GOING out on the pull is a myth created by lads’ magazines. Here’s what really happens when you try to find a stranger to have sex with:
MYTH: You’ll look across a dance floor full of prospects, each hottie more enticing than the last.
REALITY: Getting turned away from the club, then visiting a grim pub full of aged locals, each more sullen and depressing than the last.
MYTH: You’ll catch the eye of someone attractive across the room, and watch them realise they can’t tear themselves away from your magnetic gaze.
REALITY: Staring into a watery pint, hypnotised by the knowledge that it cost £6.50 yet has the taste and appeal of stale piss.
MYTH: Striking up a scintillating chat with a 10 which crackles with sexual tension.
REALITY: Awkwardly trying to compliment someone who can’t hear you over the shit music, before settling on a thumbs-up as they back away in disgust.
MYTH: An enchanting walk home with your soon-to-be conquest, whispering sweet nothings to one another under the moonlit sky.
REALITY: An exercise in herding cats as you try to regroup your disparate gang of mates, before eventually throwing everyone into an Uber that they swear they’ll pay you back for (they won’t).
MYTH: Hours of passionate lovemaking, fulfilling desires you never even knew you had.
REALITY: Spending an hour watching the late-night shopping channel, before drifting off on the sofa filled with crisps and self-loathing.
MYTH: Waking up and scratching another notch in your bedpost. Quite the number you’ve got there.
REALITY: Waking up with a sore head and the need to puke. Protect your pride by telling yourself there was nobody worth pulling, even though you’d have shagged a bollard given half the chance.