I had my first alcoholic drink when I was 15. It was a 500ml plastic bottle of white wine mixed with 7 Up. The night was nippy, the stars were shining, and it was the Listowel Races - life was buzzy and glittering. I was naive, with mousy brown hair and crooked teeth, but sipping on the concoction made me believe I'd finally been accepted into the shadowy and sexy world of adulthood.
I matured in the era of binge drinking. At 17 I started university and it wasn't uncommon to go out four to five nights a week. Our existence sustained itself on socialising and Chinese takeaways. They were the best days, and I wouldn't change one second, but a sign of a good time for us was waking up the morning after saying: 'Absolutely great night, can't remember a thing.'
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