Last night was my belated 21st birthday party, and it ROCKED. The theme was Dream Jobs, so I went as an adventure-archaeologist of the Indiana Jones/ Lara Croft persuasion, and I had Frankie and my sister come up for it and friends from all my various societies around Durham in the same place, and I had a GREAT time. We all just hung out and chatted, and the Improv Comedy people rocked up around half ten after their show, and at the end of the evening we all ended up on the balcony talking about the Bond film and Dr Horrible's SingAlong Blog. At one point we sang 'I Love You Baby' off the balcony at a couple of people leaving, and had some guys who were hanging out on the riverbank start singing it back at us. It was awesome.

Party ended when the bar closed, though Frankie and I went to Klute afterwards, because she was so intrigued to see the official Worst Nightclub in Europe. She possibly should have taken warning from the fact that none of my other friends who had been before wanted to go again, but she was about ten cocktails down by now, so off we went.

We left again ten minutes later, having been stuck on a heaving dance floor, with sweat on the walls and a general unpleasant odor in the air, as 'Never Gonna Give You Up' was playing and a guy with bad teeth was hitting on us with no subtlety whatsoever. Ten minutes is enough.

We got a taxi back home, as my sister had already done, and collapsed into bed. This morning, we got up and had Wetherspoons for brunch, and I just saw them off at the station. Now I'm going back to bed, because two very busy late nights in a row = SLEEPY.