HAVING a night out with your middle-aged mates? Expect these arseholes to turn it into a complete f**king nightmare.
The one on the pull
You’re all the wrong side of 40 with partners and kids, but that won’t stop this guy from thinking he’s 20-something again and a magnet for women. Cringe as he uses terrible chat-up lines that fail just like they did two decades ago, before he tries it on with a right hard bastard’s girlfriend and gets you all threatened with a kicking.
The one who’s already pissed
You met at 7pm, but Tom has clearly been on the lash all afternoon in preparation. He’ll be trying to hug you like you’re reunited brothers separated at birth, which is just as well because the minute you let go of him he’ll fall on his arse. The only blessing is he’ll pass out by 8pm and you can put him in a taxi home.
And boy, isn’t he f**king banging on about it? He’s begrudgingly agreed to be the designated driver and he’ll milk his saintly, selfless generosity like he’s the Dalai f**king Lama. ‘Just a coke for me, I’m on taxi duty’ he’ll loudly proclaim every time someone’s getting a round in. After a couple of hours you’ll be vowing to get Ubers next time.
The ageing clubber
You’ve not been to a nightclub since 2004, and are now at the age where the thought of all that deafening music and pilled-up youths is about as appealing as gouging your own eyes out with a rusty melon baller. Except this arsehole, who thinks he has discovered the elixir of eternal youth at the bottom of his seventh pint of Peroni. He’s so determined he’ll end up going on his own, only for the door staff to refuse him entry because he looks like everyone else’s dad.
The work obsessive
You’ve met up for a few beers and a heated debate about football, not to listen to him explaining in painstakingly detail exactly how he sealed his firm’s big new contract. That won’t stop him. You’ve zoned out halfway through your first pint, and still he prattles on. By the end of the night you’re feeling like you’ve sat through a four-hour f**king marketing seminar.
Boring old you
It seemed a brilliant idea to have a catch-up night on the piss, but now you’re here it feels like purgatory. The prices have gone through the roof, the bar staff look like they’re still at school, and by 10pm all you want to do is get home and put your feet up in front of Match of the Day. Elaborately lie your way out by saying you have to get back for the babysitter. Hopefully they’ll all be too shitfaced to remember your kids are both in their teens, and you can slope off feeling deeply relieved.