7th Heaven After Party

I woke up in my usual Sunday morning state; on a sofa, still clothed, cloaked with the scent of many a cheap spirit, a sense of profound regret over any misdeeds that may have taken place the night before and with a half tackled kebab for company. My visit to Seventh Heaven, the after-party for the St Andrews Rugby Sevens had left a discernible mark.

I should have known what was coming. Earlier that week, a rugby playing acquaintance prophesied Saturday night as being nothing more or less than the “absolute apocolash”, before laughing manically. Undaunted, myself and a few friends, buoyed after enjoying some of the fine rugby on show, parted with a reasonable £10 to join those in the Union on the departing crazy train with its destination unknown.

One thing we do know that all rugby players excel in is the après to their oval ball “ski”. To say that the Union on Saturday night had rather high “lad” content would be an understatement. As Malcolm Tucker once eloquently described a situation in an episode of The Thick of It, it was lad-central, a testostophone. While the usual assorted high jinks of people being stripped of clothes, dirty pints being forced down a poor unfortunate’s throat and shot-taking abounded, it was done in the right spirit. There was no nastiness except for the occasional smashed glass littering a dance floor which was ram packed with players and wannabe WAGS alike.  The sounds were provided by the well-known April Vellacot, amongst others, who all helped facilitate the preposterous levels of jiving and dance-related debauchery for those who were seeking it.

The two bar areas coped admirably well despite the riparian hordes of those seeking to quench their thirst in a responsible manner, with the Eden Brewery bottle bar seeming to do a roaring trade in its locally produced beverages.  Some would say that the bar did its job too well, as towards the end of the evening my powers of recall along with those of my companions faltered quite dramatically. Therein lies a simple home truth; never attempt to usurp a rugger bugger when it comes to who can put away the most Sambuca.

The event promised to be the “loosest” in St Andrews. I would go one step further and suggest that it was absolutely detached, always the sign of a wholesome evening enjoyed by all in my rather tatty book.

Photo Credit: St Andrews Rugby 7s

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