I doubt that the British public have ever been so excited about a wedding. Not anyone’s sons or daughters, or possibly even the day they themselves tied the knot with their better half. And let’s not be foolish in thinking that anyone actually cares that we now know who our future Queen is to be. No, our excitement stemmed from the prospect of an extra two days off work, when we’d already had a long weekend the week before. We were blessed with a few more hours in bed and the choice of lounging around in the sun instead of the recurrent torture of watching it shine down upon the streets outside of our office buildings.
I, like most, was extremely excited about this, except for the fact they kinda screwed us over by having the wedding at 11:00am; there went my extra long lazy lay in. Nonetheless, I got up to watch the historic moment unfold. Other than this, I didn’t have many other plans for the weekend. My wish, in all honesty, was to spend copious amounts of time with my boyfriend. As it turned out, I was granted this. The weekend ahead of me was like a blast from the past, from my early teenage years to be precise, friends’ houses, far too much cheap vodka and drinking games galore.
Friday night got the ball rolling. After watching William struggling to get the ring on Kate’s finger, followed by much praying and horse poop, I decided to go about my day, eating crumpets and sitting on my laptop, when my friend text me telling me he had a free house. I have to admit he did rather well at gathering the amount of people he did at such short notice. I, of course, never turn down an opportunity to get drunk in a nice warm house for less than a tenna.
The whole night is a complete jumbled up blur. I’m certain the things I remember are all in the wrong order and possibly a few of my memories didn’t happen at all or are complete misinterpretations of what truly happened. From sitting in the bathroom with my friend for unprecedented periods of time, our conversation flowing endlessly until someone interrupted us with their full bladder, to having discussions about sex and contraception with a girl I barely know. My musings were confirmed when I later conversed with others, who revealed that everyone had left in a different order to what I had thought and that me and my boyfriend were the last to leave.
A true Vodka Night. I gradually got more and more drunk, as one does when consuming vast amounts of alcohol. But vodka is a cruel form of alcohol. It’s deceiving. It makes you think you’re safe. It wipes your memory of all previous experiences, providing you with a false sense of security. It’s misleading you. It’s like the boy you can’t give up; he’ll convince you that the last crime he committed against your heart was the last and that he won’t hurt you this time. But this is one love interest that will never change his ways. I am the fool who is enticed back into his manipulative grasp every time.
After hours of talking and laughter, the crowd that had gathered began to disperse. It was at this point that the vodka had it's way with me yet again. One swift slap around the head and it knocked all sense and composure out of me. I started to argue with my boyfriend about the simple fact of getting a cab home to prevent me from being raped, murdered, or most likely, falling over, smacking my head on the curb, and laying unconscious in the gutter all night, on the usual five minute walk home. Eventually, after a lot of strife, I agreed to take the easier journey. I cannot fathom what made me think I was capable of surviving the walk home by myself. When you're drunk, whilst your mind and body are juxtaposed, they are no longer symbiotic; your mind tells you you have the ability of achieving a lot more than your body is realistically able. Fortunately, I was saved from myself and returned home in one piece.
This was yet another one of those nights that makes me wonder how I’ve managed to keep my boyfriend for so long. However, I put the night behind me and was lucky enough to spend a lovely evening with him on Saturday night, pertinently, watching The Hangover and peacefully falling asleep in his arms.
I, like most, was extremely excited about this, except for the fact they kinda screwed us over by having the wedding at 11:00am; there went my extra long lazy lay in. Nonetheless, I got up to watch the historic moment unfold. Other than this, I didn’t have many other plans for the weekend. My wish, in all honesty, was to spend copious amounts of time with my boyfriend. As it turned out, I was granted this. The weekend ahead of me was like a blast from the past, from my early teenage years to be precise, friends’ houses, far too much cheap vodka and drinking games galore.
Friday night got the ball rolling. After watching William struggling to get the ring on Kate’s finger, followed by much praying and horse poop, I decided to go about my day, eating crumpets and sitting on my laptop, when my friend text me telling me he had a free house. I have to admit he did rather well at gathering the amount of people he did at such short notice. I, of course, never turn down an opportunity to get drunk in a nice warm house for less than a tenna.
The whole night is a complete jumbled up blur. I’m certain the things I remember are all in the wrong order and possibly a few of my memories didn’t happen at all or are complete misinterpretations of what truly happened. From sitting in the bathroom with my friend for unprecedented periods of time, our conversation flowing endlessly until someone interrupted us with their full bladder, to having discussions about sex and contraception with a girl I barely know. My musings were confirmed when I later conversed with others, who revealed that everyone had left in a different order to what I had thought and that me and my boyfriend were the last to leave.
A true Vodka Night. I gradually got more and more drunk, as one does when consuming vast amounts of alcohol. But vodka is a cruel form of alcohol. It’s deceiving. It makes you think you’re safe. It wipes your memory of all previous experiences, providing you with a false sense of security. It’s misleading you. It’s like the boy you can’t give up; he’ll convince you that the last crime he committed against your heart was the last and that he won’t hurt you this time. But this is one love interest that will never change his ways. I am the fool who is enticed back into his manipulative grasp every time.
After hours of talking and laughter, the crowd that had gathered began to disperse. It was at this point that the vodka had it's way with me yet again. One swift slap around the head and it knocked all sense and composure out of me. I started to argue with my boyfriend about the simple fact of getting a cab home to prevent me from being raped, murdered, or most likely, falling over, smacking my head on the curb, and laying unconscious in the gutter all night, on the usual five minute walk home. Eventually, after a lot of strife, I agreed to take the easier journey. I cannot fathom what made me think I was capable of surviving the walk home by myself. When you're drunk, whilst your mind and body are juxtaposed, they are no longer symbiotic; your mind tells you you have the ability of achieving a lot more than your body is realistically able. Fortunately, I was saved from myself and returned home in one piece.
This was yet another one of those nights that makes me wonder how I’ve managed to keep my boyfriend for so long. However, I put the night behind me and was lucky enough to spend a lovely evening with him on Saturday night, pertinently, watching The Hangover and peacefully falling asleep in his arms.
No comments:
Post a Comment