Your Guide to the Bank Holiday Fear

Welcome.

You’ve presumably landed here because you’re suffering a sore case of the fear. You may have spent the weekend in a field wearing close to nothing but a bindi, covered in muck and shame or maybe you planned a quiet one after work on Friday but ended up drunk dailling your ex 39 times.

Who knows, but either way you’re now crippled with the fear, don’t worry because you’re not alone currently half the country is in the same boat and just incase you wanted a definitive outline of what you’re in for I have constructed the 5 stages of the fear that you will most likely go through today..

Stage 1 – Denial 

Ok everything is fine, you’ve managed to weld your eyelids open through mountains of last nights eyelash glue, you have a quick glance around and you are in your own bed (YES!), your eyelashes are rolled into a what looks like a spider beside you, you nearly shit yourself but you realise they’re just SoSuMe’s.

So far you’re counting this as a win, given you have no idea what happened last night or how you even got here but whatever you’re fairly happy you’re here.

You reach for the hand bag with a hiccup propelling you up in the bed, phone check, purse check, new charlotte tilbury lipstick check, ok everything is grand.

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At this point you’re fairly sure you have something to be fearing about but you’re just going to ignore it. You plonk that head back on the pillow and open your phone with the knowing feeling that you’re going to have to do some damage control to your virtual actions last night.

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You open snapchat to what can only be described as a 45 minute snap of you being drunkenly sprawled around Dublin.

Oh Jesus,

Oh Jesus Fucking Christ,

Get that down now!!

Delete, Delete, Delete!!!!

Look if you delete that Snapchat of you drunkenly singing Zombie like a deranged survivor of the troubles to your story in a tuck-tuck, then it practically never happened. It doesn’t matter that almost all of your contacts seen it as it is now 2 pm, it’s gone and it never happened. While you’re denying your snapchat you may swell go ahead and deny everything else you did last night.

(quietly burns coppers reciepts)
(quietly burns coppers reciepts)

Stage 2 – Flashbacks

Your snap story has shed a little light on the nights antics but the fears still swirling round your skin, niggling at you, pressing on your chest letting you know that you’re not done yet.

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Oh no, not by a long shot…

You open the group chat and text the girls to make sure everyones still talking to you and you didn’t puke in anyones handbag last night. You’re stopped dead in your tracks as you see that name in your recents, just the chap you’ve been strategically chasing for 423 decades and are absolutely obsessed with, (oblivious to him of course) grand, ok no it’s fine.

“Wgere are we yoh?”

Sent at 3.01.

Oh lovely two blue ticks.

Fantastic.

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On top of that you then have a terrible, terrible feeling you bumped into your ex and spent the guts of the night telling him how much of a shit he was and explaining just how over him you actually are, oh and that his dick is broken, just for good measure.

Fantastic.

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You woefully pull the covers over your head and slowly slip into stage 3.

Stage 3 – Bargaining

If I just eat a chicken filet roll I will be fine, chicken filet roll and a Capri Sun, that honestly will make me fine, that’s all I need I’m sure of it.

I mean If I eat my body weight in food the buzzing in my head will stop, I’ll get my own skin back and I will feed human again, surely.

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You make the expedition to the shop, hands shaking as you try put your key in the ignition, not entirely sure if you’re within the legal limit but it’s 2.30pm so you’re gonna hope for the best.

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Dear Jesus don’t let anyone I know see me…

Stage 4 – Regret

The nights actions are catching up on you and beads of sweat present themselves on your forehead as you start to question your last 25 years of existence.

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You’re now not only regretting getting level 9 shit-faced last night in front of all of wider Europe you’re regretting ever touching alcohol, ever, in your whole life.

“OFF the drink now, that’s it I’m off it! No Fuck that girls I’m hitting it on the head, seriously need a long hard look at my life. I’m done.”

Stage 5 – Acceptance

You’ve had a long hard day of wallowing in your own self pity & re-evaluating every choice you’ve ever made. There is only so much remorse, sympathy and anxiety you can give yourself and by seven o’clock you’ve reached capacity. The phone buzzes and you know what’s coming.

You mentally prepare yourself to give a stern performance critisizing the girls for going on it YET again! ARE ye mad? Again?

“Well yeh I suppose it is the bank holiday, no yeh I know I’m not in work tomorrow… Yeh no I suppose, yeh, like I probably would feel better after the one, yeh ok but just the one I’m not going mad like I can’t, no I mean it just one……”

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