After the after party…
Well, I do believe that after the Brits 2017, I was the one of the biggest shit shows I’ve ever been. So fun…
Nobody cares about the actual awards of course. It’s just a few chic people mixed with a load of try-hard tagalongs all j’adoring themselves a bit too much. Although this year was pretty cool, nothing fun happened at all – as usual.
We all miss the days of Brit Pop when people actually did stuff that was interesting. As I was getting ready I was half-watching that on TV. I’m glad David Bowie won, it would have been embarrassing if he hadn’t. But hey, it was only him and Skepta in the category and Skepta got a Mercury so he’s probably more than happy to let a legend win.
Little Mix were super cute and Ed Sheeran and Stormzy were pretty good. I don’t remember the rest.
Once I was suitably dressed and the show finished I got in my car to meet my GBF. He was under strict instructions not to come within one metre of me all night as he’s pretty good looking and often turns out to be a major cock block.
By the end of the night I’m hoping he would have been pretty familiar with the back of my head. We drank some drinks in a bar before attending the first party. I didn’t want to get there too early. I’m late, or I don’t come.
When it was nearly midnight we went to the Universal party in some massive rooms across two floors. My GBF, my friend Christian (who hates being mentioned in my blogs and so once was mentioned on repeat for two weeks) all had our best threads on and were so very ready to party.
And so that’s what we did.
I remember a few things about it.
Getting in was pretty hectic, but for some reason myself and the GBF were plucked out of the queue and taken straight to the front. Christian was already in there. It was weird but cool, you don’t question things like that. We took some photos next to a giant Brits statue which all came out shit because the person that took them was totally wasted.
I’m the worst human
We were given orange drinks that were basically orange petrol. They made me drunk. I remember having no awareness that there was a massive queue for the bathrooms and so just bowled straight to the front with no fcks given straight into a cubicle while my GBF followed behind me astonished and most proud. I dragged him in there with me and he watched me urinate.
I hassled the DJ 456 times for Future songs. He maybe played one or maybe he didn’t. Who knows?
Christian pointed out Sadiq Khan and I was going to go and have a selfie because he’s kind of cool, but selfies at chic parties are far from cool.
I was like to my GBF: “Shall we get a pic?”
He was like: “Who the fck is that?”
We were like: “Erm it’s the Mayor of London.
He was like: “Wtf is that?”
Young people are funny.
So instead we had one with Jedward. They really are two of the weirdest humans on the planet. Sadly the selfie didn’t really work out because we were not taking it too seriously, whereas they were extremely serious about it.
After bundling Christian in to a car home (which he couldn’t pay for so a London cabbie took his phone then proceeded to call me five times a day afterwards “just for a chat”) we went back in to the party and then decided what would be a great idea at 3am would be to go to a hotel party hosted by some pop star.
We got there and I was just staring at everyone and everything, dazed and confused. I think I was wondering what my name was.
My GBF started dancing like he was on a podium at Sink the Pink (Google it). Apparently he had a circle of people around him loving it and filming it, but I was in the corner cringing.
We opened a bottle of my favourite pink champagne. (Laurent Perrier FYI) and I grasped onto it as if it were the last remaining bottle in the world while drinking from a second hand plastic cup. Usually I wouldn’t do this, but it didn’t bother me. Nothing did. I spent the rest of the night grasping to some stupid bottle of whiskey and using it to bat off X Factor contestants and people like that who literally nobody cares about. It was fine.
As always I lost some of my belongings, but the best thing about the night was that only two photos were on my phone and no Snapchat or Insta stories. This is the sign of a great night.
We went home to bed at 6am and then woke up at 6pm to the BBC News telling us about some girl called Doris who had swept across the country pulling out trees, knocking people over and pretty much fckin people’s lives up.
I thought initially it could have been me they were referring to on the news, but I only pushed to the front of the queue and beat up a few z-list non-pop stars, and thankfully my name is not Doris, my name is LostItGirl.
To Doris – I missed your show, slept right through it, but I’ll catch you next time…