There’s only one person you should go clubbing with, and it’s your Mum

A birthday meal with family friends started as any other would, until a boozy dinner turned in to a boozy dinner and Bargs.  At the request of the birthday boy, all parents were required to attend the after party for at least one drink. The parents were keen so my friend and I made our way apprehensively towards the King’s Road, accompanied by exactly one dad, one uncle, one aunt and two overly-excited mums.

We got out the taxi, IDs in hand and made our way to the front of the queue.  As we started to move upstairs, we noticed our mothers had encountered a problem at security and left their IDs at home. Shaking our heads at their incompetence, we waved them goodbye and made our way inside.  After hanging up our coats we headed towards the meet-and-greet in the smoking area and realised our mums had set up camp at the best table in the whole club.  Clearly spotting the bewilderment on our faces, they smugly explained they had “sweet talked” the bouncers and been led to their table by some “handsome young gentlemen”. Unbeknown to us, this unorthodox rite of passage would soon reveal the magnanimous benefits of keeping it in the family.

Squaaaad

The first class service

We were now chilling on the top table with our V.I.Parents, enthusiastically waited upon by all set by every bar member who came our way who prepared every lighter in the vicinity before we’d even pulled out our cigs.  Ignoring the occasional “milf” uttered in hushed tones by surrounding meatheads, we realised there might have been more perks to clubbing with the popular kids than we thought.

Gals x

We didn’t spend a penny

As the evening progressed, we’d run out of the free birthday drinks and were now dreading the bank-breaking consequences of Chelsea nightlife. We were reluctantly slinking our way towards the bar when we heard our mothers pipe up from behind us: “Would you girls mind going to get us some drinks?”  We seized the opportunity, as anyone would, and came up with a you buy, we supply type system, allowing us to consume as many free Jägerbombs as we could stand, as long as they stayed sitting.

Mums make the best wingwomen

Then came the influx of boys.  They frenzied around our tediously “turnt” mothers, attempting to impress them with references to their favourite Shakespeare play in true Chelsea fashion.  Assessing the situation, we realised not only did we have guaranteed seating and copious amounts of booze, but that all the eligible young bachelors were now swarming around us.

Everything was on point, until I noticed I had given away my last cig. I was forced to do the unthinkable and ask my mother if she had any going.  She paused and, remembering the company, casually remarked, “would anyone mind terribly if I pinched a cigarette?”.  Rolling my eyes at her rookie move, I was shocked to notice the surrounding gentleman had all willingly pulled out their packs (not like that).  Feeling outdone, I slipped a Sobranie out of a pack and quietly puffed, contemplating how I’d underestimated the power of parents.

Can you even tell which is my Mum

They were the life of the party

Suddenly, we realised we were missing a family member: a dad.  So, one man down, we searched high and low: the loos, the stairwell, behind the bar, but no luck. Could he have been defeated?  Just as we had given up hope, we heard chanting coming from the dance floor.  Curious, we made our way over with the remaining family members only to find our missing person. My friend’s dad, aka “the dog”, was smack bang in the middle of the dance floor, shuffling like his life depended on it. Passers by cheered on, faces riddled with a mixture of confusion and delight.  As the night drew to a close we decided to brave the stairs, experiencing severe symptoms of role-reversal as we guided our plastered parents downwards.

Legend

On the way out, the bouncer inquired whether or not we had had a good night.  “The dog” turned to him and in an incoherent splutter declared: “We came, we saw and we conquered.” So there we sat in the back of the Addlee, spirits high and wallets full, concluding clubbing with your parents really is better than clubbing with your friends. I’ve never looked back.