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.
