Being clubbed to death with a rhythm stick
September 2010 |
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I went against my better judgement and agreed to go to a night club a few weeks ago. Despite the fact that I’m far too old to enter such places now, I tried to put that behind me and enjoy the night out. I tried and failed.
I spent the entire evening trying to ignore the crap synthesized music and work out what the perks were. Other than a handful of moderately attractive women wearing little else but a bra and knickers, I really couldn’t think of anything. Even this visual pleasure was short lived when it dawned on me that they weren’t women. They were girls. They were girls who were probably half my age and most likely jail bait.
My hatred for clubbing is not an age thing either. Sure some aspects were amusing in hindsight. On the few occasions I went clubbing as a teenager I would look at the 30 and 40 year olds jiggling about and think ‘who are you trying to kid?’ Fine, one of my mates at college pulled a 34 year old woman when he was 17 and I never forgave him for that but I always detested going even at that age.
My first experience at a club was when I was still at school. My mates all thought it would be cool to go to this crap under 18's club in the heart of Essex and make an arse of themselves on the dance floor while I spent the whole time in that dark and depressing room searching for better forms of entertainment – like hanging myself on one of the speaker cables.
I also went clubbing a few times while I was at college. I dreaded going every time because, for some reason that is beyond my comprehension, I seemed to be a magnet for the larger than life females in the place. Now I’m not talking about a larger than life personality here. I’m talking about mid-section overspill. Seriously, it’s not fun being a skinny 10 stone college boy trying to wriggle out of a lard sandwich!
So, apart from a handful of horrifying experiences, what do I have against clubbing? Well firstly, I hate dance music. I’m a lover of most types of music but this is one genre I just don’t understand. It’s the same boring, repetitive, monotonous beat that sounds like the sort of crap a toddler comes up with on a Yamaha home organ. The different types of dance music seem to be named after parts of a property or things properties are made of; house, garage, hardcore. They often take half decent pop songs, speed them up and put some crappy drum and base noise in there somewhere and completely crucify the song. What’s the point? It’s bollocks!
Not only is the music awful, it’s also impossible to dance to. Now, I will not sit here and pretend I’m even remotely good at dancing. In fact I will happily admit I have about as much rhythm as an epileptic with diarrhoea.
Not that the sort of moves that go on in a night club can be construed as dancing anyway. I mean it’s literally people wiggling about and moving their hands in funny ways – well funny until they poke you in the eye when you happen to be walking past carrying a handful of beers.
And that’s another thing. They are so crowded it’s impossible to move. I don’t like being crammed that close to people at the best of times. It’s one of the reasons I hate London and other big cities. I’m a man who very much likes his personal space and I get very annoyed when I have idiots treading on my feet every 10 seconds and bumping into me when they are trying to dry hump one of the underage girls dressed in a mini-skirt and a crop top that says “slag” on it.
It’s also not a very sociable thing either. No seriously. When I go out with friends or family, I like to be sociable. Being sociable involves communicating; conversing; talking. This is just not possible in a night club. Forgetting the fact that it is very dark in there and the only source of illumination comes from those multi-coloured lights and a strobe that just baffles the senses, the music is so loud it’s impossible to hear what someone is saying even when they are standing right next to you. What they end up doing is putting their mouths right in your ear hole and shouting at you. Not only does this look like they are trying to eat your head, you also get covered in spit. Great. Thanks!
Money is another thing. I resent having to pay the obscene amounts they charge in night clubs. I’m never going to enjoy myself being in such a place so the least they can do to help ease my pain is let me get drunk. But no. It’s impossible to get drunk because I need to re-mortgage my house every time I want to buy a round of drinks.
Then there is the nonsense with dress code. Personally, I feel more comfortable wearing casual attire. I have to wear trainers because any other type of footwear for some reason makes me angry. The items of clothing I feel most uncomfortable in are smart shoes, smart trousers and shirts. Basically I don’t like dressing like a penguin, OK?
So what clothes do you have to wear to get into a club? Yes that’s right; smart shoes, smart trousers and a shirt. So not only do I have to spend an evening getting trodden on, shouted at, spit on, robbed blind and molested by the incredible hulk’s big sister, I have to be uncomfortable as well.
They can also be quite scary places if you are a mild mannered individual. They are usually full of those annoying small people with an inferiority complex who offer to take you outside and stab you if you make eye contact with them. As a result I prefer to stand in a corner facing the wall so I can’t get into any trouble. This is hardly how I want to spend a Friday or Saturday night.
So I think if anyone invites me out clubbing again I am going to have to politely decline.
