We kicked off Monday night as you do; at 7pm, armed with a few bottles of wine and other necessary equipment.


We discovered that egg cups are great for shots of nasty booze hidden in the back of Lene’s fridge, sang along to Celine Dion and nearly missed the bus to town. In the rush of it all, Lene had a small styling accident.


Anyhow, still classy, we made it to the bar, and wrapped up under the heaters outside. This is where I start censoring out the photos from the following few hours. Not pretty. I will give you a short recap however..

The woman sitting behind me actually fell out of her chair.

Lene and I went to a club packed with 18-year-olds. She managed to piss off the bouncer by trying to make his knee a stand for her handbag. We used the loo and left.

Three spring rolls later, we reached our final destination.

There were us two girls, ten generous men and one band playing “Hey Jude”. Lene must have misunderstood, as she told the lead singer that, in fact, her name was June.

We had an open dialogue with the band all night. I made them play Queen.

Lene aka June tried talking her way to a job as a welder offshore.

Drinks automatically appeared in front of us. Jaeger bombs and Champagne. More Champagne. More Jaeger bombs. And a few Sambuccas.

At 4am, we jumped (fell) into a taxi.

At 4.10, Lene aka June made the taxi driver stop the meter. She nicely explained that it was too expensive, but that we still couldn’t walk home, risking an attack by scary men who hide in bushes. So Mr Driver took us all the way home. Lene aka June thanked him for being a great dad to us. (???)

Three hours later, I woke up in a hell of different patterns, wondering where I’d ended up.


Lovely. At this point, I still thought it would be a great pay day. But that went wrong, didn’t it?