I know I shouldn’t say this but Cardiff nights out are better than Bristol’s
The land of my fathers…Strongbow, sick and sheep shaggers
Picture the scene. Last night I strolled home after a night out down £40, with sick in my perfectly coiffed hair and my heels stuck in a drain somewhere outside McDonalds… and all I could think to myself was that it was good to be home.
My friends, welcome to a Cardiff night out. It’s an experience many of you will never get to know for yourselves, and has led to some of the most memorable nights out I’ve ever had.
This place is like the land of Oz to any wavey student. When friends come to visit I can hear them gasp: “No one is on MD!” Later they’ll whimper “Am I under-dressed in my ironic Hawaiian shirt?” as they watch the herd of body-con dresses bleet on by?
As someone who has spent many a night in the bright lights of Cardiff, I can tell you that no night in Bristol has ever matched the weird and wonderful sights the land of my fathers has blessed me with.
Have you ever seen your Physics-studying friend threaten to punch a professional cage fighter in the face? Have you ever fought over a cab with a drunk potential Pontypridd MP candidate at four in the morning? Have you ever nicked a “Police do not cross” tape from a crime scene and attempted to wear it as a necklace?
No? Well these are some of the most colorful scenes I’ve experienced down the ‘Diff.
The nostalgia I have for Cardiff nights out will never be trumped. Imagine being the lucky so-and-so who gets to go to a Russell Group University while still getting a gorgeously grimy night out as well. It shouldn’t be possible really.
The closest to Cardiff’s strip of clubs you’ll get are the clubs you turn to in desperation on Park Street, but even those can’t compare to the real thing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of Bristol’s nightlife but nothing will ever beat the feeling I got when I first got into the queue for “Pryzaaam” and got heckled by a 14 year old with his brother’s ID who thinks he’s “well aaard”. Or the feeling of walking barefoot through a kebab shop and smelling the sweet scent of that post-night feast of meat of a questionable nature. Or watching a Welsh rugby fan preparing to pounce on an away-team fan in the local ‘Spoons.
The great thing about a Cardiff night out is that there’s no way you can be pretentious. After all, isn’t there something more honourable about a woman subjecting herself to wearing heels, than a Malborough kid attempting to look homeless?
The music in Cardiff varies from top 40 hits to school disco vibes, the kind of stuff you’ll ironically dance to in Bunker. In Cardiff though, we take those tunes seriously.
So leave your Adidas trainers and windbreaker at home and kick out your shirts and heels instead because the girls from Porthcawl on a hen do haven’t got any time for your vibey garms and will tell you as much while they’re straightening their hair in the toilets. Yes, that’s right: there are hair straighteners in the toilets of Pryzm in Cardiff.
It might be nostalgia, my own bad taste or because I’m bitter I haven’t had a good night at Motion yet, but I still yearn for those Strongbow-soaked nights in the Cardiff city centre. Until I’m back there this summer all I can do is get trollied in my bucket hat in Lounge and hope someone will sing along to Busted with me.