It was, genuinely, a lot of fun. I have the bruises to show for it.
There's always that moment, the morning after, when you think, maybe I shouldn't have entered into that conversation about party tricks and stupid shit you do when you're drunk, maybe I should have stretched before agreeing to a dare that would mean doing the splits in the middle of the dance floor if Rihanna's We Found Love was played (no connection between song and stupidity - just a random selection of factors), maybe I should have left at 10pm like I said I would.
|The gallery bookshop goes disco|
And then, and then, after sauntering in the following day, over-exuding purposeful nonchalance, there is that small moment of gratitude when you discover that while you may have done something a little bit ridiculous, at least someone did something more ridiculous. At least I didn't make out with one of the cafe staff.