I’ve been at Cambridge for a while now, and in all that time, I’ve never been clubbing. Well, not unless you count the LGBT+ May Ball in first year, which I guess was similar, except it started and finished considerably earlier than the average club and featured a room full of queer people singing along to Taylor Swift and Queen – though from what I’ve heard, perhaps that isn’t so atypical of the Cambridge scene.

Nor do I think clubbing is going to feature in the remaining year and a half I have left of university, because frankly, it sounds like my worst nightmare. My anxiety is triggered by bright lights, crowds, and loud noises, among other things – all of which clubs have in abundance. My physical health problems make it difficult for me to stand for any period of time without suffering severe pain and fatigue, and I also have a habit of injuring myself while standing still. I’m asexual and aromantic and am interested in neither hook-ups nor relationships, so that side of things doesn’t draw me to clubs, either.

“My anxiety is triggered by bright lights, crowds, and loud noises, among other things – all of which clubs have in abundance”

Oh, and I don’t drink. This is partly a choice, and partly because I spent the last few years on too many medications for it to seem sensible. Even though I’m no longer on meds, I think my body’s got enough to deal with without adding alcohol on top, especially because, as a coeliac, I’d have to check the ingredients of literally every drink to make sure it didn’t contain gluten, which just sounds like way too much hard work to me.

Every now and again, I wonder if I’m missing out: on a social life, on a bonding experience (whether because it was great or because it was awful but shared), on a way to relax away from essays, on something quintessential about university life. Then I think about it some more, and I realise that I’m not.

Maybe if I were at a university with fewer societies and opportunities than Cambridge, I would feel differently. As Cambridge students we’re faced with an abundance of societies to join – and some of them, such as theatre, involve enough sweat, strange fashion choices, and nocturnal hours to render clubs superfluous. One can make and spend time with friends in an environment away from both work and clubbing.

That said, my health problems do stop me making the most of these opportunities and participating in the societies I’d like to participate in, and that’s an aspect of life where I do feel I’m missing out. But that’s a whole other article.

Or maybe it would be different if I were at a university where even the people who enjoy clubbing didn’t think the town’s offerings were mediocre at best, but I’ve never heard somebody earnestly and unironically claim that Cambridge has a thriving clubbing scene. Those of my friends who do go out often come home and complain about it, which doesn’t make me think I’m missing much.

Why I stopped drinking to get drunk

It helps, I think, that the majority of my friends are the introverted non-clubbing kind, because it means I don’t have to watch them go out without me, and I’m not worried about being an outsider to the group because of my lack of interest. Most of us seem much happier playing Cards Against Humanity, hanging out in someone’s room, and sending each other bizarre and esoteric memes.

Maybe I’m a stereotypical introvert, but I’m much happier in my room with a cup of tea and a good book – oh, and the neighbour’s cat who has adopted my college room as her second home. My university experience may not be the one most often portrayed in pop culture and the media, but I’m sure I’m far from alone in this non-clubbing lifestyle, and I’ve got no interest in changing it, either