by James Ashford
Going to university used to mean that you were pretty intelligent and could conduct yourself with a reasonable level of decorum. Unfortunately the number of institutions calling themselves ‘universities’ has swollen, and for the average student, education has become a distraction from socialising.
The result of this is that considerably more energy goes into going out than anything else. The events wing of the student union is now more important than the bit that used to try and campaign for good stuff, like saying ‘yes‘ to preserving students’ rights and ‘no‘ to paying nine grand a year for three hours a week of lectures.
What baffles me is why going to clubs is still held in such high regard. All the legitimate benefits, like seeing your friends and having fun, are all much more possible away from rooms crammed full of bellends sweating on you. Take for example the LADS, some of the worst people you will encounter on a night out, or indeed in life. They are defined by their desperation to get laid and a love of ‘banter’ that is either misogynistic or flatulent.
A popular derivative of the LAD category is the Spice Boy. They can be identified by well developed pectoral and bicep muscles; tight, low cut t-shirts; fake tan; bleached hair that usually sticks up and a brain the size of a small horse chestnut. Unlike the LADS, who think it is funny to pinch a girl’s bum as she walks past, spice boys use this technique genuinely believing it will lead to sex.
Tragically, there will be some girls who are impressed by their enormous wit. By some freak occurrence, all of these girls have developed extremely similar, fucking horrible accents. Thankfully the painful sound of a dated Calvin Harris track will usually be loud enough to drown out whatever it is they’re saying, which is typically on an intellectual par with the LADS’ wisecracking. They have the same orange tan as the spice boys, which is almost certainly fake, but possibly supplemented by their recent holiday to Magaluf.
If the people aren’t enough to make you want to gauge your eyes out, the music will make doing a double van-Gogh suddenly seem like an attractive option. Each night plays either shit chart music, ‘non stop retro hits’ or dark minimal tech that only my housemates can appreciate. Whatever does end up being played will determine the specific way the dancing will embarrass you.
The solution to the club problem is to avoid them where possible. Go to the pub, go round to each other’s houses for dinner, go to the theatre. If you want to involve alcohol/recreational substance abuse in your night then look for a house party. They’re cheaper, you can have conversations with people and you don’t have to drink yourself to partial blindness to have a good time.