It’s a bank holiday weekend, so it was deemed a good idea to have a (selected) staff night out. Eating is always a great idea. Drinking with banging music less so. I’m at the age where a top tune comes on and the realisation strikes that everyone else is dancing ironically. I hate those people.
So, faced with a queue to get into a shitty bar where once again I wouldn’t a) recognise the tunes and b) be able to hear the conversation, I called it a night and bailed. (The joy of not needing a taxi! Town might be shit, but it’s my town.)
So, instead of indulging in overpriced drinks served by someone I could’ve feasibly given birth to, I’ve come home to a hot toasted muffin (who needs cheesy chips?) and solace in How-Old.
Up until tonight I was loving the app. When you’re 40, but ‘analytics’ put you at 27 it’s going to be your new bff.
Ok, in group shots it’s less generous. None of us came out favourably in our works picture.
And to be honest, sometimes it’s off by a mile.
B) the ’75-year-old’ in the picture is a kid!!!
But, I thought, as I headed out the door for some fraternising with the youth of the town, how will staying up past my bedtime affect me? Alcohol and late nights are not my friend!!!
At the start of the evening I was judged to be an optimistic 28.
Waiting in the queue for said saddo bar the ironic-I-swear-and-yet-I’d-probably-be-better-off-NOT-pouting-cos-of-wrinkles drunk selfie aged me by 6 years – I was now 34.
My friend is actually younger than me by several years though, so ouch!
Still, I was definitely feeling more than those 34 years as I waited in line very definitely without the need for ID amongst a throng clutching their driving licences.
What I didnt quite expect was the end-of-the-night shot. Walking home and climbing into a darkened room suddenly made me 81!!!
Which probably says more than enough about the effects of two shared bottles of prosecco and more vodka than is wise. I wonder what my hangover judgment will be, or do I really really not want to know?!?!