Gareth Gregan
There’s more to Cavan than a couple of sheep and baaaaaaaad roads – “Trents on Tour”
What lays ahead of us is the talk of the college as rumours grow and gain legs. Earlier that day I had come upon a shady looking character giving out decent odds that we were in fact heading to Narnia. Mullingar was also a contender because “usually the club there is open on a Thursday but today it’s not”. Would that live up to my expectations? What other surprises would COC and the Ents crew have in store for us? Would this years event ever be able to emulate it’s predecessor? So many questions, yet too much drink to reason them out. It’s fair to say that the Mystery Tour is a defining moment in the career of the Ents officer. Second only to the Trinity Ball, it can either make or break them. Best of luck COC. No pressure.
The clock hits half seven as we all queue in anticipation outside the Pav. Rain teems down in buckets making the grounds of Trinity flood with a mixture of fake tan and spilled drink. Cans? Check. Ticket? Check. Self-Respect? That can wait. Like a bunch of pro-democracy Egyptians we riot our way forwards until we reach the warmth of our bus; fourteen of which line Nassau street. After a brief period of informing us on the “dos and don’ts” of the night – the Gumball challenge (including a directive to lick UT Editor Ronan Costello) – the drinking resumes as cans are burst open and the Vodka/Mixer ratio is perfected. Where were we heading? That’s for the night to let us know.
Before we know it we’re going ninety on the motorway and people are getting progressively more drunk. All around the bus shifting is breaking out to chants of “Who Shifts Shauna?” “You shift Shauna”. Drinking games brought the vivacious scene to life as strangers become friends, united behind the fact that they too have been forced to down the dreaded king’s cup.
With many people still returning from a day’s work, five hundred odd students stagger off the long queue of buses into the nights first club: Vex. “We’re in Meath boysss” is the echo of the melee – at time of writing my memory has not yet recovered enough for me to remember where exactly we were. Within the club and several shots of tequila later the nights entertainment was well and truly underway. Cameras were snapping at a rate that would rival the strobe lighting on show as those eager to tick off another task on the gumball challenge upped the ante. To my left Ronan Costello was fleeing a flock of freshers, his face dripping from those who had licked him. To my right a ginger SF (who shall remain nameless) was maximising the benefits of being ginger – a rare treat for a normally socially shunned minority.
Normally I would be one to avoid the Trinity stereotype but this occasion revealed the Trinity pride which revels inside me. Once on the dance floor familiar faces were everywhere. There really is nothing better in life, for a college renowned for being full of hipsters, than going mental to “That’s what makes you beautiful”, a One Direction classic. However all things good are finite and within minutes we were all wishing the bright lights and creepy barmen of Vex goodbye. Back on the bus we were.
Several bottles of ‘Ken later we were at war with out stomachs as the bus twisted and turned down archaic roads. What god-forsaken distant land had Tr’Ents taken us to? Third world roads and barbaric locals? We certainly ain’t in Kansas anymore. My worst fears were well and truly realised when I was informed that we were indeed in “Kyaven”. Sadly we failed in managing to bring one of the locals home as a “souvenir” of the night.
Now I remember when Chris O’Connor was running for the position of Ents, he promised to bring us a mystery tour with a difference. This tour certainly had that. Time Travel. Our group, made up predominantly of Mocha drinking, art appreciating city slickers, were guaranteed a great night when we swapped the cobbled front square for a club that would not look out of place on “That 70’s show”. Weird. Anyway, in reality this latest club to be ticked off “Gareth’s worldwide tour” was little more than a glorified shed but somehow it shone. The dance floor was now a cesspit of shifting, the smoking area a hot boxed hovel. We managed to see past the dated furniture and fittings as shabby became “retro”. Who cares if the couches would be more suited to a Jane Austen novel when they can aid you in “bushting a move” Cavan style. Seriously COC, how did you find this gem? It epitomised the “Coppers effect”, that is low in actual aesthetic quality, yet unbeatable in craic.
For the final time we hit the road, albeit this time a much more tame affair as the nights antics took their toll. All around me bodies which had previously been bursting with life cut forlorn figures. People slept and people passed out as they realised that their mortal bodies could not handle it anymore. It was a test of endurance. I believe that it stands testament to the quality of the night that luck was on my side. Upon arrival in Dublin my pockets were empty. No phone, no house keys, no passport (too lazy to get Garda ID) and no bankcards; I was destitute. Just as I was envisaging my life as a homeless college dropout wandering the streets of Dublin forever I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the bus driver. His “lost ‘n found” was made up entirely of my things. Although somewhat embarrassed, I was grateful. To be honest, I felt invincible.
After the mandatory end of night trip to McDonalds, the nights entertainment finally came to an end and what a night it had been. I returned home looking like one of the lost Chilean miners: black faced, somewhat disturbed but thoroughly impressed. As I sit here, making a futile attempt to piece together the night’s events I am struck by several strange questions. Who would have thought that Cavan was home to Ireland’s most prestigious club? Why do I have “Call Me for cheap Dance Lessons” written up my arm? And, what exactly happened last night?
Ps: I take no responsibility for any face-raping, drink “gooping” or any other anti-social behaviour attributed to me on said tour and please, please don’t tag me in any photos.
