The typical Andover night out starts with pre drinks at the biggest alcoholic of the groups house because you already know you’re gonna turn up and they’re gonna hand you a quadruple vodka and Coke and a shot of some description. You spend the majority of the pre drinks either moaning about how bad you look, taking Snapchats and calling every single fucking taxi company because none of them have any available taxis.
Eventually you end up in town and definitely in spoons where you and your friend buddy up and order pitchers for 2 for £12. You have a chat with the local 40 year old alcoholics who are always in spoons and refer to themselves as ‘the locals’. Then you go to globe and all everyone is talking about is how nice it is now that is under new management and of course you have to go upstairs to listen to everyone on the karaoke busting out some 90’s bops.
On the way up the hill you stop by the cameo staff to get the cameo stickers and complain how you have to be in cameo before 11 to get the free entry and free drink.
Then you’re in plush, ordering a classic sex on the beach or gummy bear cocktail where everyone sticks their grummy little fingers in your drink to fish out every last alcohol infused gummy bear. You have a quick little dance checking yourself out in the mirror while you do so before that one little bitch moans that they need a wee. So then you’re taking the biggest hike of your life climbing up the stairs and clinging on to the railing because you’re already that drunk.
Eventually you actually get to the toilet room and have a conversation with the toilet lady who honestly you feel sorry for because she has to have the same conversation with every girl where all they’re talking about is how drunk they are or crying about their ex.
Then it gets to 10:55 and you have to do the quickest drunk run of your life to get to cameo because you are not missing out on the free entry. You get in and get your free shot where you’re honestly disgusted in yourself because now all the staff know you by first and last name and probably know the last 3 digits of your phone number too to add into the iPad. You down your free shot and run to the bar to get on the £1.50 drinks at 10:59, you probably order multiple of these because hey they’re £1.50 and you need to take full advantage.
You sit in a booth round the back with your 10 drinks looking at how dead the dance floor is because it’s only 11 o fucking clock. After drinking enough drinks that you only have enough left that you can actually carry you make your way to the smoking shelter where you talk to the other early drunks.
Slowly more and more people start coming in, the dancefloor is getting more busy so you jump on there and crack out your best moves to despactio. It’s getting later and you need another fag so you make your way through vinyl where they’re playing either girls just wanna have fun or YMCA so you have a quick boogie while walking through and shouting the words.
And would it even be a cameo night out if you didn’t go into the photo booth machine? And of course pose your little heart out for the photographer.
It gets to about 3 o’clock and everyone’s leaving and all you’re left with is the middle age men and the group of squadies, so you all decide it’s time to go, you strut your drunk ass down the hill to get to A and B cabs where they tell you it’s an hour wait and that’s okay even though it’s only a 10 minute walk to your house.
You spend 45 minutes of your hour in Chickoland ordering cheesy chips just for everyone else to eat the real good cheesy ones and your left with the shit at the bottom, you watch everyone on the boxing machine and probably have a go yourself.
At this point the taxi staff are shouting at you that your taxi is by the police station, you jump in, have a long, deep, meaningful conversation with the taxi driver, then you get home, go to sleep wake up the next morning and swear that you’ll go out somewhere other than Andover but next weekend you do the same all over again.