For some of you law abiding citizens you may not have left the house to go drinking until you reached your 18th birthday. That’s fine. I tip my hat to you! However for a large percentage of us "crazy" mavericks out there rebelling against the system, you probably started professionally boozing at around 14… stealing alcohol from your parent’s drink cabinet because fuck the police! Mysterious rums from Christmas of 1989, a bottle of whiskey won by your dad in a raffle and musty smelling wines that had a full-bodied taste of a urine infection! All of these potions of a toxic nature had ‘head on collision with a faulty airbag’ written all over it. However you didn’t care because underage drinking with your mates and the prospect of having your stomach pumped was one experience you simply couldn’t miss out on.
If you came from a small town then ‘clubbing’ also meant drinking, dancing and drama in your local bar with a dance area created by moving some tables and chairs. If you were lucky there would be that one place in town that splashed out on disco lights and a smoke machine pumping out anthrax as you sipped on your Pineapple Bacardi Breezer, Archers and lemonade or Malibu and coke. The bouncers were always assholes, everyone knew the DJ and the entire crowd was made up of people you went to school with. However before you got to the point of heavenly bliss with drink in hand, there were many ritualistic stages beforehand…
1. You leave your parents house with a bottle of Lambrini stashed in your bag. It has 2% alcohol but you bring it all the same.
2. Now it’s all about pre-drinks and getting ready together at your mates house. That one friend who has those ‘cool’ parents who seem to care a lot less about young girls dressing like hookers and being potentially rohypnoled on a night out. Their house is usually a complete fucking mess with animal faeces on the floor!
3. One of your mates is in a mood because they hate their outfit. It makes them look hideously fat. You secretly agree but offer no solution or words of condolences because you look awesome… in your bootcut jeans, oversized belt that cuts into your skin every time you move, boob tube bandana top and diamanté choker!
4. Someone gets the music going with their Now 49 double CD as one of your friends is straightening her hair with an actual iron because you're all too poor for GHDs. Before you know it you’re all rocking out to Mis-Teeq, Sisqo and Wheatus... because you’re just a teenage dirtbag babbbbyyyy!
5. There’s a cigarette break. You and your friends lean precariously out of the bedroom window fanning the smoke away from the room and trying to look so natural puffing on your Marlboro Lights. Lung cancer has never been so glamorous.
6. You’re still drinking all the alcohol and refusing to eat anything (eating is cheating) whilst swapping items of clothing. Because the beautiful PVC ‘leather’ biker jacket looks better on you than it does on your friend. Your intended outfit for the night is now spread evenly between your 6 friends.
7. There’s ‘the chat’ on boys. Who you fancy, who you’re dating, who you are all intending to snog tonight, and who you’re pretending you don’t care about… even if the sole reason for you being dressed like a slut is for his benefit. Or maybe you are just sat silent trying to conceal your inner gay amongst your garish blue eye shadow, heather shimmer lipstick and Charlie Red perfume!
8. Before you leave the house there is the “shit… everyone act sober!” as the parents feel the need to engage in conversation about how you’re getting on… and “tell your mum I say hello!”
9. Clambering into the back of taxi you guys are fucking hysterical and beyond obnoxious! Screaming, laughing and demanding the taxi driver to turn up the radio to the Vengaboys! One of your friends is also convinced the taxi driver fancies her. He doesn’t… at all. But you all find it hilarious as your she drunkenly yells “pervert!” at him as you exit the taxi.
10. You are now instantly sober queuing to get into the club shitting yourself that you won’t get in. There’s the panic of “who forgot to bring some ID!” It’s usually you. Even though you’re 18 in 4 days, you still look like you're 12. It’s fine though… you just apply more lip gloss and shimmy your top down revealing your pubescent breasts. You clock the bouncer on the door and furiously try to memorise your older siblings date of birth. Because unless the female bouncer is a lesbian… she’s not gonna care about your awkward looking tits!