Squash Club: Social Secretary

Bleed purple, bleed scala, bleed squash.    

This is and forever will be my life mantra.

When I was first born, or so my parents relate, the first word which sprang to my infant lips was that of our glorious game. Since then, I haven't looked back; taking any opportunity to walk snootily past the preening Bloomsbury gym goers, sweatily lifting weights heavier than me, safe in the knowledge that I'll be having a far fuller cardiovascular workout chasing around a four centimetre black ball.

My ambition for squash 23-24 is to dial up our socials. Everyone knows we can thump K*L on the courts but the question on my lips is can we chop more pints (beer or non-alcoholic, we're very inclusive) than the scum. I'm talking Phineas. I'm talking Mullys. I'm talking Court. And most importantly of all, I'm talking the finest club not just in Kings Cross but this side of the Atlantic. I want to be receiving desperate pleas begging for a Friday social during reading week because squash (and/or a crippling need for alcohol) is the only thing that can prise you from your unmade bed in the morning.

If you care about the future of UCL squash or you just want to have a good time please vote me in. I can't afford to be buying my own scala tickets every week and I'll cry if I lose!