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Guys. I think I miss nightclubs. I miss getting ready and debating whether to take a cardi. I miss killer shoes and tottering into taxis. I miss the pre bar and the jostling for position and the tiny drinks for £9. I miss the queue and the cold air and the fiefdom of the bouncer.
I miss the stamp on my hand like it’s a funfair. The cloakroom where you know being reunited with your belongings again is half chance. I miss the thumping bass that you can feel in your bones. The silly people on their stupid ‘tables’ with comedy sized bottles of vodka.
I miss the dancing. I miss pointing at the DJ because he’s definitely playing this song just for me. I miss the ladies’ loo and the comaraderie of loaning an eyeliner or shared advice about safety. I miss the lights coming on at the end of the night like the scene of disaster.
I miss stumbling into a fast food joint and ordering chicken nuggets and trying to sneak them into taxis. I miss the roundabout texts of friends gettting home safely and waking up with a pounding head and my mascara glued together.
I hated it before. But I miss it now.
I hated it before. But I miss it now.
