Tag Archives: Alcohol

Being sober in a club.

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Apres Avant-5.6.10 - 125We all know the drill with nightclubs right – drink, dance, smoke – increasingly frequent toilet brakes – then repeat in various different combinations – strangely the dancing usually consumes more of your time the more drunk you become. The experience, however, is entirely different when your not overspending on tequilas or dancing with single ladies your convinced want a piece – it is like a minefield, of crazed hormone-erratic  maniacs trying to seduce their woes into a numb salvageable pain.

The over-squirted scent of bubblegum and candyfloss cascade whilst bass-pumping and ground thumping speakers try their hardest to do the minimum amount of damage to your eardrums – and without the warm arms of alcohol to insulate your body standing in the cold is like taking a dip in an ice pool!

The weirdest thing is you start to try and justify what you’re doing, and why your trying to dance in that way, or pretend to smile at music you have no interest for, maybe trying to amuse yourself with two measly bitter-sweet drinks knowing that you can’t have anymore because you’ve got to drive home – either way, its like the worst experience in the world.

Even just trying to hold a drink among the screaming intoxicated rabble desperately trying impress their mates with a seemingly endless line of over-priced drinks is a mission. Just for the record the things that you think on a night out will be a great idea like people pretending to scream in selfies, or scantily clad women clambering tank-topped giants, with the elder gentlemen trying to fit in, gawking at what they’d wished they’d done in their youth – when your sober look damn right embarrassing, for all parties involved!

The  only solace that can be taken from an experience like this is that you realize you’re exactly the same on a night out – they are you, stumbling, fumbling and making an absolute fool out of themselves – a horrible realization – which has led me to the realization that clubs without alcohol would literally be the worst thing ever – like a year seven disco, replacing alcohol with sweets and fizzy drink!

Rule of thumb – if you’re going to a club sober, you’re going to have a bad time.

On top of a table.

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Upon the table stood a thirty-two inch Alba perching against the east facing wall which stared precariously over the condiments that were mangled, overlapping and oddly placed. A green translucent jug, sticky and overturned, lie between empty bottles of beer and cracked glass. Plates, scattered and covered in scraps of uneaten food. Post-stick notes together and separate, ripped and untouched stuck to deodorant cans and caps of bottle drunk. Tobacco pouches strewed and tawny orange stains littered the laminate wood, that it rested on. The pitter-patter of mouse clicks, keyboard keys, and Xbox buttons hung like wasted decibels only outweighed by the bellowing screams of a kettle. Disks, cards and sunglasses accompanied the collaborative mess almost pushing the boundaries close to falling off the edge. The remnants of takeaways past chewed, spewed and splattered with sauces of red, brown and white in a rustling grease paper box. A consumed peach schnapps bottle held its structural dominance standing triumphant among the scuttling rubbish surrounding it. Pointless receipts and stubby coloured glasses, designed for shots, held up a half full packet of JB like ants couriering their food to their queen. Carved keys, and wallets encapsulated the unending growth of the taxing environment that sustained all walks of life, from ants to moths. The smell of poultry, ash and regret licked effervescently above and beyond the table dissipating further into it’s surrounding. Cigarettes burnt and stubbed into, lids of plastic, tin and yoghurt pots still with foil half covering the only accessible point.  Green and continually bending plastic garden chairs tucked under, pushed out and somewhere in between allowed the makers of this wasteland to continue, essentially enabling the tables demise. Once friends they now feared one another, as the scratches and screeches of the chairs moving position startled the compressed fibers that made up the four legs of the table; striking fear, angst and disappointment within an old friend. It had long been since the table held nothing but it’s own weight, it wondered if it ever would.

Power Rangers The Movie Drinking Game

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After coercing our film-loving, plot-illuminating housemate, Meg,  into watching the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. We decided that instead of watching this like the sober finches of the Galapagos, we would endure the ninety minute calamity-classic doing a shot every time we noticed a cliché catchphrase like “see ya later alligator” – Ivan Ooze, intentionally compromising pun “I’ve got a bone to pick with you” – White Power Ranger (whilst fighting dinosaur skeletons), and ridiculous music that is played over scenes of no importance at all.

So the rules are simple – a sip, of a prolonged duration for minor instances of cheesy: behaviour, lines, music, sayings, bad green screens – the key is to be understanding of where each incident could be categorically organized into a scale; so anything 5> would be sip and 6< would be a shot! The drink of course is your decision, the shot is always nice to have something between the strength of vodka but stronger than schnapps – not too much and not too little, that’s the dream!

After twenty minutes of rib-tickling, lip-smacking idioms of far too obvious description, a bottle and half of shots has been annihilated. Continuous hand shaking and rhino-mercenary but-kicking has lead me to believe that this is the future of student drinking games. Never before have over-dramatic news broadcasts, and villain-induced witticisms been so damaging to ones liver!

Just to mention: “uh oh, were in trouble” – is genuinely part of the soundtrack. They also have a giant red button which kick’s other specifically similar sized robots in the metal genitals – convenient.

During one scene, you may remember, a rhino explodes into thousand of pieces after being corkscrew kicked so hard – needless to say a lot of alcohol has been consumed. Not even mentioning the collective skating, hand shaking, cockpit-swaying, child-filled mono-railing, glass-shattering building shaking brilliance that the power rangers ensue,

One genuine issue about the film is the fist-pumping white ranger has to be the leader – of course, seems a little racist, considering the black ranger is reduced to being a frog! – well done Brian Spicer! Some may say it was a different time back then, others simply suggesting that being the black ranger surely the crotch is the most appropriate place for him – can hardly imagine the white ranger having an equally sized time down there – ah stereotypes.

So spread the word, drink the dream and think – what would Zordon do?!

Review: how i met your mother

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(May contain Spoilers)

In 2005 when Ted was an emotionally invested, love lusted know-it-all desperately trying to find his perfect wife – even signing up to “Yourperfectmatch.com” – it seemed as though the roller-coaster would never end. He was complicated, stupid and often just in the wrong place at the wrong time – which happens constantly. So, throughout the story he recaps indignant, self-loathing and character building moments throughout his adult life, until he inevitably – met the mother.

Then there was Barney. A sociopath womanizer, who dealt in numbers and clever colloquialisms always nudging Ted out of his comfort zone with games like “Have, you met Ted?” His character brilliantly brought to life by Neil Patrick Harris, of course. Barney transcends from a deeply troubled individual into a genuine person – which really was what let the show down in the end. After all those years of Lily nagging him to change his ways all it took was to knock a girl up – but what are you going to do?

Which brings us onto the perfect couple – acclaimed Mr and Mrs awesome – Lily and Marshall. The pair had their ups and downs but through it all they reminded us that love and life have no unchallenged paths – they’re long and meandering journeys that pushes one another’s boundries – bringing us to the finale!

The 43 minute episode follows the same style as the rest often flicking back in time to past events then to future events and then back to the present – trying to keep track of it, is somewhat difficult. The whole series that was spent leading up to the finale turns out to be a giant waste of time as just like before when Barney and Robin were together. They both ended up unhappy – maybe not because of over-eating or not caring for personal hygiene, but the result is and was still the same.

The mother, played by Christin Milioti, was a superb choice for the role. With giant boots to fill she was quirky, beautiful and an exact match for Ted. Over the last series she was introduced one by one to each of the other supporting roles playing a frequently influential part in their lives. So in the final episode it is confirmed that the mother had passed away due to “illness” – although it doesn’t, thankfully, specify an illness. I know is seems hard to handle but I genuinely think that was the only way they could have ended the show. The show has never tried to be a serious drama, or a serious comedy it just was – and why judge now when she gave Ted everything he’d ever wanted. Children, a house in the suburbs to call a home, someone to finish his crossword puzzles on a Sunday, a bass player, a dog lover – every ridiculous detail that Ted had ever chosen – Happiness.

After every great television show ends there is always a want for more, and they gave the audience a real development of the characters lives: changing, becoming increasingly more hectic, having children, finishing a night in the bar early to go home and working jobs they didn’t want to work to get by. Nonetheless everything worked out to some degree. If you had asked me four or five years ago who I wanted the mother to be – heartbeat – Robin. After everything that Ted had been through surely it stands to reason that he shouldn’t have to be alone because life took something from him. Now she isn’t technically the mother but it answers one question. It turns out that Robin was the reacher after all and Ted was the settler – oh, irony, you.

I for one am glad they didn’t butcher the ending with a fairy-tale rendition of how they always stayed in touch and still hung out in the same bar every-night, because that just isn’t realistic. It is after all just a television program, but I think it was a great example of the shows ethos: Love for as long as you can, because the universe has a funny sense of humour.

Goodbye, how i met your mother – you will be sorely missed.

Lacking Formality.

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After the recent April Fool’s day pranks, hosted by various prestigious companies, I have come to the conclusion that social media and the internet have played a crucial role in the increased informality that has swept across the nation – and I love it! It’s all down to our generation and our predecessors, changing the world in our wake, allowing companies to tweet customers apologies and worldwide witticisms like:

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Their reply is probably one of the most convention shattering incidences to happen on the internet. When before have companies been allowed to publicly speak to their customers in such an informal and colloquial manner? – great banter.

That fact that people are using their positions of power (newspapers) to have a laugh with or at the general public is genius – there is a growing expectation that this will only increase. You only have to look at the Google, Facebook, Youtube and Pixar offices to know that the world is changing into a comfortable, young, purely internet-orientated place – aren’t we lucky.

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You can’t tell me that you don’t think working here would be like the best thing ever! – Right? I bet they’re all sipping cocktails, tail-gating tequilas and smoking Cubans in the Head quarters like – who should we commemorate today?

The worlds a changing place, becoming more electronic everyday, but with that is coming a break in the tradition of 9 till 5 offices, wearing the same charcoal suit everyday, staring at grey and daringly dull walls – I guess we owe them a thank-you?

Not every job is like this obviously, but the day you get offered a job at Google, Facebook, Pixar, Youtube, Twitter or any other social media website you damn sure better take it – I mean look at those chairs! According to sources: Pixar, instead of offices, have their own cottages in which they work – one is themed around pink unicorns. Yep, I said it. Pink. Unicorns.

This change is wonderful, and can only continue to grow (unless Fallout 3 isn’t a game but, in fact, a true prediction of the future) and eventually, when enough advances in social media and the internet are introduced, formal will be the new informal. A world where people in suits walk around being all formal with all the informals in positions of power like stop being so formal, freaks! – what a strange world to imagine.

Bénicassim – The Only Place You’d Ever Want To Be

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Last year, I lost my international festival virginity. After having only attended V Festival, I and my other two companions were anxious to see what the festival had installed. With only four months until the glorious, sun-drenched festival begins again the anticipation has already resurfaced – only this time, we know exactly what to expect!

The Festival runs, opposite to most British festivals, as almost all the music occurs during the evening and night hours of the day – giving the crowd a much nicer vibe and easing the heat situation – if only for a while. For anyone who hasn’t been to an international festival – Go, you will not regret  it.
(Included are some photos of my time in Bénicassim)

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One of the four headliners released so far has been Kasabian – believe me I’m going to be club-footing all over the gaff! After seeing them at V festival in 2012 I have very high hopes for them at Bénicassim. Tame Impala, Courteeners and Paolo Nutini amongst many other acts have been announced alongside the beat-banging, foot-stomping march that’s lead by the one and only Sergio Lorenzo Pizzorno! – Serge.

My first experience of being at a festival in another country was more than pleasant – I would, hand on the bible, state that it was the best week of my life, and best of all nothing went wrong: no one got hurt, our plane wasn’t delayed, nothing got stolen, broken, pumped, taken or felt – it was bliss.

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The first four days, really take you through the paces – 40 degree heat, trips into town to purchase food and cheap booze, not a great deal of sleep, waking up far too early, partying all hours of the night, being submerged in alcohol, scantily clad women and more sun you can shake a stick at – and that’s just the beginning!

There are many ways to be awoken at the festival including: being trodden on by stumbling passers-by, the warm coastal breeze, suddenly realising that your miles away from your tent, a pint of Castéllon’s finest OJ or, moving onto the luxurious way, the ice cold showers. Now bare in mind that the lowest temperature at night was a cool 25 degress. So in the morning all you could ever want is an ice cold shower – I must have had at least 6 a day, all equally spread out to cool the body instantly – glorious!

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The next four days, are a completely different ball-game, often not actually going into the festival arena until this night, the fifth night is probably one of the best. Everything is so new, bright and wonderful and the other friendly festival-goers are great! We had our own little triangle in the middle of all the stages which made it so easy for us to meet up if we were watching different bands – It’s what every festival needs – in the words of the Last Shadow Puppets a ‘meeting place!’

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As the festival draws closer and closer to it’s final night you’ve probably already checked out the beach – which someone we had been hanging around with swore he saw Liam Fray on the sandy-shores only for Liam Fray to turn round and affirm – “Yes, its Liam Fray” – and if you didn’t read that with a mancunian accent then you should at least feel disparaged. The water park – which has the best ride ever, it is life-threatening to go on that ride – seriously, almost died – is an awesome day out, although take sunblock you do not want to end up like Sid – embroiled with blisters and a sore lobster skinned back!

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After you’ve spent a week, guzzling beverages, overdosing on vitamin D, traveling to Aldi, struggling to get to sleep, sometimes not even getting to your tent, loosing various items of clothing to what can only be described as bad drunk decisions that makes you think throwing your T-shirt into the Courteeners crowd is a good idea (actually, I don’t regret a thing).

The beautiful thing about this years Bénicassim is that me and the chums know what to expect, how to handle the heat, the best time to take showers, not to use the cubicles during the day (a – there is no toilet roll (b – its like being trapped in the Sahara dessert that smells like 16th Century London) but the point is that we are prepared, for everything!

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A day in the life of Bénicassim:
you’ll spend your day, smoking, drinking, thinking, laying, laughing, talking, buying, eating, walking, sun-bathing, shower-taking, oscillating, perspiring  and constantly hanging – I’ve already got my 2014 ticket, the question is when are you getting yours?

Hangover; Sleep, eat, sleep.

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I often think that there is much more to alcohol than the night you drink it – often during the hangover period do we reminisce the hilarity of your mates dubious ramblings or fabulous faux pas knocking into, stumbling over and fumbling with other beverage consuming participants which becomes an accolade by it’s own defying right.

The true beauty of alcohol comes with the company of those around you, its an enabler at the very least. Often I’ll hear people say “It’s a sign that you’ve had a good night” – which irritates the hell out of me – so it may comes as surprise to you that I think that the statement has a certain degree of truth.

Prior to coming to Worcester the weekend would consist of, going out Friday and spending all of Saturday (student nights here are mid-week) with the people from the night before – living the absolute dream. Getting a domino’s hangover, conversing, having gloried opinions of people and ideas and watching terrible television shows – Its an angelic feeling being hungover, and almost always undervalued!

The best part of the overture is spending it with people who make you do stupid things, laugh when they should help, abandon one another in the pub, manipulate into buying alcohol, tease about sexual escapades, fight, then presumably make-up and call ridiculous names to.

When my parents said “Hangovers get much worse with age” maybe there is less of an appreciation for the hungover feeling or maybe it is because they haven’t awoken to Charlie snoring in the corner, Angus mangled and face down in bed, Ramron romanticizing an open bottle of spirit, Dave with fists bloodied or Thon with his trouser by his ankles whispering “the Germans are a community of high repute: yours sincerely, Goldeen”. – That is what alcohol is really for.

I like to think of being hungover as a different kind of drunk – when your irritability conflicts with your desire for greasy food and calling people bastard-face seems like an appropriate term of endearment – post-drunk.