Trifter

This little tale always begins in the Wrong’un Weatherspoons opposite where anyone going starts their pre-evening drinks, to warm up those converse dancing shoes, where for one night only the bar is not filled with old men drinking drowning their sorrows to no music but instead with eighteen year old year skinny jean boys drinking Magners and ’raved-up’ indie girls. It normally gets to around nine-ish when this little friendly face turns up to warm you over to Bar Affinity (the original bar where is Club Sushi held), this joyful eccentric character to the regulars/locals is know as Roki… the DJ and organiser for this so called evening, dragging you over the road for a night of indie-wonderland.

You enter with the usual “Have you got any ID?” by the over large bouncers but the usual discussion in the queue is ‘Did you put me on the guest list?? If not anyone who hasn’t turned up who’s name I can use?” Club Sushi has a rule; if you get there before nine-thirty, you get in for free, you may think it would be empty…but no! This is not the case, everyone in this bar is looking to save that extra three pounds entrance free for that drink you always have no cash for at the end of the night. As you enter the place it is like walking into the program ‘Cheers’… everybody seems to know your name, if it’s your first night there you will leave knowing everyone including the barman Mikey (with his speciality drink he makes for everyone; white wine with a shot of half vodka, half tequila dropped in shot glass, in which you have to down in one while being encouraged by the young scene girls at the bar. Me and my pals have nicknamed this drink ‘The Mikey‘ because he is the only person we know that makes them so well).

As soon as you enter the place you find yourself drawn to the smoking area, no one has had enough to drink yet but just a certain level of alcohol to bond with strangers, you will meet random characters in this place. Girls in fancy dress for no reason, drunk emo boys with no purpose but to talk rubbish to you that makes no sense but somehow it does on the night after that seventh sambuca. It gets to your round but one the way to the bar Pendulum starts blasting from the speakers, you can’t help but let the gravity pull you towards the dance floor to jump about like no one is watching. It’s like a mini mosh pit, with the well built body guards of the bar watching over you with a close eye, so it’s controlled but mayhem. As Kurt Cobain wanted to call Nirvana in it’s early days; organised chaos! That is the best way to describe this place.

This place is not open long enough for it’s reputation, closing at a pathetic midnight because it’s a bloody Thursday, but by ten you have met everyone drunkenly in the toilet and exchanged names without washing your hands and forgotten them by the time you’ve got to the bar. Then that melody comes on met with the lyrics “I’m coming out of my cage and I’m doing just fine!”, the dance floor is a mess and the door staff are looking bored in the smoking area. The original song cannot be heard from the sound system as everyone is singing along, forming little cycles of community to jump with. You seriously cannot help but down your drink and join the nearest group, which they welcome you with opening arms. You make best friends for three minutes to this one song until it ends when you finally find you pals for the last two songs of the night. A ‘Monkeys’ song and a ‘barn mosh dance’ to Flogging Molly! You know you night is complete when you have nearly been thrown off your feet by some drunk emo boy who spins you with his ‘cock-eye-joe’ style dancing. This is the place to be on a Thursday when you cannot wait for the weekend, and fancy spending the last day of you nine-to-five job hung-over.