As you all should know, we're throwing a party 15/07/17 at our fave London club, The Alibi. The theme is summer, cos it's always a fleeting one in London, and this is where we need your help... We're teaming up with our ultimate babe Achey Breaky Heart zine to get your tales of summer woemance (or romance, but that may not be as fun). We know you've all got 'em, and no matter how embarrassing, ridiculous or involving an 18-30 holiday, we think they should be shared with the world - or at least those who come to the party. Send to firstname.lastname@example.org by the 15/06, and we'll then pick our favourites to project on screen throughout the night and match with some suitable memes. They can be anonymous, or you can be loud and proud and include your social handles for some self promo. We thought we'd share some of our own to break the ice...
"Unfortunately I have far too many stories under my 25 year old belt that fit the criteria of summer woemance. I’ve also never had an actual summer romance, so that’s cool... Anyway, this story is probably the most tragic of the lot. I was in the sweaty basement of a London club, as a twenty one year old graduate who’d gone travelling, come back and was lacking total direction/money/inspiration/employability - the typical sitch. I was on a night out which I couldn’t afford, probably for someone’s birthday, and this guy started dancing next to me. He started getting super close, so much so that is was kind of weird, and being very touchy feely. We kissed for a brief moment before I decided that actually this wasn’t my cup of tea, and shoved him away and made off through the crowd.
About half an hour later, I went to the bar to get another drink, only to realise that my (very secure) tote bag was completely empty. No phone, no wallet…nothing. My drunken brain pieced two and two together, and I clocked why that guy was being so grabby and running his hands all over me - he fucking mugged me! I spotted him dancing with another girl, and with friends in tow, confronted the bastard. Despite us screaming at him over very loud music, he refused to return my precious cargo, insisting in particularly broken English that he had nothing. Can you imagine trying to explain this story to the club’s security? It’s safe to say I didn’t get much sympathy, but haven’t taken a tote bag on a night out since." @rebeccajanehill
"My festival fling was the epitome of short but sweet. We met at in the VIP tent at Hevy Fest in the summer of 2012. It was that time of night where my partner in crime had copped off with some randomer, and I was left alone. A vague memory tells me we locked eyes over his drink which I'd stolen, romance eh!
We then spent the night holding hands and crashing strangers campsite parties. We did that thing where you drunkenly connect with a stranger and share all your hopes and dreams in the desperation to connect. He waited for me outside the porta-loo and led me back to his car and we drank vodka from the bottle. I'll always remember how we got really intense about the Chinese we'd order once we were released from the festival rabbit hole. He fell asleep and I quietly sneaked out and somehow found my tent in the early hours. The following night back in the VIP tent we had our second date which involved more snogging than talking. Our relationship was solidified by a tweet sent from him to me on the car journey home 'it was nice to meat u, see u soon?' we never did see each other again but kept in touch via the magic of social media (of course) and still mention that dream Chinese...
P.S Also at that festival me and Beccy
got matching BFF tattoos that we thought were free but weren't and got our friend Henry to draw them up on a paper plate he'd just had some spring rolls on. If this isn't summer woemance at it's very finest then I don't know what is?" - @rosiefayeellis
"This ain't nothin' but a summer jam, bronze skin and cinnamon tans...we're gonna party as much as we can"
"It was summer 2008. I'd just spent a week partying in Portugal with my uni girls before flying straight to Ayia Napa for 2 more weeks of partying with my home girls. Just let that sink in ... TWO WEEKS in AYIA NAPA. I was 19. Old enough to know better but young enough to get away with it.
Oh my god that holiday though. It was one of those someone was sick every night holidays, it was a snogging someone to get a free taxi home holiday, it was dancing on the bar more than the floor holiday. It was a once in a lifetime-never do again-nightmare-ironic but also deadly serious-lol fest that I reminisce about to this day. For anyone lucky enough to have frequented Ayia Napa you'll have heard of the legendary Castle Club. A garage Mecca back in the day. Somewhere sweaty you're guaranteed to pull after you've downed a fishbowl of woo-woo and had at least 6 shots of sex on the beach. Anyway fast forward an hour and oh LORD was there anyone in that club I didn't snog?? I think I snogged DJ Luck AND MC Neat and probs every single member of So Solid Crew too. It was all caught on camera and promptly uploaded onto Facebook for the whole world to see. WHY DID OUR YOUNG SELVES HAVE NO SHAME. WHY. I can't bring myself to look at these photos ever again but I distinctly remember one guys sweat patches through his thin grey t-shirt. Our catchphrase for the holiday was blame it on the woo woos - so I blame that woemance performance on the woo woos for sure." - @sholmesyyy