So not only is the club a sweat fest and has sticky floors but also the DJ is rubbish and someone has just spilt their vodka treble on you. Just a few of the reasons why clubbing is the route of all evil, and well just extremely abominable. But hey, let’s start at the beginning of the night – shall we?
You’ve just eaten your dinner; some pasta, to line the stomach. And now you need to get ready. Fun, right? No, because there’s a theme – there is always a theme. Whether it’s a traffic light system*or a shit shirt show, it is always too much hassle. Not only do you not have a green top, but you also do not own a shit shirt. So you end up panicking about what to wear, “should I wear an orange top even though it’s not complicated and we’ve openly stated that we’re in a relationship?” Oh, and it’s only half seven. Off to a great start.
So you're dressed and ready, and on with the pres! Maybe you’re going to someone’s flat or maybe you’re just staying in with your flat. Either way, everyone gets insecure about their music taste (what is a pres without some music to set the mood straight), and no one can decide on what drinking game to play. Kings or drunk Jenga? Oh, and there’s already a very drunk person flailing their arms about all over the place and it’s only nine o’clock. (BTW, if you’re the drunk person – more power to you!) Around about ten, at the pres, expect to leave the kitchen (that’s where all the cool kids hang) because suddenly everyone appeared from nowhere. You’ve moved into the corridor – or just the doorway – and you are now in everyone’s way. “Sorry, do you need to go to the bathroom?” / “Oh, I’m standing right in front of the cabinet with all of your shoes in, sorry"
So the awkwardness of the pres is over and it’s time to actually hit the club. Now how should you get there? Bolt, uber, (god no, dare I say it?) Walk? If you’re bolting – then “who’s getting in the bolt? Oh, and how will you pay me back? Oh and, do you want to get one or should we just walk? Oh, it’ll be here in three minutes guys – wait, who am I taking? What?! It’s taking ten minutes now?” is clubbing a bit of a faff or what?
YOU’RE HERE! Finally, after a ten-minute wait for the bolt to not even show up, then another thirty minutes walking to … to where? A pub? But I thought it was a clubbing night? “Trust me yea, we can all get three trebles in here for like 7.50 and then we can go to the club.” Uh-huh. You get in, and the bar is … well, everyone else had the same idea as you. Get drunk and go to the club. Only, to get drunk you have to stand in a queue for half an hour then get served, but on top of that, you then spill your drink on someone. When is this night going to end?
It’s nearly half eleven and you need to round up the troops. I mean, if you’re gonna go to a pub before the club then expect to lose everyone, some people will be in the toilet, someone will still be getting drinks. Oh, and someone will be sent home because they were too drunk from pres and probably lose their phone in the process. Just you? Okay.
The bouncers come up and ask you for your tickets, but instead of showing them the one for this club, it’s actually a news year clubbing ticket because, how many clubs have you been to recently? All tickets are the same, aren’t they?
Well finally you’re in. It’s twelve o’clock and you’ve got three hours to party your night away. But now, someone’s crying and another person is slipping all over the place (oh not because they’re drunk, it’s just because the floor is so slippery) and the one treble you managed to salvage from the pub crowds, is starting to wear off. Oh god. Well at least there’s nobody looking at you really weirdly, or that the music is too loud. Oh, but that person in the way in creeped you out and you can’t hear your friend next to you as they’re crying about … what? They left their bread in the toaster and forgot to eat it?
It’s one o’clock. Two more hours left. And you’re a bit drunk again now, and you don’t care that stilettos are being jabbed into your foot every four seconds or that people are bumping into you left, right and centre. And that group from before who wedged their way to the front now actually want to leave. But what if you’re sober in the club?
It’s half one and Britney is playing. The group chat goes off and everyone has decided to leave. (Oh yea, because you were the annoying group that pushed their way to the front) So, once again you round everyone up and go. Hang on though, you need to get your coat from the cloak room and finish your drink because you can’t take it off of the premises. An hour and a half of clubbing just to leave and spend an hour in a take away, or an hour trying to get you’re best friend who was very drunk (gosh those floors must be incredibly sticky) home.
You end up in your bed, at half three after going to the afters. There’s more? And you go to sleep safe and sound. Only to wake up in the morning, with sick spewed down your front and your makeup still on and you accidentally tripped over your opened bottle of vodka – spilling it on the floor? Oops. But hey, at least you now have a full day of lectures and seminars to go to and three essays to write for … oh, tomorrow? But you’re going out again tonight. Right.
Is clubbing evil or what?
Apologies about the really long article as well, but I thought you’d appreciate an article being irrationally long – just like a night of clubbing or the journey to hell. 😈
*Green = single
Amber = it’s complicated
Red = in a relationship