‘Best party ever’

1 night to celebrate 18 years of life. This was my party.

Two live bands. Two groups of beautiful talented friends of mine.

Naive, Killing in the Name Of, Rango, Bean There, Sultans of Swing… none of these are in order. I can scarcely remember the songs played, all I know is I sang every lyric until I could only whisper through my hoarse throat.

Can you beat the sensation of screaming back at a band that is fucking their instruments senseless? The pulsating beat of the drums, soaring voices singing along, crowds of dancers, girls and boys twirling, bouncing, shimmying, dropping, shaking our Elvis hips and swaying our lanky arms to the music.

Passionfruit flavoured UDLs slipping down my sore throat like a magic elixir – the more I drink the better I feel, the wilder my dance moves, the more kisses Joshua gives me.

Heat from the fire burning my bare legs. The cold can’t conquer a bunch of drunk teenagers.

The stench of 18 month old Camel cigarettes – left over from my rebellious days in Italy, buying them for 5 euros at the corner shop where no one asks for your name or age. I give them to Kane, who hugs me and laughs when he sees the upside down lucky ciggie – I’m a rookie, carrying on age-old traditions. He smokes them all in one night, and gives one to Liv. ‘Since when do you smoke?!’ ‘They’re Italian – I’m getting back to my roots,’ she says.

Rainbow fairy lights casting coloured glows on the faces of my best friends.

The best playlist – every song a fucking tune – yet we hardly got through it what with all the live music. Enough to keep a party alive well into the A.M.

A competition of beer pong – The Delirious vs Squid Doctors – one band pitted against the other. Every time the ball bounced off the table, my dog chasing it and returning it like a game of fetch, before the guitarist takes a toss and lands it in a cup full of beer, saliva and all.

‘Happy birthday, Jenny!’ Every song dedicated to me. Every voice singing my name. Every person here someone I love so dearly.

Tight dresses that hug my belly, smooth velvet, soft like a lover’s touch.

Joshua… a few UDLs and beers and his smile won’t keep off his face. My baby, so confident and brave under the influence, he spins me and holds me, and kisses me regardless of how many people are watching. Toe to toe, my heels help bridge the 1 foot distance between our lips. Dancing in each other’s arms to Catfish and the Bottlemen.

Kisses between boys and girls, and girls and girls. Some disappearing exhausted to their tents at 10.30, while others only just arrive.

Giving away drinks to a girl I’ve never met before – another girlfriend of another band member, alcohol inhibiting all self-control as we spill our lives to each other, like a drink that’s been knocked over, only to find out we share links in the chains of memories that form our past.

I scarcely opened my eyes the whole gig except to make eyes at my lover, too busy dancing, letting myself go.

‘Best party ever!’ Eliza whispered in my ear as she hugged me and left. The fire was not as warm as my heart.