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12th April 2017
05:29pm BST

We all did things we're not proud of to get there, but we got there in the end. And whether you were in Rathmines or in the heart of Kerry, we can guarantee a fairly similar experience.
Don't believe us? Read on...
Always jeans. Old people don't wear skirts.

It was either school shoes or runners.
Well, those and the Good Shoes – but their mums wouldn't let them out in those.

Photo cred: www.centralfoundationboys.co.uk
They understood you.

Or four cans, if someone's older sibling was feeling sound.

A sobering drive by all accounts, paired with conversation of school, subject choices and possible university courses.
Said person's mum would then proceed to hug their offspring for what seemed like forever and pass on words of wisdom.

And hope their children wouldn't grow up to be you.

Nothing was out of bounds. Birthday, confirmation name, star sign, eye colour, even shoe size. This was full-level Donnie Brasco shit.

Boys with stubble at the front, underdeveloped girls in the middle and hopeless causes bringing up the rear, so you could pretend not to notice when they were turned away.

The bouncers knew well three of you were using the same cancelled passport. It was all entirely based on whether the club was busy or not.

And the really desperate ones were willing to go during the day and stay there until opening time.

And going by the specials board, it's gonna be cider.

Mainly because you secretly hoped they could get you in forever.

Ready to share with the internet the very next morning.

From either broken hearts or severe vomiting.

To show everyone that you're sound, but mainly because you were fucking starving.

In fairness, some things never change.

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