You move from one village to the next, at uni. Villages where there is not just one token idiot but in fact everyone is...
In what other place, apart from maybe a cresh, do you see a group of boys dressed as builders/wearing gigantic nappies and shouting about how they are "soo hungry!"
The local Tesco doesn't sell out of bread or newspapers but Greg's vodka. And a clumsy, nameless kiss is interrupted by a text to annouce that Rooster house have RUN OUT OF CHICKEN WINGS...There's genuine disgust, like there was no point in going out without the breaded birds to round off your night!
But for some, the night ends earlier...
There's girls that look like crazed witches with water dripping off their chins- "Look, I'm sober now" Oops, drops ID at bouncer's feet. You have to down your pints so they don't spill onto the floor, or yourself.
On return you hear from your neighbours is head-banging techno (all day) on one side and some kind of 6-girl slumber party on the other. People leave their front doors open and 'Happy Birthday' banners frame the windows instead of, the apparently absent house numbers.
It'a warped reality, but with a real headache.
