At 18 I lusted after boys with big hair
And curly tendrils everywhere
Like Chase from Zoey 101
Or the late but great Jim Morrison.
We got dolled up and went to clubs
Were hit on by married men in pubs
Who wanted nothing more than to grope our bums
And pray we didn’t tell our mums.
At 25 I don’t kiss in clubs
Or humour middle-aged men in pubs
I’d much rather sit and have a natter
With fresh-faced friends who actually matter.
At 25 I don’t look around the room
Desperately searching for my potential groom
Instead I shuffle those size 6 feet
And shun the stares for a monstrous beat.
At 25 I’m paying London prices
But the student union booze-fest still entices
50p shots with £2 doubles
Always made for some serious trouble.
At 18 I puked against the Sobar wall
Was told to leave and stop being a fool
Took my weary frame off to bed
Woke up to a head as heavy as lead.
At 25 I guzzle water like no tomorrow
In a bid to minimise next day’s sorrow
Memories of my 20th still make me shiver
As I downed neon shots and messed up my liver.
