Let’s face it, after parties are always a let down

Why does everyone always drink out of mugs?


Cast your mind back to that time you ended up sitting on some random’s couch at 5 am, drinking straight whiskey from a #1 Dad mug.

Was it fun? Probably not.

We need to realise that after parties are actually shit.

It’s 3.15 am. You and the squad have stumbled up the stairs of Kokomo and made your way to the corner of West Regent Street. The night has been a success – the DJ’s music choice was fairly on point, nobody seems to have vomited yet and you’re all still able to walk.

It seems inevitable that the next stop is anywhere that sells greasy food in a white polystyrene box accompanied with a plastic fork that you can smuggle straight into the back of the nearest hackney.

nobody's going home just yet

nobody’s going home just yet

Then out of nowhere, that old friend from school who you reunited with inside the club reappears.

The food is postponed. Everyone seems to enjoy hovering and mingling in that one spot, chanting Paolo Nutini tunes and taking snapchats with the woman trying to sell roses.

Just when you think it’s all going too well, the long lost school friend mentions those game changing words that everyone is absolutely dying to hear: ‘after and ‘party’.

That’s it. Once those two magical words have been mentioned, there’s no going back. Whether that poor lad was being serious or not, this street party will be swiftly moved to his gaff.

After a brief consultation with the group and deciphering the situation, it is decided that the night is not over. Those of the group who made no hesitations about attending this soiree are already in a taxi.

You fall alseep, you ask for it.

You fall alseep, you ask for it.

After what seems like a few hazy moments, you find yourself in the kitchen of a small West End flat, drinking whiskey from an obscure vessel that you pulled from the wee cupboard above the sink.

You’re aware that only half of your friends are in the room. The big ceiling light is beaming down upon every half cut face in the vicinity.

You turn to the window and see that the sky is no longer pitch black however daylight isn’t there yet – an indication that somewhere not too far away someone is probably about to leave for work.

It’s at this point that you stand and try to piece together how you went from sitting in the booth with a single vodka to this grim scene.

All you remember from the past few hours is seeing some lad’s face covered in clothes pegs, and having an in depth conversation with someone about Dido.

who is responsible for this?

who is responsible for this?

You thought this was going to be some epic drinking session with loads of people but instead the party consists of you, your mates, the guy from your school and his two pals – and one of them has been out cold on the couch from the minute you all arrived.

The only source of music for the evening was someone’s phone, plugged into a shitty speaker, with frequent interruptions from Spotify advertisements.

There wasn’t enough vodka to keep all guests topped up, so everyone’s had to move to either gin (mixed with Tesco lime cordial and tap water) or the dregs of a Strongbow bottle.

Straw not included

Straw not included

Of course, you can never drink at an after party from a standard glass. They just don’t exist at these types of get-togethers. Everyone will drink from a mug. Everyone.

Also, due to the rush to get to this highly anticipated shindig, you’ve still not had your standard post night out scran. So you’ve spent the whole night eyeballing every inch of the kitchen in hope that you’d find some form of carbohydrate that you can shove down your throat.

This is not to say an after party won’t be a laugh. You’ll at least have a few snaps on your story the next day that you can piss yourself laughing at the following evening.

A singular burnt slice of toast is pure gold

A singular burnt slice of toast is pure gold

But is it really worth the horrific walk/train/taxi of shame in last night’s outfit? Is it worth getting home and into your bed in the hours close to the following afternoon?

Despite the brief thrill you will encounter from drawing penises all over the first person who fell asleep, after parties are not worth it.

Unless there’s a chance of a celebrity attending one of these post night out events – or even better if one invited you – just take it upon yourself to go straight home.