By Austin Seck
Since I last stepped foot in a club, I have completed a full
blown crisis degree and when Palatinate wanted a report about ‘Freedom Day’, I knew I was the man for the job. I committed to getting my hands (and shoes, inevitably) dirty by going on the ground to see (and smell) the clubs for myself. And regretted it almost immediately.
On the 18th of July, at 6pm, I realise that clubs are reopening in six hours and this is not a dream. Unfortunately,
I have no most of my friends are not in Durham and I get ignored by all the one friend(s) that I ask out. Undeterred, I march into town, determined to make my glorious return to Klute – nothing can stop our reunion! Apart from it being closed, which it was, so I get an early night.
It’s fine. I had tickets to the Gospel Project. Unfortunately, this event made Fyre Fest look like value for money, with none of the promised bouncy castles and ball pits materialising. We gathered up the crowd of ten disillusioned students and got hammered at the Water House.
“Today was fun”, says my mate, after having been severely intoxicated as she snogs a guy she met two minutes ago. She confesses to me the next day as we get our hangover brunch that she doesn’t remember his name, nor does she remember anything that transpired after 7pm.
I still need more material, so I set out to Jimmy’s, where my group meets a bunch of inebriated freshers, dancing around tables outdoors before getting kicked out by the bouncers for ‘rowdy behaviour’.
As my final venture for this little project, I agreed to go for Ignition on Friday with some of the freshers from the lacrosse team. “Its going to be absolutely buzzing lads, the girls are gonna love us” – except that there were no girls, it was as dead as the Billy B during summer, and the staff got rid of everyone an hour before the event ended.
Well, this was fun. Four years living here, and yet Durham nightlife never fails to disappoint.
Images: Austin Seck