Why I Hate Bank Holiday Sunday Nights Out

Call me old and boring, but there's a time and a place to have blurry eyed, beer stained, regret filled nights out on the town. It's a Friday or a Saturday, my friends. Back in my university salad days it was a very different scenario of course. Every night was fair game and every night had a booze-orientated agenda. It was gloriously chaotic. But one such chaotic entity that I'm happy to have left in my student days is 'Carnage' night.

For the uninitiated, Carnage is a nationwide event that involves a night out in university towns up and down the country. It involves 'fancy dress', which, in actuality, is a t-shirt that you would use as your entry to a selection of cooperating bars and clubs that you'd be obliged to draw on, tie knots in and rip within an inch of it's body covering capabilities. It was literal (you guessed it) carnage. And it would normally happen on a Sunday night.

I can't say I recovered from what happened on the few scantily clad nights that I joined in on, but I moved on, left university and now only *accidentally *go out and get drunk on rogue days of the week. But that's an entirely different kettle of fish.

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You see, there's something glorious about a Sunday. Until that Monday fear kicks in, you're living in the land of obligation free opportunities. The beauty of long brunches and afternoons spent in the pub after putting the washing on or prepping food for the week (rare, but I hear some sensible people do it) is soon discovered and the idea of being hungover on a Monday and offsetting of your otherwise sensibly regulated working week is far from appealing.

We're tricked into thinking that a bank holiday chances any of this. Seriously. Having a Monday off doesn't actually change anything, it just gives you an extra day of aimlessly pottering around in your pyjamas, hibernating with Netflix on in the background, or a couple tame, incidental drinks with mates. Not the excessively hyped, high pressure big-ol-Sunday that everyone gets so excited about. I'm not for it. Here's why...

The preceding Friday and Saturday nights are unfairly sacrificed

That Friday and/or Saturday night that you'd spent your post-university years painstakingly refining - working out where to go, which places do decent weekend happy hours, how to avoid queues and entry charges - is all thrown out of the window for the sake of 'saving yourself' for this illusive Sunday night.

If you do somehow manage to convince the most pliable of your mates to come out with you after work on the Friday, you'll have to sit through the usual 'okay but I'm not drinking, well, I can't get mortal' talk as a prerequisite which will kill everyone's vibe before you've had a chance to order your first gin of the weekend. A weekend that took just as long to come around as all the other ones.

It’s pretty much the New Year’s Eve dilemma all over again

We're all knowledgable enough now to know that New Years Eve is more stress than its worth. It's a whole lot of pressure for one night out that, every year, you and your mates secretly hope will be the night of your lives. There's the planning, the strategic drinking, the ordering of new outfits and unnecessary extra expenditure on the shit that on no other night out would you bother with.

Sound eerily familiar? That's because such is also the case every time we've got a long weekend on our hands. And how often can you say that your high expectations of a Sunday night that you'd been so excited for had been met? Yeah, me neither.

Except there’s nothing special going on. It's just Sunday

Say it with me: 'it is just a Sunday'.

If you're lucky, your local haunt will operate Saturday hours on the day of rest to give the desperate punters reason to keep purchasing those 4 Jägerbomb for £10 'deals'. Beyond that there's little different to expect than the fact that most of the shop on the way into town will probably be closed and you'll have to wait unusually long for a taxi home.

All the worst people will be out there dicking around and killing vibes more than usual

Bank holiday Sunday turns even the most low-key of watering holes into a breeding ground of all the knobs you're pretty good at avoiding on a normal night out. It's the #lads on tour in matching t-shirts out to make moves on anything that has a pulse. It's the hen party that should've ended hours before they arrive at da club but insist on blocking your entry while they flirt (attack) the already tired doorman who really doesn't want to pose for a picture with them and their inflatable penis.

It's a clash of the just-18s and the normally sensible grown ups who got a bit carried away at their usual Sunday pub roast. It's an assault on the senses. It's too much. And it's all on a Sunday.

Monday hangovers are not the one

I can't handle hangovers at the best of times. But on a Monday? Don't even try and pretend that's not disorientating AF, especially when you've only just settled into this new grown up existence of operating on the Dolly Parton 9-5 vibes.

And because of the NYE complex that's associated with the strange Sunday night novelty, chances are you will have gone hard. Too hard. So hard that you're sitting on two-day hangover potential, and Tuesdays in the office are stressful enough without the lingering smell of bank holiday booze, sweat and regret.

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Follow Jazmin on Instagram @JazKopotsha

This article originally appeared on The Debrief.