The Midnight Club…

When I was about 18 years old I was part of a very close circle of friends. There were only a few of us, basically just the band I was in and a couple of others, but we were tight.

Not tight as in ‘stingy’, or ‘cock-gripping’, or even ‘playing music in time’ tight…in fact, just replace the word ‘tight’ with the words ‘bosoms buddies’. Not in a gay, ‘boobie’ way, or even a….oh, you get the idea.

Anyway, with us, every moment was an adventure. Hard drinkin’, fun lovin’, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll, and knee-trembling quantities of magnificently moist sex was the order of the day (not with each other…I mean…well there was that one time…anyway, moving on…)

Suffice to say, we hugely enjoyed our impetuous youth (as in the ‘age’ genre – not an actual youth…as in ‘we enjoyed having boinging uglybumping with a possible underage person’…oh dear)…we never wanted it to end.

But we weren’t cretins…we knew we wouldn’t be young for long, and after one particularly momentous night we decided to make a pact…to ensure that our rebellious streak, close friendship and lust for life would last forever.

Thusly, ‘The Midnight Club’ was born.

There was one rule, and it was nad-twistingly easy. Every day, you must do at least one thing…One single, simple thing...just to prove to yourself that not only is life worth living, but that you are worthy of this miracle…that you are truly alive.

This one thing must be something out-of-the-ordinary…not run-of-the-mill, monotonous, boring and mundane.

Something properly fun…just for the cunting hell of it. Something to make your heart beat a bit faster, or even skip a beat. A minimum of one, solitary, self-indulgent thrill a day.

And as every day came to an end…if you reached midnight and had not done something to make you value your existence, and make you want to drop to your knees, pound the floor and thank sweet, hovering fuck that you were alive…then you were to end it all. Kill yourself. Dead

The only policing of the rule was your own conscience.

I’ve gotta say…The early years were easy…with new experiences aplenty. Music, laughter, parties, pranks and popularity. Making friends, making love, making a difference. Inventing new words, trends and catchphrases; then enjoying watching them slowly integrate into widespread public use.

But time went on…and it got more and more difficult. I began to put things off. I’d convince myself that I’d make it up to myself the next day, and that ever more dull events were actually worthwhile.

…

Yesterday, the best I could think of was to mix Tartare sauce and tomato relish at teatime to create a new pink condiment called ‘Tartish’.

Today, I’m looking forward to watching the new Q.I. on Children In Need night.

I think I’ll be dead by Sunday.
(Mr Twisty Cheeky The worst kept secret in B3ta..., Fri 14 Nov 2008, 11:18, 9 replies)

obviously
people in Bridgend have a distinct lack of imagination then.

/hull ahoy hoy
(Halfy By light alone, Fri 14 Nov 2008, 11:29, closed)

once
I had finished wading through the hundreds of disclaimers (you dont need to be quite so insecure about people not understanding you) then you appear to have described "youth" or "growing up".

Just saying. I need food, I get tetchy.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 14 Nov 2008, 11:38, closed)

A lot of people on here seem to equate growing up
with abandoning all your principles, no longer having fun and becoming bitter and cynical.

I'm almost 30, I hope I never grow up.
( chenobble rocking his explorer beard on, Fri 14 Nov 2008, 11:48, closed)

Im almost 36
and first baby on the way. That aside, growing up you dont have much choice about. And I've been like you forver, I dont want to grow up. But its been astonishing to me how much i've changed in 5 years and only just noticed. It is, Mr Anderson, inevitable.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 14 Nov 2008, 11:57, closed)

I sincerely hope you are.






I actually didn't mean that at all, sorry.

I, like senor Monkeysex, got out of bed on the wrong side today. Not of his bed, though. In case y'know, you thought we'd been, y'know....DOING IT. IN BED.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 14 Nov 2008, 11:43, closed)

You fucked Burt?
You need some bleach, wire wool and a drum of Agent Orange.
( Cawl, Fri 14 Nov 2008, 12:21, closed)

If you could call it that
He's hung like a malformed pigeon.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 14 Nov 2008, 12:29, closed)

I assume you mean "tiny"
Rather than about a three feet long, and about as big around as a fire-extinguisher, with a couple of flappy bits and a spike.
( Cawl, Fri 14 Nov 2008, 12:32, closed)

Somehow
he managed to be both.

A most unsettling experience.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 14 Nov 2008, 12:38, closed)