As a graduate of the University of Sheffield, I thought it incredibly apt that my alma mater led the research into minimum drink pricing as a means of, in effect, lowering the amount of booze that passes our parched lips each week.
While by the third year of my degree I only used to hit the sauce around once a week, in my first year, still hopped up on the excitement of being away from home and the pleasant incestuousness of dormitory living, 4 or 5 nights out a week was not unusual.
Monday night was the real killer. Across the city venues that, without the presence of tens of thousands of thirsty students, would otherwise be empty would offer deals the likes of which would never be found inside the M25.
The three main nightclubs in the city would sell vodka and mixer for 60-80p, while bottles of lager were often less than a quid. I once bought a round of drinks for myself and five friends. It cost me £3.
Like countless numbers of my peers, I happily chucked plastic glasses of industrial cleaning fluid masquerading as spirits down my throats on a weekly basis, and got royally leathered in the process. Often in some kind of fancy dress and/or drag.
While this is primarily the experience of the student population, who are still young and spunky enough to knocking back a skinful, eat a kebab, roll in at 3am and still get up before noon and make it to lectures, all the fond memories of those hazy, alcohol-fuelled days cannot hide the fact that keeping drink cheap does encourage you to consume more of it, irrespective of your age or level of education.
The news today carried the story of a fresher at UCL who collapsed and died while out partying, and subsequently an 'all-you-can-drink' event was cancelled. Most students, even with the obvious temptation of the kind of promotion which most of them would see as a kind of challenge, would hit their limit and not come close to consuming so much as to put themselves in serious harm. However, a small minority are capable of physical consuming so much hooch as to risk a trip to A&E and it is for exactly these people that legislation must exist.
Weatherspoon's pubs - friends of the student and the pensioner alike - offer cheaper drinks than just about anywhere else. Consequently they are the most ubiqutious presence on the high street from Land's End to John O'Groats (whether either of these two place actually have a 'Spoons, I know not).
Not that this particular chain is any better or any worse than all the others. But they, like all licenced premises, must accept the responsibility that comes with selling alcohol. The fact that this is not enshrined in our laws is something which must be corrected.
It seems obvious to me that hiking the price of drink would have an impact on the level of booze consumed, but this is by no means a cure-all for one of the most widespread social ills in our country. It can only be effective as part of a concerted effort to lessen the harmful effects of alcohol consumption.
I lived my university days neither any more or any less responsibly that most students, and often found myself staring down the business end of an essay deadline with a sore head and a queasy stomach. I don't feel that I should have altered my social agenda in any way, shape or form.
But in since graduation I have come to understand that the sheer reckless abandon of the student lifestyle - when it is all too easy to get carried away on a night out - means that something has to change in the way that alcohol sales in this country are regulated in order that students, like the rest of society, can make more responsible choices about their intake of the demon drink.
While by the third year of my degree I only used to hit the sauce around once a week, in my first year, still hopped up on the excitement of being away from home and the pleasant incestuousness of dormitory living, 4 or 5 nights out a week was not unusual.
Monday night was the real killer. Across the city venues that, without the presence of tens of thousands of thirsty students, would otherwise be empty would offer deals the likes of which would never be found inside the M25.
The three main nightclubs in the city would sell vodka and mixer for 60-80p, while bottles of lager were often less than a quid. I once bought a round of drinks for myself and five friends. It cost me £3.
Like countless numbers of my peers, I happily chucked plastic glasses of industrial cleaning fluid masquerading as spirits down my throats on a weekly basis, and got royally leathered in the process. Often in some kind of fancy dress and/or drag.
While this is primarily the experience of the student population, who are still young and spunky enough to knocking back a skinful, eat a kebab, roll in at 3am and still get up before noon and make it to lectures, all the fond memories of those hazy, alcohol-fuelled days cannot hide the fact that keeping drink cheap does encourage you to consume more of it, irrespective of your age or level of education.
The news today carried the story of a fresher at UCL who collapsed and died while out partying, and subsequently an 'all-you-can-drink' event was cancelled. Most students, even with the obvious temptation of the kind of promotion which most of them would see as a kind of challenge, would hit their limit and not come close to consuming so much as to put themselves in serious harm. However, a small minority are capable of physical consuming so much hooch as to risk a trip to A&E and it is for exactly these people that legislation must exist.
Weatherspoon's pubs - friends of the student and the pensioner alike - offer cheaper drinks than just about anywhere else. Consequently they are the most ubiqutious presence on the high street from Land's End to John O'Groats (whether either of these two place actually have a 'Spoons, I know not).
Not that this particular chain is any better or any worse than all the others. But they, like all licenced premises, must accept the responsibility that comes with selling alcohol. The fact that this is not enshrined in our laws is something which must be corrected.
It seems obvious to me that hiking the price of drink would have an impact on the level of booze consumed, but this is by no means a cure-all for one of the most widespread social ills in our country. It can only be effective as part of a concerted effort to lessen the harmful effects of alcohol consumption.
I lived my university days neither any more or any less responsibly that most students, and often found myself staring down the business end of an essay deadline with a sore head and a queasy stomach. I don't feel that I should have altered my social agenda in any way, shape or form.
But in since graduation I have come to understand that the sheer reckless abandon of the student lifestyle - when it is all too easy to get carried away on a night out - means that something has to change in the way that alcohol sales in this country are regulated in order that students, like the rest of society, can make more responsible choices about their intake of the demon drink.
As you can see, "a dog with two dinkles" just about sums it up. After learning for about a year, I have finally got this particular monkey off my back.
For the first time in living memory I actually knew some of the participants, but this was not enough to ensure I actually made visual contact with any of them, such is the vast gargantuan scale of the whole thing.
But being there in the flesh for the first time was actually quite an emotional experience and I was made to realise, like never before, that each and everyone of the people who participate in this world-famous event are absolutely fantastic.
Elsewhere, Manchester United - clearly still reeling from their mauling against Liverpool - went down 2-0 against Fulham at Craven Cottage.
Here's hoping England's women can overcome New Zealand in the Cricket World Cup final to round off a pretty epic day of top-class sporting action. 
Just look at the colour of it. I'm not even much of a cider drinker, but the rich variety of Bristolian brews on offer - best acquired from one of the city's 'cider boats' (quite literally a floating bar on the river) - are enough to convert even the most sceptical quaffer. While meandering our way drunkenly around the centre of town I was stunned to see a eyrar of swans (yes, that is the appropriate collective noun, I looked it up) as up-close-and-personal as I have ever witnessed. I now regret getting as close as I did to take this picture as I'm sure the pair of tasty bites I now sport on my right calf are the product of a fleeting encounter with some kind of airborne insect.
This blurry shot of the light of the adjacent drinking establishments reflected in the water is a good representation of my vision at any given point after 10pm that night.
While stumbling through the newly-regenerated part of town between our base and the city centre we witnessed all manner of impressive sights, not least this huge chrome structure which our host informed us - in complete deadpan - was the actual spaceship used in Flight of the Navigator. For a moment, in our apple-fermented haze, we almost believed him.
The next day, flagging somewhat, we took a leisurely drive to the outskirts of Bristol. While some might find the landscape a little bleak, I felt it was oddly beautiful with its soft, sweeping lines and rolling hills.
The urban landscape is just as striking. Aside from the numerous works by a certain Banksy dotted around, there is a wealth of other examples of local graffiti artists. Something about the roughened, slightly world-worn nature of the former industrial hub creates the ideal backdrop to this colourful, idiosyncratic art form.
On our last day in Bristol we felt it was high time to take a trip on our local river ferry service. At 60p each way it was as cheap as chips and is actually incredibly handy as the only other means of crossing the river lie a good few miles in either direction.
We tried to sneak onto this boat without paying. We were, much to our chagrin, caught red-handed.
Shortly before packing up and heading home we sat with one last pint to contemplate the revelry of the weekend and the memories we had shared (not to mention the unwelcome sight of my good friend Kirks walking towards us with blood spattered on his cream jacket, the result of an encounter with a local pikey outside a nightclub).
Despite this sole incident of wanton violence, there's no doubt that Bristol + copious amounts of cider = good times.
On the first morning we awoke to grey overcast skies – an unwanted sight on virtually every other kind of holiday but just what I had hoped for on this occasion. Fresh snow abounded and, despite the low visibility, our hosts gave us a whistlestop tour of the area.
That evening we dined out in honour of the last night of some of my good lady's relatives and were taken to a local watering hole which is probably the most lively in the village – Jimbo Lolo's.
These were the perfect conditions for the local topography to really show itself off, with dramatic contrasts between the jagged rock ridges and smooth lines of the snow-laden slopes.
After a good, ooh, 20 minutes or so we stopped to enjoy some well-earned hair of the dog. I can confirm that beer (in this case, Leffe blonde) does taste better if a) it's enjoyed from a proper glass b) costs the equivalent of £6 per pint. The one cowering behind his hand is my girlfriend's brother Daniel – giving as a good a demonstration as any I've seen that it's always worth keeping your sunglasses or ski goggles on when posing for photos in the intense sunshine.
While it was disappointing not to get more snow for the rest of the week ,the variety of terrain kept me well occupied and the intensity of the sun ensured conditions underfoot remained pleasantly soft. 
I felt, given the intense shade of blue and awe-inspiring scenes all around, this was as good a time as any to switch to panoramic mode on my camera.
Clearly I was by this point the only one to remember to keep my eyes sufficiently protected when facing skywards.
On our last night, I remarked at how lovely our little corner of this picturesque village is by night. After cursing not reading the manual that came with my camera I managed to twiddle with it sufficiently to capture this, one of my better attempts at night photography.
Having left my old job the day before flying out – enough of a weight off my shoulders under any circumstances – the week in this charming and friendly town was the perfect mix of relaxation and exhilaration before starting the next stage of my life as a graduate (but more of that in the very near future).