This is a true story from about 5 years ago. I was single and just a couple of years out of university, finding my feet in my new career. Looking back, I realise these were probably the golden years of my life – no real responsibilities, no worries, no money, no bedtime.
I’d never been much of a clubber but I’m old friends with some Iranian-British girls who loved to hit the fancy clubs.
Dipshit me, who’s wallet was lighter than a paper clip, agreed to accompany them and some of their rich friends from the gulf to insert-French-word-here nightclub in Mayfair in London.
The place was shitty, packed to the tits with entitled arseholes, boring music and minimum table spends. I purposefully bought my own drinks and did not get involved in the ridiculous bottles of champagne for 300 quid a pop that the rest of these nobs were drinking.
I ended up spending a significant amount of time in the smoking area. Armed with a beer more expensive than a 2003 Fiat Punto, I lounged on the admittedly very nice garden furniture, listening to drunken phone arguments and below average flirting bellowing around me.