Bit of Fun

Clubbing when you’re Old AF

Sorry it’s been a while. I’ve been a busy lady, including taking a few days away to T’ Midlands for a dear friend Gemma’s hen party. I’ve known Gemma for a few years now after she started working with my husband and brother-in-law, turning up at my house every morning to share the journey into work, quickly becoming a good friend who sees me just as I am. Shameless plug: check out her awesome fashion and beauty blog Oh My Gemma! 

Last night I went clubbing for the first time in around 5 years. This has left me feeling (and there’s no other way to put it) fucking old. Let me start with the fact I own absolutely no photo identification. I don’t drive and I don’t go on holiday. I was mass panic as we were heading off into Nottingham centre that I would be ID’d in every bar going and it would be a very dry night and that I would let my mate down because I was just so crap. I already felt guilty because I had been really ill all week and I was moments away from cancelling even going, but I just couldn’t see her get let down. It was her night and I was going to be there! Even if I was sober, sat waiting for her outside of a club because of refused entry. 

Now, I’m just going to put this as it is. NOT ONE BIG HEADED BRUTE OF A BOUNCER ID’D ME! WTAF?! Do I actually look 26?!  Ok, 26 is not ‘aged’ at all. 40 isn’t aged at all. 99… Well if you’re still clubbing at 99, good on ya. But at my 26 I’m slightly more weathered than my peers. The toll of 3 kids, menagerie of animals, all weather school runs and the stress of running a home to an acceptable (if dusty) standard is starting to add a few lines to my once smooth face. Oh well, at least I got to drink all night, thank you crows feet. 

We started off having just one drink in Yates, then moved to Revolutions (referred to as Rev’s in my younger more danceable days, whom no longer exists). Once we were in Revs I sat and observed the beautiful people while slowly self inducing myself into an Espresso Martini haze. I started to make some observations that threw me. 

1- Holy shit. Other than The Hens Mum I could quite possibly be the oldest person in here. In fact I’m pretty sure the manager might be a year younger and the bouncers. Maybe even 2. No wonder they let me in. 

2- Are they literally reverting back to fetal status? Sat opposite us was a table of 6 boys. BOYS. At first I figured that they could be first year students at the Uni. They were fumbling, very spotty and most certainly owned no music produced earlier than the millenium. Then a horrible thought arrived in my head. Maybe they wern’t first year students. Maybe they were 6th formers!!!!!! 

3- Ooooh look there’s a group of older women having a dance, and they are seriously flaunting it! Go girls, your dancing is sassy af. Way better than those younger models twerking. No. Don’t go. And they’re gone. Just like that. Don’t know where.  Probably bingo or something.

4- 2 of the ladies in our party decided to buy a ‘made for sharing’ drink. 


Now in the football club I work in, to share a drink means buying a pitcher. A pitcher is 4 pints. As many glasses as needed. Or a straw if you’re classy. I swear down this £12 multicoloured ‘sharing drink’ the hens treated themselves to was served in a mason jar. A FUCKING JAM JAR. FOR 12 QUID. What was it? A good year vintage? I dread to think what a Revs in London should have charged for it. With more ice than Elsas palace that wasn’t going to go far. 3 small sips each it was finished. I assed the situation and shook my head. What an ‘old’ thing for me to do. 

5- Girls skirts are way to short these days and boys no longer wear nice shirts. And she will get kidney problems having her back out like that. 

6- Half way through the night I learnt what Netflix And Chill really meant. And no, not by experience thank god. I suggested it to the hens mum before being informed of it’s true meaning. I certainly do NOT want to Netflix and Chill with my mates mum. No offence Nic.

7- Girls danced in skyscraper stilettos all night and looked amazing. I wore converse all night and my feet really fucking hurt by bedtime. Why? Probably because of my history of bunions and gout. I wish I was joking but my medical records strongly suggest I only wear Converse or Birkenstocks for the rest of my life.  

8- Despite being aged before my time, I had a wonderful night with the girls, and it was great fun to see one of my most precious friends celebrate that fact she is marrying one of the loveliest guys I know. She looked just beautiful, happy and surprisingly not that drunk. I wanted to see her look beautiful, happy and her make up a mess for once. Or at least a bit of vomit on her chin. 

After we have made our way back from Notts to Bedfordshire. I’m going to slip into a nice warm bath, then catch up on my telly in my slippers and carry on knitting myself some bedsocks. 

Or I might take a leaf out of those hipsters books and invite the hubby for some Netflix and chill. If I can stay awake long enough. BAHA! 

Hazel Newhouse

Hazel is a mum to 3 daughters and a son, she lives in Bedfordshire with her husband, kids and pets. Hazel has written for various publications, and regularly works alongside popular parenting and gardening brands.

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