Trinity ball marks the occasion when hoards of polluted, invariably yipped students, dressed in their finery descend upon our dear campus for what is said to be the largest private party in Europe.
Every year Trinity Ents secure big names like Basement Jaxx, alongside bands you’ve never heard of. But let’s face it, Trinity ball is not really about the music. It is about one massive night of complete and utter excess, with your favourite people at your favourite place. Luckily, TBall has something for everyone, because everyone will be hammered and hammered people like dancing and food and generally acting the maggot in fancy dress. How glamorous.
To all you freshmen nuggets who have yet to partake in the revelry of this night, I promise you’ll all have a great time. Even if you don’t if you’re one of those who hates the lineup or who’ve set it your mission to give out as much as possible about Trinity Ball being so late, CALM DOWN WOULD YA. It’s still going to be kickass. Also, time management. Just plan yourself accordingly and study. It’s not that hard. Also this is Ireland, it’s not like randomly, we’re going to have something on Good Friday. What did you expect? You can deal. Now for those who don’t drink, you’re in luck, because you will actually enjoy the music and you’ll have the mental capacity to recount your favourite songs the next day. The rest of us will leave the ball bereft of dignity and usually without a notion of whom we saw or what we heard. The fear is real.
Last year I lost my flatmate to the see of black dresses and Heineken-stained dress shirts and proceeded to make a new friend with whom I spent the rest of the night. I’m pretty sure our friendship blossomed from the mere factuality that we seemed to be the only students not on pills. Everyone was looped, talk about a ~fun~ night… I mean truly what could possibly be more enjoyable than popping some mystery yolk that you’ve bought off your Trinity dealer. Let’s just take a moment to appreciate why we’re called, Trinity Wankers. We have a back tie event on our gorgeous, occasionally elitist campus, where people get fucking yipped off drugs with names like ‘pink walrus’ that they’ve procured off their dealer, who’s probably some fourth year team England girl you’ve been going to since first year. #stayclassy
So it was on this premise, that a few yolks, would indeed not ‘be grand’ that I made my new glittery friend. This brings me to perhaps my most important point: footwear. Footwear is key. As my Twilight-like-sparkling amigo would tell you, it is imperative that your feet are securely shod in solid, at least vaguely water-resistant shoes.
Ladies, this is for you, be warned, the cobblestones are a bitch. Beautiful but a bitch. The cobble stoned Front Square and vaguely even surface of trinity’s tarmac will twist your ankle and take you down. Don’t wear heels. You will fall, especially given your level of inebriation. You may feel like a celeb in your floor length gown and sky-high hunzo heels, but let me just say, don’t do it. Save your dress. You may think walking through campus in a ball gown is going to be super magical but trust me, tragedy of the commonest order always befalls our dear college and students truly reveal how little they respect it – you in your ball gown will essentially be dragging the hem through a mixture of alcohol, mud and piss. I warned you.
Furthermore, you need to be warm. While dancing, as a cardiovascular activity, does in fact increase your heart rate and therefore your bodily warmth, it is unadvisable to go coat-less. I’m not saying deck out in a woolen peacoat, but at least a wee cardigan should be stuffed in your going out purse to prevent the onset of hypothermia.
Interestingly, if you haven’t been a mooch to your on-campus friends already, the week before the ball is your time to shine as you really, and I mean really, do not want to be stuck using the portaloos. They are rank. So befriend an on campus amigo and if your friendship is meaningful enough, they could possibly take you to the accommodation office the day of and get you your very own *ReSideNts BaNd*. So, dig deep and make friends.
One reason the loos are so mingin is the pool of morals lying tramped into their vaguely grainy plastic floors. The condom wrappers and once loved but now discarded floral pants attest to what was probably the most cramped, awkward sex of anyone’s life and yet I’m in the loo queue waiting to pee. HURRY UP. Literally, GET A ROOM. Despite all efforts made to be sneaky, the shmear of eye makeup and yer man’s shoddy attempt to zip his trousers, have just about given it away… in fairness though, a portaloo? Come on now.
Just a wee recap: flat shoes, short dresses, small cardigan, going out bag, makeup for touchups and condoms for AFTER the ball. Don’t be that couple.
So, suit up or shut up. Get that bowtie tutorial rollin’ on Youtube. Ladies, find your flats. I repeat, do not wear heels. And beware of excessive use of alcohol, pills, etc as you don’t want to end up in a foil wrap inside the artsblock clinic.
I bid thee adieu. So I guess I’ll see yis in the front square for general debauchery fuelled by the celiac-unfriendly Heineken beer garden and takeout stands. (Bastards!)
Seriously, though, the immeasurable hijinks and borderline offensive tomfoolery in beer-soaked black tie stumbling across hundred-year-old cobbles are what makes this party unlike any other party. See you there!
Photo by Caoilainn Scouler.
