smacks o’clock

smacks o’clock is an indeterminate time of the evening when one is so drunk that they willingly visit a over-crowded indie bar that plays self-proclaimed indie ‘cl-ssics’. it is the time of night when one gives up any notion of going home early and of their own free-will dances like a loon to the smiths and does the macarena to mgmt.
it is, by all accounts, a good time. but no-one can really remember it.
drunkard 1: “man, i am bored of wetherspoons now, what time is it?”
drunkard 2: “it’s smacks o’clock baby!”
drunkard 1: “awww yeah”
ah, smacks o’clock, the time when otherwise sane young people become agitated with the progression of the night, and head off to a more ebullient nightspot.

during a lull in conversation, someone will mention how smacks o’clock must be approaching. n-body knows the exact moment this most undefinable of time begins. estimates by renowned scientologists and psychic media (surely the plural of medium) have placed the time as early as 10pm, but other sources have suggested a time much closer to midnight. either way, when the feeling is right, the nebulous idea of a smacks visit enters the minds of the merry band.

surely, soon we will be drinking £1 bottles, doing the macarena, requesting naughty big screen messages and perving over teenage girls. there will be flashcards aplenty, and injokes galore as the feeling gathers pace.

and then it happens. suddenly, every gl-ss is empty. we are astanding, moving towards the exit of the pre-smacks drinking establishment, and we are on our way

another night has begun
human being: let us depart this sh-thole, surely it is smacks o’clock

human being: don’t be silly, it’s only ten to smacks

human being: stfu, i want to request total eclipse of the heart