However, there may be times when conversation goes a little slack - possibly because everyone’s still hungover from the seventy-two sambuca shots (each) consumed at yesterday’s house party, or the fact that it’s been less than twenty-four hours since you last caught up on everyone’s news… at yesterday’s house party. So, inspired by Belle de Jour’s ‘Pub Games for Whores’, here are a few things to do when your night out starts to look a bit too run-of-the-mill for your liking:

I Fucked the Bassist: Name-drop as shamelessly as possible in a conversation, but avoid simply using the term ‘One of my friends…’ Whoever creates the most interesting backstory wins. E.g. ‘My mother in law was Gerard Way’s chiropractor for three years’ or ‘My girlfriend’s father once had a minor altercation with Josh Homme in a tanning salon.’

The Who?: Invent obscure names for rock bands when asked where your music tastes lie - the person who manages to come up with the most wildly imaginative name wins. Plus points if the person talking to you replies, ‘Omg, I love them! I think I saw them at Glastonbury in 2003, they were totally amazing.’ Minus points if you find out later that there is actually a band with that name after all.

Play That Funky Music: Pervert the playlist by approaching the DJ and asking for a song that is an entirely opposite or an inappropriate genre to the evening’s playlist, e.g. requesting Steps during a metal night. Plus points if the DJ is kind enough to play it. (Variation: Ask the DJ to play someone likely to be on the playlist, but change the name of the song you request to something that sounds highly unusual for that particular artist, e.g. ‘Can you play “Walking On Sunshine” by Marilyn Manson, please?’)

Toast Run: Specifically to be played in Metros, where - to those of you who don’t frequent the place - they hand out (buttered?) toast from the bar at midnight. See how many pieces you can collect in a series of multiple trips spent standing in line before they eventually get wise to you and refuse to serve you anymore. Again, invention is the key to this game, and you can score extra points by changing your appearance to delude bar staff into thinking you’re a different person, e.g. borrowing someone’s scarf or trilby. The person with the most toast at the end of the night wins - that is, if you haven’t eaten it all already.

Your #1 Fan: Approach a random (non-celebrity) person and tell them how much you love their music. Ask them when their next album’s going to be released, and say that you enjoyed their last gig at T.J.’s in Newport when they smashed their guitar and spat on the ceiling. See how long you can keep up this conversation despite their protestations that they’ve never touched a musical instrument in their life. Minus points if they back away from you and tell you that you’re crazy. Plus points if they play along with it from the beginning - it could make for an interesting night. Gold star if it turns out that they really are in a band. (See I Fucked the Bassist.)

I was walking home on my own last night at around 11:30pm, which probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do, and was just passing by The Woodville when I was approached by two young men who closely resembled Pete Doherty - as in really, really drunk and quite possibly high, rather than an ‘I’m-so-cool-because-I’m-on-the-front-cover-of-NME’ sort of way. One of them made a rather unusual request:

Pete Doherty #1: Excuse me, could you please kick the shit out of me?

Those of you who know me have probably guessed that I’m not exactly the best person to ask if you want yourself or someone else to end the night with your/their entrails scattered across the streets. To my mind, that’s something best left to the professionals or someone taller than 5ft 1″, and I am neither of those things.

Me: Sorry, but I’ve been shopping all day. I’m too tired to beat you up.

Pete Doherty #1: Oh come on, please. You’d be saving my life if you just went for it and beat the shit out of me.

Pete Doherty #2: (gallantly standing in front of his friend) I’m so sorry. Just walk on, walk on.

So I walked on. Unfortunately, Pete Doherty #1 wasn’t quite finished.

Pete Doherty #1: She wouldn’t do it - what a bitch.

I turned around and snapped, ‘Excuse me?’ while his friend apologised again.

Me: What the hell did you just call me?

Pete Doherty #1: You’re a bitch for not beating me up.

And therein lay the problem. Someone who became really irate about being insulted might have threatened him with some sort of physical violence, but that would have inadvertently given him what he wanted. How are you supposed to threaten someone with anti-violence?

I’m open to suggestions on this one, but until then, I’ll probably go along with Noel Fielding’s idea of how to threaten someone: ‘Don’t make me…cut the stuffing out of your pillow. With a motorbike made of jealousy.’ Trust another NME pinup boy to provide the answer.

Jamie’s Comment: Assuming our editor has edited this…

It could be said that I’m here to add a feminine touch to The All Nighter, but in truth, I’m just doing what any editor (of either gender) is supposed to do - dotting i’s and crossing t’s - rather than pestering the rest of The All Nighter staff to leave the seat down in the loo at our HQ.

Thanks for choosing to take me on board, guys! And by the way, wasn’t there something about a drink-based prize…?