Stop bailing on nights out
We know you aren’t tired or too skint
Big nights are rarely worth it. Hyping the same shite club night you end up at every week, just because the whole squad is going, does not constitute a good night.
Initially you’ll be all over the group chat, keen as fuck, making bets on how many STIs will be caught, how many VKs you’ll down. The night comes round, predrinks are flowing, and you’ll be mysteriously absent.
You’re a cunt.
Look, we all know the night could be dreadful. There’s a reason why you don’t go out with all of these people more often: they annoy the fuck out of you.
Plus the more people going, the more chance one of the lads will end up lamping a rugby player and one of the girls will inevitably be sobbing into her rosé. It’s just statistics.
But you tighten up, and you do the shots, and you go anyway. Risk the hangover, the bankruptcy and the chance of injury, because this could be the night.
The night where everything works out, everyone is on the dancefloor screaming along to some shit chart-topper and you suddenly realise why clubbing in the UK is a billion pound industry – because when it’s fun, it’s really fucking fun.
Everyone gets a little rush when they cancel plans at the last minute. The sudden freedom of just getting into your pyjamas, inhaling an 89p pizza from Iceland and binging on Netflix is hard to beat. So just skip lectures instead. You can get the notes online, any time you like.
You don’t need to go out six nights a week, but for the love of God, when you say you’re going to be somewhere, be there. Dragging yourself from lectures to pre’s is shit, and it will take a while to get drunk enough to tolerate half the room. At the end of the night, though, when you’re chatting with your new best mate in the kebab shop, you’ll be glad you came.
Besides, the communal hangover is a bonding experience like no other. Nothing makes stronger friendships than the pilgrimage for hangover food, or the group meeting where you all try to figure out exactly what the fuck happened the night before. Missing who got with/fought who is just information you have to gather first hand.
So when you make plans, follow through. Alcohol is medicinal when you’re ‘ill’, deadlines are made for extensions and there’s always money somewhere.
After all, when you’re a 45-year-old investment banker and you’re on to your second spouse, you won’t be telling funny stories about that one pizza you burnt or looking at photos of all that Netflix you watched.