You’d think by now I would be capable of having a civilised night out; one which is grown up and mature. You know those kind of nights where you should only go out and have two or three drinks then leave, because the next day you have lots to do and a suitcase to pack for a flight the following day and as such an early night would be ideal? I don’t really know these nights.
Being LostItGirl, and not ‘fully up together girl’, I went ahead and fcked my life up to the best of my abilities.
I think most people look at me and think: “Shout out to God for making sure there’s someone who’s more of a shit show than me…”
Perhaps this might encourage a re-evaluation in life choices/attitude for some people, but for me, I guess if I can make someone feel better about themselves then I’m pretty much happy, regardless of how I’m perceived to others.
Clothes in spaces
I had been invited to a clothing event where the hosts put their winter collections on display in a trendy “space”. It’s always called a space in London, and everyone’s good looking and there is an unstoppable flow of free cocktails which contain a fck load of alcohol masked by really great flavours of fresh fruit and stuff so you only need two and then the carnage can begin.
I attended this event with my friends Jack, Sabby and another friend who we shall just call Michael for now. I can’t give too much away if I never want anyone to be able to work out who I am ?
We arranged to arrive at around 6pm, and I had already sent this blanket text to each of those I would be attending with:
“I’ve got my hair appointment at 4pm so I’ll be free at around 6pm. We can go the stupid event but srsly I can only stay for a bit and I’m not drinking. I’m flying to Dubai tomorrow and I’ve not packed anything.”
I was adamant this would be the case. When we arrived I had a quick cocktail. It’s ok though, because one won’t ever hurt. We had some bright pictures taken of us and someone handed me another cocktail. I didn’t even notice it was another drink since the transition was so seamless. I just assumed I was still on the same one.
That happened around six to eight times.
Suddenly I had created 35 Snapchats and was dancing to Beyoncé, scream-singing to my front camera: “tell him boy bye boy bye” and other lyrics of a similarly stupid nature.
Jack decided he wanted to try on one of the coats, which was fine, but he then decided he wanted to take it home without paying for it. I found this to be petty theft, and the sensible me would have said: “Jack they will just send us the coat for free if we ask, put it back you idiot.”
But I just said: “Go for it buddy…”
Then, after about 16 cocktails it was time to start texting my phone book.
Lots of people got one. Before long, I was out on the street running over some cobbles to get to another bar where we all decided a whole bottle of champagne would be a great idea. It was not, but it was free. And we were drunk.
Jack had committed petty theft, I’d sent texts that I shouldn’t have, and then Saby, like an angel sent to look after me and abstain me of my sins said: “LIG I’m taking you home now because you haven’t packed for Dubai…”
Yes, I hadn’t, and if I didn’t do it that night I had no other night to do it. So we finished our drinks ready to leave, and once out on the street Jack decided we should go to Mahiki. But I think that we should never ever go to Mahiki, and so I ran away.
I was right outside the Ritz Carlton running with Jack chasing after me. I think I was winning the race but then he performed what can only really be described as a rugby tackle on me and that was us both fully on the floor outside the Ritz. Drunk, laughing, on our backs. Then the doormen escorted us from the premises.
I did take rather a substantial fall, but I didn’t feel a thing. So we dusted ourselves off, laughed hysterically and I was taken home by Saby.
Saby got to listen to phrases such as “my hand really hurts” and “why does my hand hurt?” since I’d already forgotten I’d fallen over.
Somehow we got home, and walked upstairs to my room for me to pack my bag for Dubai. But instead, I lay on the bed texting and laughing and rolling around drunk, playing DJ (randomly picking songs to play) while Saby took charge of packing.
I would throw things at her, like a cushion for example, saying: “I need to take that.”
I took down my Britney Spears poster on the inside of one of my six wardrobes, proclaiming: “I need that. I gotta take that.”
I told her that I thought I should take an iron.
LIG: “I’ll take an iron yes? Because it’s a nice iron. Probably nicer than any hotel iron.”
Saby: “Yes, it is a nice one. But, LostItGirl, I don’t feel as though you’ll be doing any ironing.”
LIG: “How dare you? I would iron. I would iron you.”
Saby then fed me a Valium and put me to bed. I remember saying to her: “It is a nice iron though, isn’t it?” as I drifted off…
When I woke up I was in full makeup, with music playing through the speakers on my phone, all the fairy lights on and the TV on full and I just thought: “Where am I and why am I?”
I couldn’t bring myself to look at my text threads, so instead I just took my case, which was somehow all closed up and ready with my passport and fcked off to Dubai to think about my behaviour.
Speak to you from Dubai.