Nightclubs
The Uni I've just finished a glorious three years at is in a rather small city. As such, clubbing opportunities are rather limited, with the popular choice being the location officially (and rather famously) branded as Europe's worst club. With stunning locations like these, there is a general tendency to get thoroughly cunted every single time you go out. Drunker than it would be possible to be in many cities; I've watched people wearing only a mankini being carried *into* clubs, with the bouncers not even batting an eyelid.

This, combined with the dark (very dark, honest) and dank surroundings (so many people you literally can't move, wading through a sea of broken glass, sweat dripping from the mouldy pink walls) results in there only being once choice when you arrive: sling a few quaddie gin and tonics down your neck (and often yourself and the people surrounding you), and dance away to a bit of S-Club7, flailing madly, knocking people over, before heading upstairs for a piss in the sink.

However, this cesspit of drunkeness is also a prime hot-spot for picking up nubile young students. I have been caught out before in this game though. Once I was lasooed by a girl who turned out to not only be a little unattractive, but also (as I saw a few hours later, in a more private location, and after my sight had begun to return) quite incredibly hairy. We're not talking 60's porn star here. It was worse. The best way to describe it is probably to let you imagine that a particularly badly groomed Labradoodle had latched onto her flaps without her noticing. This only sets the story however - the months worth of horrendous abuse received from my friends (not to mention being known as 'Best Jungle Explorer' in the yearbook) were just the beginning.

One of the other effects of the whole charade described above was to make me a little more wary of what I was getting myself into. This all came to a head on one of the final nights before I graduated, when I staggered into the location described above to the throbbing beat of the Jackson5, quickly followed by a spot of Chesney Hawkes. In a similar situation to that which I was previously caught out, a girl - a friend of a friend - attempted to 'latch on'. Everything that follows is not really from my memory; it has been relayed by other friends who heard the whole exchange, due to me shouting it at quite an excessive volume.

Not wanting to make any foolish mistakes this time round, I had a few things I wanted to clear up before things went any further. I pulled away, and questioned:
"HOW'S YOUR BUSH?"
Obviously my companion was a little shocked at this:
"Excuse me, what?"
I repeated myself:
"HOW'S YOUR BUSH? I DON'T WANT ANY SURPRISES!"
"What?!"
"OH, IT DOESN'T MATTER: I'LL JUST SMASH YOUR BACK DOORS IN"

For some reason, this didn't seem to put her off. What did, however was the rest of our conversation for the evening. Every time we 'met' I would (rather pleased with my sparkling wit, I presume) shout something about smashing her back doors in. Indeed, I was later told that this was actually all I said to her all evening before she finally got fed up and went on to other males (this took a remarkably long time).

I think I get in my own way a little, sometimes.
(Merrep, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 11:07, 4 replies)

Let me guess...
Klute?
(Milo Minderbinder, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 11:42, closed)

Wycombe?
I'm right, aren't I?
( currantbun is nubtnarruc backwards, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 12:34, closed)

That's got to be
Klute in Durham.

Interesting 4 years, shitty nightclub.

Oh! I nearly forgot about Rixies/DH1 too.
(Shippy likes linebreaks and doesn't care what you think, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 14:56, closed)

so don't goto rixies/klute/dh1

go to the vic and pick up a sausage roll from sammy's on the way home.
(twiceydrinker hmmm is it pint time?, Tue 28 Jul 2009, 8:30, closed)