Sometimes, in fact particularly at the moment when the shit I currently have to shovel at work reminds me that I am supposed to be an authority figure, I hanker after the days of being young and irresponsible.
On Friday night I got the chance. I went along for the first leg of an old friend’s marathon stag weekend. We met up in Camden where I found that the rest of the party must have had a good four hours head start in the drinking stakes. The old friend is about the same age as me but most of his mates seemed to be at least ten years younger. That should have been a sign.
They were bouncing around like a bunch of very pissed Labrador puppies and being generally fucking obnoxious. You can forgive pissed people quite a lot, but I’ve always had an overly developed sense of personal space and it was as much as I could do not to kill the mood by giving one of them a much deserved-slap.
The night deteriorated from there. We moved on to another bar with a supposed cult status and a back room which serves as a music venue. The band were a generic punk-metal effort – although they looked a bit old to be convincing in this genre. Sadly they reminded me of the bands who would sometimes played the school gym at lunchtimes, only rather less talented, and this lot didn't look like they would know Silver Machine.
Avoiding the moshing twats I saw the old friend slumped unconscious in the corner and decided that it was time to make my excuses and leave. In the company of the only other old friend present we retreated to a nearby over-priced designer curry house.
Sitting in the minimalist zen décor (whatever happened to flock wallpaper?), over the ludicrous over-sized square plates we agreed that maybe being grown up wasn’t quite so bad after all.
On Friday night I got the chance. I went along for the first leg of an old friend’s marathon stag weekend. We met up in Camden where I found that the rest of the party must have had a good four hours head start in the drinking stakes. The old friend is about the same age as me but most of his mates seemed to be at least ten years younger. That should have been a sign.
They were bouncing around like a bunch of very pissed Labrador puppies and being generally fucking obnoxious. You can forgive pissed people quite a lot, but I’ve always had an overly developed sense of personal space and it was as much as I could do not to kill the mood by giving one of them a much deserved-slap.
The night deteriorated from there. We moved on to another bar with a supposed cult status and a back room which serves as a music venue. The band were a generic punk-metal effort – although they looked a bit old to be convincing in this genre. Sadly they reminded me of the bands who would sometimes played the school gym at lunchtimes, only rather less talented, and this lot didn't look like they would know Silver Machine.
Avoiding the moshing twats I saw the old friend slumped unconscious in the corner and decided that it was time to make my excuses and leave. In the company of the only other old friend present we retreated to a nearby over-priced designer curry house.
Sitting in the minimalist zen décor (whatever happened to flock wallpaper?), over the ludicrous over-sized square plates we agreed that maybe being grown up wasn’t quite so bad after all.
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