jingle balls

Some might say I am mad. Others might say I am a hardcore party addict. Personally, I prefer to think myself a budding socialite among the Cambridge elite. Whichever category I fall under, on Friday night, feeling somewhat unsprightly after a mere two hours’ sleep following the previous evening’s ball antics, I attended another ball.

Selwyn College referred to their event as the Selwyn Snowball, and the name could not have been more apt for the frozen occasion. No amount of mulled wine and mince pies handed out by patient stewards was able restore the feeling to our numb toes as we queued to get in, and the chilled vodka jellies laid out on top of the ice bar were passed by in favour of more warming grub on offer at the ‘Angel of Islington gastropub’ as we entered. Ents offerings continued the snowy theme, with music by the ‘Antarctic Monkeys’ proving especially popular.

I pitied the poor all-girls' A Cappella group singing outside in the cold. I hope they had their thermals on, cos it was freeeezing.

The theme of the ball was Monopoly, and excellent decorations – the entire ceiling of the main hall was covered in a giant Monopoly board – combined with themed cocktails (the luminous green Mayfair Martini being a particular favourite) transported guests to 1930s London. However, the organisers might have got a little too carried away in the Monopoly mindset by establishing a strictly enforced one-way system that made movement from place to place a rather exasperating process for guests.

For those needing to rest after this constant meandering, amusing caricatures were on offer in the ‘Birthday Party’ room, and the ‘Free Parking’ area enjoyed unexpected popularity when one of the films on show there got stuck and played a diverting sex scene repeatedly until a highly embarrassed organiser removed the tape, to the widespread disapproval of a growing faction of male guests.

Despite homemade doughnuts and giant chocolate fountains being available to satisfy midnight munchies, their location in outdoor marquees on the ‘Old Kent Road’ prompted most guests to stick with the Piccadilly Punch flowing from the indoor ‘Waterworks’. Unfortunately this meant that many of the bars ran out of certain spirits and mixers prematurely, and staff members were forced to rely on their Cambridge-bred ingenuity to create imaginative alternatives such as rum and cranberry juice. Delicious.

As the night drew to a close and snow fell on the college grounds, a stampede of chilly guests descended on the unsuspecting cloakroom staff, whose system was so chaotic that many guests (myself included) were forced to enter the maze of garments and rummage through the heaps of coats in search of their own. I wonder whether the banker might have been able to cash in on the wealth of property left over by guests who didn’t share my luck...

Despite this Mayfair madness, we’d still had a capital night of entertainment in Selwyn’s version of 30s London, although the black cabs waiting outside to transport us back to the cosy environs of our college rooms were a welcome retreat from the frosty outside.

Cinderella, you shall go to the ball

Last night I went to the Fitzwilliam Winter Ball, and I survived. Which, considering the sub-zero temperatures, my ridiculously inappropriate five-inch heels, and my lack of sleep in the preceding days in the mad rush to finish end-of-term assignments, was no mean feat.

Admittedly, I was helped by the copious cocktails sustaining my vodka jacket, and, in keeping with the Willy Wonka theme, the unlimited fudge, waffles, marshmallows, falafel, doughnuts, jelly babies, chocolate fountains, gummy bears, pineapple, sausages and mash, cupcakes (have I bored you yet?), fajitas, candyfloss, lollipops, strawberries, popcorn, sherbet, sugar mice, and cheese and biscuits on offer certainly ensured energy levels remained at their optimum sugar-fuelled intensity. And regular Pro Plus-popping probably didn’t go amiss either. We Cambridge students sure know how to party.

Nevertheless, there were a few slight hiccups. At the cheese table, the distressed voice of one slightly less cultivated attendee was overheard despairing, “Jemima, they’ve run out of Babybels! What are we to do?!” The vodka bar also ran dry all too soon, although the barman did offer a sincere apology: “I can give you a mixsh of Baileysh, Archersh and shider inshtead? Thish ish the lasht drink I’m sherving thish shift; wooo let’sh partaaaay!” No prizes for guessing where the vodka went there then. Poor lighting in the ‘room of eatable marshmallow pillows’ also caused its fair share of problems. One female student was appalled to discover the man she’d been caressing was actually a life-size cardboard cutout of Willy Wonka, and a number of girls eager to take advantage of the free hair and make-up ‘touch-up’ services on offer left bearing an alarming resemblance to oompa loompas. Although by that point most people were so intoxicated by the ‘fizzy lifting juice’ being served that hardly anyone batted an eyelid.

We tried to take these lollies back with us, but the security guard stopped us. We protested that we wouldn’t use them as instruments of violence, but he obligingly pointed out, “Lads, that’s how accidents happen.” Next time we’ll be more sly.

Whilst the steel drums playing Christmas carols didn’t quite get the rapturous reception the organisers had hoped for, the rest of the music didn’t disappoint. Unfortunately we arrived too late to catch main act Natty, but the cool sounds of DJ Kayper more than compensated for the loss. Other rooms featured top local acts such as jonocary and Justin Woolf which were bolstered by impressive sound and lighting systems, and for those who wished to escape the thumping basslines there was even a silent disco upstairs.

For guests wanting a break from the music, there was a casino, karaoke, inflatables, a photo booth replete with comical props, as well as shisha for those who could brave the freezing temperatures outside. Even the actress who played Verruca Salt in the first ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ film was installed behind a desk with a giant name tag above her that initiated awkward conversation with drunk students. Clearly, no aspect had been overlooked by the ball committee.

Dancing the night away in the suitably-named ‘Rock Candy Mine’ (Fitz’s basement rooms), time flew by and we almost missed the survivors’ photo in the early hours of the morning. As we huddled on the snowy grass with the hardcore few who had also survived the experience, a chorus of carols broke out. It may only be early December, but as Michaelmas term draws to a close, it feels like Christmas here already.

Photo taken, a voice informed us that breakfast was now being served. My chocolate-abused stomach gave an uneasy lurch. I felt more like Augustus Gloop than Cinderella, but I had survived my first ball nonetheless. If only there had been a great glass elevator to make the walk back to college on the frozen paths more bearable. Alas, I suppose we can’t always have everything.

EDIT: This post was published on Varsity online, hurrah!