Honestly, I was reluctant to watch Bridgerton. The aristocracy? Georgian-era romance? Fancy words I don’t understand? I’d much rather go to the pub.

Unfortunately, the pub wasn’t an option. Neither were my essays, which I believe everyone should leave until the very last minute. Netflix offerings were becoming increasingly scarce: Sabrina had just been cancelled, a new season of It’s Always Sunny hasn’t been uploaded for months, and the four episodes of Nightstalker went by in the blink of an eye. It was like living in an entertainment-less Soviet Union. I eventually decided I had no choice. To stay hip and relevant, I had to see what all the Bridgerton fuss was about.

As of writing I still have two episodes left to watch – but good lord, it is truly amazing. It’s like Downton Abbey on acid. Who is Lady Whistledown and why do I care so much about finding out? Is Daphne with child? How did Queen Charlotte’s unspeakably huge afro in episode three manage to stay in place without sliding off? These are the only questions I currently care about.

But it also got me thinking. I, who once had to be rescued by the safety bus after passing out near the business centre, could probably do with a little more elegance in my life. But I also know that, once non-essential businesses can reopen, I’ll rarely be seen outside of a pub. So, what’s the best way to combine the classiness and social grace of Bridgerton with the unrestrained drunken savagery of a post-Covid night out? Easy – turn Keele Hall into a nightclub.

Temporarily, at least. Finding a seat in the KPA is a struggle any day of the week, let alone when alcohol-starved students are finally allowed back after months of being told to go away. And that’s to say nothing of the SU, where I don’t think I’ve ever managed to get served at the bar within ten minutes of joining the queue. (‘Queue’ might not be the right word – it’s always more of a faceless, disorganised blob.)

I can see it now: the fountain transformed into a giant Carling dispenser and the lawn paved over with the brightly lit dance floor from Saturday Night Fever. Not a fan of dancing in the cold? Fear not – we’ll convert the ground floor of the building into a mosh pit. I would also suggest draining the lake and replacing the water with several thousand litres of VK, although the logistics of this may be a tad too complex.

And imagine the financial benefits! Offering Jason Derulo a venue like Keele Hall will almost certainly persuade him to come back, where we can confront him about the money he allegedly still owes the SU. Of course, Trevor might be reluctant to let us transform one of the most beautiful mansions in the country into an all-night rave machine, so we should give him first crack at the DJ job before searching around for other performers.

Sure, a night out in Spoons is hard to beat. But have you ever taken a proper look around and realised, “Wow, this place is a dump?” Tim Martin doesn’t even pay his staff properly so we shouldn’t expect him to invest in decent carpets anytime soon. Let’s turn Keele Hall into something spectacular: a night out fit for royalty, undoubtedly something we all deserve. After all, why settle for a crumby old building when you can have a Grade II* listed mansion?