I think I got home at maybe four, which is pretty late for me. I think it is pretty late for anyone. It was pretty good.
As far as I can remember, my night in fragments:
Scrapheap Challenge with Timmy and raspberry C C Coca Cola.
Crazy walk to Kings Cross (via, of course, the train) in shoes that tap satisfyingly but also in a skirt that managed to spin around twice because I didn’t wear a belt. Jeez.
I got my giant plate of Czech cuisine but realised that a whole entire wheel of fried camembert kind of freaked me out as well as the MOUNTAINS of french (?) fries that surrounded it. I stuck to the salad because drinking makes me a little too zoned out to concentrate on food.
Apple Fairy! What a pleasant name for a drink! Even if it did have absinthe. It mostly tasted like apple juice. Deliciously dangerous.
No success in tempting Jack to stray far from Grace in the seedy night spot that is the Abercrombie.
Lining up at maybe 11.13pm and thinking ‘this is the worst line ever’ because it was but when someone from the club saw us he said “are you just girls?” and we nodded he let us into the express line (where we snuck a guy in because he said he was with us). Life would be so hard if you were a boy, sometimes.
OKAY. BEST PART. There was LOTS of the Strokes, there was lots of the Beatles, there was lots of the Beach Boys, there was lots of Michael Jackson (not a surprise) and there was LIMITED Bloc Party (WHO ARE BALLS). There was lots of perfect music. But I have forgotten.
I made a new friend. His name is Dreadlocks Guy. I introduced him around. He shook his dreadlocks in my face and gave me high fives.
This doesn’t seem right, but I think I had about six vodka raspberries. I don’t think that I drank that many (although not just because I dropped one) but adding up my loose change suggests otherwise.
I had an entire beer spilt down my back. My back was soaking, dripping with beer. I smelt like beer. I also think this was my fault because I was getting very elbowy apparently, and I managed to elbow someone in their beer holding hand. I hope they weren’t mad.
I saw Johnny English and I said “hey you look old” and he said “thanks” and kissed me on the cheek but then I didn’t see him anymore. This may be a triumph by Abby, but I am not entirely sure. I was not allowed to go there, you see?
I met a nice boy who said “I like your eyes, they’re hazel, mine are boring blue” and something else. I think I am most impressed with this since I like when people say anything about my eyes. More so because I can’t believe he could even see them in the poorly lit place we were squished into.
No Jungle Drums. Sad day. I yelled it at the DJ a whole bunch, even. He was wearing headphones, though.
Now it is almost 3pm and I have slept all day and I am still even kind of drunk now. I regret nothing except maybe not removing my make up the night before, which I am told is a sin.
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