How to survive your Stealth comedown

It’s a pretty grim day to be fair


Have you booked your ticket for the next “mad” event at Stealth? Are you buzzing to cut those “propa” dirty shapes with your squad members that now resemble walking corpses?

Your memory might be slowly deteriorating from these constant raves, so lets give it a little helping hand at reminding you how you’re going to be feeling the day after those dirty drops.

The moment you realise it’s the morning after (fuck)

So you’ve just woken up at a time that is far far too early considering the time you eventually managed to stop moving your feet. However, those eyes are wide now, almost as wide as last night in fact, so you get yourself up, yes? Try and pass some urine. You consumed a lot of water last night, so stick the tap on son and have a sit.

Forget location – hydration, hydration, hydration

We all know it’s important to have a drink the next day, but water just won’t cut it. You make your way over to that stinking fridge that’s probably full of last month’s mouldy vegetables and start downing that 59p Aldi OJ. If you’re a Stealth regular at Glasshouse then you’ll understand what a life saver it can be.

Scrub away those sins 

You smell, at least try and have a shower. Your legs feel like that shit Tesco cubed jelly that your mum attempted to make at your 5th birthday party, cheap and sticky. Although I doubt you’ll want to step into your Byron caravan style wet room before your 9am in Newton tomorrow – obviously you didn’t make today’s lectures.

Sometimes you just go too hard.

It will be OK in the end, and if it’s not OK, it’s not the end

Stick on that depressing playlist, go on, it can hardly be worse than the interior in the Djanogly Centre. You may have been two stepping to Flava D last night, but the only “flava” you’ll want now is red, “Red, Red Wine” and don’t forget the UB40.

Dislocation for the nation

It’s reached 5pm and you’re starting to feel hungry, but how’s that jaw doing? For some reason it seems awfully tight and has limited available movement. What an earth could you have done? Too much chewing on chunky chicken perhaps? Who knows. You’ll have to crack open a tin of soup, it probably cost you more than it would for a steak at the Gooseberry Bush, but your legs definitely cannot get that far right now.

Daylight hours are wasted.

Doomsday deadlines 

Oh bugger, you’ve realised. That deadline 2pm tomorrow need some attention, bummer. You can’t be bothered to crawl to Boots Library even if you do live in Byron, so what? Besides, could you really face ocean Wednesday goers taking every sofa or booth, balls deep in their reading of sporting trilogies on the ten steps of how to launch a ball to one another, or how to fake an injury from the wind blowing past them too hard on the football pitch at Clifton? Probably not.

When life gives you lemons, give up

It’s 8pm. You’ve given up with life, that’s it, this is the end. You’ve shed more tears than Cheryl Cole after an X Factor audition from two orphaned brothers and your legs seem to be moving ever so slightly every 3 minutes without you telling them to. You know this is a ‘twitch’, but you’re going to start googling your symptoms online anyway, only to find out that you have a muscle spasm disorder of some sort.

You can’t remember what life was like without a comedown

No Rest For The Wicked

Sleep. Just get some sleep. Well, at least try? If you ignore that twitch it will go away just like the hands touching you on a Dirty Monday. If you ignore them they will go away. Only joking of course, neither go away. But come on, get over it. You’ve already got your ticket for next week at Stealth and you might even turn up at The Brickworks the following evening, just to prove to your mates you truly are a raving legend.