On my 28th birthday I celebrated by drinking lots of cocktails with my lovely friends and downing a lot of shots.
The night ended by me demanding that Soldier and I get a cab home. After making him pay for said cab once we arrived at the flat I then proceeded to throw up in someones garden. Nice.
What followed the next day was possibly the worst hangover of my life. I fell asleep standing up whilst leaning on a man on the Central line and on arriving at the office inhaled two Greggs sausage rolls and a diet coke in 00.2 seconds. Unfortunately this only made me feel worse so I spent the next hour basically crying at my desk.
So with this memory still fresh in my mind I was determined my 29th birthday wouldn't follow the same pattern.
And surely it wouldn't? After all I was about to turn 29. Ever closer to 30. Surely it would be a small gathering with just a few drinks, right? WRONG.
My first mistake was picking a bar with a two and a half hour happy hour where EVERYTHING on the menu was half price including my favourite Champagne, Pommery, which was going for £25 a bottle. My second mistake was feeling the need to drink as much as possible before the end of happy hour chimed at 7.30pm.
So I arrive and my best friend Sarah had arranged for a bottle of Pommery and a balloon with a pic of her face to be brought over. Soldier also bought a bottle as did Elaine. You can see how this is going can't you?
Then came the inevitable round of shots of Sambucca that I can never, ever turn down. So now I'm drunk. And when I'm drunk I feel the need to be elevated above everyone (I think it's a being short thing.) I stood on a chair and my housemate Rachael followed me up. Then I decided to take it one step further and comb on the table… Which tipped over spilling every ones drinks. Not ideal.
Not long later I step outside for 'air' and proceed to throw up in the street. Classy. I then try and get back in the bar but the two bouncers stop me and tell me I'm a 'security risk'. They could have had a point…
One of them goes to get Soldier who brings up my stuff and we flag down a cab - a cab which I have to keep stopping so I can be sick. Again, less than ideal.
I don't remember much after that. I DO remember waking up the next day unable to lift my head from the pillow and looking like a model for an anti-binge drinking advert. Oh and being relieved that I had booked the day off work this time…
So it seems despite being a year older, I'm none the wiser. Here's to next year. Maybe moving into another decade might mature me. Then again, I highly doubt it….
