Updated: Mar 19

So, approximately a year ago I gave myself a long, hard look in the front camera of my phone and told myself that I needed to have a year of fun.

Well the year is now up - I'm probably a stone and a half heavier, a borderline alcoholic and barely managing to pay my rent, but at least I had a fun time, right?

Obviously, I'm not being completely serious. If the truth be told I am probably two stone heavier and a full-time alcoholic but we won't split hairs.

Jokes aside, in November 2018 I broke up with my boyfriend of two years when I realised things just weren't working anymore and I could no longer see a future for us. This is very typical behaviour from me, as this is now the third relationship I have ended at the two year point. So if any relationship therapists want a new case study then please head over to the “contact” section on this website and we can have a little kiki.

One thing I find amusing about the break up is that we ended on November 5th and two years prior my ex, ex boyfriend ended things with me on November 7th. Clearly me and relationships just don't work in November. Good job I'm single a year later then, isn't it?

Anyway- less of them- this blog is about me and only me.

My year of fun ended about 2 weeks ago, and upon reflection, I'm not sure I would solely describe it as “fun”. There have been a lot of good times, a fair few first times and there sure as hell have been a shit tonne of reckless times. I'm sure I am likely to reveal a bulk of them on here over time but I think that one or two stories should maybe stay under lock and key (at least for now).

But for now I will tell you one story.

So let me set the scene; I've just turned single. I've signed up for a year of fun. I wake up in somebodies front garden. I'm piss wet through. I'm shoeless. I'm phone-less. And to top it off I'm propped up next to a child’s playhouse.

What the actual fuck?!

This is what being intoxicated does to you folks.

Now I had no recollection of getting to this house but my drunken state came to the conclusion that I must’ve been inside the house at some point. Perhaps my friends and I went back to an after-party. Perhaps Drunk Jordan became Horny Jordan and hooked up with some guy on Grindr.

But with no phone to hand, all I could do was assume.

(Spoiler alert – Horny Jordan had nothing to do with this).

After coming around and realising I was missing my phone and shoes (and also very wet and cold), I proceeded to bang on the door until my hands stung. I knocked as hard as I could but nobody answered.

It's worth mentioning that I had no idea what time it was but Sunday morning had definitely broken.

There may have been no answer at the front door, but I was determined to get my belongings back. I dragged a wheelie-bin to the giant gate that resided on their driveway and persisted to climb over it; think of that scene from 'Bridesmaids' and you’ve hit the nail on the head. Once in the back garden, I insisted on pounding on the back door and shouting for the owners to “let me in” with the odd “for fucks sake” thrown in for good measure.

It soon became apparent that nobody was answering and I would have to somehow find my way home.

So I climbed back over the gate and made my way on to the street - soaking wet, with sodden socks and sporting a questionable shade of fake tan. And then I see him. My knight in shining armour...

… Well it was a man in his late fifties walking his dog. God only knows what he must’ve thought when I came bounding over to him looking like a drowned rat and pleaded for him to tell me where I was and if I was still in Manchester.

He confirmed I was still in Manchester.

He confirmed my house was literally around the corner.

And his eyes confirmed what a hot fucking mess I was.


By some miracle I still had my house keys and was able to stumble into my house, drenched and covered in leaves. I now find out it’s 7am and my housemate is fast asleep on the sofa. She soon awoke when she saw the shadow of Big Foot appear over her though.

I informed her I had lost my shoes and phone and I was met with laughter which caused me to storm off to bed and proclaim/ slur “it’s not funny!!”.

Fast forward to 2pm when I eventually woke up and reality finally hits.

… Well the hangover hit first and then reality.

Reality hurt a lot more.

So long story short – we managed to find both my phone and my shoes. The shoes had been neatly placed on the wall on the other side of the road about 100 yards away from our driveway so I definitely walked past them 7 hours earlier on my walk of shame. Shoes that were bright white and new when I left them now looked sad and wet. Very wet.

My phone was literally sat on the wall outside of my drive. Thank the lord the case was the same colour as the wall or else that almost certainly would've been stolen considering the length of time it must've been sat there.

The first thing I did was check my messages – Mum, Domino's, EE, Uber.

Ahhh - so it would appear I got an Uber home.

After checking my texts and emails, my Uber receipt confirmed a 3:30am drop off but yet I didn't walk through my front door until 7am...

So what on earth went on from getting dropped off in a taxi to waking up in somebody else's front garden?

I can't tell you because I don't have a fucking clue.

I asked the friends I was out with if they knew what happened and all they know is that I was ridiculously drunk, told the guy in the takeaway shop how much I loved cheese and wanted “extra cheese” on whatever the hell I was ordering and then stole someone else's kebab before they put me in my Uber.


Upon checking my phone, I hadn't even downloaded Grindr so that assumption was out of the window and with no other strange activity to point me in the right direction, I was left feeling very fucking confused.

Every single one of my friends finds the situation highly amusing but also rather scary. I have a habit of “blacking out” on nights out no matter how much I drink but this one night was without question the worst black out I have ever had.

So, I laugh because I am here to tell the tale but in reality I need to be a bit more fucking sensible on nights out as this could have ended very differently.

As I stated previously, I had good times as well as reckless times like the story I have just told you and will be sharing a lot more with you going forward so please feel free to subscribe if this story amused you slightly.

And if I could suggest one thing to you based on this story - eat more than a teacake before you plan on going out.




©2020 by Mister Sister.