‘Legally Blind’ 2.0


We at SOULS are firm believers in increasing inter-year group and intra-faculty relations (or as Mark Henaghan would call it, ‘collegiality’). To this end, we’ve decided to set up single law students on blind dates. We provide the food and alcohol, you provide a good time and a write-up of the night’s events (as below). If this sounds like you, keep an eye on our Facebook page for the next round of sign-ups!


After hearing from my hairdresser that blind dates are the MO of murderers who chop girls up and put them in their freezer, I turned up to Velvet pretty chopped, pretty late and pretty nervous. In hindsight, “you don’t seem like a murderer” probably shouldn’t have been my opening comment but I’m pretty sure he took it as a compliment. Not only was he good looking but he had good chat and didn’t come across as a total asshole so he’s already streets ahead of most law bros I know.

I have to admit that I was keeping a notes tab open on my phone because I knew I would forget all the questionable stuff that happened. This proved to be a great idea because the first thing I wrote, which I have zero recollection of, was ‘Why does he keep saying ‘proceedings’ in conversations? Is he trying to prove he does law??’ Aside from this, what I recall of the chat was that it was v good. Our shared love of Marcelo definitely came up a few times. I must have looked horrified when he announced he was a vegan because he followed it with “but I don’t give a fuck about animals… just the environment”. Swoon. He proceeded to explain why I should watch the Cowspiracy documentary and told me about, and I quote, “really cool vegetables”. Meanwhile I ate my chicken and bacon burger with zero regrets.

When our wine ran out we headed to Night and Day where he swept me off my feet with the line “do you wanna split a pack of darts?” which I’m pretty sure came straight out of Romeo and Juliet. Needless to say, I was game from there.

To give the guy credit, he did back me up in my losing battle when the Suburbia bartender tried to step me out, and he wrangled a refund for our drinks when we got kicked out. Chivalry is not dead. He bought us a fancy (I’d say at least $14) bottle of wine even though he clearly pined for a box of Billy Mavs, and in response I suggested we go back to mine.

Great chat ensued, and we managed to swap some horrific stories which I’m pretty sure we promised to keep out of the write up… I definitely would have reneged on that promise just for the sake of being really brutal but I can’t actually remember the details of his. Sorry team. It was here that we realised we both have banger taste in music, especially the genre to make out to. It was reminiscent of a romantic movie where they fall into bed listening to soft jazz, except I was kind of falling onto the floor to the tunes of the Arctic Monkeys.

Eventually we both became too intoxicated to make good decisions, and settled on saving ourselves till we can find a nice quiet spot in the law library or even Archway 4, for old times’ sake.

Overall fab night, would highly recommend the blind date if you’re down to get a bit weird with a stranger you’ll almost definitely share a ten-floor elevator ride with in the future.


About 3 hours prior to the 8pm meet time I decided it was time to start preparing myself. Alternating between some Andrew Geddis podcasts and the new Kendrick Lamar album on the speakers in my room, I commenced my 3-hour manscape. Then after 2 nervous poos and a bottle of Bird Dog I was out the door.

I was a healthy 6 minutes late, but I still found myself waiting like an idiot for another 5. It didn’t help that Velvet Burger was hosting an Ignite Consultants BYO that night which several of my mates were apart of.

And then she arrived. My blue-haired bombshell was a gift from the SOULS gods. Great chat flowed along with the wine while we proceeded to laugh the night away. After a half-arse attempt at eating our burgers we decided for a change of scenery. I had gathered by this point that my date might be partial to a cigarette or two, and sure enough she, like me, had also left her pack at home. We must have been really fiending because the next thing I know we’ve bought a pack and are sitting in the stairwell that leads up to Etrusco sharing a dart. Romantic, I know.

Still wanting to kick on, we walked back towards the Octy. We bumped into Joan the Butcher and her mate while we were searching for the next bar, and being the good Samaritans that we are, we decided to shout them both a durry. They were very happy. We kept walking and ended up at the fine establishment called Suburbia. The fires were on outside the bar which provided an ideal moody setting, so I left my date with another Marlboro while I went inside to buy us a drink. As I came back armed with a house Sav and the cheapest tap beer available, I heard the bartender complaining to some other patrons about the stingy order I had just made. Now I thought this was pretty rude – we were paying customers and surely she caught on that we were penniless students? I told my date and she agreed that it was not chur. Then the bartender comes out after a minute or two and starts turning off the fires and shutting up shop. I couldn’t believe it, but I kept my cool and politely asked for her to just keep one on while we finished our drinks. She said we could finish our drinks, but she didn’t want to attract any more bar goers by having the fires on and started to head back inside, but not before my date decided to ask under her breath, “Is it because we’re students?” Now, I think the bartender heard her, but still asked if my date could repeat the question, to which she decided to ignore. You could cut the tension with a knife as the bartender asked another couple of times before I decided to answer her by repeating the question myself. Then this woman really kicked off. Like this rude, sassy-ass woman was seriously fucking angry and just going to town on us. After having a bit of back-and-forth and me firmly expressing my displeasure with her tone and the service she had given us, we were asked if we wanted our money back. I immediately said yes. We got out of there with refund in hand, but not before I drunkenly broadcasted to the street how shithouse Suburbia was. Never going back there.

My date loves it. Thought it was real manly standing up for her or some shit. Big ups to me. So I’m feeling quite happy with myself and decide to use the $17 refund from Suburbia to splash on a nice bottle of wine to take back to her abode. The conversation got to music, so we started up the speakers and alternated playing songs while continuing to chat. I’m feeling rather groggy at this point so I start to slow down on the wine. The music follows suit, so I took the opportunity to make a move as a particularly sultry song came on. It was a great success.

By 1am we were still chatting and canoodling, but we both decided that a sleepover wasn’t on the cards.  I went on my merry way not long after that to a nearby grad party and kept sending it until 5am.

Massive thanks to SOULS and my gorgeous date for a great night!

‘Legally Blind’ 1.0

We at SOULS are firm believers in increasing inter-year group and intra-faculty relations (or as Mark Henaghan would call it, ‘collegiality’). To this end, we’ve decided to set up single law students on blind dates. We provide the food and alcohol, you provide a good time and a write-up of the night’s events (as below). If this sounds like you, keep an eye on our Facebook page for the next round of sign-ups!


Headcase: Law Student v Dignity [2017] NZVB

Held: Dignity lost, student awarded hangover dustier than the Law Reports in the Richardson Library.

As a fifth year, my search for a SOULS mate has been, much like a Carbolic Smoke Ball, steamy yet ineffective. As such, I figured it was high time to leave it to “the experts” at SOULS to bag me the Jesse to my Marcello. In true scarfie fashion I rocked up 8 standards deep, fizzing to discuss some dicta. “Jesse” came in hot a few minutes later (only not the inebriated kind), lets just say I wanted him to invade my personal space on a Mark Henaghan level.

Turns out, to my delight, he was *plot twist* a second year and even better, was still living in a hall. My international man of mystery was also pretty fresh to New Zealand, so I thought it only fair to apply some undue influence to down our wine to test his cultural assimilation. In hindsight, this was an error of judgment; he passed the test but I was on the verge of passing out. The chain of causation that then led us to a bar somewhere in the wider Octagon vicinity (unclear).

What I do know is we drank something akin to methylated spirits, and I am estopped from recalling what happened thereafter. On a request for discovery the next day, my charming date informed me some expelling of bodily fluids in a bathroom was involved (take from that what you will). As for where the rest of the night took us, I am not one to cougar and tell but … res ispa loquitor.

On a side note, I hope my date fleeing the country a few days after our rendezvous is unrelated to the night’s events. Watch this space. 

Editors note: The following day, this charming female ‘accidentally’ sent me a text saying: “P.s. I’ve been getting with 4th years”. She later said: “I would like to affirm my stance as a big advocate of ‘getting with’ younger students for study purposes, and I would encourage readers to do the same.”


In typical Dunedin fashion, the night kicked off to Jayfly’s Do You Like Jungle blaring from the speakers, while my mate, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and speedsters, enthusiastically passed me drink after drink. It was like the Olympics, but for my liver.

Once the clock hit quarter to eight, I stumbled out the door and scrambled onto my bike, zooming down to Captain James Cook’s very own Velvet Burger. As the cool autumn breeze blew through my hair, and the moonlight illuminated the road before me, I realized that, like Lance Armstrong, someone should have banned me from using my bicycle that evening. Nonetheless, with a hand-picked bouquet of flowers in one hand, and a bottle of wine secured tightly in my bicycle’s water bottle holder, I rode further into the night.

At Velvet, my date (X) and I were quickly paired and brought down to an intimate corner of the restaurant, where I presented her with her bouquet of assorted vegetation – she seemed delighted. From that moment onwards, both the conversation and the wine flowed like the waters of the Waikato river. X turned out to be absolutely lovely, with fantastic chat, a beautiful smile, and striking eyes. Mid-way through the meal, we forgot about the food altogether and began trying to out-drink each other instead; that vino hit us like a train.

We then agreed to head down to a nearby whiskey bar; big mistake. A sip of whiskey deep and I had to be excused to the bathroom, where I proceeded to redecorate the walls and floors with my spew. Then, peacefully, like a faun in the forest, I lay down to take a nap on the restroom floor. I would love to tell you about how I heroically resuscitated and went on to taking X home, but nope. As I awoke from my snooze, my dreams, hopes, and fantasies for the night lay on the floor beside me, in the shape of a puddle of vomit. By then, X had gone home. Anti-climactic, I know.

Moral of the story, everyone deserves a second chance. X let’s go another date?

Thanks to SOULS for the evening! 10/10 would recommend.