When I was younger and everyone above the age of twenty was [in my mind] nearing retirement age, I remember thinking that life began at twenty-one. The parties would party harder, and there would be an income to support the expense of fun and games. Now, I’m that tiny bit older and wiser, and I realise that the partying starts at fourteen and end at nineteen.

When I was partying like it was 1999 [it was], there was weird fanaticism about it. My friends and I would be out with each other all day, go home for dinner and the pretence of normalcy/stability, and then hit the town at midnight. It was almost like an addiction, that buzz of being out there. The dancing, drinking, indulging. Our egos grew as big as our hangovers, and our morality as low as our rest. The lifestyle caught us up in its web and we were all spiralling out of control. But loving it.

Now, in 2002, I spend one week partying like it’s 1999, and I’m knocked out for six for the next. Worse than that, I’ve become an adult [of sorts]. I’m on the dance floor worrying if the weirdo in the corner is going to follow me home. I’m scoring drinks, but worrying if they’re spiked [bad but educational experience]. I’m wondering if the people around me can see my ass [never used to care]. I’m just worrying. I worry about the money I spend and how I’m going to get home. Is this what adult life is about? Is this what I have to look forward to?