What Kind Of Drunk Are You?

picture courtesy of pinterest x
I read a great article today on The Seven Drunk Girl Personas. Here it is – have a gander…
It details the seven different types of drunk girl and how to spot them. It had me in fits. However, I couldn’t help but think they’d missed a few vital ones. And not necessarily exclusive to females. 
The Criminal. 
I’m talking everything from flashing to theft. The Criminal is the brave heart of the drunk world and the higher the alcohol intake, the higher the risk. 
Is that a traffic cone? I almost certainly need to wear it on my head, take it home and vow to make a lamp out of it. Until I wake up in the morning and realise it smells like cat’s piss. 
The Criminal will wake on a hangover to fantastic pictorial evidence of knicker and arse showing and a bag filled with “must have” Stella Artois glasses and six sets of matching cutlery from Weatherspoons. No supermarket crisp aisle or piece of moveable street furniture is safe.
My mate Parker is a phenomenal example of The Criminal drunk. A pub we frequent naively leaves bowls of savory goods on the bar for purchase. One particular heavy Friday night, on the diagonal walk to the next watering hole, our dear girl screamed ‘DINNER’ at the top of her 5ft3 lungs. Flung open was the £500 designer handbag and cascaded onto the pavement was a dozen packets of Nobby’s Nuts. The look of pride in her eyes is something I will carry with me for many years. 
The Dreamer.
I CAN and I WILL climb that wall/become a rock star/ win the game show I’ve just made a drunken application to. The Dreamer believes that the sky is their limit and are willing to talk the hind leg off any donkey happy enough to listen to how they are going to achieve their goals. 
They make slurred pacts that by this time next week, they will be a major TV personality, and if they show their face in the pub again, you’ll be very lucky to be in their company. They like to sing…or badly breakdance.
Laura is hands down the reason The Dreamer was invented. A night out dancing in Brixton a while back ended in her vowing that her & I would be global DJ’s before the summer was out. We had dance moves, a standard tracklist and a wishlist of the festivals who’s invites we’d gladly accept. Last week she signed me up to participate in The Million Pound drop, I’m sure wine played a part. That’s not even touching on the hour we once spent talking about how incredibly epic our celebritychatshowinapub would be. 
The Instigator.
Tell you what’s a great idea….buying more shots! The Instigator is the person that tends to rally the troops late on a Friday afternoon, greets the flagging endofweekers with promises of a quiet drink and a catch up before swiftly announcing that they are openly planning on missing their last train and they are taking you down with them. 
They love a dare. DARE YOU TO DOWN IT. And they really, really love standing in doorways blocking people’s only exit route. 
Now. Josh. Josh is King Instigator. This is the same guy that feels it appropriate to instigate games of  ‘Credit Card Roulette’ (yep, you heard it right – £60 round anyone) and is solely the reason that a good friend of ours once nearly missed a flight to Vegas. Josh loves telling everyone ‘it will just be a chilled jam’ before coming back from the bar with a tray of bombs and a grin that makes you want to roundhouse him. 
The No Homer.
We’ve all got one of those. The one that can’t say no. That can’t say goodnight. And is so scared that the next bar holds the key to a life changing experience that they will not get home til 5am just so they can double check. 
The No Homer is renowned for pulling four nights on a trot, through fear of missing a fantastic, dance filled evening of joy & happiness. They will always want a night cap. And their flat will always be home to a totally unnecessary after party. They love people. And wine. 
Our lovely Kate is the number one No Homer. She doesn’t understand the concept of a night in, and the thought of  going home at 10pm brings her out in quite visible hives. Typical of the No Homer, Kate has a cackle-and-stare move that she pulls. The low laugh and glare that just shouts to everyone in her radius, “I’m out til 4, with or without you’. On a recent trip to Cork, she was not satisfied with the fact that THE WHOLE OF IRELAND shuts at 2am. Instead, she devised a plan to get booze from the flat of a friend of a friend before throwing a party back at our Jury’s Inn. Two pizzas, four cabs and a tonne of unnecessary later, we convinced her to go to bed.
The Pit Stopper.
The Pit Stopper will not settle until they’ve had a mid session break. They, on the whole, tend to be the first ones up the bar, and also the people that always want seventeen pints before the sun sets. They tend to suffer quite badly with hangovers and rather than just giving up the pop, they spend hungover mornings devising ways to not feel so rough next time. 
So they invented The Pit Stop. The Pit Stop can vary from tactical toilet visits (you know what I mean) to well timed bar stool perches. A classic Pit Stopper will take a good hour out. 
Simone ‘The Mexican’ loves a Pit Stop, however he tends to take it to levels higher than I’ve known from previous Pit Stoppers. A night recently saw him take an early swerve into his mid session break. I say early, I mean really early. Like a thief in the night, he disappeared from the pub and less than five minutes later I receive a What’sApp picture of an entire chicken. This guy had dived out of the pub, rolled into a Nando’s and ordered a full chicken and sides. Pit Stop complete. Low & behold, he was out til 4am. 
These are just five I would like to add. Please share & discuss amongst your fellow fiends and let me know if I’ve missed off any classics.
Or if, like me, you realise you hold elements of all five, probably best to cancel your plans for the weekend. 


Do you have those things, those petty little things, that send you into a red mist?

I’m not talking world wars here, I’m talking ridiculous shit. Like being hungry. Or your train leaving the station 30 seconds before the timetabled departure when you’re running 20 seconds late. Or when people have dirty fingernails.

The things that make no difference to your life. Whatsoever. But the things that you notice day to day that, over time, make you want to suckerpunch a man.

Here’s a few of of the things that make me want to commit criminal damage. On an almost daily basis.

1. Unpainted toenails in sandals. Feet are ugly at the best of times. Make the best of bad lot and take that extra 5 minutes to whack a bit of No.17 Candy Pink on them bad boys.

2. Banana skins in bins near me. They stink. FOR DAYS.

3. People that are incapable of making hot beverages in the correct sequence. If you don’t follow the ‘removing bag before adding milk’ procedure, you are pretty much dead to me.

4. The people that get out of the tube and read and walk. No book is going to be that good. EVER.

5. The use of the spoken hashtag.

6. Cash points that ask you too many questions. ‘Do you want an advice slip?’ – Funnily enough – NO. I know I’m skint. I don’t need it writing on a bit of a paper. That won’t stop me taking this money out and spending it all on shoes and gin.

7. LEICESTER SQUARE. Every square, tourist filled, awful bar containing inch of the place.

8. Girls that say ‘Oh! I’m never going to finish ALL of that’ at the arrival of their normal (if anything small) sized meal.

9. People that ‘just don’t eat carbs’. Bore off you unbloated fool.

10. The use of Comic Sans MS. Itch.

11. How expensive WH Smith’s got. The once go to place for you all your stationery needs. Now the lairy little blue bastard wants to charge £4.75 for a birthday card. No mate.

12. Weekly food shoppers in petrol stations. Not the time. Not the place.

13. Dirty hair. It smells. It’s wrong.

14. Gym flaunters. Yes your breasts are enormous, and real. But please put them back in your bra before checking your phone/combing your hair/tying your shoes.

15. Tess Daly. Leave. Now.

16.  People that drink halves. Yawn.

17. American Tan tights. Yack.

18. Toeless tights. Double Yack.

19. 10 denier (we can see your stubbled legs) tights. Yack everywhere.

20. The fact that no shop will ever really be Woolworths. The Pick’n’Mix and a CD single days are over.

21. The fact that I’m not married to either Ant or Dec.

22. Relationshiped people that ask single people ‘ So, is there really no-one around at the moment?’ No, no there’s not. Please stop looking at me like I’ve just lost a grandparent. The sympathy eyes make me want to never see you again.

23. High Fives. I’m not in an American sitcom. I’m at work. And this is just inappropriate.

24. People that use the last of the loo roll and don’t replenish. Cheers.

25. Those guys that insist on standing on the left hand side of a tube escalator. Follow the rules goddamit.

26. The fact that Mr Vegas stopped making music. Why? WHY?

27. How calorific ‘going for a drink’ can be.

28. The Germ Blame Culture. ‘Ooooh, you’ve given me that cold of yours’. What cold would that be? The COMMON one? That you probably contracted from one of the 20,000 people you commuted into work with today on the enclosed, unventilated tube? Or from the 70 handles/doors/buttons you came into contact in before 9am? Please.

29. The fact that I’ve still never won the Lottery. Despite rarely playing it.

30. Waking up on a Wednesday morning, convinced it’s Saturday. Pass. The. Hammer.

Now….what are yours?

LL x

picture courtesy of proseandhistory.com