I should mention before I start that I’ve never thrown up on a night out or with a hangover.
Don’t get me wrong – I’ve drunk far too much and regretted it the next morning but somehow I’ve just managed to ‘stomach’ it.
So out I went on my jolly way, with a group of friends, on to the 25 into town.
As usual there was the ceremony that accompanies arriving at Old Steine – friends dashing off to relieve themselves; people exclaiming they need to go to the cashpoint; the rallying calls as the countdown to midnight approaches and people anxiously try to form a coherent group to get in on discounts and guest list.
After all this is over we finally make our way to Coalition.
So far I’ve not had to pay for the bus as I’ve got my good old £8 weekly (R.I.P.) and entry was free!
So after a few hours getting worse and worse, I knock my friends drink out of her hand.
With profuse apologies I tell her I’ll buy her another. Along with all my other friends.
That was a bad move. One drink too many. I wondered off and found myself on the seats in the second room.
Apparently I was there for half-an-hour, in between lots of people coming up to me, poking me or taking pictures.
Determined that I wouldn’t be able to make it home without a cab I managed to call one and stumble outside.
As I mentioned before, I’ve never thrown up on a night out.
I can’t stand, as one of my friends calls it, a “tactical barry”, but then and there outside the club in plain view of the bouncers, I became initiated as just one more drunken mess spewing up on the pavement.
Only took a year and a bit. Thanks Brighton!