Ladies Night

During the week leading up to Saturday night I’d told myself, as I often do, that I would not be drinking a lot when I headed out to Watford for my friends 21st. Lately when I’ve made this claim I’ve actually managed to not disappoint myself; however “not drinking a lot” and “not getting too drunk” are completely different statements. This weekend I was aiming to stay true to both; I stayed true to neither.

As usual I greatly underestimated how long it would take me to get ready. Being the clever sort that I am, I decided to give myself the added task of dying my hair. When the time rolled around for me to be leaving my house, I was in fact still in my underwear. Luckily, when it comes to arranging times to meet within my group of friends it’s more often than not assumed that everyone is going to be late, so any feelings of guilt pretty much ceased to be felt at all.

After opting to pay the extra for a cab than wait fifteen minutes for a bus, the friend I was travelling with and I finally arrived in Watford and met the others in a Wetherspoons. The night ahead was going to be a complete girlie night and so a considerable amount of dancing was to be expected. I was pleased to find that my new shoes were comfy enough to allow this.

After I’d managed to quickly paint my nails in the pub we headed on over to one of my favourite locations: Vodka Revs.

The first time I was introduced to this establishment of wonder was a couple of years ago on a student night. The bar considerately caters for the financially unstable students by offering a 2 for 1 deal on all drinks. Great! There’s nothing that pleases me more than a reduced fee on the ride to intoxication. We gazed over the drinks menu and decided to test the shots. You can buy a stick of six shots in all different flavours. We ordered this along with our double vodka and diet cokes. For some reason it had not occurred to us that the shots were also buy one get one free. Sitting on the bar facing us were 12 shot glasses filled with an assortment of brightly coloured liquids. “What happened next?” I hear you ask. You’re guess is as good as mine.

Back to the night in question and I decided to steer clear of the shots. Attending such places on a Saturday night after experiencing the prices of a student night is a little disheartening, but when you’re in high spirits and already tipsy money begins to mean less and less. The mandatory bathroom pictures took place in this bar in front of the biggest and most strategically placed mirror in existence. The people who decorated that place knew who their target audience were.

The next bar we ventured into was one I had yet to visit. The barmen revealed the volume of their egos by performing the generic tricks whilst preparing cocktails. In my mind I secretly longed for them to screw up and make a fool of themselves; alas, I was not granted this unkind pleasure. After a quick drink here and a tearful goodbye to one of the girls who was blasphemously leaving early as she had work the next day, we moved on to the final club.

I think no matter how many times I go to this club I will never be capable of navigating my way around it. The combination of being considerably drunk and generally lacking any skills when it comes to direction means I find it completely disorientating. I spent most of the night following other people around to avoid becoming stranded.

As it was my friends 21st we decided that we would tell the DJ to wish her a happy birthday and to request a song for her. At the time we were in the cheese room so we picked Thriller. Upon reflection I’ve realised the majority of the night was spent in the cheese room. There’s something about pre-millennia music that lifts everyone’s spirits. As soon as the first line of “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” comes on every girl in the vicinity grabs an imaginary hairbrush and flocks to the dance floor to do their best Whitney impression.

At one point during the night as I was travelling from one room to another, something caught my eye. What first drew my attention in this general direction was an amazing smell. Turning my head, what came into view was a hotdog stand. My eyes grew wider as the man behind the counter passed over the meaty treat into the hands of an intoxicated individual. Resisting this torturous temptation, my gaze moved on to where I saw a couple of my friends. Next to the hotdog stand were a few computers...oh dear. I walked towards them to see Facebook open on the screen in front of them. What has the world come to when people feel the need to check a social networking site when they are out socialising IRL?

Without having realised, I was about to cross the line into an unacceptable level of intoxication. The dreaded time had come for me to make that shameful request for water. The bar I stood at occupied only one other person. The barman had disappeared out of sight and my need for a cool glass of innocent fluid was becoming unbearable. My impatience forced me to attempt communicating with the gentleman to my right to ask him to order it for me. I must have been successful as I was soon walking away with a full glass in my hand.

Along with my diminishing sobriety went my funds. After my efforts to dilute the alcohol in my veins I deemed it safe to purchase another real drink. However as I opened my purse it would seem I had forgotten to keep a track of how much money I was spending. Therefore when I tipped the remaining pennies I had onto the bar it was far from the amount I needed. So of course, out came the debit card. Luckily the damage was minimal as this turned out to be my last drink.

The final task of the night was getting a cab. The plan was for four of us to share the cab back, but on our way out of the club, and a detour to the kebab shop, our group was split in two. I received a call from the others who informed me that they were in a queue for a cab. Off we trotted in what we thought was the right direction. About ten minutes we began to question ourselves and after another phone call we were enlightened to the fact we’d been walking in completely the wrong direction. On went the lids of our kebabs to avoid losing any of our precious grub and we sped along the high street back the way we had come. Eventually we were reunited with the rest of our party and boarded the vehicle which would take us safely to our beds.

Blessing Birmingham

The weeks leading up to the departure of one of my best friends seemed to flash past. One minute I had the whole summer ahead of me to say goodbye and the next thing I knew I was out for her leaving drinks. The farewells were drunken but heartfelt I’m sure. Then she was gone. However she wouldn’t be rid of me for long. Two friends and I made the trip from London to Birmingham just a week after she had left because seven days without her was already too much to handle.

I dragged myself out of bed at a ridiculous hour for a Saturday in order to get into central London to board our train at 11:30am. The London underground was being as unreliable as ever so the trip took far longer than it should have. We struggled along with our bags looking like three students on a gap year and jumped on the train to Birmingham in the nick of time.

I think my expectations may have been slightly overzealous. I wanted to be greeted with thick accents, odd shaped buildings and strange foods only found in the mysterious land of Birmingham. It’s easily assumed my exploration of the UK has been limited. What I was really faced with was London but with bigger roads. The employees of Starbucks were still all Swedish and the Boots self-checkout machine was still a patronising bitch. Despite my disappointment that Birmingham was just another city and not the doorway to Narnia, I was still excited for the weekend ahead.

We were greeted by the lady responsible for our trip in the early afternoon and made our way back to her halls. For the short time we were there we mimicked the role of the student well; we sat around drinking tea and ate pizza. Our trip to and from Dominos was made that much more stressful by the futile use of the sat nav provided by a phone. The roads in Birmingham are extensively confusing, especially to someone who doesn’t drive. After getting lost multiple times and much bewilderment we eventually made it back and devoured ourselves on doughy delights.

Once we’d accomplished that mission we had another facing us: four girls getting ready in one small room and one bathroom, with two mirrors and two sockets. A significant amount of skill is required in order to navigate around three other girls whose only priority is to get that eyeliner flick just right. In hindsight I was actually quite glad to have the company; it’s nice to have someone to tell you if your make up looks right and to hold your hair extensions whilst you blow dry them.

After the chaos of ordering cabs, burnt faces and lost hair extensions was over we eventually boarded our ride to Birmingham University where the bar crawl of all the Rock and Alternative venues the city has to offer would commence. We had no expectations of the night ahead being in a place alien to us all, but I can safely say I was not expecting the copious amount of walking. The gratitude I felt for my decision to wear the comfiest heels I own was everlasting. My companions on the other hand had not made a similar choice and therefore the journey from bar to bar was torturous. In the end they removed their heels and braved the pavement bare foot.

The first establishment we went to was a small pub. It was easy to tell that the majority of people there were within the group organised by the uni, with the odd group of old men here and there. We didn’t stay there for very long, only having time for one drink. We moved onto the second bar and from the moment we walked in we could tell it had more character than the first; located outside the girls toilet was a pool table with an enlarged Jack Daniels label printed onto it; we aptly took photographs of us lounging across it before we allowed the gentleman waiting to begin their game. There was also a rather aesthetically pleasing bar man who we all lusted over, particularly his unnaturally shiny hair.

As we moved from place to place a trend seemed to be setting it. Each bar we visited was better than the last, but the walk in between was significantly longer; however the latter aspect may have been an illusion due to the growing pain in our feet.

When we entered the third bar we immediately made our way down the stairs as what lurked beneath appeared intriguing. As we descended the stairs what came into view was a massive cloud of mist. We broke through the fog and into a room that was basically empty, minus the group that had just entered and had gone straight for the bar. The use of the fog was clearly an attempt to mask the fact that no one wanted to venture down to this hole and we soon followed the crowd and went upstairs where our night really kicked off.

After sitting for a while watching two fat men stand on the dance floor we decided it was about time to get our grove on. What ensued was a multitude of pictures of us dancing. I managed to capture some interesting action shots of one particular friend as she fulfilled her desire to dance like no one was watching; unfortunately for her, they were. The next day as we paged through the evidence of the night on my camera, I had to mentally take note of all the pictures I was not allowed to upload to Facebook.

The night progressed and although at the time I felt as if I was sober, I was largely mistaken. When we reached the final bar, which was in fact a three story club, I was unknowingly about to purchase the drink that would tip me over the edge. Understandably my memory from this point onwards is as foggy as the previous bars basement. The layout is a maze in my mind and in my drunken state there was no way it would have been safe for me to wander about on my own. The most distinct memory I have is of laying in the girls toilets. I was waiting for my friend to return with the door keys we needed in order to begin our journey back to the sofas which we would be sleeping upon that night. Eventually she returned with the knowledge that her lengthy search had been a complete waste of time as I had taken the key earlier in the evening just in case this exact situation arose.

My recollection of the journey home and the drunken phone call to my boyfriend has been removed. Regrettably the scene involving me situated on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet desperately wanting to be sick is still with me. Despite this not being the conclusion to the night I wished for, the evening as a whole was one to remember. We spent the next day lying around in our pyjamas discussing the happenings of the night before until we had to depart.

On our way to the station we risked missing our train in order to purchase a Burger King and it was totally worth it. The ride home was exceptionally quieter than the one there. After we’d scoffed down our burgers our hangovers permitted us to sleep for the entirety of the journey despite the uncomfortable furniture.

The weekend had been a success. It had been my first visit to a friend at university and I daren’t say it’ll be the last.