Until it didn’t. Door open, neighbour in a dressing gown, someone crying in the good chair. I took notes on my phone.
Category: Parties
House keys in a bowl, a speaker dying at five, strangers making toast. We said we would only stay for one. We lied. The landlord texted. I sent a heart. Coward.
The Shared Bathroom Queue
Four girls, one lock, someone’s boyfriend knocking like he pays rent. I gave her my concealer. She gave me the story. That’s how you leave a club with better gossip than a hangover.
Mia’s Afters Wrecked The Sofa
Red wine, someone else’s jacket, and a dent I cannot explain to the landlord. We flipped the cushion. Classic.
Afters With No Speakers
Ended up in a warehouse kitchen in Hackney Wick, twelve people, one Bluetooth dying, someone’s Deliveroo arriving at 6am. I still call it a party. Sophie calls it a cry for help.
Mia Booked A Surprise Stripper
For my “un-birthday”. He was late, polite, and ended up drinking our wine. I tipped him in leftover pizza.
House Party Ended At Breakfast
Someone put porridge on. Someone else was still naked. I wrote half the piece on my notes app between bites.
Promoter Let Us Skip The Queue
Because Mia smiled and I looked expensive. We repaid him by disappearing into the booth and never buying bottle service.
Dalston Kitchen At Someone’s Mate’s
No one knew whose flat it was by 5am. There were fairy lights and a chopping board used as a tray. I made toast for a stranger.
Pre-Drinks Became The Main Event
We never left the flat. Someone DJ’d off a phone. I snogged a boy against our own fridge. Cheap night. Expensive hangover.
Roof Terrace At Four
Someone’s friend-of-a-friend had access. No licence, just speakers and a view of the City looking cheap. I danced like the content was already posted. It wasn’t. Yet.