About the other night

It's been a fair few years since I've had to don a suit in the name of educational celebration.

Actually, scratch that. Last June I stumbled out of bed, still pissed, for my graduation. My old man had to shout at me from the garden to wake me up. Well, that's what happens if you stay up all night drinking Asda Smart Price beer and playing Pro Evolution Soccer.

Where was I?

Ah yes. Saturday was the night of my girlfriend's prom. Because it started at about 8pm there was no chance of arriving straight from bed. All suited and booted (and some fine boots they are) we got in the party spirit with a few cans of Żywiec and a couple of shots of vodka.

After half an hour's milling about the crowds of suited chaps, hoards of future Bond girls (mine the most beautiful) and cooing parents, it was time to do the Polonez. For those reading who aren't of Polish heritage: the Polonez is a traditional national dance. It involves walking with a partner, hand in hand, whilst doing a funny little limp every three steps. Also, it involves a large number of people doing it (about a hundred of so) who walk around the room for a bit, then walk under the arms of each other (a bit like London's Burning if I remember my childhood correctly). A human version of the Snake game on Nokia mobile phones.

Once the Polonez was completed (quite successfully, I'm told) we did the Waltz. It turns out that all that practice paid off to some extent. Although I'd rather be shot than go on Strictly Come Dancing.

Following all the dancing it was time for some liquid refreshment. Despite alcohol being banned from the premises, we resorted to some devious means to have a few beers and a smoke in peace. Behind a bookcase in one of the classrooms a whole in the wall led to a disused staircase, that led to... well, quite a large amount of disused space. After one set of stairs there was a room (or two), which had another set of stairs that led to the roof. A great little spot to have a toot on a pipe and a few cans of beer.

It was in these disused rooms that during World War II three school friends planned high-jinx against the Nazi occupiers. I'd love to be able to tell you more about these guys, but that's about all I know at the minute. I'll have to read up on them in the future. It's always a pleasure getting wrecked in a place of historical value.

Back to 2009: In hindsight, it would have been a bit easier, but nowhere near as cool, just to drink and smoke in the toilets like some less adventurous souls at the party. A bit pissed, the run of the mill catering quite was rather adequate.

Filled up with food and booze, we then hit the dance floor to some seriously dated disco tunes. Ray Von would be proud: Footloose, Ghostbusters, it was like they were playing at a British student union. Awesome.

When the beer up in the roof ran out we decided to head into town. As it was about 2am at this point, our timing wasn't ideal. Every club around Pl. Pilsudkiego had a queue about thirty people long. If there wasn't one queue, there was two or three queues as people tried to jostle their way in as VIPs.

Having queued at Opera for about twenty minutes without moving, we tried our luck around the corner at Cinnamon. The place had a smaller line, maybe due to the door men's fascist entrance policy. My 'Sorry mate, how much is it?' (in English) line didn't work the slightest. (I think too many people are trying that one. Need to be more creative next time.)

When we finally got inside I regretted the choice of venue. Ear drum raping hard house pumped through the speakers. Chopped up (that means 'on coke' to my foreign friends) thirtysomethings in wanky high street/whorehouse fashions crowded the place; doing something that neither resembled dancing nor remaining stationery. The consolation of not having to pay at the door was torn out of my arsehole as I was charged 30zł for two 33cl bottles of beer. Not going back there again.

In comparison to my own prom (if you can call a Year 11 Ball that) it seems these guys know how to put on a decent shindig. Apart from episodes of Saved By The Bell, my knowledge of proms isn't that extensive. Mine was so long ago, that apart from getting stoned and pulling a whitie beforehand; there's not a lot I remember about it. Climbing into loft space. Dancing like a grown up. Smoking on the roof. Being surrounded by a densely populated number of hot girls in an educational institute... I think the night went pretty well.