A couple of weeks ago I had the best birthday weekend of my life. I wasn’t particularly excited about the prospect of turning 23 as in my mind it just seemed like one step closer to 30; but having celebrated in style I can say with some confidence that this is going to be a good year. The thing that made the weekend special was how completely different the two nights were. Friday saw us at a civilised drinks reception with a “hint of glitter” (which translated to over-the-top glittery dresses), parental chats and exciting cocktails. I think we crossed the line from civilised to not when we crashed the Bristol Post christmas party next door, made all the less obvious by requesting Happy Birthday songs from the band.
But it was the Saturday night that culminated in ridiculous hilarity. Seventeen of us at predrinks squished into my tiny kitchen armed with saucepans of vodka cocktails, bottles of shots, heads up games and potatoes would only ever end in messiness. Top that off with a trip to lizard lounge and you can probably predict how the night turned out. Looking back on it, being in the club is mostly a blur. All I know is I ended up on my own in a kebab shop on Park Street, with one of my shoes, one massive shoe, and a blazer. My friends had given up looking for me a while before and headed home assuming they would find me there, but obviously I was nowhere to be found. Eventually they tracked me down and we proceeded to steal a Christmas wreath and a traffic cone, and almost got run over. All in a nights work.
The mystery of the night only came to light the next morning. Having woken up on a wet towel in my hallway still in the blazer and shoes, we thought it might be an idea to figure out how exactly I had acquired said blazer. Searching through the pockets, we found a number of pens, a dirty tissue, and what appeared to be a little black book. On the front it said “Blondes, Brunettes, Redheads” and inside were 3 girls names, their numbers and descriptions. We were still in a very drunken state so naturally found this absolutely hilarious. Reflecting on it, we then became slightly freaked out, and quite rightly so. I’m sorry, but who exactly carries around a little black book to write down girls numbers and assess their appearance. Have you ever been chatting to a guy in a bar who asks for your number, and then whips out a little black book and pencil to jot it down whilst in the meantime noting your hair colour? I didn’t think so.
After pondering a while on this issue, and racking my brains to think of any creepy men I could have stolen a blazer from, we decided the only logical thing to do would be to phone the girls in the book. My friend (putting on his best detective voice) called up each of the girls in turn and asked them very politely if they had any idea who on earth this strange person was who had written down their full name and number in a little black book. I don’t think we could have created a worse situation for these girls if we tried. Both were away for the weekend with their boyfriends and had no idea what we were talking about. So not only did we not get any answers for our investigation, we most likely ruined some relationships in the process. Searching for more clues, I found out from my friend that she had seen me talking to someone outside lounge who asked for his blazer back, but being me I shouted “NO!” and legged it away from him down the hill. Standard. He probably remembered he had an incriminating object in his pocket that he didn’t want to land in the hands of anyone who might discover his stalkerish ways.
Finally, after a day of frustration and wondering, we thought it would forever remain a mystery. However, I then received a text message from a friend saying I may have stolen his housemates brothers blazer. The mystery was solved! I called up this housemate of his and arranged to return the blazer, of course asking about the black book. She explained that it had in fact been a present given to him on a blind date 5 years ago and for “lols” he had written down details of 3 girls he had got with. The reason for it being in his pocket was that he had recently rediscovered it and apparently thought that was a safe place. We then spent a good half an hour in hysterics about the escapades of our day and lengths we had gone to in the quest to find the blazers owner.
As happy as I was to solve the mystery of the little black book, part of me was slightly disappointed that I hadn’t run into a serial stalker slash freak murderer, but only a normal male with a simple reason for his possession of this ridiculous object. Regardless of what the explanation was, the mystery added a significant dose of amusement to the weekend and made me realise my true calling for detective work. I’m actually now quite hoping I meet someone who decides it would be a good idea to write down my number in a little black book, just for the experience. Whatever else this weekend was, it was the most fantabulous birthday and I just don’t think it would have been the same if I hadn’t ran off with the blazer of a boy with a little black book.