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From 'just one' to waking up in a ditch: a pint-by-pint timeline

GOING out for one drink always ends up with you completely shitfaced. But how do you get there? Find out with this timeline.

First pint

Here you go, as planned. One pint of pale ale. What a delightful way to round off your Saturday. Take your time to sup on this amber nectar because it’s all you’re drinking this evening. You’ve got to be up early tomorrow to take your kids to soft play, remember? You wouldn’t want to be hungover for that.

Second pint

Oh, go on then. You’ve had a long week and nobody ever really means it when they say they’re just having one. You’ll still be able to wake up with a clear head tomorrow, even if you forget to have a glass of water when you get in. Live a little, you deserve it.

Third pint

Careful now. This is the event horizon of pints. If you drink this then you’ll start to lose the ability to make completely rational decisions. In your tipsy state you might order one more for the road, and before you know it you’re onto your tenth pint. Turn back after this one or suffer the consequences.

Fourth pint

So you’ve decided to press on. Interesting. At this point you’ve probably already broken the seal by heading to the bathroom, indicating that you’re in this for the long haul. How’s that nagging voice in your head, the one that’s telling you this is the last drink? If you can still hear it, drown it out by having another pint.

Fifth through to ninth pint

These pints happen in a flurry. Maybe your friends bought them for you, or maybe you’re getting so pissed your memory is playing tricks on you. Either way, your table is now completely taken up with empty pint glasses, and when you stagger to the bar it feels like you’re on a ship sailing through rough seas.

Last orders pint

The barman ringing the last orders bell is like Pavlovian conditioning and will send you racing to the bar to try and get one last pint. Never mind the time though, you won’t get served because you’re obviously twatted and he’s going to boot you out onto the pavement instead.

2am cans of Carling

Out of desperation for one more drink you have ended up buying a six pack of Carling from a 24-hour off licence. Yes, it tastes like weak dog piss, but you don’t want a high percentage drink for your nightcap. Even in your inebriated state, as you neck a can while taking a slash in a backstreet, you have standards.

Waking up in a ditch pints

What the f**k happened? It’s Sunday afternoon now and you’ve woken up in a ditch by a ring road. Most of the pints are now pooled around you in the mud, and your phone is blowing up with texts from your partner asking you what time you’re going to be home. If you recognised any of the place names on the road signs, you’d tell them.

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Eight things to absolutely hate about the Edinburgh Fringe

POPPED up to Edinburgh to enjoy the world’s largest arts festival? Here is the cavalcade of nightmares that awaits you at the Fringe.

Pretentious shows

The Fringe Festival is famous for its comedy, but there’s also lots of up-itself theatre for you to endure. You wouldn’t normally watch a moving account of one woman’s menstrual cycle told through the medium of contemporary dance and glove puppets, and after seeing it you’ll wish you hadn’t.

Twee Scottish Edinburgh

Edinburgh is a tourist trap just like any other major city. That means your hip cultural experience will be undermined by the presence of gift shops full of a thousand varieties of tartan tat, and bagpipers on every street corner. And the worst part is you kind of like it.

Pushy flyer bastards

You understand that people have got shows to promote, but that’s what posters are for. During the Fringe the Royal Mile becomes a gauntlet populated by in-your-face students and aspiring comics desperately trying to recoup their printing costs. Strangely their aggressive manner doesn’t tempt you to see them perform.

The f**king price of everything

From the price of booze to the accommodation, a trip to the Fringe will do a better job of wiping out your bank account than your next energy bill. Even getting to the sodding thing costs a fortune, and that’s before you buy tickets to anything. At least the really shit stuff is free.

Neds waiting to deck you

The Fringe is the Christmas of the Scottish hooligan calendar. Neds will make the hallowed pilgrimage from Glasgow through to Edinburgh, then lurk around near the Underbelly to beat up unsuspecting punters as they stagger home. For first-timers, getting headbutted by a wannabe Begbie is a rite of passage.

Student revues who think they’re Beyond the Fringe

Peter Cook and co. ushered in a new age of comedy back in the 60s, and the gaggle of teenage stand-ups you’re currently watching are pissing on that legacy. If only their dads had paid them more attention during their formative years they might have gone into engineering instead, and saved everyone this horror.

The fear of missing out

It’s impossible to see every show at the Fringe, meaning you’re going to miss an act you’ve got your eye on. This will feel even more devastating when you realise you made the wrong choice and now you have to sit through a punishingly shit improv musical, which you can’t just leave because you’re sat in the front row.

Your mate’s terrible stand-up routine

It’s just you and them in some pub attic, and they’re rattling off the weakest material of the whole Fringe. Out of obligation you’ll laugh at the expected intervals, even though a real friend would politely stop them and give them some life advice along the lines of ‘give it the f**k up, mate’. The worst thing is you paid £12 for this wasted hour.

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