So after 7 days of intense intoxication, 2 bouts of food poisoning and sleeping rough in a horrid Thai hostel, it would have made sense to have a detox and reminded my body what water tastes like. But no, the biggest weekend in the Hong Kong social calendar arrived so, as I say to my 5 year olds when they lose in a class game like the weaklings they are, ‘stop being a massive baby’. We had to accept that Sevens fever had begun. My family also came to visit, meaning I would have to find the time to be a local tour guide as well as ingest enough beer to sedate a race horse.
Friday: The first day was a good warm up to the weekend. We discovered that you need a passport or HKID to get into the South Stand which meant several trips back to Kowloon. It wasn’t that busy and we got to see our friends Tash, Izzy and Nathalie who all had the misfortune of forgetting their passports too. We celebrated Charlotte’s 20th birthday that night after drinking non stop all afternoon and not eating anything. Day drinking is an art form that I am yet to perfect as it usually results in me falling asleep or crying about something that happened 10 years ago. The biggest mistake we made during sevens weekend was not eating enough food which is a problem I rarely face in my day to day life. I have always been baffled by people who forget to eat meals as my entire day is motivated by the consumption of snacks and meals. But when you’re choosing between a cheeseburger and another litre of beer, it seems more practical to choose the latter.
Charlotte on Day 1 full of hope and completely unprepared for the events that would come
Saturday: I woke up at 6:30 after about 6 hours of sleep to prepare for the carnage that awaited. I was surprised to not hear Libby pottering about sorting her make up but I let her sleep, she surely would have an alarm set. She had stumbled in with my sister at 4am, doing exactly what everyone says not to do by getting spangled on the first night and potentially ruining yourself for the big day. When we decided to get tickets, we were told one piece of worldly advice ‘to get into the South Stand, you need to be there before 9am at the very latest’. Once the South Stand is full, it is a one in one out process, so time was of the essence. There was a zero percent chance I was spending the day with people who had gone to the event to actually watch the rugby. The Saturday also coincided with my sister Charlotte’s birthday.
Side note about my sister (who is pictured above for your reference): for most of her late teen years Charlotte refused to consume any alcoholic beverages with me or our family as she considered it wasted calories. Her body is a well looked after temple whilst mine resembles a monkey conquered shit heap. Luckily for me, Charlotte has entered the debilitating experience that is university and her diet of salads and dust has evolved into cheese, chocolate and shame. With this dietary change, a new Charlotte has risen from the ashes. This Charlotte was the person who suggested the first pint at 8:25am on the Saturday. I’ve never been so proud.
We arrived at the stadium and the South Stand luckily wasn’t full so we walked straight in, realising we wouldn’t be leaving all day if we wanted to get back in. Sitting down in our seats and comprehending there was nothing else to do but get pissed was quite a harsh reality before 9am. Dress up is one of the key aspects of the 7’s and Libs and I decided to go as 60’s groovy chicks. I think I probably got more compliments on our fancy dress outfits than I will get on my wedding day. The only issue was if we lifted our arms above our heads, the people behind us could read the label on my thong.
This picture gives off the false impression that we were truly engaged with the sporting abilities of the players as opposed to their overall physical attractiveness.
My only criticism of the event was the toilet system. As a member of the fairer sex, I really struggle with the fact that I will spend a large proportion of my life queuing to go to the toilet. I could probably be fluent in Italian, be able to recite 100 numbers of Pi and read the entire literary works of William Shakespeare in the time I have spent queuing for the toilet. It is extremely stressful, especially when you’re boozing, to know that you will have to wait for 45-60 minutes to relieve yourself. The queue wrapped round the entirety of the South Stand. The line for Stealth at Thorpe Park was shorter. The look of horror in every girl’s eyes when they realised this was their solution to pissing can only be matched by someone whose been told their family are relocating to North Korea. It’s amazing how chummy you get with your female companions in these situations, but also how quickly mob mentality sets in. A girl dressed as a bowl of spaghetti tried to cut in and the entire queue started charting “CUTTER CUTTER CUTTER”. Another girl cried ‘wait your turn spag bol we’ve been here for hours’. Queue friends are a bit like speed dating partners, you have 2-3 minutes to find out weird and wonderful information before you go your separate ways, probably never to be seen again.
My mother texted us from her seat in the other stand just after when we should have eaten lunch. My original plan was to bring my parents into the South Stand but I was immediately overcome with images of my mother having a pint of piss thrown over her head and decided this would result in me being written out of her will. As parental figures come, mine are reasonably cool. One of my mother’s greatest qualities is her ability to celebrate absolutely everything. For example: when I came home for Christmas after 8 weeks in HK she not only got Libs and I balloons but they were personalised with our name on in glitter. So as you can imagine she’s a pretty low key person. This is the picture she texted me.
As I said, she doesn’t normally make a fuss. We somehow managed to miss this spectacle mostly because we were facing the wrong way and also because Charlotte was in this state at 1pm.
Then at 4pm after she long armed an entire pint over her face and attained a wig similar to little orphan Annie.
Then again at 7pm in a lovely local Chinese restaurant approximately 20 minutes before I stuck her in a cab.
Meanwhile I’d discovered that I should definitely go blonde no matter what the haters on my Instagram poll (that I have no recollection of posting) say.
As you can imagine, we didn’t make it to the Sunday due to me curling up and dying like an unwatered house plant. It was definitely worth it. I may have lost the full capacity of my liver but life’s too short to not drink extensively just because you know you’ll spend the following 5 days in an alcohol based depression, contemplating drinking a bottle of paint in the arts and crafts cupboard.