A good old-fashioned LostItGirl night out 

On Friday I headed out with my GBFF to a few bars, before ending up rather embarrassingly in Mahiki. Doesn’t matter where you put a Mahiki, in Dubai or in London, the embarrassment you feel when you order a bottle of clear liquid and they bring it over with sparklers… That embarrassment, it’s real.

As two sparklers made their way across the club towards me, I took note of the fact that they were being half-heartedly held by two girls who were struggling to tell their faces “I’m so happy for you and your vodka!”

You die

But hey, they are probably paid to do this type of thing so they gave it a good go. I shrunk into the background for this moment, because when you order a drink and it appears with some fckin sparklers being waved around like it’s the last drink that’s ever going to be consumed by any human ever again, it’s the second most cringe thing that can happen on a night out. The first is falling over in front of people.


We worked our way through that bottle before moving on to a new night club in the West End. The other day, for some reason we were talking about Fatman Scoop in the office. The some reason was actually because he’s made a new song.

We were listening to it and somebody offered up the question “Did you know Fatman Scoop is 45?”

To which I replied: “stone…”

That was quite funny, but what was not funny was when the really chic DJ got booted off and there in front of me was all 45 years/stone of Fatman Scoop, being terribly nosey and asking everyone “Who’s fckin tonight???”

And as if that wasn’t enough, they rolled out Big Fat and Nasty to shout stuff on a microphone too.

I loved it, whilst also hating it, and so I left.

Turning straight men gay

My gay bff was too drunk to deal with life and wanted to take home a straight guy to try and make him gay which is his total favourite thing to do – after French kissing me, but I fully support him in his weird turning straight men gay quest.

I called another friend to see where she was. She’s never ever ever read this blog once and she never will, but I’ll change her name just in case she does. We can call her Britney.

Britney was fcked and at this point I wasn’t actually too bad. I said goodbye to my gay bff and his new straight conquest (who would later turn out to be not so straight) and spoke to Britney on the phone. I told the doorman she was arriving and went back in to wait for what turned out to be a very long time. I had to tell her 12 times where I was. It was a very trying time.

As I was stood around waiting for her I was summoned over by a group of guys. I was bored so I thought: might as well… I was talking to one guy who was super tall and he was kinda hot. He asked for my number, but then put his number in my phone. This is a real dick move, but I can handle a dick move. So I rang it and said: “There’s my number, because there is no way I will ever be messaging you…”


As it would turn out, that was to become one of the biggest bits of bullshit I’ve ever said.

Britney eventually turned up after first being turned away, so I grabbed the manager who I luckily knew and he let her in. We hung out with the guys for a few seconds and then had a patron at the bar which was to mark the beginning of the end of my memory.

We then went to the back of the club to hang out with this pop star we know and I accidentally told him how much we all hate his new song. I do things like this a lot, I just often forget not to be honest when I’m drunk. It’s getting to be a problem, a problem for them.

Truth hurts. Whatever.

I was having a real good time, I made friends with the DJ and Britney made friends with some other guy.

As the club was winding down the guy Britney had been talking to invited us to some party. I was in full LostItGirl mode and Britney was loving life too, so at that time a party seemed like a great idea.

I went to say goodbye to the hot tall guy but I’m terribly unclear as to whether I did or not. I remember Britney’s guy saying something like: “Don’t worry, they’ll be coming to the party you’ll see them there.”

So we went to this party. All I remember after sinking a Xanax in the black cab is not sharing it with anyone else because, well because you don’t share drugs. Duh.

As my memory was wiped out by the Xanax the party is vague. I know it was in a large house in a very chic area of London. It had a doorman, it had a cloak room and a bar with hot waiters.

It was rammed with people everywhere all loving their lives at 3am.

I don’t mind talking about what a jackweed I can be at times. I’m ok with that, but I want you to know that the following story is not usual LostItGirl behaviour and nor is it to be copied in any way ever. The next story can only really be labelled as NOT CHIC.


The tall guy I’d met for like 12 minutes before? For some reason I decided to call him a total of seven times. Seven missed calls to a guy I don’t even know.

It wasn’t my best moment.

I am not the sort of person to ever double drop anyone. Not even a close friend. We all know here at LostItGirl that people have their phones in their possession at all times so a missed call is one which has been purposely ignored.

Best case is that it’s been seen and will be returned at the next available moment, so calling six more times is not required. Worst case scenario is that they ignored it because they hate you. In this case it would turn out to be the latter.

There is simply no need to call a person more than once, it is just very bizarre behaviour and absolutely unnecessary.

I can’t  work out/decide if I was trying to call someone else, had seen the number and was so drunk I was thinking who the fck is this? Maybe I wanted to get laid but it’s unlikely. I expect I did it by accident.

Either way it was a totally tragic move. It’s fine, I just know I can simply never ever contact the guy again. It turned out to be a minor blow when the next day I put his name in Twitter and he’s a Premier League footballer.

It’s for the best though – I don’t have the best track record with footballers.

Back 2 The Party

So anyway, back to that party. Uber tells me I left it alone at 5:30 am having lost many of my possessions. I don’t remember the music, the people, or anything.

The next day I woke up confused and rang Britney. She too was confused, and had lost even more possessions than I.

She was just on her way back to the party to collect them.

Upon arriving at the house we had been shaking our asses at a mere hour or two before, she was greeted by the owner who let her into the house. She walked past some life size human statues, some dungeons, down some corridors, and past some bedrooms filled with between 12 to 15 beds. Lots of rooms filled with beds.

It was then that it became evident that we had actually been at a sex party. We had exactly no recollection of this and nor would we have if Britney hadn’t returned to the scene of the sex.

The worrying part is I don’t remember thinking anything was wrong or not normal. I’d been at a weird old sex party and found the whole thing to be fine. Normal.

I think that means I’m doing something right.