So, this week saw the birthday of my best mate. Being the shy and retiring type that she is, she decided to just have a quiet gathering at home.
All mingling and canapés was it?
As if. I’m talking more absolute battery and a couple of pizzas.
What is about house parties that just means you stop having any knowledge of how you made it home? What is it about them that always means it follows a particular pattern?
You know the pattern..
You arrive, all nicely dressed, hair done and have a really great catch up with your bestests…
Then you decide it’s a good idea to crack onto the booze. The booze that’s already there. The booze that you brought with you in abundance. The booze that keeps magically appearing with every new arrival at the party.
Or in the case of last night. The 11 litres of gin and tonic. The beginning of the end.
Would also like a special mention to be made to Steven’s mates, who brought 60 cans of beer along to the party. There was 3 of them and they were genuinely concerned that they might run out.
Then once you’re all nicely loose, you start the selfies. Because you are having the time of your absolute lives and you want to share it with the world immediately. And cherish this gin induced memory for life. You ensure that your new found mates (normally a guy from your mates work) are in said selfies and you are straight on old faceyb to make life long friends with them.
Then it gets to about 11pm and you realise that you are a similar level of drunk and it becomes apparent that actually you find everyone hilarious. So you enter into the ‘stupid giggle’ phase. And that lasts all the way through yet another bottle of red.
Then the selfies get worse. But you think you look like a glamour model so that’s great too.
Then another hour of life changing conversations on the balcony passes and you start making really rash decisions. You make plans for the following week, you agree to all club in and buy a house so you can have parties like this every week.
Or you go one better and do what the boys did last night. And book a holiday.
This is them, proud as punch that they’d all got hold of a flight to Prague. Whilst massively intoxicated.
Then we all know what comes next. It’s 1am. CALL PIZZA GO GO now.
You order all of the pizza in all of the world and suddenly realise that nobody has any cash. Call emergency whip round for any bit of shrapnel anyone can find. Launch £50 in 50ps at the poor delivery driver. All fall on the pizza and enter into a 20 minute silent feast. Before cracking open the 400th bottle of wine.
It’s about then that the 2005 playlist comes on, you all pretend your 15 again and spend a solid half an hour breaking out your best Usher impressions.
Then out of nowhere it’s 4am. Someone’s stacked it in the kitchen. Someone else is being rather ill over the bath. A few others are still doing shots of Jager.
Then there’s always one. That despite the pizzas and the18 cans of lager is still hungry.
So obviously needs to hammer into the birthday cake.
The hangover’s been pretty world ending.