The Drunk Chronicles

I am starting this new series recounting my wildest nights in the hope that my readers and future Beth will remember these nights and perhaps throw caution to the wind or at least avoid jail time.  

Before the tragic loss of the shoe.

Miss Mischief 

The year was 2012. Depending on the time of day L (a flatmate and depending on her whine level close friend) and I were either white girl wasted,pretending to study, or lost in Pre-man bun Harry  Styles’s eyes. I had doubled in size as a result of my daily consumption  3 course dinners (consisiting entirely of cereal).I had never felt so free or confused about what day of the week it was, considering I had run out money and clothes that still fit me it seemed like the perfect time to hit the town. There was only one club. HIVE.

For those who have never frequented Hive, let me paint you a picture. Hive will never win any awards for cleanliness, bouncer hospitality or accurate alcohol measures, and probably offers a 76% chance of contracting a fatal disease. The Hive does offer a solid B+ for music, shots for a pound and hundreds of desperate potential pulls.

 Must see attractions include:

• Mary, the toilet attendant

• The mystery hole in the wall beside the toilets

• The smoking area, where you can enjoy some fresh air

• The Alternative Dance room (Teenage Dirtbag/Wonder Wall and you've made it)
  
  

• The Cocktail Bar (fun fact:you cannot buy anything but cocktails)

Fun Fact: Ignore Lesley’s cocktail recommendations, the stevo-o is alcohol poisoning in a pitcher and The Kiss Me Kate does not taste like the kind of drink Kate Middleton would order. 

Our night began in the normal fashion. After piling on the make up and pre-drinking enough to ensure Lesley's jokes were actually funny, we hopped on the dirty thirty (our university’s  premier bus of choice)  and off to the promised land. The night flew past in a whirl wind of screaming through Kiss You (ONE D), greeting Mary like a long lost comrade from the wars and trying not to vom up our tequila shots.

Friends for life.

Finally the club lights flickered on, the signal even Hive couldn't handle us right now. On this particular night I met a fun guy who we’ll refer to as Jimbo and his friend Shrimp. Despite my drunken state I soon determined that an after party had been planned back at their flat and I had the distinct honor of being invited. Turning to Lesley I could see an after party was the last thing on her mind. When Lesley gets drunk and annoyed  she transforms into what can only be referred to as Glasgow betch. Her usual sweet tones morph into angry chav and there's not a soul on earth wouldn't tremble at her voice.

“Beth is this really a good idea?”
“Beth, are you sure?”
“Beth, we’ll regret this.”

Of course being all knowing and never regretting a single drunken choice ever, I ignored these warnings and hopped into a car  featuring a fun bumper sticker reading 'I Love Sl*ts'. Lesley torn between her Glasgow betch rage and hunger  for adventure followed me and here begins a crazy adventure that verges on the unbelievable.

We arrived at  a flat that was  an exciting combo of both freezing and filthy. Jimbo proceeded to tell us of his adventures as a dog owner and sports physio.  We watched ten videos straight of him and his dog  in which he adopted a high pitched squealing when talking to said dog  that was the oddest and most hilarious thing I have ever seen. Laughs aside Jimbo wanted to introduce us first hand to his skills in the art of sports injury management. He attached a kind plunger to my leg which made my skin expand, left a bruise and was also hilarious. I then attempted to balance on a inflatable balance ball and fell on my face. It was around the point Lesley developed the laugh of deranged hyena and I realized any sanity had been lost to this ridiculous scenario. Upon offering us some warm beer, Shrimp tried to convince Lesley and I we would make fabulous bouncers. This was greeted with more hyena laughter as I stand at 5’3 and sober Lesley is scared of her own shadow.  

More fun friends.

By this time Lesley and I were starvingly hungry. We tried to call Dominoes but fun fact Dominoes does not deliver at 430am (fun fact: they still answer the phone though!) so instead of doing the logical thing and asking for food from the kitchen Lesley and I devised a genius plan. We said we were going to the bathroom but instead we made our way to the kitchen and started rummaging through the shelves. Unfortunately Jimbo was a health nut and had exactly zero fun snacks. He also heard us in the kitchen and asked what the hell we were doing. After explaining our hunger and desperation for nutrition Jimbo proceeded to make us the most disgusting porridge in the world that lacked sugar, oats and milk. In hindsight I’m not hundred percent sure Jimbo knew what porridge was.

By this time Lesley and I were exhausted and the next bit of the story is a bit hazy. Suffice to say Shrimp lived up to his nickname and Jimbo clearly preferred Lesley over me. I awoke the next morning fully understanding how cold Jack and Rose must have felt clinging to that plank of wood in the middle of the ocean. I thought I had contracted frost bite. 

The bathroom mirror also revealed that sleeping in your contact lenses gives you red demon eyes. I was ready to leave. I kicked Lesley awake declined Jimbo’s offer of breakfast (or porridge round two) and  practically ran from the flat only to double back as I had forgotten my wallet. 

The block of flats looked like nowhere Lesley and I had ever seen before and so we were forced to ask a terrified looking 8 year old for directions. We parted with Lesley creepily advising him to "stay in school" and we began our walk of shame stride of pride down Princes Street. The judgement from people passing by was tangible, I was convinced my coat had been drenched in gasoline (turns out it was just beer) and since Lesley had lost her shoe the previous night I gave her mine and was barefoot. The bus driver viewed us with clear disgust as we made our way to the back of the bus heads bowed in shame. 

The only silver lining were the calorie ridden pasties we had for breakfast. From that night on Lesley went by a new name Miss Mischief (so called by shrimp) and I learned to live with rejection.

Fun fact: several months later Jimbo fb-messaged Lesley asking her out. #FAILWHALE.