In which Rakky discovers alcohol and gets her first boyfriend...
In the world of science, we’re often taught not to confuse causation and correlation. But sometimes, one thing really does lead to another.

I’m at 6th form. I’m going out for the very first time to an Indie night at the Kingsway (or the KY as it was rechristened due to the amount of illicit shagging that used to happen in the toilets). I’m dressed to kill (or at least self-harm) in my best little frock, stripy tights and Doc Martens, hair freshly bleached and my nose ring polished. Up till this point, my drinking has been confined to a sip of someone else’s pint, or an Archers and lemonade that I could quite happily make last all evening. Basically I was a lightweight, both metaphorically and physically.

I enter the club, legs aquiver, wondering what joys will await me. I spot a friend at the far side of the dancefloor. My joy runs unconfined and I sprint across to greet her, with all the grace and coordination of a stunned ox.
Disaster strikes. Well, it would, wouldn’t it? I trip and fall; as I put my arm out to brace myself for the inevitable, I catch the heel of my hand on the edge of a banquette and with a sickening crunch, realize I’ve dislocated my shoulder. I grab the offending joint and wrench – it pops back in with a dull thud and I go a bit dizzy. My arm is hanging limply by my side and I suddenly discover that it’s now about as much use as Heather Mills in a three legged race. The adult Rakky would have excused herself and gone off to casualty as quickly as she could. But this is the teenage Rakky. The one who has planned for this night since she bought her first Suede album.

So, to kill the pain, I drank. In homage to Morrissey, I drank one, it became four. And when I fell on the floor I drank more.
It’s a bit blurry after that, but I do recall ending up sitting on the lap of that pretty blonde boy from my Physics class. He seemed to be looking after me and it was so comfy that I let myself relax… and… go… to… sleep…

Moments later I awoke to the awful feeling that I was in a washing machine, on spin cycle, strapped onto a roller coaster. I fixed my new found love with all the cross eyed power I could muster and whispered the words that every teenage boy who thinks he’s about to get some dreads to hear.

“Am gonna be sick…”

Like a knight in shining armor, he scooped me up (something that most men would these days find impossible) and ran across the dancefloor, straight into the ladies toilets, kicked some crying girl out of a cubicle and deposited me on the floor just in time for me to hurl like I have never hurled before. Or since.

Two of my friends came to find me and put me in a cab. I snuck into the house and passed out into a booze fuelled coma. The next morning my mum woke me and made me go shopping in Manchester. Not wanted to admit that her previously well behaved daughter had truly knackered her arm and also thrown up in a nightclub loo, I pretended that everything was okay. I pleaded a migraine when we got back and went to bed early. As I’m getting my jammies on, the phone rings. It’s the boy from last night! My mum explains that I’ve gone to bed early. He asks her to pass on his regards and he hopes that my arm is okay now. “Why?” asks my mum, “what’s wrong with her arm?”

The following 20 minute conversation was akin to what I imagine advanced army interrogation techniques must be like as my mum dragged the whole story out of a terrified teenage boy.
I was not allowed back to that nightclub for a while.

Oddly though, said boy went on to be my first boyfriend. We dated for 4 happy months before I became a hysterical neurotic and sent him screaming into the arms of a girl from my English class. And in a bizarre twist, he emailed me this morning after 15 years of no contact. I have naturally had to remind him of the incident.

My nightclub experiences have not really improved since then. Well, apart from Saturday when me and Rachelswipe managed to get a free bottle of Moet in a club on the King’s Road…
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 14:56, 2 replies)

You popped your own shoulder back in?
Solid effort, bro.
(Helixdaunting, Thu 9 Apr 2009, 0:47, closed)

rakky's hardcore
kudos for suede love. have a click you awesome, awesome lady :D
(harrumph, Fri 10 Apr 2009, 21:08, closed)