Dearly Missed: The Cheese of a Cracking Night Out…

© Dexy’s Midnight Runners

By Emily Read

I miss shit nights out. Now I know this is a bold claim, and no, I don’t just miss being hammered. Alcohol certainly helps ease the evening along when the tunes aren’t to your taste, but I don’t think that’s the driving force behind appreciating them. Since the pubs opened on the 12th April it’s been great to have a big one at the pub, but as I sat there with my mates I couldn’t help missing the sensation of being in a crowded, crappy club with cheesy hits blasting in my ears. Still need convincing? I’ll talk you through the stages of a basic night out, all the way from loathing to loving. 

Stage 1: Disbelief. I think everyone has their trigger song that kicks off this stage. Mine is ‘Come on Eileen’, a song I personally believe is a strong contender for the worst audio recording of the 20th century. Anyway, I could write a whole article about that, so let’s not get sidetracked. In the middle of the crowded dance floor, your trigger song comes on, and all you can do is stand there in awe as you foresee the night degenerating before your eyes. “I can’t fucking believe this”, you think to yourself, “the one song I didn’t need them to play was this, and now it’s on”. There you stand, helpless, as your mates drunkenly wiggle to the anthem of your waking nightmare. 

Stage 2: Anger. The shock is over, now it’s time to start thinking of all the other places you could be instead. You reel through all of the cooler clubs that you could be in, all of the missed Skiddle tickets and unbooked Ubers that could’ve brought you to a dodgy industrial estate, to enter a warehouse full of overpriced Red Stripe and that specific subgenre of techno that makes you look interesting if it’s on your playlist. That’s what I should be doing, you say to yourself furiously, instead here I am listening to Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson and watching my mate get off with the person they swore they never, ever would ever again. What a wasted opportunity. 

Stage 3: Acceptance. Well, you’re not in the warehouse, so you might as well make the most of things. It’s at this point you realise not all is lost, that you can in fact have a good time listening to music that you don’t love. Nights out aren’t all about the tunes, they’re about being with your mates and having fun, you remind yourself. Let’s face it, you actually kind of like ‘Hips Don’t Lie’. And why wouldn’t you? It’s a banger. 

Stage 4: Joy. That was an understatement- you LOVE ‘Hips Don’t Lie’, and you couldn’t care less if that makes you embarrassing. Everyone seems to be having a really great time, no one’s trying too hard to look cool- in fact the exact opposite is happening. It hits you that you’re having a better time right now in this grimey club than you’ve had at ticketed events, and that’s because nothing quite brings people together as much as a collective cringe. Bad music and bad dancing make us do something that we often aren’t allowed to, and that’s to let go and be the most unhinged versions of ourselves we can be. The best bit is – no one cares! This is precisely what you’re expected to do here, embrace the cringe. What’s the worst that could happen? 

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