No Room At The Inn
I may have a slightly different take on the nativity story. Mary and Joseph were told repeatedly that there was no room at the inn as they looked for a place to stay in Bethlehem. I now believe that this wasn't the case; I believe that there was room in every inn, but all of them had idiot doormen and stupid admittance policies design to confuse and annoy even the most upstanding of citizens.
Tragically this is a trend that continues even to this day. Christmas Eve is fast becoming the day during the Christmas period when you catch up with friends. This year I was almost excited by the prospect of being back in The Grapes, staring at the barmaids and conversing with my friends. Indeed, that is where I found myself and I had a wonderful evening. I was very excited by the new licensing laws too: 'how long will Colin keep The Grapes open until?' I thought to myself. Possibly one or two o'clock in the morning? That would have been fantastic, and avoided a trip to Formby's only nightspot, Shorrocks Hill. For those who have spotted the hint of sarcasm in my voice, it will come as no surprise that The Grapes closed at a rather poor midnight, and we found ourselves on the 'Shorrocks Bus'. This is a bizarre thing and I'm not going to explain it.
At this point I need to explain which of my friends were on the bus. We were four: Sarah, who we had basically kidnapped; Tim, who was home from Australia; Ste, who had driven down from Edinburgh and arrived no more than two hours previous; and myself, who had driven the 150 miles from Lincoln that very day. All very respectable, all good people, all been going to Shorrocks for the last ten years.
Rumour had it that Shorrocks was open until 3am, and as we approached the doors there was a feeling of excitement about the ability to carry on the festivities until late. Tragically, the excitement turned to disappointment as Ste approached the door. "Sorry mate, you haven't got a collared shirt. You can't come in."
A short conversation ensued, discussing the fact that we had all travelled from afar this evening and that we'd been coming to Shorrocks for the last ten years, and that it is Christmas Eve after all. I pointed out that it probably wasn't even busy in there (a fact later confirmed) but he told me it was practically full. Bridges were burnt because I couldn't keep the word 'arsehole' inside my head as I walked away, and he was keen to pick up on that when I tried again a few minutes later. Oops.
I'm sick of this. I approach clubs feeling like a school child, hoping that I've been good enough to enter and being as nice as possible to the bouncers. It feels so degrading begging to be let in by some moron who's having to work on Christmas Eve in the freezing cold. I'm proposing a new campaign: it's the 'Piss off and let me in' campaign, and whilst initially it could cause some problems, if it gathers momentum it could change clubbing in England. At 28 years old I can't believe that if the wind blows in the wrong direction, or if my friend is wearing the wrong top, I can't have a late night drink with my friends. Don't even start me on Friday night in Lincoln...
Tragically this is a trend that continues even to this day. Christmas Eve is fast becoming the day during the Christmas period when you catch up with friends. This year I was almost excited by the prospect of being back in The Grapes, staring at the barmaids and conversing with my friends. Indeed, that is where I found myself and I had a wonderful evening. I was very excited by the new licensing laws too: 'how long will Colin keep The Grapes open until?' I thought to myself. Possibly one or two o'clock in the morning? That would have been fantastic, and avoided a trip to Formby's only nightspot, Shorrocks Hill. For those who have spotted the hint of sarcasm in my voice, it will come as no surprise that The Grapes closed at a rather poor midnight, and we found ourselves on the 'Shorrocks Bus'. This is a bizarre thing and I'm not going to explain it.
At this point I need to explain which of my friends were on the bus. We were four: Sarah, who we had basically kidnapped; Tim, who was home from Australia; Ste, who had driven down from Edinburgh and arrived no more than two hours previous; and myself, who had driven the 150 miles from Lincoln that very day. All very respectable, all good people, all been going to Shorrocks for the last ten years.
Rumour had it that Shorrocks was open until 3am, and as we approached the doors there was a feeling of excitement about the ability to carry on the festivities until late. Tragically, the excitement turned to disappointment as Ste approached the door. "Sorry mate, you haven't got a collared shirt. You can't come in."
A short conversation ensued, discussing the fact that we had all travelled from afar this evening and that we'd been coming to Shorrocks for the last ten years, and that it is Christmas Eve after all. I pointed out that it probably wasn't even busy in there (a fact later confirmed) but he told me it was practically full. Bridges were burnt because I couldn't keep the word 'arsehole' inside my head as I walked away, and he was keen to pick up on that when I tried again a few minutes later. Oops.
I'm sick of this. I approach clubs feeling like a school child, hoping that I've been good enough to enter and being as nice as possible to the bouncers. It feels so degrading begging to be let in by some moron who's having to work on Christmas Eve in the freezing cold. I'm proposing a new campaign: it's the 'Piss off and let me in' campaign, and whilst initially it could cause some problems, if it gathers momentum it could change clubbing in England. At 28 years old I can't believe that if the wind blows in the wrong direction, or if my friend is wearing the wrong top, I can't have a late night drink with my friends. Don't even start me on Friday night in Lincoln...
technorati tags: christmas, nightclubs, bouncers
posted by Anonymous at
10:16 am
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