Yet back we crawl, legions of defeated warriors dragging our battered corpses t using our last raspy breaths to utter the fatal demand, ‘I’ll take the monster breakfast and a lilt.’ The problem is simple: if we are unable to decline a side of beans and frozen black pudding, how is one expected to say no to regular sex and a hand to hold around the Christmas market? Even with the subconscious foresight that both will have you resigned to starvation, when they are ‘handed to you on a plate’ it’s difficult to say no.
However, as the temperature drops and finances near total depletion I begin to wonder whether it is economically viable to be a single student in December. Rosy-faced couples swan around in t-shirts to cool down post-coitus, while singletons are left lighting matches under each other’s icicle covered nips in front of ‘I’m a Celebrity.’ Your housemate informs you over your morning muesli that ‘Tony* went down on me for hours last night’ to which you reply, ‘Really? Well last night my fanny almost caught fire when I shoved the hairdryer under my duvet. So don’t think you’re having all the fun’.
Bills and libidos soar as low temperatures prevent potential booty calls from leaving the comfort of their hot water bottles. It’s not that they don’t want to come over and dry hump the hell out of you, it’s just that, by the time they’ve traversed the icy roads to your sex den, even a lap dance from Megan Fox wouldn’t be enough to coax their shrivelled balls out to play. Bitter winds breed bitter moods and for once lip-locking with a random in Tequila really isn’t enough to keep you warm at night. Until sexual frustration can be used to boil a kettle, and burning loins provide a sufficient surface upon which to fry an egg, a boyfriend with all inclusive bills is the most covetable item this winter.