Pre-drinks are better than the night out

Ring Of Fire, anyone?

night out predrinks stirling

We all love a good Dusk sesh, but let’s be honest – pre-drinks are better than the actual night out. 

If the flat trip to Tesco for cheap alcohol doesn’t get you excited for the night ahead, maybe the five rounds of Ring Of Fire will. No? What about unveiling your mate’s darkest secrets in Never Have I Ever?


You like an early start to your Dusk Tuesday (or in my case, Monday, the tunage is off the hizzle). You pull your trainers on and head to Tesco, doing the fast-walk to avoid walking behind slow people on the way to the alcohol aisle.

Vodka is out of the question after your last night out, so you smile at the beer that’s on offer. But what’s this? Something pink and sparkly has caught your eye. Wine.

Oh my


Back home to have a quick shower and get changed before your mates arrive. You’re running out of time so you’re downing wine from the bottle while having a shave in the shower. If only you could shit at the same time too.


The arrival of your nearest and dearest has been signaled by that fucking annoying buzzer. You lead your pals into the kitchen to listen to some reggae because that’s how you do.


You’ve just had your first argument with someone because they wanted to change the music to dubstep or some shit like that. You put them back in their place and to distract them, you start a game of Ring Of Fire.

Why’s it brown?


You’re cringing because there’re only three cards left and you know one of them is a king. Pick wisely because if you chose the monarch, that mixture of vodka, tequila, apple sours, beer, rosé wine, cider and BBQ sauce is going down your neck quicker than tomorrow’s seminar attendance.


Someone’s already whiteyed so you know it’s been a good pre. They’ll be talking about this one for ages. That one group of girls who try too hard are being loud as fuck and they’re starting to give you a visual migraine. Time for shots.


You’ve just discovered an empty bottle of Captain Morgans so you know one of your flatmates is absolutely shit-faced. That’s going to be a treat to put up with later.


A pal of yours is pretending to be drunker than he actually is so you know it’s time to go. After re-calling the taxi company because you missed the first one, you all clamber in, sad in the knowledge that the best part of your night is over.

All that awaits you now is queuing for half an hour in the cold, paying entry fees and trying to dance in a room that’s so hot and sweaty that you’re starting to hallucinate.