An ode to nights out

It’s never taken much to convince me to go on a night out, often a simple “Shall we go out tonight?” is adequate enough to do the job. Of all the things that have been stripped from us in lockdown this is one I am missing the most.

I am ready to trade it all in for that feeling when a little drink on a Friday night turns into the stumble home at 4am with a portion of chips in one arm, and your best friend on the other as you laugh about the moment that guy you once matched with on Tinder pointed at you across the bar. 

This is an obituary to the unmade friends that could have been. The just for 10 minutes in the queue for the toilets as you take the hand of a stranger and whisper to her “I am desperate, I think I’m going to run into the gents - do you want to come with me?” friends. The “We have an extra tequila shot, do you want it?” At the bar as you give a hasty “Yeah, just moved here. I’m a uni student” friends. The joyful friend for the 3 minutes 48 seconds as you scream the lyrics of Mr Brightside to each other on the dance floor. Those people that you feel so deeply connected to in the moment, you could have sworn you were soulmates; that when morning comes and the vodka has seeped away you’ll struggle to remember their name, their job or even their face, just that they smiled so wide as you apologised for knocking into them and spilling your drink on their shoe. 

I’d even take with it the moment you have to reach inside your mate’s trousers to do up her bodysuit poppers because she can’t quite manage it. I’d take the moment when the DJ drops a horrific clanger of a song that echos as the crowd audibly grown. I’d take the feeling when a 6ft 5 guy steps on your foot when you’re wearing open-toed shoes. I’d take that awkward moment when that guy you had the worst date in history with walks through the door and makes his way towards you on the dance floor.  

I’d take it all. Just for one night of dancing, laughing and singing with my friends. The nights that start with a private concert sung into hair straighteners, the running to your housemate’s room “This top, or that dress?”, the game of beer pong where you unexpectedly turn into the Michael Jordan of drinking games, the moment you all down your just-made drink because the Uber only took 2 minutes and is now waiting outside. 

What I’m saying is, nights out I miss you. I miss the “What Out out?”. I miss the hurried excuses of how much coursework you have due, even though you’re already mentally planning which to lipstick wear. I miss the “Quick, just one picture” that to the bleary eyes in the morning is a Picasso of the night before. I miss laying on your stomach to search under your bed for last weekend’s hungover-Lucozade bottle to repurpose into this weekend’s vodka lemonade vessel for the walk to the bar.

Nights out I miss you. I will always love you.

Until we meet again. And all those friends that are only seen between the hours of 11pm and 4am, and all the friends that are yet to be made - I hope you are staying safe.


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