I’d rather hang out with my parents than go clubbing

It’s been a long week and the weekend hits. Whilst the urge to hit the town to drink and dance away any stresses you have taken on during the week is pressing, consider for a moment the prospect of sitting at a dinner table with your parents.

Now I love to go clubbing as much as the rest of you, but there’s no more wholesome and enjoyable way to party than sat at the dinner table with your family.

My parents are incredibly sociable beings. Perhaps less so these days, when the appetite for hosting a house of 20 people weekends on end wanes. But regardless – birthdays, Christmases and random weekends in between see my house filled with people, tables pushed together and the record player turned on. Some of my all-time happiest memories consist of dancing around the kitchen with my family at 3am – be it to the Rolling Stones or, more recently, to a bit of Beibs.

Compare this to a club where the loo lid is lined with a suspicious white substance, you are wearing a dress two sizes too small (thank you, winter) with heels which twist and mutilate your feet – God forbid you’ve had to fake tan and put on false eyelashes – listening to a questionable selection of Kygo and Pitbull. All that with a £20 door charge.

Hanging out with your parents on a weekend is like kitchen season but better. Let’s face it, they’re probably more interesting than your friends. They’ve lived longer, seen more, have more life-experience, intelligence and probably a greater ability to hold their drink. Your parents are likely to just be a better version of you. They will also give you far better life advice over a glass of wine than your best mate who is telling you it’s, “definitely a good idea” to get another jäger bomb, or to get with that guy who bought you a gin and tonic earlier.

I know that a large proportion of my friends would equally rather have a night in with my parents, too. A majority would probably confess they prefer my parents to me.

Top this off with waking up in your parents’ house – there will probably be actual coffee and milk that you don’t have to smell before pouring. If they’re feeling really generous there’s maybe even some smoked salmon in the fridge.

All this and I hadn’t even mentioned the food.

Anyway, our parents have had to deal with us being absolute nightmares as babies – crying all hours of the day. They had to put up with us being awkward and personality-less 13-year-olds, and moody shits at 15. Then we may have gone off to uni and got drunk for a few years. Our twenties, according to my parents, is the real rewarding part, where we can hold a conversation with our own opinions. Also you’ve left home, and we all know families work best in doses.

I find my parents painfully funny. They know how to have a good time, but their years of experience on me mean they can tell me that going into Brighton to go clubbing after a nice night at home is probably a bit of a lame idea.

So next time I’m about to get ready for a night out, instead of spanking up to £100 to dance in a room of strangers, I’ll grab a couple of bottles of wine and some cheese and hop on the train home for the weekend.