memorable nightclub moments
Beginning my clublife at the age of 16, going to dingy a basement jungle club and finding people openly banging up in the toilet. It did have an entire wall made of speakers though, which kind of made up for it.

One of my mates having the shits but going out clubbing anyway. Due to the lack of loo paper he had to use his pants to wipe his seeping crack. He tried to flush them down the loo and flooded the toilets.

Being in a club which usually catered to squaddies that was doing a jungle night as a one off. The biggest fight I have ever seen errupted between a dancefloor of squaddies and rastas. The security looked like your mates parents in t-shirts with "security" printed on them. Needless to say the fight went on for ages.

Thinking I might have inadvertantly ingested drugs due to the shivering rushes I kept getting from random bits of my body, then realising I was actually dancing under an air con vent where everyone's sweat was condensing, cooling to chilly temperatures and dripping on me. Nice.

Leaving The Fridge in Brixton following a crusty hippy type who was drinking a bottle of water then projectile vomiting it over the people in front of him, then drinking some more and projectile vomiting again.

I tend to stick to house parties these days.
(ralphseviltwin, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:53, Reply)

The Brown Watch
Having spent my clubbing years living in an East Anglian garrison town I've got a great deal of stories here. However this tale of woe concerns the time I was escorted out of my local high street VD exchange by a couple of angry doormen after a bout of uncontrolled vomiting into a bin next to the dancefloor. It wasn't my fault however, as the ever gracious reader will hopefully understand. Read on...

After recycling the seven pints of well watered down Luftwaffe Pilsner I'd imbibed during the evening's pursuit of skirt high culture, I tippy-toed over the two inch deep lake of piss that slopped underneath the club's urinals to be confronted by an agitated young Scots gentleman who'd obviously spent the Queen's Shilling at the bar.

"Argh, muhn. Ah' jest sha' meeshelf" it exclaimed.

Before I could offer a word of sympathy, my new Celtic friend shuffled round and dropped his trousers to proudly reveal that he'd pappered his military grots beyond economic repair. The sight of a shitty arse hovering over a pair of once white CKs bulging with the smeary remains of a dead otter made me heave.

In spite of this, I somehow managed to keep my lunch down and rejoined my pals at the bar in a somewhat shaken state.

What finally provoked my impromptu homage to Linda Blair wasn't the fact that I saw him an hour later, drooling and knuckle deep in one of Essex's fairest maidens on the dancefloor lazily gyrating to the strains of "Everything I do"...

...It was the look of sheer pleaure on her face as her unwitting hands greedily kneeded his arse.

Bleurgh. Taxi.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:48, 3 replies)

On a mate's stag do in Bournemouth
I walked to the toilet by crossing the dancefloor, walked through a circle of girls who started whooping me to dance, which i did in the most over the top fashion, only to then have the most painful feeling in my backside... One of them had decided it would be a great idea to try and stick her finger up my ass (and through my jeans). Classy place Bournemouth.
( Victor Meldrew, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:47, 5 replies)

The only one that really springs to mind is...
A few moons ago at Rock City in Nottingham. Whilst slightly intoxicated I decided it would be 'cool' and sure to impress the ladies if I was to slide down the banister rather than walk down the stairs.
First half was alright. Second half I fell arse over tit and toppled down the rest of the stairs in front of everyone.

It didn't impress anyone and I had a really bad headache and grazed back for the rest of the night which subtly blended in with my hangover the following day.
( Terry_Tibbs Coarse and violent nudity. Occasional language, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:39, 2 replies)

Early for easter
My benifit money turned up early.

and so did this question.
(Pill Popper Thank you Sasha Shulgin, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:37, Reply)

Same 'club', different weeks...
When I say 'club', I mean what passes for a club in this shithole town...

Anyhoo, I digress...

Strike 1: Me and the then new SO decided to hit town after an afternoon of lager, sambucca, there may have been absinthe included somewhere along the way too...so we're there and I'm DANCING! (well, flinging my extremities wildly about anyway), and we're getting quite um...amorous. One thing led to another and before we know it, the door personnel are asking us to get dressed and leave - oops, apparently stripping on the dancefloor is a no-no then.

Strike 2: Maybe 2 weeks later. Having learnt our lesson about the dancefloor and stripping rule, we were forcibly ejected after being caught in the ladies toilets engaged in what can only be described as 'frenzied monkey shagging' - personally, I think we were grassed up by a disgruntled female who couldn't drag her bloke in/cubicles were full.

Other than those, I tend to avoid clubs...
( snee held his breath since, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:28, Reply)

On visiting a mate in Leicester
Circa 1982.

I can't remember the actual name of the club so for the purposes of this story we'll call it "Cinderellabagofcuntingshite"

Left (what we later realised) a perfectly good pub, queued for a good 30 minutes only for the bouncer to tell us "Sorry lads, no entry without a tie"
A tie? As far as we were aware, Cinderellabagofcuntingshite was not a gentlemen's club with a dress code, but that night it seemed it was and after all, who were we to argue with the oracle on the door?

Now I was all in favour of just going back to the pub but my mate was adamant about the prospective totty in the club so we took a twenty minute bus back to his parents where we raided his not overly extensive wardrobe.

Seems he only owned one tie, his old school tie.

"I know" he proclaimed "my dad will have loads of ties" Well you know he was right. His dad did have an extensive collection of ties, fucking bow ties.
We picked the best of a bad bunch, he a rather nasty dark red paisley print number, me a torrid canary yellow with small blue polka dots and then tied them so badly it looked like someone had wanked in a hanky and then stuck it on our throats.

Another 20 minute bus ride (this time being sniggered at) and woo-hoo we're back in the queue. This time we only have to wait 45 minutes to get to the door where the same bouncer tells us to "take those fucking stupid bow ties off you twats! Are you trying to get your heads kicked in?" before letting us in. TIELESS. What an utter cunt.

Didn't pull, spent all of our money on nasty lager and went home depressed.
(zebby wasting irony here on, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:22, Reply)

Those familiar with Ealing will know....
that there's a dodgy yet trying to be classy stripclub called LA Confidential on the Broadway.

We had just started Uni and decided to go and check it out.

This was my first and last time in a gentlemans club.

We took to a table ordered so ridiculously priced drinks and sat back and enjoyed the show. About 5 minutes later a young woman came over and asked "May I sit with you guys?" We said "yes" and she sat with us made pleasant conversation and never at any point made any reference to sex/stripping ect.

As we tried to leave we were presented with a bill for £120 marked "Company of the lady" We obviously argued that at no point did she say we were being charged and we had no idea she was an employee.

We then found ourselves being "gently escorted" by three large fellas to the nearest cashpoint machine where we were persuaded to part with the £120.

I'm less naive these days
( Peej, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:22, 6 replies)

Oh yeah.
My first shag. Outside Victorias in Scarborough if anyone knew of it. I think it's a Matalans now.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:21, Reply)

I've had bad nights....
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Versailles_wedding_hall_disaster

But I think they win! ^^

EDIT: host.tr3nx.net/Floor_collapse.gif - pretty disturbing gif of the collapse
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:16, 2 replies)

on a similar note
I once fingered a fat baby spice lookalike on a sofa in ethos in enfield.
She had a really big sloppy fanny and i got all 4 fingers in up to the thumb.
(bunglist, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:15, 2 replies)

Not so much a disaster.
But the first time I ever indulged in a bit of lady on lady love and slipped someone the digits, I was drinking a bacardi breezer while sitting on a leopard print couch in Destiny nightclub, Watford.

I'm well classy me.
( wanderlust, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:12, 7 replies)

The rave thing was mega.
Up till then, nightclubs were places you went wearing smart clothes. Yes, even a suit. You drank 15 pints, then at 1.50am you staggered over to a boiler, asked her for a dance. Then sort of did a Peter Crouch thing on the dance floor, wiggling your hips. You hoped for a drunken fuck, but ended up with a kebab. Long wait in the taxi rank. Quite often you'd be wearing half the Doner the next morning.
Apart from Northern Soul dances MEN DID NOT DANCE. Rave changed that.
For £25, (yes kids, pills really cost that much), anyone could be a star for the night. EVERYONE danced, and not round handbags. DJs were gods. The night started on Friday evening, and finished on Sunday night. Occasionally Monday morning. Violence went down. Friendliness went up. Nightclubs changed for ever.
The rave thing was mega.

EDIT. Raindance. Dust masks and Menthol. Dancing in service stations, cos clubs still shut at 2. Leeds Warehouse. ("Leeds- 2e's, l s d.") Castlemorton, where hippies met ravers, and got on a storm; the bastards had banned festies, and split heads at Stonehenge, but they weren't getting in here! The Spiral Tribe FFS! Love Doves. Dennis the Menaces. Roobarb and Custards. They say if you remember the 1960s you weren't really there, well I remember this period, every mad minute of it!
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:10, 17 replies)

Murder on the Dancefloor
Ah, student night. An excuse for our local shambles of a nightclub to rip off a new set of customers, this time to a jangly indie soundtrack in what could only be described as a bomb shelter under a multi-storey car park. In Bracknell.

"Two pints of bitter, please"

"We don't do bitter"

"Right, two pints of lager, please"

"We don't do pints"

"Oooookay... two bottles of pils, then"

"Ten quid"

Disgusted at the prices behind the bar, we decided to throw some shapes on the dancefloor to see if we could impress any passing young ladies.

Sadly, the only lady of any description was the local fat goth, in a black leather dress made out of at least half a dozen cows. She'd do.

A request for The Smiths got me dancing like a spastic passing a magnet factory to This Charming Man (a song that invites dancing like a spastic passing a magnet factory) in my ...err... rather unique style that resembles the moving parts at a wind farm.

It was this exact moment that the captain of the college rugby club (a huge rugger-bugger with a double-barrelled surname) took out a small mortgage for a round of drinks, and carried the entire tray across the dance floor to the rest of his equally beefy chums.

Despite the music being around 150 decibels, you should still hear the "SPA-A-A-N-G-G-G!" as my windmilling arms swiped the tray out of his arms and showered him with the most expensive lager known to man.

Time stood still.

Then he punched me in the face.

Then he punched me in the face.

Then, by way of variety, he kneed me in the groin, before punching me in the face again.

Mozza sang on about not having a stitch to wear, and the fat goth laughed.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:05, 10 replies)

Drunkenly strolled straight into someone and bumped foreheads with them
Apologised profusely and they did exactly the same.

I'd walked into a fucking mirror.
( The Helpful Bear, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 13:00, 2 replies)

I met some people off the net
and we went drinking and then we went to the Fab Cafe and we drummed on the tables and got shouted at by the bouncer and the following day was a complete write-off.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:59, 3 replies)

I've never been to one.
I don't plan on going. When ever I walk past any they are full of slutty women cackling or "big hard men" drinking lagger and looking "tough."

Suffice to say they seem to me the epitome of hell and I always hold my boyfriend's hand that little bit tighter as we pass. Just incase.

Now if this was half a decade or more ago it would be a different story!
( vix0r was not Matthew on, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:55, 4 replies)

A pretty picture
There's nothing like Halloween in nightclubs, especially when people get into fights. Seeing Death trying to rip Superman's eyeballs out of their sockets is not something I would have expected to see anywhere else.
(cypherspace is not a toaster, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:52, 1 reply)

You know you're getting old when you can't be bothered
to go out on the pull in nightclubs.

But to be fair, the older you get the more disposable income you have too...

Prostitutes are suddenly an affordable luxury (and they don't tend to vomit down your shoes either)...
( SpankyHanky, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:51, 8 replies)

Plenty, and (thankfully) only a few I can remember in real detail...
Jumping over a raised part of the dance floor to the lower part, only to land flat on my arse infront of everyone,

Heading to the toilet/wash area to find the floor flooded. Trying to slide though in a *cool* way, tripping over, leaving me with a very wet back.

Clapping a mate on the back, only to misjudge it, and end up slapping some random person's glass that they were holding, resulting in it flying forward and shattering on the ground (how it didn't hit anyone, I'll never know)

Much kudos to a mate of mine though; he spent about 15 minutes trying to open a glass wall panel that he was certain was a door. A few of us just watched and laughed the whole time.
( theoriginalsteve <this space intentionally left blank>, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:51, Reply)

Brixton Academy
1993, Orbital and Aphex Twin all nighter. My first ever time in The London.

Absolutely amazing night, then, when the lights went up...the living dead appeared. And they all seemed intent on giving me The Fucking Fear.

Scary bouncers only added to the confusion and rising sense of dread. I couldn't find my pals, but the living dead found me alright.

Strange thing about rave-zombies, but they all seemed to gay sex pests.
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:50, 1 reply)

Guessing eighth?
I've spent too much time and money over the years in nightclubs, drinking bad beer and making an arse of myself dancing like an epileptic, mid-fit.

The standard of hostelry has changed over the years, from the local dive in a bumfuck market town in the Midlands which used to serve people pints of line cleaner and contributed to the town being known as 'Dodge City' for the after-hours street warfare that used to take place, via the Warehouse-sized shiteholes of Cardiff when I was a student in the late 90's, playing 'pull-a-bull' with the Welsh rugby team and getting thrown out for being lineout lifted on the dancefloor to catch the free t-shirts the DJ was throwing out of the booth, to trendy London and Bristol clubs enjoying a *ahem* 'pharmaceutically-enhanced' time till the early hours of the morning.

I reckon of all of these places my favourite story of being a punter in a club is the night I stole the shirt of the back off the back off a Welsh Rugby Legend (not going into names here).

I'd been drinking (heavily) during the day at the Members Bar of the Cardiff Athletic Club, home of Cardiff RFC, right next door to the Millennium Stadium, with my brother and a stack of his mates behind the bar meaning they were terrible at taking money for the beer they were serving me. I was making myself popular with the ladies by blagging free drinks for them as well, and had a bevy of lovelies vying for my attention - well at least hanging around drinking for free.

The bar starts to thin out - I later find out this is due to the bar manager knew the Welsh Team, of whom I knew a couple, were coming in for a session, and was trying to get the 'riff-raff' out so they could cut loose without too many photo's being taken. I'm left alone as I'm a mate of the bar staff and the girls could stay as 'entertainment/eye candy' for the players.

Mr Welsh Rugby Legend and his team-mates wander in, and he is decidedly dischuffed to find his missus sat on my knee. I back-pedal rapidly avoid getting a leathering, and retreat to the safety of the bar.

Couple of hours later, after much more beer has been sunk , it's decided that we're *all* going to a nightclub in the Cafe Quarter, all are invited, no excuses for non-attendance alas I have no shirt to wear, which in Cardiff at that time meant you ain't getting in anywhere. My rugby mates assure me that this is fine and miraculously produce a rather natty, and highly expensive looking designer shirt for me to 'borrow'.

Too pissed to wonder where it's come from, I pull said shirt on and stagger round the corner to the club - the Welsh Rugby crew are in the process of blagging their way into the club when a shout of 'Oi!, That my fucking shirt!' comes from across the street. The team-mates start laughing, and quickly make me away that the reason they had a 'spare' shirt is that it was the one Mr Welsh Rugby Legend had bought along to go out in, and they'd nicked it and passed it on to me.

What do you do when being charged at by a 16 stones of Professional Athlete, with a reputation for having a short fuse, who's already pissed off with you for 'eyeing up his bird', and has just seen you over the road in his new shirt.

Ladies and Gentlemen - I ran - it's amazing how quickly you can go when driven by fear. I'm surprised he didn't manage to track me by the sound of my arsehole flapping as I legged it.

Still got that shirt as well ...

Worst thing is I've been playing out as a DJ for the last year by way of a hobby, so now voluntarily spend time in this sort of place - if anyone is going to the Big Chill you might hear me play ...
(Teiresias, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:48, 2 replies)

I am most confused!
- perhaps there was some form of management reshuffle.

Night clubs, I don't like night clubs, they aren't conducive to having a good old chat. However I have frequented them in my youth. I recal once, being both underage and being caught in the toilets hoovering something white and powdery up my nostril - only to be greated by a large man in a black flap jacket leaning a little too far over the wall to take a peek.

I was forcibly ejected.

I didn't snog the girl I had been chasing.

And I didn't get my space dust back.

Fun times though
(feedingtimeatthezoo day 1 of his bikini diet started, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:42, Reply)

Fourth?!
On a Wednesday!!!?

ON A WED NES DAY


O.k. not fourth but....

I can safely say I've been thrown out of most nightclubs in Edinburgh. What a wretched drunk I am...
( whenanimalsattackhumans clad in global hypercolour, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:40, Reply)

*steps gingerly onto dancefloor*
*DJ plays "Agadoo"*

*fucks off to bar sharpish*
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:40, 2 replies)

Third?
Maybe...

EDIT: D'oh!

And I bloody hate dancing.
( gareth_alien will be human again at, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:39, Reply)

It was the summer of 1985
and like a bloody fool, myself and two friends were working in Germany in a factory that made cocoa powder. It was something to do whilst we waited for our A level results, but my God it was hard work.

Every morning we would cycle 5 miles to work, which was mostly downhill. So every evening, we would cycle back, get in, pour ourselves a drink, fall asleep, wake up enough to make some food and maybe play 'Risk' and then sleep like dead men.

Thanks to being idiots who didn't check these things before we left the UK, we got taxed to the hilt and after rent had not much cash left at all. Our fellow-workers were much older than us, didn't speak English (only one of us spoke German) and so there was no "integration" between the cultures at all.

There again, my twat of a friend doing a Hitler salute on the shop floor didn't help.

However, several weeks in, salvation appeared to arrive in a load of German students our age who started working there as a summer job. They spoke English, and appeared friendly. Emboldened, we asked them what could be done in this small town on the weekends. Where, specifically, could we go to meet WOMEN.

Because you can imagine how sexually-frustrated three 18 year old lads were. Any half-decent woman in the factory would be the subject of hours of erotic reverie, and with the heat of the summer the testosterone levels were approaching meltdown.

So, when a guy our age told us to go the "XYZ" bar on Saturday night, we were frothing at both mouth and trousers. If German girls were filthy enough not to shave their pits, who knows what other perversions they might get up to ?

The Saturday evening saw the flat we were in get bombarded with near-fatal amounts of Blue Stratos, Brut and god-knows what else as we prepared ourselves to go out and pull for England.

The fact that we were 3 spotty herberts whose pulling power and indeed knowledge of females was all notional didn't stop us all from thinking that Tonight Was The Night.

With our meagre spending money in our pockets, we hailed a cab, which proceeded at light speed to drive us miles, and miles to the club our friend at work had told us about. Our worries about the fare took second place to our thoughts of getting some Fraulein action.

When we got to the club, the admission price was really steep. However, the admission included three drinks, and by this stage we were past caring. We paid most of our hard-earned cash to get in...

...and in the gloom, as we looked around the room, realised that we were the youngest people in there by a good 20 years.

Now, if I had known then, what I know now, that could have been a ticket to sexual nirvana.

As it was - our faces, hearts and dicks fell faster than the twin towers.

We spent all night trying to get the DJ to play something good (fail), found out additional drinks cost a fortune, and went home broken-hearted.

That work experience made me hate the Germans for years. I'm over it now.
( I_Was_Mordred, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:39, 1 reply)

Whut?
On a Wednesday?


Ohhhh - wait. You're planning on a short week, aren't you?


Reposts to follow...
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:37, 6 replies)

First!
Hmmm...

I really hope I'm not the only one to have fallen down the stairs, pint-in-hand, only to end up feeling like I've taken an early shower.
( Cawl, Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:36, 5 replies)