Clubbing at 25.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like to have a good time. I like making an effort, grabbing all the girls and guys and getting a few drinks. However I didn’t realise until last Friday night how old I had become when it comes to clubbing.

As you can probably tell by the title I’m 25; so I’ve been legally allowed to party for seven years here in the UK, and let me tell you, nothing has changed in any of the clubbing environments I have been in in those seven years; except the prices of everything! It was £10 just to be allowed the privilage of being in the building!

The floor is still sticky, the bar still needs a good wipe, and there’s still a shortage of toilet paper in the ladies. Standard. That’s fine. I expect that. However what I don’t expect is to instantly feel like a chaperone at a school dance upon entering!

That’s right you heard correctly. We arrived last night at this place called ATIK (‘attic’ for those whom actually care about spelling, which the owners apparently don’t…) at around 11:20pm into this large circular room with bars outlining the walls and a large dance floor semi central and my initially my first thoughts were;

  • Wow it’s quiet, where is everyone?
  • Yup, smells like a cheap club.
  • Woah everyone’s so young.
  • It’s so LOUD in here, is that really necessary?!
  • Is this even music?
  • I think I’m one of the oldest people in here…

Which is quite a lot to think about simultaneously, but one glance to my other half said that I wasn’t the only one thinking it.

So I took a deep breath and decided that the best thing to do was to get a drink. I mean, what else is there to do…? £10.90 later for a single vodka-coke and a bottle of corona which were both served in PLASTIC GLASSES – we’re not even trusted with glass nowadays – we hit the dance floor; and when I say ‘hit’ I mean ‘dragged on somewhat unwillingly by friends’. As per usual we head to the front by the DJ booth and the main speakers and normally this is fine, this is where we want to be to have the ultimate music experience (or something) but this time was different. Now, I’ve already said it was LOUD, but the vibrations coming from the speakers were uncomfortable and made everything, and I mean everything, vibrate in a bad way. It made me feel sick. On top of the sheer LOUDNESS and the constant vibrating from the bass speakers, the DJ was trying to mix the end of one song into the other like a four year-old in a room full of stereos, pressing any and every button simultaneously! It was a cacophony of nonsense. Tempos clashed harshly, which jarred the dancing on the dance floor as people tried to keep in time, and made people do a weird lurch as they changed their grind into a happy bop.

I attempted to look like I was having a blast whilst mentally trying to work out ‘what is an acceptable time to talk about going home’ and scouring the crowd just to see who was doing what and that’s when I saw two things that disturbed me to no end. There they were, on the outskirts of the dance floor, facing inwards, staring at their targets, not even attempting to dance, were predators. Male predators looking for something to mate with and honestly it was so cringy and creepy! They just prowled the edge, trying to see who was easy, or the drunkest, or the prettiest, and once they saw someone they fancied they moved in, slowly grinding their way over like a strange mating dance or seizure (it’s hard to tell in the flashing lights). It was disturbing to say the least and I was glad to have my significant other with me as a human perv-deterrent. This now leads me to my second horror of the night; the club photographer. As anyone knows a club photographers job is to take pictures of people having a good time, NOT to take pictures of the super hot blondes with massive ‘talents’ in their shirts from high angles. It was unprofessional and disconcerting, plus just plain wrong! My inner photographer wanted to confiscate his camera from him but I didn’t think my friends would approve.

Hours ticked past and eventually we ended up in the ‘retro’ room which was supposed to be the dance floor that played the oldies that are the goodies, and although I did know more of the songs and there were a few good hits. I would say that playing a song from 2004 doesn’t qualify the room to have the word ‘vinyl’ plastered all over the walls. I was expecting some good ol’ 90s songs but if there were any they were so obscure that even I, the grandma of the room, didn’t know them; so that was disappointing too…

Eventually it was time to leave (hooray!) and we exited the joy that was Atik and with the bouncer saying ‘see you next time’ I can safely say, no, no they wont. Ever. Never ever. Leave me at home with a glass of wine and a good book any day.



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