I woke up. It was sunday afternoon. I felt a slow throbbing sensation about my temples which I can completely attribute 100% to the effects of alcohol. I fell out of bed and slowly looked about my 4 by 7 cell. I seem to have acquired a collection of road signs which I’m adamant weren’t there yesterday. I walked down to the communal kitchen to find my partner in crime prising open a can of soup. He seemed remarkably bright and perky considering he probably consumed about twice as much alcohol as me. As far as I can recollect, most of the contents of my stomach were evacuated into toilet in the middle of the last night. What a waste of cheap wine. I helped myself to some soup too and went back to my room, quickly examined the road signs and went back to bed.

The alarm went, got prepared and headed for campus. As I neared the lecture hall, people started to say hello and smiled. I said hello back and wondered who they were and when we had met. The lectures lasted all day. It does seem remarkable that I was accepted into medical school. Maybe they were short of suitable candidates that year and they had to make up the shortfall. Apparently, if they don’t fill the quotas, they lose money. Anyway, my ability to put two and two together left a lot to be desired and it was only several weeks later that I realised that we must have met everyone when we went on our road sign collecting alcohol fuelled binge on Saturday night.

The first semester settled into a regular routine. There were lectures all week. I missed the ones on Wednesday morning (I hope they weren’t important) as Tuesday night was a “Party” night. The student bar was open (as it always was) but there was a band or music playing that particular night. Apart from friday night, it was the only other opportunity to “Pull” (attract someone of the opposite sex, or same sex depending on your persuasion) that week. As students, we assumed that the opportunities for “Pulling” were greatly enhanced by the availability of alcohol and dimmed lighting which made both candidates appear more attractive. Who was I to argue with the beliefs held and routinely practised by a whole nation every friday and saturday night. I’m sure the theory was sound. I regularly saw evidence of it’s success. Alas, I must have been doing something wrong. Perhaps it was the Old Spice. I only bore witness to the mating ritual, I was never actively engaged in it myself. I consoled myself with the thought that I was a dedicated student fully intent on being a connsumate professional with a vocation to pursue. Every Tuesday and Friday night however, I would feel pangs of envy and bitter fustration as friends and strangers alike would be seen to disappear to the darker recesses of the bar to get better acquainted with their new found friend and I would be left to drink up and walk home alone.