Before going to the event in question, I and another housemate went to a friend's house for 'Pre-drinks,' a ritual so far as I know unique to poor students in Britain. For those unaware, it is a small event where in alcoholic drinks are imbibed in the comfort of one's own home at a cheaper cost, later leaving in order to spend less money whilst out and continue the fine drinking tradition of not being able to feel your face.
Due to a complex series of events, I was somehow left behind in this house with all the girls, the lads having disappeared in the four seconds it took for me to take a picture of the group. No worry. It was an agreeable situation truth told, and so we as friends sat around and drank until the time came for us to go to Summer Ball.
It is important to note this, not as an act of showing off, but to demonstrate the confidence and pride that I was feeling at this point in the night, no doubted alcohol induced but certainly helped by one comment that described me as 'Grand Pimp of the Room.' Though I was not wearing a hat at the time, I felt this to be a suitably funny epithet, and carried on the night boosted by this comment.
As I say, it is important to understand this confident feeling before I continue.
An hour or so passes and we arrive at the Summer Ball, at first in the Student's Union. As we were early we had the dance floor to ourselves. I am not naturally blessed with dance moves, or any kind of grace at all, having the equivalent dance of a hobbled albatross on fire, but we were all friends there and it mattered not.
Already maddeningly high on life, I proceeded to bop along to whatever the popular hits are of the day, making a tit out of myself but not caring at all. The main thing was to have fun. I even took a few pictures:
|This neatly captures my alcohol level at that moment.|
Such was my confidence that I started messing about. I had gone mad with power and tequila. And in my madness, I completely wiped myself out, legs splayed out in front of me and fell hard on my arse onto the floor.
Pain shot up my spine and as I stood up the laughing jeers of those selfsame girls who I had earlier regarded as friends echoed around me. One girl in particular had to hold onto the wall to support herself from laughing so hard as I staggered about like some kind of gimp-faced goblin, clutching at my buttocks.
Dignity severely bruised, I shuffled to the side until the moment had passed and I could resume my pathetic excuse for dancing, with none of that same vigour as before. I had learned, yet again, the reason I do not dance.
Later on the evening, one of the aforementioned girls fell over on one of the theme park rides and I laughed like a drain. I may know not to dance, but it seems as though humility still eludes me.