Never Drinking Again

2003-03-25T09:01:00.000Z

I am 18, I am!
A few of the girls and I decided on a sleepover/slumber party, whatever you want to call it. We sweet-talked Andy into lending us his rather large room, bought copious amounts of wine, donned our pajamas and watched trashy girly films like dirty dancing. It was much fun. We said goodbye to the lads for the night, after getting two of them to wear thongs for their night out, and proceeded to get rather wasted. One bottle of black tower each later, we decided it would be fun to reveal our darkest secrets. By this time our party had been reduced to five after Zoe left to revise for an exam the next day. Sarah, being so nice, had no secrets to reveal so just sat laughing as we told all. I shall not mention what my secret was but it has already been mentioned on this site. However, a bad end to the night ensued when I bitched with a mate of mine, Sophie, because I was laid in Andy's bed and she would have obviously rather have been there. Stubborn as I am, I refused to move and pissed her off even more. Girls our age should not have slumber parties!

2003-03-19T15:39:00.000Z

I am, as many people are, a strict vegetarian. For the past four and a half years I have refrained from eating anything that at one point had a head. After work one Saturday night me, Amy and a couple of the lads from work decided on a trip to carpe diem, the student pub I had pulled GWSS many weeks ago. After finally deciding I was brave enough to enter the scene of the crime we beagn the drinking binge, I was in one of those moods where I just wanted to get absolutely hammered, then go home and pass out. Amy had other plans, she wanted a long night out of slowly getting intoxicated. Two bottles of wine later I suddenly realised I hadn't eaten anything for my dinner, and that the food that was being placed on our table was an extremely tempting option. So, my dilemma was such, eat the meat and feel less sick, or not eat the meat and risk throwing up on a rather contented couple sat opposite. The former it was. I eat a chicken leg like a rabid starving hound, and as if that wasn't bad enough, followed it with a ham sandwhich. I then felt even worse and wanted to leave. But, like I said, Amy had other plans, she refused to move and instead of getting nasty I picked up the nearest thing to me...a quiche. It had been placed on our table and I proceeded to rub it in her face and all over her clothes. She soon returned the favour and took the hint I really wanted to go home. The next day at work was sightly tense, involving us appologising but refusing to go anywhere near the quiche that was on display.

2003-03-08T20:02:00.000Z

Well ladies and Gentlemen, I did it, I finally said those three little words to my bloke, that strikes fear into the heart of men everywhere...GIRL'S NIGHT OUT! There are a few things that the Leeds Universities are famous for, one being excellent teaching, another is the Otley Run. This is a huge pub crawl that involves the impossible task of making it from one end of Otley Road to the other, mastering fifteen pubs and pints along the way to be successful. The only guy I know to accomplish this fete is my mate Sam, and even he came home wearing nothing but his boxer-shorts and arm bands. We started it late, thanks to Zoe, the girl with the longest hair and legs in the world, and tried to make up for lost time. So, around seven of us began necking our drinks, wearing red afro wigs and NSPCC shirts, we attempted to raise money for the children. Oh, didn't I mention that it was actually for charity, must have slipped my mind. We were doing extremely well, manipulaing the retarded and caveman characteristics of all males, to promptly fill our collection bucket. Sophie and Vicky, two girls who I live with, were wearing extremely short skirts, Hannah looked stunning in her blue afro wig and Zoe's legs really do speak for themselves. Needless to say the guys were too busy staring to notice how much money we were actually taking. Unfortunately, our attempt at the run was rather pitiful, we managed a mere nine pubs before closing time and I returned home only slightly pissed. I saw Adrian and yes, me and my bitch had a row that spoilt a very good night out. It's a good thing we both know how to appologise (occasionally). Oh, and as for those three little words, you didn't think I meant I love you did you? Fools!

2003-03-08T19:20:00.000Z

Well after I nearly ended my relationship and left myself more alone and stranded than Robinson Cruesoe, you would have thought I'd know better than to do almost the exact same thing again. Needless to say, to some, this point needs no explanation, however, I am a student, and being known for our lack of common sense, I proceeded to make yet another fuck up. A rather large one at that. We were planning on going out to celebrate the birthday of a guy we hardly knew, well that was our only reasonable excuse for wanting a huge piss up. So, while getting ready I downed a bottle of cheap red wine in approximately fifteen minutes. At first I thought my alcohol tolerance level had suddenly been boosted as it seemed to be having no effect on me. That stance changed dramatically when I went to the bar and drank two double vodka and cokes, well lets just say for the next ten minutes the toilet was my best friend. And all this before I even left my accommodation. Somehow, I made a break from the toilet, only to see my mate Adam off of my psychology course, I then talked random crap to him for a while (which consisted of me talking and him laughing hysterically at me), before we made it onto a bus into town. This was when it all went pair-shaped. I got really pissed off with Adrian for some girl sitting next to him on a crowded bus (irrational I know), and we got lost in the middle of Leeds. Eventually ending up at the desired pub, I drank more, got more pissd off with Adrian for Addie falling on him, and burst into tears on the stairs. Ah, what fun. Surprisingly enough, the night did end on a good note. Me and Adrian made up and I promised I wouldn't shout at him drunkenly again. A promise I was rather quick to break. And I didn't even see the guy who's birthday it was.

2003-02-22T23:38:00.000Z

All this talk of "Steve" and the "Dirty Manc", must have you thinking I'm a raging nymphomaniac. Let me assure you that I'm not! I am actually seeing someone, the nice guy who I always get drunk and shout at, Adrian. We've only been together for around four months on and off, and our "relationship" hasn't really been helped by my drunken outbursts. One such piss-up nearly signalled the end of our fling only a few weeks ago. Me and some of the lasses had decided to go on a girls night out, however our plans were changed dramatically when half of the lads in our house decided to crash and join us. I wasn't too bothered about this, it may have been because my bitch (that's my endearing name for him) was going to be there, or, more likely, it was due to the copius amount of red and white wine I had drunk, not to mention the alcopops and blackberry flavoured vodka. Well the night got off to a fairly good start, with me and Hannah kissing (again) in front of half of our house mates and me and Adrian we're getting on quite well. However, a reef and some wicked blue later I was extremely plastered and spent my night randomly shouting at Adrian and calling my other male friends cunts. Needless to say, I spent the whole of the next day appologising to everyone who was out and had to put up with me that night. And all of a sudden, there's a rumour about me and Hannah being lesbians, can't possibly think why.

2003-02-15T20:08:00.000Z

And if photographic evidence is not enough to deter me from drunken nights out, what happened the following week did. I feel as if I am an alcoholic, given a deterrant drug, so that everytime I think about drink, I want to vomit. Only, I wasn't given a drug, oh no, that would be too easy. What happened to me will haunt me for the rest of my days. It was a typical Friday, rather boring really. I had decided to go back to the cockpit a second week running and my mate Amy from work was to join. We started necking wine at mine and soon there were more of my housemates up for a night on the town. A bottle of the infamous slinky red wine, and half a bottle of Lambrini later (yes I did degrade myself and sup the vile piss that is Lambrini), we were off to the cockpit to further my art of jumping around like a tosser. It was all good really, Amy was getting it on with my mate Andy, Tom was getting as plastered as ever and I was, well, having fun. It turned a bit sour later in the night when the wench of a DJ would not play any of the songs we were yelling for. So I stubbornly staggered into the other room, which, by happy coincidence was playing classic Oasis tunes. Having been to their concert in Sheffield just before Christmas I had good reason to want to stay and chill to the tunes. I was quite happy in there, in my own world, until I got disturbed, by someone rubbing their crotch against my leg. Had I been sober I would have made a grab for the guy's balls and made him suffer. However, I wasn't sober. I was well plastered. We danced, we kissed, we went to a quiet part of the room. I was out of it and was only brought back to my senses when the guy suggested he go and get something from the toilet (for those innocent readers out there, we are talking something from the machines in the mens toilets, you know those balloon shaped things that I'm sure you wondered about when you were younger). As he happily strolled to the gents I legged it back to my group and had a good laugh with Amy. Not the nicest thing to do to a guy who is expecting to get laid, but I wasn't in the mood for another Steve incident. So, when I saw him later in the night I enlisted Amy's help in getting rid of him by pretending we were lesbians. He seemed rather impressed by this but not so much when we told him to fuck off. I am now traumatised by the fact that I did pull a dirty manc, it was not all a terrible dream.

2003-02-10T19:22:00.000Z

I can assure you that I do have many more drunken stories, but for some reason, namely the amount of alcohol consumed, I am having a little bit of difficulty in finding them in my memory bank. So, to ensure you don't get too bored I'll tell you of the more recent drinking binges, which, to me, have been the most traumatising. It was only a couple of weeks ago that it was the 20th birthday of my mate Sam, a top guy, and fellow Oasis fan, from Nottingham. He decided to spend the night getting pissed, which I gladly took part in, before going to the Cockpit, the best rock and indie club in Leeds. So me, Zoe and Sarah began the celebrations with a bottle of wine, each. After my slinky red wine had quickly vanished, I drunkenly attempted to get myself ready to go out. The result was not that good, although I was certain to get in as alongside the rest of the moshers and goths I looked like Cindarella, well a rather pissed up damsel at least. On entering the club first, I heard a cool song by The Vines and legged it away from the trailing group to jump around and dance like a complete tosser. An act which was consistent throughout the night. While this would not have been that bad, the negative side to this night was the fact I have photographic evidence of how pissed I was, and how much of a prick I looked. There is no worse feeling than waking up on a Saturday morning with a hangover, looking at my camera and realising that I had taken almost a full film of random drunken photos which I can not remember taking. I now darent get the pictures developed and live in fear of the results, as well as the developers disapproving face as he/she hands me back my embarrassing pics. Can't wait.

2003-02-09T23:21:00.000Z

Most people grow out of drinking cider by the age of fifteen, when their taste buds develop and they realise that the stuff does not resemble tangy apple juice but, well, shite. I however, have my occasional relapse and go back to my park drinking cider days. A shameful admittance I know. One such incident occured only a few weeks ago, when my best mate Sophie was coming over to my accommodation to meet the rest of the girls we are sharing a house with next year. So, a few of us, and some of the lads from my house went to the pub to break the ice. It started off really well, Sophie was getting on with the girls and the lads were being as amusing as ever. However, a few pints of cider later and on returning home I began a pointless argument with Adrian. The poor lad, how he copes with my mood swings I'll never know. The main gist of the argument was that I was majorly pissed off with the guy for something he did over Christmas and had kept it bottled up for quite some time. The night ended in me storming out of the room, only to return later to appologise. On my return the stubborn bastard would not open the door, and so to make matters worse for myself I shouted at him through his door calling him a fucking wanker. It wasn't until the next day that I realised I was being completely unreasonable and spent a good half hour round at his appologising. I hate it when I have to do that. When I was in the park I never had to do that.

2003-02-07T22:06:00.000Z

I did say I was a student tax-dodger didn't I? Well some of you might be angered to discover that I am currently taking part in the pastime of earning money from a job, but without paying any tax on my wages. Ha. I work in a cafe for a national chain, and spend my weekends enthusiastically frothing cappucino milk and making cheese baguettes. I had worked there for a few weeks and was honoured enough to be invited to the pub after work by the rest of our colleagues. Not wanting to be left out I joined them in Carpe Diem, a nice student pub in the centre of Leeds. Me and Amy thought it would be wise to drink a bottle and a half of wine, and I thought it would be even wiser to continue drinking bottles of Stella after my wine had been consumed. I proceeded to go into happy hyper mode and talk to random strangers, one being a guy from my home city of Sheffield. For now we will call him the guy with the striped shirt, or GWSS for short, as I did not know his name. We were both rather plastered by the end of the night and he soon asked the fatal question, "what are you doing next?". I, as seductively as can be achieved after drinking enough alcohol to tranqualise a small cow, replied with the bright idea "well I'm going back to mine, want to come?". My seductive act must have worked as, shortly after, me and GWSS were heading back to mine, without bothering to use the age-old pretense of it being for coffee. After returning home, GWSS in tow, we got down to the important stuff...well we would have done if he could get his tackle in working order. The poor old lad was left too intoxicated to get it up, and I, being rather amused at this pathetic display, did the worse thing possible. I pointed and laughed! Then to make matters worse, I got up and chucked his clothes, that had been scattered on my floor, at him and asked him to leave. I did however do the kind thing of escourting him to the bus stop, although I did leave him there to fend for himself and find his own way back to Sheffield at 1am. I couldn't leave it at that, it seemed so impersonal, so before I left I turned and asked him what his name was. I then returned back to my room where I finally got a good nights sleep, and left "Steve" to his own divices.

2003-02-06T17:02:00.000Z

Ah good old birthday parties, always a great excuse to get absoultely hammered, so imagine my delight when I was invited to a joint birthday party! It was Dave's 21st and Welsh Sarah's 19th birthday and they had designs on going to a local pub for a few bevies. I had swiftly downed a bottle of white wine in my new novelty glass that could hold a full 75cl of the potent stuff. Some of the group made their way to the pub early and a couple of us lagged behind so we could take advantage of the rank, but free food at our halls of residence. I, in my very tipsy state ended up spilling orange juice on myself in a rather awkward spot so as to resemble an incontinent elderly person, and had to rely on my mate Adrian to get some tissue so I could clean myself up. You see, at this point many folk would have realised that the night was not going to be a great success, I on the other hand, ignored the obvious signs in front of me and continued with the rest of them to the pub. I soon went back on my promise that I would never drink gin again and necked a straight double. The results were not pretty, I went into an emotionally fragile mode and spent most of the night outside crying. We'll not get into direct reasons why I did such a foolish and embarrassing act, but lets just say it was related to mixed up feelings about a certain tissue-providing friend. I then regathered myself and returned to the pub, where I drunkenly kissed my mate Hannah in front of everyone. Strictly platonic of course. Me and Hannah then went to the Indian up the road where we taunted the male chef by kissing yet again, although we did get a rather tempting offer of a drink of Jack Daniels and a ride in his Subaru, an offer we quickly declined. The rest of the night was spent sobering up and apologising to Adrian for my random outburst of tears. Fun night really.

2003-02-06T15:36:00.000Z

Moving swiftly back to the present day, or at least to last November, the next story I have to regail you with involves my friend Lauren's birthday party, much wine consumption and me denying that the vomit on the wall of The Olde Monk belonged to yours truly. The celebrations got under way at approximately 8pm when our rather large party arrived at an extremely dodgy looking Indian restaurant for the birthday dinner of the lovely Lauren. After drinking a litre bottle of white wine and a couple of cans of lager, and consuming a tasty curry we moved on to what was meant to be a posh pub in the centre of Leeds. At this point I feel the urge to stress that the "posh pub" I was now downing pints of ale in, was full of middle-aged, loose women dancing drunkenly to "Build Me Up Buttercup". As I am often in the habit of doing when pissed I had a few cigarettes, and on my third, the much-loved nicotine rush kicked in. It resulted in me making a rather pathetic dash to the toilets to have an intimate hug with the lavatory bowl. Needless to say I didn't quite make it, and sooner than was expected my freakishly coloured vomit, containing undigested bits of vegetable dhansak from earlier in the night, was expressed artistically on the wall. I finally made it to the ladies, and achieved my primary aim of loving the toilet. Feeling quite empty and strangely hungry, I returned to the group, many of whom had fallen victim to fatigue and had been forced to call it a night. I then spent the next half hour lying to the vast majority of my remaining friends by protesting that the sick on the wall did not come from me, and that it was quite disgusting for someone to do such a thing. However, I fear my dreaded secret is now out, yes it was me who pucked on the wall and got myself shamefully barred from such a classy establishment, and you know what, I'd gladly do it again!

2003-02-06T00:11:00.000Z

Before I continue with my University drinking binges I feel I should inform you of a very influential session that took place on the final day of college last year. It was an unusually sunny day in Rotherham, where I had frequented college for the past two years, and we had been there since 9am waiting around and preparing ourselves for the monster of a drinking binge that was about to occur. At approximately 10.45am me and my party strolled to the local pub, The Belve, that was conveniently situated next door to the college. There were many anxious faces as several thirsty students waited the long and arduous fifteen minutes untill the pub opened it's doors. The minutes ticked by slowly and we eventually managed to begin the long day of drinking ahead of us. Mixing drinks is never a good idea, but on this occasion I came to the conclusion that I was wiser than proven fact, and decided to vary my alcohol intake. It started off very well, I was drinking lager and Archers alternately, and we swiftly moved on to the next pub that was just down the road. It was the day of the France vs Senegal match in the World Cup, and Tom, unfortunately having the burden of being half French got much abuse for his sides pitiful display. We were soon ousted from our seats as the landlady, who by the way resembles the EastEnders favourite Pat Butcher/Evans, announced the pub was closing. We were all fairly intoxicated by this point and decided to rejoin the rest of our college buddies at the Belve, only to get halfway there and be met by a tidal wave of pissed students complaining that our favourite pub had sold out of all beer, lager and spirits, and had been forced to close early. We swiftly turned on our heels and made our way past the Flourence, the pub in which we had watched the football in only moments ago, and headed for a Weatherspoons pub, The Bluecoat. Once there we drank copiuos amounts of cheap beer and left to return to my home town of Chapeltown to continue the drinking spree. However, we weren't without a few casualties along the way, those poor souls who couldn't keep up with the rest of us and failed to make the final leg of our pub crawl. Tom was one such whimp. He ended up passed out asleep on a bench outside the pub, where we, as real mates are in the habit of doing, left him there to fend for himself. Another casualty was Mark, a once good friend of mine, who complained he wasn't feeling too good and left only a short time after.
The rest of us heroes returned to our native soil to continue drinking in our local, where another friend of mine, Finn, was attempting to work the Friday night shift extremely plastered. He managed to pull it off, but only after spilling large amounts of drink on us, badgering me about my feelings for his best mate Tom and singing "Money For Nothing" by Dire Straights on the karaoke. The day shall never be forgotten, at least by those who managed to live through the whole of it.

2003-02-05T23:09:00.000Z

Well, to some, my gin escapades may be a little tame. Let me ensure you they do get gradually worse and more amusing as the site progresses. The next incident which spirngs to mind involved a rather seemingly innocent room party that my mate Jude was having. You remember Jude right? "shy and retiring" was how I described her, I couldn't have been more wrong! We started by having a few innocent drinks round at hers, I brought one of my favourite tipples to the party, Baileys. You know the type, one of those litre bottles that you get bought for Christmas off a relative that they expect to last you the whole year before you conveniently run out of just prior to the next Christmas, it's such a vicious cycle. Anyway, this such bottle of Baileys had only just been opened and I started the night by slowly drinking the equivalent of doubles, well I was working the next day! However, the night did not progress in a similar manner, oh no. My doubles mysteriously turned into rather overflowing glasses of the extremely intoxicating Irish substance and before I knew it my full litre bottle had been transformed into something which was ready to be recycled. Needless to say it suddenly hit me like a brick wall and, when pissed I am capable of going one of two ways, hyper, or the less attractive option of psychotic. While the former would have been appropriate for the situation, I was not that lucky. The latter drunken state ensued and it resulted in me yelling at Adrian and running out of the building before turning extremely aggressive and smashing pieces of random wood that must have seriously pissed me off. I soon returned to the deflated party where I attempted to act like nothing had happened, Jude's bloke Will had arrived and tempted me into downing Vodka. Being a rough Northerner I was not going to back down to this non-existent challenge, so I swiftly supped the vile Russian belly-warmer and suddenly felt all woozy. I then got all emotional and spent the rest of my night apologising to my insulted friend while the shy and retiring Jude was drunkenly shagging Will in the toilets. Timid? Yeah right!
Well remember how I said I had work the next day? I managed to get two hours sleep and was in a zombified state before being sent home under the pretense of being "ill".

2003-02-04T11:20:00.000Z

As if those incidents weren't traumatising enough, what was later to come would give me a serious reputation for being the wino of our house. Me and Hannah (her of the freakishly large tonsils), decided on a quiet night in with a bottle of wine. So, off we strolled on the long hike to the nearest off license, ten minutes down the road, where we came to the fatal conclusion that it would be a good idea to take advantage of the "three bottles of wine for a tenner" deal. Well, it was definately downhill from there. A bottle of red and half a bottle of white wine later, we were singing Queen's most famous song "Bohemian Rhapsody" at the top of our lungs to a bunch of sober house mates. They were rather impressed with our knowledge of the lyrics, even if they did flatly refuse to join in our now drunken custom. Not much is clear about the rest of that night, I remember sitting in our common room with a look on my face that suggested I had just witnessed the most satisfying event in my life, and was experiencing an overwhelming feeling of contentment. I wonder if that was the effects of the wine??

2003-02-04T00:05:00.000Z

Possibly the first drinking session at uni was not so much of a big night out, however it was confirmed that I should never be allowed to drink gin...ever! It involved me going to a local pub with a bunch of new people I had met at my accommodation. It started off well as it always does, but towards the end of the night I was drinking copius amounts of lager and just to make the night complete, downed several straight double gins. Needless to say Nicki was in a right state, and without giving too much away on a website that my friends may read, I ended up in the bed of a near-stranger. Thank God he was male, otherwise I fear I would not have heard the end of it. And, well, that is why I am never allowed to drink gin again, for the fear that another similar such incident may occur. Another amusing gin incident led to me getting together with my now ex Tom. We had both come home from university for the weekend, being aware that we both liked each other, and while at our local I thought some Dutch courage would aid in getting us to sort our acts out. I did not however, account on me drinking enough Dutch courage to brave wrestling the last bottle of cheap lager from the mits of an impoverished student. I necked a double gin (straight again) and the night resulted in us getting together. While this may appear to be a good experience, it must be noted that Tom is now my ex, the relationship lasted a mere six weeks and I consequently got my heart broken by a friend I had wanted to be with for almost half of a year. So, for Nicki, rule number one is, unless under strict supervision, never consume gin!

2003-02-03T22:44:00.000Z

Anyway, I feel I should get to the point and tell you of some of the most craziest, funniest and traumatising drunken nights out, and in (after all, I'm not too proud to drink a full bottle of wine and other random alcoholic substances in the privacy of my own accommodation), I have recently had.

2003-02-03T22:31:00.000Z

Well, don't think me to be a frigid girl who has no ability to interact with the male species. I do, in fact have slightly more bloke friends than I do female ones as I tend to get on with them better and have more in common with the football-watching, foul-language speaking blokes that I live and used to go to college with, although, oddly, I do not share their interest for crotch-scratching and comparing the breast size of every woman in the vicinity...how strange. My male friends are, lets just say, amusing, and they have forgiven me for many of my drunken ramblings and offensive text messages which always seems like a good idea to participate in at the time. I feel I should mention one bloke in particular who has made my time at Leeds way more fun than it ever could have been without him, this is my mate Adrian, possibly the strangest, complex and yet interesting fella I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. So that was just a short note to make it clear that when I tell you I got pissed and yelled at a guy called Adrian, as I am in the habit of doing, you will be slightly more aware of who I am talking about. More about my friends as the drama unfolds.

2003-02-03T22:07:00.000Z

Well they are a few of my girlfriends from back home, now for the people who I reside with at Leeds...First of all there's Hannah, the craziest coconut who has the most abnormally large tonsils in the history of, well, tonsil size. She's doing a rather intellectually sounding course which involves her eventually accomplishing world peace, apparently. She's off to China next year so let me take this opportunity to go soft and reveal I will actually miss the come-gurgling whore. Then there is Jude, who has been serenaded many times by our drunken rendition of the Beatles classic, "Hey Jude", which we have managed to massacre every time. I shall be living with this rather timid-looking girl next year and it should be made clear that behind the shy and retiring exterior, there lies a very intriguing young lady, more will be revealed at a later date. Zoe is a serious contender for the kindest but ditziest bird I know, her many antics have provided us with laughs over the past few months, and her drunkenness can always be detected by how profusely she protests her sobriety. These are my closest friends in Leeds but there are many others who I would love to mention but feel it would bore you to learn of them all, but hey it's my website so if you get bored bugggar off!
The rest of the girls I hang aroung with are namely, Sarah, a sweet girl from South Wales (no sheep jokes please, we've heard them all before!), Addie, a rather well-travelled young lady who spends most of her time obsessing about the food we are provided with and how those in the dinner queues are always involved in a new concept called "bunching". The others are two sound girls called Lydia and Lucy, who are unfortunately leaving us some time in the next year to further their foreign language courses in far-away lands, well Europe anyway.

2003-02-03T20:37:00.000Z

Right then, let me introduce you to, and tell you about, a select few of my mates (by the way, you may have to excuse the Northern talk that I often use, sorry but I am a member of the so-called clan of northern moneys/skum). First there is my best friend of all time, well at least since I was 11 anyway, Sophie. Fantastic gal and is luckily at Leeds uni with me, rather scatty but I wouldn't have it anyother way! Then there's my oldest friend, Sarah, she's at Birmingham living up the Brummie lifestyle while spending her time eating an alarming amount of beef Walkers crisps, and drinking way too much Malibu and lemonade (which she often successfully manages to get her bloke to buy for her, good on ya girl!).
Rachael is a very good friend who doubles as a confidant in my seemingly complicated life. I've had the pleasure of knowing her, and her lovely boyfriend Simon, for around a year and a half, although in a good way it seems much longer. They are all my best friends at home in Sheffield and one cannot forget to mention Tracey, a cool metal-head who has provided me with much valued and sobering advice over the past few months.

2003-02-03T20:15:00.000Z

Well Hi There Cockers

First thing's first, lets get the introduction over. My name is Nicki, and this site is really just an excuse for me to get out of doing anything remotely useful or beneficial to the university course I am currently doing. I'm at Leeds university and studying psychology with the hope of being able to freak out many people with my analyses, plus it means I can take advantage of the "student tax dodger" genre I hear so much about from the largely uneducated population of my town back home in sunny Sheffield. The title of the page, I feel, is rather self explanatory. It quite rightly sums up how I feel after every one of my drunken binges, which have seemed to increase since I came to Leeds last September. Coincidence?? Me thinks not! The main point of this site is to regail you all (although I feel I may be slightly overestimating the number of hits it will recieve), with my drunken antics and experiences. Well that's the final note from me, if you managed not to get bored by the simple introduction, then thanks for reading, tell all your friends and visit the site regularly for updates from the wonderful and intoxicating world of Nicki.