Going to Viper sober made me realise how disgusting we all are

They said it couldn’t be done.

The odds were overwhelmingly stacked against me. But I needed to try. I needed to know.

Could Viper be endured sober without lasting mental scars?

9pm: I arrive at pres with a Ribena carton in each hand, ready for my night.

My heart breaks as I watch my friends slowly get smashed, with the chat quality declining at an alarming rate whilst I sit on the outskirts, festering in my own depressing sobriety.

Absolutely buzzing

11:30: The drinking games have been played, the gossip has been exchanged and it’s time to go.

Allegedly.

One forgets about the allocated “pissing around” period as people realise only now that it’s time to charge their phones, finish their drinks, go to the bathroom for inhuman lengths of time, do the laundry, write a twenty thousand word dissertation, end world hunger etc.

But finally we make it there.

“When I’m sober I hate Viper but right now I’m drunk, it’s midnight, and I fucking love Viper”

As I enter the club I wince at the familiar slurp of my shoes on the sticky Viper floors that we all know and love.

But no matter – in about forty minutes the ground will be well lubricated with spilt one pound fifty jagerbombs mixed with the tears of crying women, and from then on it’s moonwalk city bitches.

Fast forward three minutes.

My friends are gone. I have had my head smashed off a wall and I’m pretty sure a guy just spat on my face.

What’s more, a girl has just leaned into some random guy standing next to me and whispered: “I think I’m in love with you, meet me in the toilets in five.”

He has no idea what has just happened to him. He looks to me for some sort of explanation. I can offer none.

A quick sweep of the club and all the steaming friends have been rounded up. I am the sober shepherdess and it’s time to boogie.

Within seconds I am absolutely owning the dancefloor.

As the women around me are dancing semi-provocatively in what I assume is an attempt at male attention, I, in my sober state, simply could not give less of a fuck.

There are running men, robots, sprinklers, chicken arms, I don’t even care – but I’m working it.

About a half hour of dancing and I realise I’m actually having fun. Who knew? It’s so much easier to rock the house down when you’re actually able to balance.

Found these two sexy lads shuffling in sync

We are now way past the halfway stage and suddenly I am holding a half-unconscious friend up as she attempts to cry and dance at the same time while around me everyone seems to be hooking up, oblivious to the mountains of sweaty dancers crushing them from all sides.

Am I really this much of a mess when I drink?

But this is just a momentary lapse. Suddenly “her song” comes on and all is well with the world again, as we enter what I’m going to dub the “marvellously shit tune” portion of the night.

An onslaught of dancers surge onto the floor to twist and shout until they’re paralysed with an agonizing stitch from excessive booty shaking.

By now pretty much everyone looks like this

The tunes are flowing, the night is ending, people are starting to trickle out. But previously inconsolable friend and I are still going.

We have never partied harder in our lives. Nothing could possibly stop us now.

The lights come on and the bouncers scream at us to leave.

Out the club, bit of pakora on the way home, bed by four and fresh as a daisy – quality night.

Yeah maybe it’s time to go home

I’m not sure if it’s because my expectations were extremely low to start with, but I definitely had a much better time than I thought I would, and it’s an added bonus that I actually remember my night.

Would I do it again? – maybe. But it’s going to be pretty difficult to keep my one true love and I apart.

Alcohol is always there for me and despite having an absolutely fantastic night I’m not sure I’m okay with ever letting her go again.