After devouring a massive Sunday roast with my family, I spent the following hours resting my swollen stomach until I had to drag my sorry self from my bed and start getting ready for another night of low-cost drinking at my friends’ house. Unlike Friday, I had a further journey to make. My boyfriend, two friends and I all gathered at my house and then began our journey.
One of the reasons summer makes for a much happier Stephanie, is that waiting for public transport becomes so much more tolerable, and considering the amount of time I spend on public transport, it makes my life in general, a lot better. When it’s -1000 degrees outside and you’re waiting for a bus, two minutes feels likes twenty. The cold increases your impatience and even the most relaxed, laid back person becomes grumpy, annoyed and rude. As soon as you see that glimpse of red turning the corner, you try your best to push your way to the front of the line; past the old lady who’s practically frozen to the pavement; past the woman with three kids and a buggy with twelve bags hanging off of it; just so you can start defrosting your toes those few seconds earlier.
In the summer, we find ourselves on the other side of the spectrum. That bus can take it’s time! Even in the evening the heat of the day continues into the night and sooths you. Who cares if you have to wait two minutes or twenty? The warmth relaxes you, and the cool breeze carries all your impatience away with it. I wish it could be summer all the time.
The alcohol was unleashed as soon as we arrived. We rid ourselves of our jackets, filled our glasses and cracked open our cans. We relaxed for a while and let the toxins flood our veins. Like on Friday, the timeline of events is probably inaccurate in my mind, but I have a lot more clarity of certain things than the disastrous drinking session that occurred earlier that weekend. I definitely prefer this situation to the night I thought I had had being almost entirely different to what had happened in reality.
Some of you may remember “The Height Wall” that I mentioned in a previous blog depicting a night spent at the same residence. For those of you who may not, I’m sure you can guess what it entails. It’s where the guests of said house are measured. At present, I’m the reigning champion for being the shortest; I’m waiting for the day someone steals that title from me. Alas, my insignificant stature was further enhanced when another name was added to the higher section of the wall, yet still not the tallest. I do not hesitate in saying that the day someone triumphs over that top name, I will be significantly intimidated and possibly slightly terrified.
Let the drinking games begin!
From the moment we’d arrived the words “Flip Cup” had been repeated several times, and it took that many times for me to understand the rules of the game, despite its’ simplicity. I’ll break it down for you.
Step One: Split into two teams.
Step Two: Stand in a line.
Step Three: The first person in the line must down their drink, place their cup on the edge of the table and flip it until it lands standing on its head or bottom.
Step Four: Continue along the line until someone wins.
Simples.
We all gathered in the kitchen and armed ourselves with a drink, with a few of us trying to get in a sneaky practice session before the game began. The intensity of merely attempting to flip a plastic cup is outstanding. The room erupted into noise as we cheered each other on. It’s a surprisingly tricky task, especially when you’ve drunk enough that getting the cup to balance on the edge of the table is a trial in itself. Before we’d partaken in this activity, I’d been ready for bed, but now the adrenaline was pumping through my alcohol ridden veins, pushing it aside and taking command, forcing me to become increasingly excited. My enthusiasm aided my personal success, and combined with the pure skill of my teammates, we won the first two rounds. However, the groups were then changed and the stereotypical “boys vs. girls” combination was imposed and unfortunately, by a very close call, the boys were victorious.
After a further few drinking games tiredness began to engulf me. At first my chosen bed was the kitchen table, but after realising this was highly uncomfortable I carried myself to a comfy armchair. What exactly happened after I settled there, I’m not entirely sure. I remember not wanting my boyfriend to be more than an inch away from me, a cab being called and being told Nathan from Misfits isn’t going to be in the next series.
The final moment of hilarity occurred upon our departure. We were called and our cab driver told us he was outside, so we all began to gather our belongings. I was standing by the front door when my friend revealed that he couldn’t find his shoes. I watched with slight irritation at the time, but now with a smile on my face at the memory. The melancholy expression he wore on his face as his worried eyes darted around, whilst making his way from room to room, was a sight I’m glad I had the opportunity to witness. It had to be him. He’s a legend when it comes to drunken tales. I will never, for as long as I live, forget him telling me, “I was so drunk once, that I thought it’d be a good idea to pick up puddles and put them in my pocket.”
After he eventually found them, we got into our cab and were taken home. My boyfriend served me well when we got home; letting me sprawl over him in the cab whilst I moaned about feeling sick and making me toast whilst I curled up in his bed. I’m so very grateful for this, as my hangover ceased to exist the next day.
Overall it was indeed a Royal Weekend. I had an amazing couple of nights with my friends and my boyfriend. If only the Prince could get married every weekend.
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