A couple of weekends ago it was Becky’s birthday and to celebrate, all the girls rallied round to have a good knees up in Brighton’s finest discothèques. Before the night out, Emily and I had a mad dash round Matalan in search of suitable clubbing attire and I took Emily’s charity shop virginity, as she made a purchase once she had overcome the smell of old people.
The evening that followed was a typically raucous affair. The wine was flowing, Helen Keller made an appearance and before we knew it, we were singing some naughty song at the top of our lungs. We headed off into town having already polished off half a dozen bottles of wine and feeling a little worse for wear, and there was only one place we really fancied. The high-class establishment where you can get cheap shots, your feet get stuck to the alco-pop drenched floor and swing round a pole imaging you are filming a sexy music video; yes the venue of choice was Yates.
So after a boogie in there, we headed to Vodka Revs where we spent the rest of the night having a ball.