This Is Why I’m Not Very Good At Clubbing.

I went clubbing for the first time since lockdown last month.

I’ve never been a massive fan of clubbing.

I once got spiked in a club and spent most of the night clinging onto the wall for dear life whilst everything spun around me like some sort of intoxicated gecko.

I’m not sure at what point humanity decided that being in a darkened room, breathing in the sweat and germs of strangers whilst listening to deafening music was a recipe for a good time.

I guess the whole idea originated in those 18th century dances you see in shows like Pride & Prejudice and Poldark where the youth of the day used to go to the local manor house and have a boogie to whatever music was top of the charts back in Jane Austen times.

Back then, the whole purpose of these dances was to help eligible bachelors meet young ladies and, in that regard, I guess things haven’t changed too much, although the whole ‘courting’ aspect tends to be slightly less sophisticated nowadays…

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I’ve never been massively into dancing either which doesn’t really do much to improve my clubbing experience.

Even as a child, I wasn’t keen on it. 

I have vivid memories of being forced to do a school performance of Saturday Night in Year 4 and wishing it actually was Saturday night and I wasn’t in school being forced to dance to Wigfield.

I’m also not a very rhythmically coordinated person so dancing makes me feel quite awkward and self-conscious.

This awkwardness translates itself to my physical movements. If I had to choose, I’d say my go-to dance move is the robot and, when I say ‘the robot’, I mean a robot that’s malfunctioned and is just jerking around randomly. 

The only way I can get myself past this state of crippling self-consciousness is to drink a load of alcohol.

Unfortunately, drinking a load of alcohol tends to propel me to the opposite end of the spectrum, filling me with the sudden and certain belief that I can dance incredibly well.

This is unfortunate as the effects of the alcohol tend to mean that my bodily coordination is, in fact, even worse.

Let’s put it this way, if anyone is getting down on the dance floor with me it’s because I’ve inadvertently sent them flying with a flailing limb whilst doing my best impression of John Travolta in Night Fever.

To make things worse, I am a massive lightweight and, as a result, my metabolism tends to burn through alcohol quite quickly.

Therefore, after a couple of hours of manic dancing, I tend to get quite sleepy.

At this point, I normally apologise to anyone who I may have inadvertently injured and head home to crash, although I have been known to fall asleep on the club toilet after popping in for one last end of the night pee.

Speaking of toilets, if there’s one thing I’ve missed about a night out, it’s making friends with random girls whilst waiting in the queue for the bathroom.

Now, people say a lot of things about the toxic nature of female relationships. However, as far as I’m concerned, these people haven’t experienced the sense of camaraderie that exists between girls in a nightclub toilet.

Whenever I have doubts about the nature of mankind, I sometimes think about interactions I’ve had with other girls on a night out and it helps to restore my faith in humanity.

You could come out of a cubicle, having spent the last twenty minutes leaning over the toilet, alternately spewing up the contents of your stomach and crying over the state of your love life, and you will most likely find yourself surrounded by women who still consider you to be a radiant goddess.

Let’s face it, clubbing may be pretty shit but at least you can always rely on other women to have your back when you’ve had one too many on a night out.

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I Should Not, Under Any Circumstances, Be Allowed More Than Two Alcoholic Beverages…

I like to think of myself as a sensible, graceful, sophisticated human being and like all sensible, graceful, sophisticated people, I know my limits when it comes to drinking alcohol.

I don’t tend to go out drinking a lot so my tolerance for alcohol is relatively low – on average, I only have to consume two drinks before I start to feel the effects.

Once I have had two drinks, I usually recognise that I have reached my limit and my rational mind prevents me from ingesting any more alcohol in an attempt to preserve my dignity.

However, sometimes, I get cocky.

Sometimes, despite prior evidence to the contrary, I become convinced that my body can cope with a further two units of alcohol.

Sometimes, I have a third drink.

This is the first in a series of stupid decisions.

For me, the process of getting drunk starts with denial.

Whilst I am making my way through my third drink, my brain comes up with a series of excuses to convince both myself and the people around me that I am still the dignified person that I consider myself to be.

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Eventually, however, the realisation that I am, in fact, drunk hits me with the force of a life-altering epiphany.

At this point, the fact that I’m drunk becomes the single most important piece of information in existence and I experience an unstoppable urge to share it with everyone in the immediate vicinity.

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For a couple of hours, the feeling of being drunk eclipses everything, including a sense of shame or social dignity.

This means that I am much more confident and much less socially inhibited than I am in everyday life.

Normally, I am quite a shy person who can be slightly apprehensive when meeting new people.

For me, making friends usually involves finding a person with whom I have a lot in common and then building up connection and trust over an extended period of time.

MAKING FRIENDS

2_LI (2)34_LIWhen I am drunk, I am happy to make friends with pretty much anyone as long as they are equally as drunk as me.

MAKING FRIENDS WHEN DRUNK12

 

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Unfortunately, at some point in the night, I start to sober up.

The confidence and bravado that alcohol had bestowed upon me suddenly dissipates and is replaced by an intense vulnerability.

This part of the night tends to be quite an emotional time for me.

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Having an emotional breakdown tends to leave me feeling quite drained and, once I have attempted to fill the emotional void with various types of fried food, any remotely flat surface becomes a viable place to sleep.

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