Today, we’re kick-starting our blog back into action with a guest post from our co-ordinator Jules, fresh from a rare and very much appreciated night out!
I try to focus on the benefits of being a single parent rather than the many downsides. One of those benefits is having nights when I am free to go do whatever I want without having to compromise with the other parent or feel like I’m asking for permission because I need someone to look after my little one.
I’m writing this in a busy branch of Dishoom in London. I am alone. I have freshly squeezed orange juice and a brunch order on its way. I don’t have to speak to anyone except Paul, my very enthusiastic young waiter, who has a thick Scottish accent and told the table next to me that he has no idea how to pronounce most of the menu items, but finds if you say them with enough confidence, no-one questions it. Last night I drank more whiskies and Diet Cokes than since before I was pregnant. I spent the evening with an old friend munching overpriced pub food and then dancing like an idiot to Leftfield in a “much cooler than me” club hidden away under railway arches.
I had the BEST **ing time! I partied a lot in my twenties, but I don’t remember ever truly enjoying it the same way I do now. Back then I was always anxious. Partly because I suffered from depression and anxiety! But it wasn’t just that. It was the getting ready beforehand and this pressure to look your best because we were always “out on the pull.” I’m not naturally good at hair and makeup, nor did anyone ever teach me, so I always felt inadequate. The competitive amounts of alcohol consumed and not wanting to be the lame one that switched to soft drinks. The horrendous self-consciousness I had about being alone so I was constantly making sure I was with at least one friend at all times to not look like a Billy-no-mates. It was so exhausting.
But now? The freedom of not giving a toss! Sure, I’ll do a little makeup and put on some jewellery, but comfort is key. Nothing with a waistband that would press on my c-section overhang belly. A sports bra to contain my giant – and now saggy from breastfeeding – boobs. And flat trainers which MUST contain orthotics.
I love a few drinks, but the pressure to be drunk to have a good time is entirely gone. I will gladly dance my socks off while mostly sober and not care at all what anyone thinks of me. And I’m definitely not out on the pull. Snogging some equally sweaty guy on the dancefloor gives me “the ick” (did I use that right? I believe it’s what the kids say now) and quite frankly, in a post-pandemic world, seems downright unhygienic.
The best part of all is my fellow partygoers. I still listen to the same music genres and go to the same types of gigs as I did fifteen or twenty years ago. The demographic is always adults aged at least 35 who are reliving their youth. The fiftyish chap next to me in the crowd last night raving like he did in 1992 was a genuinely beautiful sight. Everyone was just there for a good time and respected each other’s space. There was nobody barging past and spilling half their drink down your back. People willingly moved aside when you needed to get out for a toilet trip, and usually greeted you with a big smile, high five or goofy dance move. I shared a few smiles with a lady dancing to my left towards the end who was clearly feeling all the same joyful emotions as me.
The morning before my night out, I sent a song request to Lauren Laverne on 6 Music to get me in the mood. She didn’t play the song, but she did read out my message commenting that “no-one enjoys their time like a mum on a rare night out.” You’re abso-bloody-lutely right Lauren, I enjoy my time better than I ever did in the past. I might leave it a little while before the next one though. Even with the orthotics, I’ll still need some ibuprofen and a good sit down on the couch when I get home.