I went to Hive sober

I’ve always proudly regarded myself to be one of those people who doesn’t need to rely on alcohol to have a good time. I’ll be that person at pres, when my friends are insisting they’re “not drunk enough” to go to the club, that’ll get out my inner mother persona and lecture them about how they’ll still have a good time without being completely intoxicated.

So, naturally, I thought I’d be able to endure a Hive Thursday after only a small glass of wine: basically 100 per cent sober. I was excited to get out and have a dance and not wake up the next day feeling like I’d been dragged down the Kelvingrove gardens by the scruff of my neck.

On the water

The first test was the Base sober. Let me tell you, you Beyoncé wannabes do not sound good when sober ears are listening. I had to stand and sway a bit, with a bit of added foot tapping like I was enjoying myself when, in reality, my eardrums were being tortured.

My drunk squad and I then made our way through to the Hive. As soon as those double doors opened, the engulfing heat protruding from sweaty bodies hit me like a concrete wall. We meandered our way right to the middle of the dancefloor and I instantly had T in the Park-esque flashbacks: people were making MOSH PITS during Sandstorm, for crying out loud, and I was being catapulted from one side of the dancefloor to the other. What would usually seem like a funny gimmick when drunk was an incredibly annoying experience sober. My face was becoming stiff from the permanent death stare etched on it.

Wish I was as happy as these punters

All I can say is, thank the stars for the sanctuary that is the Well. After gaining about 26737373 bruises and with my hair slicked to my forehead in sweat, having space to dance was blissful. However, I soon realised my RnB dance skillz, which are usually very much on point, were nothing without a bit of alcohol in my system. I was suddenly acutely aware of my flailing limbs, hair flicking and vain attempts to look cool.

I did stick it out until close. But I wasn’t even on a high during my departure because I knew I didn’t deserve a hearty portion of post night out food. And so, this sad story ends with my retreat into my bedroom – foodless, depressed and full of regrets.