Revellers at the Lettuce Club AGMLucas Chebib

Clare Bar was packed on Monday, as the Clare Lettuce Club sought a new head for the society. The event was organised by David Wesby, a Natural Sciences student at Clare.

In what was hoped to be the tip of the iceberg for the society, over a hundred (sa)lads and lasses turned up to compete at the inaugural event. Such was the demand that the lettuces ran out at one point, and even after restocking there were none romaine-ing by the start of proceedings.

The race saw competitors attempt to eat a whole lettuce as quickly as possible. The winner would be declared president, leaving all others green with envy.

However, in a gripping turn of events, the outcome was too close to call, with the result being put to a panel and potential playoff to determine who will be the next Caesar.

Future event planners should take a leaf out of the organiser’s book, who has sowed the seed for future meetings. The atmosphere was very lively, with DJ Gunger laying down the beets.

Varsity's Matt Gutteridge getting stuck into his lettuceLucas Chebib

Varsity’s very own Matt Gutteridge took part in the event and gave this report:

Apprehension, to optimism, to despair, to exhaustion. This emotional progression is the best summary of my experience of Lettuce Club I can muster. Initial bravado, picking the roundest, greenest lettuce available, gave way immediately to regret as I realised the size of the challenge I had just taken on. Fuelled by the atmosphere of a packed Clare Cellars, and the “slick wobbly basslines” of DJ Gunger, I began.

To start with, I was on fire. By the five minute mark, almost half my lettuce was gone. Could this be my night? Was it my destiny to be the Lettuce Head? Then come the cheers, from multiple corners at once – the incredible photo finish that has forced a playoff for the presidency. My dreams were shattered. And I still had half a sodding lettuce to eat.

But plough on I did, each bite more watery, more leafy than the last. The sprint had become an endurance race, and I did, for a moment, consider quitting. The sense of utter hopelessness at realising you’re about to be defeated by a lettuce is difficult to describe – I couldn’t be known as ‘that guy who didn’t even eat his lettuce at Lettuce Club’. With much encouragement from my Varsity colleagues, I steeled myself for the final push. The final bite, after an agonising, and very unofficial, 31 minutes and 51 seconds, brought not satisfaction, but sheer exhaustion. But I did it. I contributed, in my own way, to what I hope will become a revered tradition, as ‘Cambridge’ as formal hall or King’s Chapel. Long live Lettuce Club