drinking bans describe how they were forced to socialise without the crutch of alcohol and admit, eyes wide, that they actually enjoyed sober clubbing. They spent less money, they had interesting conversations, they actually remembered those interesting conversations. Why wait for the enforcement of a drinking ban?

Go on, give it a go – I dare you.