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Monday, December 31, 2007

Slang names

This may be giving the game away as to where I work but the slang names our scummy club patrons use really do grate on me.
The old favourite of 'big man' is relatively inoffensive, it's not wrong and though familiar isn't demeaning.
'Mate', 'Bro' or 'Brother' is just too familiar and won't get me on my best side.
The ones that really get my goat and raise my heckles are 'Mush' and 'Gadgee'. 'Mush' becoming more popular than 'gadgee' of late. The fashionability of certain terms comes and goes. These two really get me writhing. They're far too familiar, they're far too nonsensical and worst of all they suggest I'm part of a social group that includes their users. This I am not. The mere suggestion that I might be will get you seeing a whole nasty side, not just the little bits I let out every now and then.

Stick to 'Gent', 'Man', 'Fella' and 'Lad' or if you're a little older 'Bouncer'. If you start calling me 'Sir' I'll worry that you're still at school, in the forces or just out of prison. Only reasons to watch your movements with a whole load more caution and be even more sceptical and cynical than usual.

Monday, December 24, 2007

The Cavalry

Once more the boys in blue have been dropping by.
They've taken the sensible step of being out in big numbers this last week and have taken alot of work off our hands.

When we reject or eject someone sometimes they just don't want to wander on. They just keep coming back and they get more and more unruly as they return to the door. We can't just carry them off, we just have to put them off our premises and get back to work. This can get pointless, tedious, sometimes hilarious and occasionally dangerous.

This is when the boys and girls from blue light taxis come in handy. They usually just pop along and have a chat. Starting nicely, they ask what's up. They don't like swearing, they don't like threats and they don't have a lot of patience. In that way they're a bit like us.

They have what we don't, a big battenberg van that can whisk folks away to be forgotten about 'til morning. Would be cool if we got to play with cs and batons too but I think that could get messy.

Friday, December 21, 2007


I was pleasantly surprised after all my bitching about changing staff, that a couple of good ones have bobbed to the top of the barrel. Some have proved capable so far and I feel they may even have a future in the job.

After some quiet and tedious nights on the unpredictable run up to christmas I'm bracing myself for "mad friday". The one day of the year when you just don't know who's going to be walking in through the door and when. It'll be mad and it'll be friday, contractors, builders, office workers everybody but retail and hospitality will be in causing mayhem as they drink their christmas bonuses and start their holidays with sore heads and possibly a few dealings with the police.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Why Bother?

It's reached that point again this year when I wonder why I keep doing this shit. It happens every year, usually when about this time. It's the flood of new faces that only emerge clubbing when the christmas party season and the time off associated brings them out from under their rocks.

Why am I still telling alcoholically retarded people to keep their drinks off the dance-floor? Why am I still advising the drink addled punters that they really shouldn't take their drinks onto the street? Why am I still telling the habitual idiots that they can't come in and then have to tune them out as they rant on and on in a most irritating way? Why do I have vomit, beer and brightly coloured high sugar alco-pop eating the nice polish off my boots each night? Why as a grown up do I still wear a clip-on tie? Why do I relish dirty kebab based foodstuffs when cold, sober and in need of my bed? Why do I do six nights of this shit and can't remember one day to the next?

Well they pays not bad and I really don't like mornings.

Friday, December 07, 2007

The Water Hazard

No, not golf, the horrors of the toilets in most busy nightclubs.

Imagine one thousand people in a nightclub. Imagine an average of needing at least 3 toilet visits, 10% may go for a long sit down, and somewhere about 1% go to vomit.
In total thats 3110 visits minimum, 1555 for the pink door and 1555 for the blue door.

This means they smell, are usually wet floored and are the home to some of the nastiest parts of the job. We're compelled to check them regularly to see what our punters are up to in places we can't see. Worst for business is flooding, when some retard has dropped their bottle or glass into a bowl or slung a wad of loo-roll into the urinals and flushing does the rest. The whole place gets messy fast. We have to close them off and direct full bladdered folk to the other ones conveniently located at the furthest point in the venue from the closed ones. The bar-staff then get the big gloves on and get to go fishing in the poo-fish bowl for the source of the blockage. That's one job they don't pay me enough for.

The snorting of drugs is attempted on the toilet seats but we WD40 the beasties every night and apparently that spoils all of the fun.
If we find two lads in a cubicle, they both leave the venue, it's either drugs or sleazy romance but we don't want it going on where we can't see it so it's out into the night for them.
I'll often find the student's vomiting or recovering from vomiting in the toilets and depending on the amount of vomit covering them I either guide them to the door or just verbally direct them if I really don't fancy smelling of alco-pop vom for the rest of the night.

Sadly the toilets are also the most likely place for us to get our head caved in. They're an enclosed space where you don't always know who's in there when you walk in. It's off camera and far too easy to get trapped. If you want to keep at this game for long, you keep you eyes and ears wide open when you visit the smallest room.

The most entertaining water hazard are the unconscious. If they've sat down or knelt to hurl, they can find themselves far away in the land of nod. I'll unlock the door if there's no response and try to open it. This is made alot harder if their sheep counting has led them to fall against the door. I'm heavy and can usually provide enough grunt to a cubile door to rouse even the heaviest sleeper. Once awake, and rising, never try and put a hand through the door. It's really easy to break even a thick wrist with a slip or shove to the inside of the door.

The best are those who, having had a quick shut eye on the bowl, are roused by the shouting or the opening of a door onto their head and proceed to get up. They accept your invitation to walk out only forgetting to raise their underwear or trousers from round their ankles. The shuffling naked bottom, with our without loo-roll garnish will emerge from the cubicle and it's really only our high standards of professionalism that forces us to remind them to remember what they've forgotten before they re-enter the busy club bare arsed.

Thursday, December 06, 2007

New Blood

There have been some fresh faces joining my bag of spanners at work over the last couple of weeks and it always poses a few problems. With most doorstaff who join the firm I work for, they've picked up experience working elsewhere and moved to us for better pay, longer hours etc. You'll often know about somebody before you get to work with them, you'll have some idea of their credibility. Thankfully my bosses up to now have been capable at at least picking a fair calibre of new recruits.

Now we're getting some very young fresh faces who've not really done this work before. They've got their licenses but still have lettuce ears and I think are seen as cheap staff for the company. They're wheeled out on quiet nights and we don't really get to see what they're capable of. This nags at you. When you expect all the members of your team to be up to certain standards and willing to back you to the hilt if needed.

You don't want to be heading into something not knowing if you're gonna get anyone flying in after you or if you're going to have to pull them off someone before it all ends up out on the street.
Not knowing about the new lads plays on your mind's time. In a job that's 99% boredom there's a lot of time even if there's not much mind.

Saturday, December 01, 2007

Go away

When somebodies been ejected they can really get on your nerves by just hanging around. Again and again they'll come back to the door. Again and again they'll get refused and told to go away, go home, go crawl under whatever rock they crawled out from under.

They just don't go. Whatever expectations they had of the night it's not happening, but that message seems to be the hardest one for them to understand. It's cold, dark and miserable, why stand around in it futilely when warmth and sleep are available elsewhere.

Go away and we'll both be having a better night. You because you'll not keep feeling rejected, me because I'll not have to write up the fact you've left in blue light taxi's for the night.

Friday, November 30, 2007

Festive Frolics

The time is once more upon us when tinsel is wrapped around any possible protrusion and snow-flakes and other non-denominational symbols are hung from the ceilings.
I've been working all over the shop recently and I've found out a few things.

Drunks are more prevalent this time of year. With the sun going down early and various christmas get togethers going on people are getting more drunk, earlier. This just means more vomit, more staggering and stumbling, spilling drinks, and more escorting to the door, more rejecting on the front door and more poorly targeted verbal abuse.

Young ones are under the belief we are stupid. Those in their final year of school are suffering from the fact that the older of their classmates can go out and legally drink. This places a social obligation on the younger ones to join in the tomfoolery. The UK driving license is not easily forged. The UK passport even harder to forge. Anything else we take with a strong pinch of salt, UK/GB/EU ID cards are just ridiculous and we do laugh about them. We also like photos to look like the people who present them, just call us cynical but it could so easily be your brother, sister or other close family relative.
What gets my goat is young ones, who show their driving licence with their real date of birth and it shows them as under-age. It gets the whole flock, goatherd and the grazing.

I've noticed that with the worsening weather, chavs are taking to layering in a big way. Two T-shirts followed by a sweater, then a jacket, with hat, scarf and gloves. It's becoming a fun little game to see how many visible brands you can spot on any individual. The down side is that when you eject or reject a spanner they can alter the layering sequence and try again in a couple of minutes. Not too difficult to reject them, that is 'til theirs more than a dozen of them at it. Then it's just a sea of horizontal stripes and chav labels everywhere.

The final thing to note is, it's bloody cold. I've been snowed on, sleeted on and rained on, all in one night. Not a great night, but at least it keep the chavs at bay.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Oh maybe

From reading the musings of a doorman over the pond I read this and it got me thinking.

How often do I see lads squaring off on the dance floor where they know we'll be watching. How they'll look up to our fixed points and non-verbally plea for us to get down there and split them up. It'll save them face and in the end make less work for us to do so nine times out of ten I'll wander down or make my presence known and that'll just leave it as pointed stares and muttered threats. I'll keep my eyes on them but that'll be it.

Now the one time in ten I let it develop is more interesting. If there's a chav who's been a dick before, or a care in the community who looks like they've gone off their meds I'll watch and wait.

The chav will either clock I'm watching and leave it out or do enough to get himself barred, probably with a ripped shirt and a sore shoulder or two by the time he's taken a rapid trip through the nearest fire doors with 40 stone of momentum.

The special lad, thats always interesting. Not likely to go off, more likely to run away and be adamant about getting out of there. Can be surprising if they just hug everyone or insist on making up and buying a drink but then spending two hours trying to talk at their new best friend. Always entertaining and far less effort to watch and be safety net than get in early and find I've got a new best friend for two hours.
Made that mistake before. There's so little I want from someone who lives in sheltered accommodation on benefit with so tenuous a grasp of reality and proportion that nothing they say can be believed and is so unlikely to be interesting.

Getting in early is usually the lazy option. You can walk over and get your message across and wander back without raising your adrenaline level above nearly asleep. If you let it stew you'll be shouting down the radio and arriving at full tilt across a busy club with spilled drinks down your shirt. Those alco-pop stains soon to be joined by aerated blood from shouts through bleeding noses and split lips. Not necessary or worth the effort unless it's been a night so boring you'd let anything happen rather than have your eyes drawn again and again towards the minger and the special need couple 2 minutes from needing condoms and a private room.

Saturday, November 17, 2007

The winter

That time of year is upon us again where the long coats, hats, leather, wool or fleece gloves come on. The sight of doorstaff shuffling their numb feet on the frozen front step is ubiquitous.

Don't be surprised if we're short with you when you prat about in the opened doorway as you try and rally your drunken herd into moving to another bar.
Don't be surprised if you find we won't lend you our ears as you whine about the unfairness of life after we've declined you entry.
Don't be surprised if we're more interested in where that hot cup of tea we were after half an hour ago has gone rather than your claim that your mates are all inside and you really are 18.
And don't be surprised, offended or threateningly violent when you ask and we decline for the n-
th time in our shift, if you could have our hat, coat or gloves.

It's cold, we can't head inside and warm up, we can't wear beer jackets, we can't sod it and get a warm cab home. We don't find lines we've heard a thousand times before interesting, funny or serious. If you're going out on a night in winter, wrap up warm or get
anesthetized on mulled wine or stronger, don't bitch about it to us. We bitch about it enough without you chirping up.

Monday, November 12, 2007

Pockets (ptI)

You find all sorts of things in peoples pockets.
Occasionally I'm at the special table by the front door asking people if they would mind having a random search. I ask them to empty out their pockets onto the table and after a great deal of faffing about I'll ask them if that's everything out of their pockets. I'll look through what they've placed on the table, pat them down and ask them to properly empty their pockets. This I repeat til either I'm satisfied that I've thoroughly searched them or I find something interesting.

Most folks are familiar with the idea, and I don't find anything on them. Sometimes I just wonder about the sanity of folks.
Most notable has been, 6' of steel chain in the back of someones trousers, the police picked him up quickly after that. Not the kind of thing you'd ever want to see wielded in anger in a crowded area.
Some folks have actually placed first time on the table, a bag of magic mushrooms, film wrapped cannabis resin, small bags of pills, pre-rolled joints and just hoped they'd get over-looked. They didn't.
Some disguise their naughty goods. A lip-salve dispenser that rattled, full of little white pills.
A silver bullet on a keyring, that unscrewed to show white powder and small spoon.

Also when checking a wallet, I'll run the edges of cards along a finger to see if white powder remains. I'll check the bill fold sections to see if grains of white have fallen off notes, I'll tip cig packets up to see that only baccy falls out. I'll turn phones on or take the backs off and get to see what could be hiding inside.

It's not perfect, if you're serious, you'll get it past us. If you're stupid, you'll not be getting in, you'll more likely be getting barred.

Friday, November 09, 2007


I've been poking around the blogroll and killed off some oldies and landed in some new ones.
If you've joined the list, thank-you for the entertaining content.
If you've left the list, sorry you've probably stopped posting.
If you want to get on the list and I haven't seen your blog, just link it in the comments and I'll have a gander.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Your choice

A long time blogger whose musings I have enjoyed and whose veracity I'm pretty damn sure of is in dire need. See her plea, it's up to you to give or not.

Update: Merys has raised her money and her thanks are given.

Monday, November 05, 2007

Am I hard?

Now this is a question I don't really ask myself. I'm big, strong, fast, competent and confident.

Which is the most important? Without much doubt, the confidence. I don't get people starting on me, I don't get people taking the piss out of me and I don't get many people not listening to me. I don't get much bother. When shit does happen I get stuck in, but don't lose my head. If you're not fighting, me or someone, else I'll not take my frustration out on you. If I fly in and it's all over in two seconds, I'll come off the boil fast and not be in a hurry to use your head to open the fire doors. This all means I don't get much bother.

This however doesn't reflect well with my bosses, I can get through nights where people don't need more than a word here or there to get them through to the end of the night. I don't end up having massive brawls with large groups of punters. I just get the job done as quickly and simply as possible. This means I don't stand out but the job gets done all the same.

Am I hard? Don't try to find out and you'll never need to know.

Saturday, November 03, 2007

Geographical Hazards

Now this is a little issue that personally makes me stressed.

It's the venues that have balconies, open staircases or god-forbid stages. These all present an opportunity for a punter to drop, throw, spit, fall, get thrown or throw up over. The poor victims underneath suffering the fallout.

They make nice features in pretty buildings but are not things highly confined drunk people should be allowed to encounter without very high levels of supervision.

On the up-side, they provide punters with platforms with a high visibility setting for their dancing skills in very small skirts or belts or just tops that nearly cover their backsides. The poor victims beneath suffer the fallout along with the view.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

The Law

Not about the bright coloured things that emerge from warm vans on cold nights every now and then to take the pains in our arses away to become pains in their arses. This is about a question I was asked in the comments here.

non-chav nightclub attendee asked,

"...If you could pass one law, or repeal an existing one, or even just enforce an existing one properly, to make your life easier and the night out for good punters more enjoyable, what would it be?"

I've had a good think about this one and even had a chat with some of the lads about it.

The one I'd pick out to change is off on a tangent a bit but a lot of folk would probably agree given a think on it.
In the child protection legislation I'd like to see either a change of wording or interpretation to include neglecting psychological development as child abuse. If a child is underweight or beaten the child can be protected and most parents see they have responsibility to prevent this abuse. If a person cannot take reasoned moral actions, has no sense of guilt or pride, personal or collective responsibility they will not function in society. If parents felt a need to instill these things, or just the possibility of losing the benny checks if the kids get taken away it would hopefully improve the situation.

We blame schools, parents, gangs, no sunday school, no youth clubs and no scouts/guides for these moral failures in the young. Place the blame/responsibility at one door and keep it there. If help is needed by parents, supply it under social services, just get morals and responsibility into children.

These are skills needed by all people in society and without them social mobility, or even social stability are hard to obtain. The only other way they learn is by drunken incident after drunken incident which leaves them nicked, kicked or up the duff to pass on their moral void to another generation of chavs.

Thursday, October 25, 2007


There are many things people do which are ultimately futile, the stated objective is never realised, but there may be some satisfaction from the pursuit or the hope of completion. For most sports fans this is the case, following a team for any length of time will do this, they will never take over the world and reign for eternity.

In the nightclubbing world almost all the punters efforts are ultimately futile. The money will only keep you in bright coloured alco-pops for so long, the music will only play 'til the end of the night, the beautiful people will only be interested while you keep buying them drinks, the smiling bar staff will stop smiling when the tips dry up.

You may get massively lucky and have a brilliant night, meet a pretty partner and dance like a god/goddess til the music goes off. But you'll be back again next week and the next week, and the next week, and none of them will be as good a night.

I get to deal with a lot of the folks whose desires for the night have fallen far in excess of reality. Some just get over it and either go home or stay and have an OK night. Others take out their shattered hopes on others, staff, punters or their friends and relatives. If you're having a bad night, don't share it, it won't make it better, it'll often just make it shorter. If I have to wander over and sort out your mess of a night, most likely it's already over and it's just you that's waiting to hear the news.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Not walking

Now I get to ask a lot of people to leave. About half take the verbal invite and start walking.

The other half don't. When a punter is on a private licensed premises and they are asked to leave they really should get themselves together and go. The arm indicating which way to walk and the other behind ensuring they don't disappear in the wrong direction entirely usually works.

For a small minority something more is needed. I'm not small, though I'm finding my centre of gravity is a little too high nowadays. That's for another post though. When I apply myself to move someone, they move. It may not be pretty but with an arm in my grasp, I can usually twist, turn or pull it enough to make someone leave at an accelerated speed if needed.

If someone pulls both arms tight in, plants their feet and sets themselves rigid, I might have to pull out the dirty tricks. The funniest one of which is to push one way 'til they shift their feet, then get out the way as they slam themselves to the floor struggling to get their arms out in time. This works well to humiliate as well as surprise them. It also leaves them prone, with big me standing above them. Most can then just be picked up and carried down the nearest fire exit.

Most give up the fight and walk before we get to the top step. I could only imagine why, it's as if they don't trust us not to drop them headfirst on the hard concrete stairs.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Calamity Joe

There are some people who always seem to get it wrong, no matter how hard and concientious they are.

This is not a good trait for a doorman, I work with one of these Joes and it can be bloody hilarious. Imagine the gent who they patiently escort one staggering step at a time to the front door ensuring their safe arrival on the street only to turn to head back inside to hear a loud thump as one drunk hits the hard floor and splits his head open requiring first aid, ambulances and a report writing on it.

Then there's the flying response to an inside fight call in which they accidentally level a drunken lass in their hurry to get there. Only to hear it cancelled one pace later leaving them to apologise and make amends to the drunken lady. Unfortunately it's the area manager's sister who happens to be out celebrating her birthday on freebie drinks in VIP. Could only happen to Joe.

It's not limited to others getting hurt, Joe's the one who finds the bottle that's rolling across the dancefloor and tips himself arse over tit in the busy crowd and has to limp away. He has however been seen taking the pratfall by everyone on the dancefloor and even gets a call out from the DJ as he shuffles off red-faced.

Everyone has one of these moments every now and then but this would be a typical night for calamity Joe

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Unasked questions

Your chance to ask those curious things that have been bugging you about your nights out or the doorstaff you meet. I'll keep an extra eye on this post for comments and get back to you either directly or with a post on the topic.

Meanwhile I'm struck by the large number of questions I never get to ask of people, it's sometimes simply not polite to ask them about the thing that's just struck you as highly intriguing.

For example, questions you're unlikely to hear but slowly eat away at me are,
How did you lose that arm?
Do you only own that 1 top? and how often do you wash it?
What do you do to earn your drinking money when you're in here 6 nights a week spending that much just on booze? And how do you still get paid when you must turn up pissed so many days a week?
Where is your accent from when you're ID says you're from 10 miles away?
Do you have a mirror in your house?
Are you partially sighted?
No, then really why on earth are you wearing that out in public?
Do you really expect me to believe that?
Did you know you're skirt is tucked in your knickers?
How long have you had you're nipple hanging out?
Don't you have a bra that isn't grey? Or can you wear a top that doesn't show most of it?
Have you ever heard of hairdressers?
Are you a haemophiliac or just too lazy to shave?
Really why? No really stop for a bit and why?

These and a thousand other questions crop up in my night but it's just not good professional customer service to ask. If you have any answers to any of these answers on a postcard.

Sunday, October 07, 2007


In this work you've got to keep your mind on the job. Not on the pretty young things dancing about you or the bloke who you're sure you've seen 'from the telly' or that lad you had to kick out last week when he'd had more than a few too many. You need to walk into every situation with your eyes wide open and your ears pricked.

Or you'll either be out of a job or have your arse kicked or if you're unlucky about it both. It's not an easy job standing around in a nightclub, doing not a lot for a long time. It's harder when you don't get yourself distracted in inane chat with regulars or other staff. You've got to do it though or boots will hit backsides literally or figuratively.

I find getting bored is usually a good sign I'm working well. If there's nothing happening to worry about, it's best if there's nothing filling my mind. It leaves space for more folk to worry about, more things to evaluate as and when they emerge. It does make me a grumpy bugger when we have a quiet night but I get the job done and it can't be too bad a thing when you get paid for doing very little and getting very bored.

Friday, October 05, 2007

Swear down

What the hell is going on with 'swearing down'? Where did this useless phrase of alleging honesty come from? It seriously raises my hackles every time some half drunk chav says this to me.

Just the mention of this phrase turns a cynical but potentially persuadable doorman into one extremely obstinate git. I've found that anyone who uses it invariably is blatantly lying or missing so much from the story that they might as well be.

I'm not easy to talk your way round and that is a very useful trait in this work. I will listen and will assess what you've said to see if there's anything I should be doing. Not could be doing, but should be doing to protect the revenue in the club. If someone starts swearing down, I just throw up the wall and wait for the moment to ask them to leave. Why mark yourself out as a chav by saying it and pray that no-one upstairs is counting the lies you've told sworn against your babies life?

Monday, October 01, 2007

Shoes (pt II)

In this work you have to make very quick decisions about people. You base this on many things but one of the best guides is shoes.

For the ladies, do they match the outfit, do they fit, can they walk in them, are they brand spanking new or have they seen some love over the years? The details of heel size, strappy, pointy, are all irrelevant against the big question. Are they spattered in vomit?

For the Gents, shoes seem a more permanent, less variable item of their wardrobe. Those around town on a Friday or Saturday night in scruffy trainers risk a very cold sober evening. Fashion trainers are fine in the right venue but unless dressing up in a downwards direction is called for could leave you on the street. Kickers, caterpillars and timberlands will likely see you staying on the street as big chav brands are very poorly thought of. A brand new pair of dress or 'dancin' shoes will stand you out in the crowd but a worn but polished pair will get you places. Again, vomit on the toes is still a no.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Shoes (pt I)

The first issue I have with shoes is women out of them. I understand the sad pressure applied to ladies of all kinds to appear thin, sexy and fashionable at all times but, for f**k's sake, why try and wear shoes for a night out that you can't.

Nightclubs tend not to have too many seats, preferring customers to stand at bars or use the dance floors to exercise and build up a thirst. Ladies are well aware that a long night out includes standing in bars and walking between them, then moving to a nightclub where standing in the outside queue, standing at bars and basically standing on dance floors are all included. If you like pretty shoes, don't buy ones that will hurt your feet, or don't bring only them for a full night out.

If you're in a nightclub where there may be broken glass about at some stage, don't take your shoes off. If you have to move in a hurry,
for instance for a fire-alarm, there won't be time to put your strappy, glittery, small buckled stilettos back on, and you won't want to walk barefoot over the broken glasses of those ahead of you. That'll be why we ask you to put your shoes back on. It's also why we'll ask you to leave if you don't get the message. If you want to walk the cold streets barefoot feel free, just not our sparkling floored nightclub.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Two things...

that modern life has stolen from us.

If you can, cast your mind back to the days before usable, bright flash, low light capable, high resolution cameras were in everybodies mobile phones. Actually before mobile phones and digital cameras really. There were two great topics of debate when you actually encountered non-virtual friends after an evening of drinking.

The first of these classics was the beer goggle defense. A group of folks enter a nightclub after a session over-consuming premium continental lager. Despite most of the group being judgement impaired to a level where operating anything above the difficulty of a door-handle proves impossible, they suddenly encounter the opposite sex. Here one of the group, and one of a similar group, lets call them Brad and Jen, spy each other across a smoke filled bar and their loins act like two opposite charges. They get together and are passionately entwined for enough time for most of the group to get a good look at the coupling.
The next time the group gather Brad is expecting cheers for his stallion like efforts in getting off with the model-like good looking and raunchy brazen temptress that was Jen. Instead he gets smirks, abuse and general derogation for his poor taste, low standards and lack of shame for publically doing what he did with a beast of such horrifying vileness, the ugly-forest squatters-community spat her out for littering. This debate can rage on for hours and not truly be settled til multiple sober sightings are had of the disputed Jen without mitigating circumstances.

The second issue is the phantom event. In this scenario a member of the group of impaired judgement mentioned earlier, lets call them Ange, commits a controversial act. They pull a beautiful women or man. They pole dance around the fat balding DJ for a bottle of free house bubbly. They manage to steal the hen party's silver wigs and wear them as excess pubic hair and still get into the VIP area. These are the type of drunken anecdotes which would hold a party goer in good stead if only they could remember them.
The group will meet again and debate at length who did what when and whether it even happened at least one will always insist the whole group spent the entire night at the bar, chatting to the ever fitter bar staff and another will insist that all the great adventures were done by them first and obviously with more class. This again remains unresolved until they return the next week and find themselves barred or led straight to VIP and can press a sober witness for a true description of events.

Well both these two classic catch up conversations have been wrecked by the possession by just about everyone of a fully functioned cameraphone. The poorly lit smokey dens of the nightclub are now smoke free and penetrated by the power of LED flashes all night long. The true beauty of Brad and Jen and their lewd exploits can be seen in colour screen glory and texted, emailed, posted and put on a t-shirt for all to judge in the clear light of day. The image of Ange and her silver pubes are online in hours and all her friends and relatives from around the world can see her drunken face boxed and quick linked.
The onset of modern technology has stolen this from those just setting out on the drunken misadventure in club-land. I feel the vast and instant spread of personal drunken quests makes the she texted him what conversation more the cyber-pub debate of the future.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

Back to the Grindstone

Due to the ever shifting sands of who has which door contract and where I'm back in the city and working the one venue now 6 -7 days a week. This has some curious differences to my partly itinerant previous work.

The first of which is that I now begin to learn the bar-staff and admin staff's names, their children's names, their partners names, their ex's names and all of their bastard sodding gripes about work, home and screwed by shift work love-lives. I get to truly see who the regulars are. The ones who take as many nights off from the city's top nightclub as I do. That dedication to poverty and alcoholism is something to be praised. No, sorry there, it's something to be pissed on from a great height.

I don't get to see so many venues and different styles of night and only work with a rolling list of 4 or so management but fear not, the clu
b is big and busy, with the imminent return of the students, the gits are back this week for a fortnight of drunken misadventure, I can assure you there are many tales to tell.


Sorry for the ridiculously extended absence. I've been sunning myself in one of Her Majesties colonies for a while and after 6-months was returned to blighty. It's taken some-time to get back online but all is good again. Posting will resume shortly.
Oh there are some tales to tell.