Mummy’s Night Out 

This week I’ve been having a reminisce, back to being eighteen when I would be out every Thursday, Friday and Saturday if I could, with only a short nap and possibly some greasy food in between to keep me alive. I drank huge, sugary drinks with tiny amounts of questionable alcohol in them and I enjoyed every minute.

But then teacher training appeared and everything changed. Even before Joe and I got together, I had started to go out and drink less and less, and the stress of completing my PGCE did the opposite of turning me to drink. I wanted to be as far away from alcohol as possible, desperate for the rest that came with the start of the weekend and needing a clear head for working on Sundays.

I’ve never been the sort of person who has just fancied one in the house, or needed a drink after work (chocolate- yes, wine- no). I’m also not a fan of anything sophisticated, I don’t even particularly like wine and I’ve certainly never fancied a glass of it on my own in the house, I’d much rather have a lemonade.

This week I decided to see if my tastes had changed, if age or parenthood had made me ever so slightly sophisticated. Maybe I was missing a trick and these other parents were right, maybe drink was the answer. I messaged friends that I rarely get to see and we decided a quiet night of cocktails and civilised conversation would be exactly what we all needed. So, rollers out and eyelashes on I donned a pair of heels and off we went.

Upon arriving I was presented by an eye widening cocktail menu, and for someone who isn’t too great with choice and isn’t a seasonsed drinker this isn’t an ideal situation. So I studied it, and saw a section dedicated to gin.

Now, all I  seem to hear about recently is gin, and I must admit I grit my teeth whenever I do. Last year I feel prosecco was the fad drink of choice, and this year it appears to have been spectacularly overshadowed by an ever-so-annoying gin obsession. I’m on social media a lot, and a surprising amount of statuses are dedicated to the tipple.

“Oh, I only drink gin, har har har.”

“Can’t wait for Tristan and Ophelia to go to bed so I can have a gin. Har har har”

You get the gist. Swap out the word gin for prosecco and it could be 2016.

Apologies to all the self professed gin addicts but I don’t tend to hold a drink up as a badge of honour.

Yet, ashamedly, I’m the first to admit I’m easily swayed. This constant marketing and the iron throne like display I saw in Marks and Spencers did garner my curiosity and unfortunately, last night I was drawn into the hype. I had to see what all the fuss was about, and decided to wean myself in with a pretty looking strawberry liqueur, gin, peppercorn and god knows what else monstrosity of a drink.

How I regretted it.

At first I assumed it was because of my drink choice, I don’t know about you but I’ve never been partial to peppercorns in my beverages so maybe it was that. But then I tried my friend’s rather attractive orange concoction and honestly, vile. As she put it, “It tastes as though I’ve just brushed my teeth and then drank some orange juice.” I’d been seemingly reliably informed it was ‘refreshing’, and oh how I felt cheated when presented with a fishbowl sized glass of horrendousness.

So gin obsessives, you are welcome to keep your filthy drink. Continue to post statuses and photographs on social media about your love for it and I’ll just sit in a corner with my unsophisticated palate drinking anything that says “candy floss” or “whipped cream” on the menu. Hey, let’s hope the next hype of 2018 is a VK Blue and I’ll be all over it.

I’ve woken up this morning desperate for carbohydrates, all thoughts of calorie counting out of the window. Joe has taken pity on me and been to Subway to satisfy my cravings for crap, stodgy food. My dad has stepped in and taken Liv to my cousin’s birthday party at soft play because I just can’t function.

My hair is unfathomable, I’ve thrown up in the downstairs loo like I’m sixteen again and my feet hurt from our outstanding game of “worst dancing” in the middle of a wine bar.

Girls, I won’t lie, I had a ball, we laughed and danced and sang songs I didn’t even know I knew the words to. But I think it’s official, my suspicions have been confirmed, I’m much more cut out for a box set on Netflix or a night of Peppa Pig marathon on Nick Jr.

I am not well at all, and I think I’ll blame it on the gin.

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