The fact this wasn’t playing on a continuous loop in the club meant the night was techincally a failure.

I hate clubbing. Don’t get me wrong I used to love clubbing, like every newly turned 18 year old, I was eager to get out into the world of clubbing, drink to my heart’s content, dance till my feet hurt, get kicked out and barred from a Weatherspoons and throw up outside Portsmouth Guildhall (the standard 18th Birthday experience). Back then, I was young and free, and I thought I was surrounded by the coolest people in the world, this was living. But now, a mere 7 years later (Oh Christ), I find myself stuck to the alcohol soaked floor, music pounding through my skull, staring out into a sea of what are essentially children and thinking: God I hate you all  Because when you’re a 25 year old, in amongst dozens of 18 year olds, you immediately don the sensibilities of a grumpy old 60-something (That being said, my mate Leo did notice a random 60 year old sat alone at a table on the dance floor…Does every club just come with a random old man? Shit, is that gonna be me some day?).

The reason for our small group excursion to a club was to celebrate Halloween, with the most honourable tradition of drowning yourself in cocktails, whilst looking like you’ve had the shit kicked out of you, or looking like the sexy equivalent of law enforcement officers, or innocent childhood characters (I counted two sexy Dorothy’s from The Wizard of Oz and more sexy nurses than you can shake a rectal thermometer at). I don’t know what it is about Halloween, but in real life, if a drunken man with a bleeding gash on his face grabbed several strangers and tried to take photos with them, he would likely be arrested. Yet because it’s Halloween: SAY CHEESE!

Now, the fear I had whilst out Halloween clubbing, with the intention to write about it the following morning (Oh shit it’s actually the afternoon…woops), was that the litres of pre-drink cocktails (classy) and Red Stripe Beer (Even Classier) coursing through my veins could find their way to my memory bank, and proceed to clear all history of the past 24 hours. With this fear in mind, I had Quick Memo opened on my phone, for me to take notes as the night went on and the alcohol intake increased. The intention was for these bullet points to act as springboards for me to create well constructed paragraphs and offer a witty account of the night before…. However I think it would be far more entertaining to just copy and paste all the drunken notes from my phone, mistakes and incomprehensible nonsense and all.

Here goes

OMG these people are like 12

Apart from random 50 year old sat alone….why?

Queing for bar

Oh no wait, suddenly herded like cattle to another bar upstairs before beig served.

Alice in Wonderland Theme…?

Arcade machines. Pacman? Dothese children here even know what that is? Why isn’t this hellow semiciricle shooting Nazi zombies? (Get it – Call of Duty joke – make that a funny joke)

Me – Gash on my face and a red stripe in my hand (I am a classy man)red-stripe

In a quest for mobile signal, I now find myself in a totlally different bar, green in colour and totally devoid of the Men in Black theme tune. WHERE THE FUCK AM I?

Fucking hell, they’re playing Barbie Girl… I swear this song is older than the children here, how do they know this. Hardly a song that stands the test kf time.

Same songs that played on my nostalgia at Uni. Spice Girls, Mysteries Girl
How can this be nostalgic for these children?
Do these children even know who Peter Andre is, outside of thr guy who “lpves his kids” on ITV2

Oh fuck they playing Bieber. Everyone is singing, I’m gonna be sick!

I look like Steve from Stranger Things. The only time is is socially acceptable to get a selfoe from a stranger.


Sat outside Mcdonalds, eating BigMac, circled by seagulls Fear we gonna get shat on (This is the epitome of classiness)

So there you have it. To be honest, as far as clubbing experiences go, it wasn’t that bad… I think. I was pleasantly drunk enough by the end of the night to endure the cheesy music and all those bloody young people. Sitting on the pavement outside Mcdonalds, eating a Big Mac like it’s the last supper, took me back to College and University Years – eating junk food, head swirling, with a smile on my face and a twinkle in the eye. For a brief moment, I was young again…. Until some random 18 year old child decided to sit with us and ask the girls in the group how many cows are in burgers, which segued into him asking my mate for her number. What is this? Is this how kids flirt now? Stop talking about cow hooves and piss off you dweeb. God I hate young people. What a bunch of bastards, the lot of them (Aaaand my inner Grumpy old man returns, welcome back sir.)!

And the night was over, ending in a McDonalds car park (as all nights should end obviously). Normally that would be me spent for a weekend, curling into a ball for a mini weekend hibernation, safe in the knowledge that I will probably never step foot into a club for another 2 years (Then I’ll be 27 and nearly a decade older than the kids in there – OH GOD!!! Second thoughts, maybe not!). However I instead will be dragging my corpse to another social gathering, in the form of a Totes Spoopy Halloween House party tonight. Back when I was younger, the thought of two nights out in a row would be common place, but now… Oh God I’m tired. It will no doubt be awesome but… It’s gonna be the death of me!

See you on the other side


Credit to my bloody gash (that’s an odd sentence) goes to Francsca Senior, who has done some incredible Halloween make up for us this week, making me look even more hidious than I already am. Check out her blog here, and also check out part 2 of my Halloween Hangover blogs, for my Halloween House Party experience, and to see my actually make an effort in terms of dressing up… If I haven’t died before the night is over.