We start off in Shotz, a ridiculous place with a stupid z on the end of its name. Why? This turned me against it from the start, but when we got inside my fears were confirmed. The music was so loud I couldn’t think, the smoke so dense I could still smell it all over me when I got home, and my eyes still hurt at 1 o’clock in the morning. It was such a ‘young’ place that it seemed barely legal. Basically it was a place for teenagers to get falling over drunk. Not that I’m biased. Anyway, given that I am the only house teenager left, why were we there? You got me.
After about 45 minutes shouting to be heard, glaring and drinking something pink (a cocktail with a no doubt ‘hilarious’ name), we left. Phew. I was beginning to think I was trapped forever. However, there was only temporary respite outside, as the next bar was virtually opposite. This was called Varsity, where the music was a bit quieter, a bit better, and I could actually carry on a conversation. However, by this point I was not happy, as I had left my notebook at home, presuming I would not need it. The novelty of Varsity wore off about half an hour, so I settled on more glaring, attempting to think up funny comments in my head for this (did I succeed?), coughing, and watching two people who I know quite well get ratted and decide to do some dancing which may have been 1) good, 2) entertaining or 3) sexy had they not kept falling over.
The music in Varsity? A mix of okay (Blur), good (Daft Punk), and very, very, very bad (i.e. Robbie, various dance ‘choons’ or ‘choawns’ if you are Sara Cox and need a slap). Then I was reduced to more glaring, mainly at the people who smoked at me (note to people who did not know: could barely speak Friday, had totally lost voice, and didn’t want to again Saturday morning). I finally found out that I had pretty much lost my voice again when we finally left, and that I didn’t know the results of Pop Idol. The plan was to go to Walkabout, a place I only like when it’s shut. Thankfully I was saved by an inexplicably (or not, actually, as it is open till 1) huge queue, and was then given an excuse to leave.
All in all, I wish I had been allowed to stay home like I wanted to. I guess I’m just not cut out for Nightlife.
Postscript: When I get home, I let my hair out of the complicated twisty thing that Jane put it in, and find that I look… like a Crustie. I nearly give up there and then, but as ever I decide that the world is a better place with me around, because, let’s face it; someone has to make sarcastic comments about reality TV.
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