There’s a reason 21st’s are for 21-year-olds. Once out of University, and out of that habitual drinking environment, we just don’t have the stamina anymore. I discovered this yesterday morning when, as I was guzzling paracetamol and vats of orange juice, my younger companions were drinking beer and sunbathing.
Though only three years ago I was celebrating my own, the all-nighter followed by the morning hair of the dog, seems like a distant memory. This summer, however, I think I’m in for a reminder. I thought once 21st season was over, the next big thing would be weddings. I was wrong. It’s not weddings, or indeed even the 25ths which face me, it’s the younger sibling and friends’ younger siblings’ 21sts.
And my liver is just not up to it.
This is not to say, however, that I didn’t have fun, and if working of the premise that the more rotten you feel, the better time you had…well Saturday’s party was up there with one of the best. The dress code was black tie with a hint of the races – my angle on it: wear something racy.
Here’s a selection of the night’s photographs: