Saturday night is a night of endless opportunity. It's a night for getting in an Uber, putting J Hus on the aux before asking the driver, “long night is it?”. It’s a night for accidentally snogging your best mate and never thinking of it again until you’re sat in the stalls on their wedding day, remembering how their mouth tasted very slightly of fried chicken. Saturday night is for losing your mate and spending the rest of the night yelling into your iPhone: “WE’RE AT THE POLE, THE BIG BLACK POLE, WAIT, WAIT, I’M COMING TO YOU’. You never find each other.
It might be a Thursday at the time of publishing, but on this day 25 years ago, Whigfield released their seminal track “Saturday Night”, a song with lyrics like “Da ba da dan dee dee dee da nee na na na” which perfectly encapsulate the chaotic, laissez-faire spirit of the weekend. To celebrate it’s quarter-century birthday, I went around asking people about their most unforgettable Saturday night – the good, the bad and the plain strange – because in the words of the Danish Eurodance group, when Saturday comes: “It's party time and not one minute we can lose”.
“Guacamole over the walls, snapped carrots, milk in the carpet”
I thought freshers week was so lame. The first time I got on the bus to my halls, which were in the middle of nowhere, I genuinely heard someone say “no parents!!”. I thought I was so much better than everyone else, and this feeling only increased after two Philosophy seminars when I had learned the word “subjective”.
One night I came back from a night out to my shared accommodation with a new friend called Patrick. I started throwing my flatmate’s food around, guacamole over the walls, snapped carrots, milk in the carpet. Then I banged on each of their doors, lined them up military style and told each person one by one: “you are a cunt”. The next morning some of them were actually still crying. I apologised, but didn’t replace any of the food? I am no longer this person, but it’s good to remember this night so I don’t ever turn all Jarhead again. Dan, 26.
“Everything in my mind is divided into 'before finger' and 'after finger'”
My most unforgettable Saturday was probably when I lost my finger. It's a pretty simple story: me and my mates were having a mini gathering in his back garden, we all ended up getting very wavy, and at some point someone accidentally flung a frisbee over the fence, so I hopped over to retrieve it. Except my hoodie got caught and I lost my balance and the wire cut right through, just above the knuckle. I went to hospital in the hopes they could stick it back on or something, but alas. Now everything in my mind is divided into “before finger” and “after finger”. Nothing much has changed but I won't forget it. Jesse, 24.
“I got naked, mounted her and poured champagne down her gullet”
Some of the best nights out are when you don’t make it out to the club. Me and my friends were supposed to go to XOYO but we started early listening to Britney, Christina and Beyonce – the holy trinity of pop. My friend was getting married in a few months, she was upset that her hen do had been more high tea with crustless cucumber sandwiches than rubbing the oiled up abs of a stripper. To remedy her disappointment, I got naked, mounted her and poured champagne down her gullet. I think it was Cupcakke playing on the speakers. Aside from when I accidentally necked a glass of beer full of cig butts, I had a great time because I had just gotten into another relationship and was in that stage when you feel lost without your partner. That Saturday night reminded me that I am my own person, someone who can dance to “my neck, my back, lick my pussy and my crack” by Khia with visceral accuracy. Phoebe, 24.
“I must have snagged something?? Inside??”
The example that popped into my mind immediately was this one Saturday when me and girlfriend were having just very basic, vanilla sex – nothing strenuous, nothing wild. Anyway, turns out I hadn't trimmed my nails in a while and I must have snagged something?? Inside?? I'm not going to go into the details, but it was pretty messy. We went straight to A&E, but because it was a weekend and the NHS is destroyed, we had to stay in the waiting room all night. Then eventually at like 6 or 7AM she got "sewed up" by which point we'd both stopped finding it hilarious like we had earlier on. That was pretty unforgettable. We broke up soon after. From then on I always trimmed my nails. Amy, 27.
“I took so much MCAT that my back went crooked”
One of the best nights out I ever had was when I went to Insomnifest in Leeds. It was such a big deal because all the gang had sorted a fake ID. We had been bluetoothing that music for months sat in the park with our phones in a cup playing Ryan James, Nick Hannam and other Yorkshire MCs.
Anyway, at the club I took so much MCAT that my back went crooked, someone told me this is common as it attacks your nervous system? So I was dancing the whole night leaning sideways, which meant I kept losing my balance and falling onto the floor. My friend took a few Rohypnols too, because apparently if you stay up long enough then you get a massive high, like with Quaaludes in Wolf of Wall Street (he didn't). Embarrassing yourself isn't seen as a social faux pas when you’re 17, so I didn’t feel self-conscious next day, just stressed when I had to sit and eat a roast dinner with Mum and Dad. Matty, 23.
“I only spent two months in a sling”
I was on a night out once in Nottingham. One drunk mate was trying to dance to “Funkytown” when he grabbed me by the waist and thrust me up into the air. I protested and he put me down again. I’m a haemophiliac which means my blood doesn’t clot properly and injuries can come with internal bleeding. But attempt two came around quickly, and he straight up Steve Austine-d me over his shoulder and onto the floor collarbone first. I headed home and did an injection to minimise any internal bleeding. Luckily the breakage sobered me up and I didn’t have trouble finding a vein.
Afterwards a few of us were sat on my doorstep when a sheepish and very sober friend walked around the corner. He had just spent £40 on a deathly silent, soul-searching, solo taxi ride out to my tiny village in the sticks, in order to apologise again. Fortunately it was just a fracture and I only spent two months in a sling, while he spent a lot longer months feeling guilty. Max, 23.
The above accounts have been edited for clarity.
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This article originally appeared on Noisey UK.