Regretfully this is not really a reference to the film that came out earlier in the year, though perhaps after reading this, you would find a zombie outbreak to come as a welcome relief. We humans (and semi-related species) are social animals, and slowly we wait for the weekend, working in various offices or call centers, clock-watching so that we can hit the streets, the booze and then afterwards, hit each other.

Oh, and also attractive people drink so they can do naughty due to being scared of letting themselves go while sober. Ugly people drink to forget that they can’t do naughty with attractive people.

One of the most popular locations to achieve the above list is something called a nightclub. Many places around the world often have a variety of nightclubs, all with wonderful names such as Yates, Sound, Plate, Andrex, Spam, Tampon and Ball Sack to name a few of the famous ones. Nightclubs often feature the following;

Big blokes at the door designed to make you turn your underwear brown before you’ve done anything.

An overally elaborate electrical system all contributing lighting and smoke, to enhance the nightmare.

Drinks which cost the same as a BMW.

A guy in the toilets which judge you if you don’t pay them while you wash your own hands without requiring their assistance.

A woman employed to wander around selling vodka shots, while appearing happy on the outside, clearly dead on the inside that this is all they can currently achieve in life.

There are many more fruitful things to note about the “clubbing” experience, to whit we will refer to a recent outing to a location in Leicester Square, as “Exhibit A.”

I suppose that for years, the idea of clubbing never really got me in the way that watching naughty films did.

You see, the whole thing involves wearing underpants slightly over your £400 jeans, throwing your hands in the air like you probably don’t care or something and then collapsing in a puddle of your own vomit outside. Seems the race to drink only seems to kill you quicker as opposed to ensure that you have a wicked time. “Ah you should have come along man, your arm would have rotted off after the 12th pint.”

It had been some time since the last visit therefore given prior knowledge and lack of success before, one had to woinder if anything had changed in the years that had passed. The music in nightclubs these days still tends to be just a mix of songs played by a bald bloke who has never eaten anything other than pot cakes from Amsterdam through a music system so loud that various things in the room could start bleeding violently at any time, which includes the building itself.

Now granted you can get different clubs with different types of boom-boom but really you just get a mixture of “house” (Not performed by buildings or Hugh Laurie), trance (not sure what the hell this is), garage (handy for storing the car) and hip hop (performed by people with dislocated leg bones). How you can tell the difference, is beyond the comprehension of normal minds as the only way to tell if the music changes is when everyone cheers.

Then again the crows also cheers when they are asked by the skinny DJ bloke “Is anyone celebrating a friend’s birthday?” at 127 times an hour. If you were to scream out “Who here is celebrating getting off a rape charge?” you’d get the whole room cheering too.

The last thing which is most confusing is that people seem to fine squeezing into cramped spaces when music and booze is involved.

How often to do you find that people that say “excuse me” as if your very presence near them causes the mass genocide of a third world country, and yet in a club (oh and public transport, though it’s still advisable to be just as drunk on the tube to get through the experience), it’s perfectly fine to be that close. Still the sense of fear of other humans remains however, and I still get the look every so often that signals “you do not belong here outsider”.

Though perhaps I look at nightclubs in the wrong way. There is some comfort to be had in the fact that certain types of people will be the only ones to frequent these establishments. Perhaps in time we’ll be able to engineer them into make shift “Hotels California” so they arrive, but never leave. A man can dream.