My rant this week was going to be about something else entirely, but last night’s outing in my home town pushed me over the edge!
For those of you who have never heard of Warrington; don’t worry you will never have to go there. But just in case you were dying to know, it is located between Manchester and Liverpool. Yeah that’s right, two of the world’s greatest accents and cultures coming together!
Don’t get me wrong, there are far worse places that you could call home: Moss Side, Baghdad, The Bronx, Compton, Widnes to name but a few. But I guess the love/hate relationship one has with their place of birth is a special one. I could rant for hours about how shit this place is, but today I will be focusing on the not so fabulous nightlife it has to offer.
The problem with Warrington is mostly due to its inhabitants, a great deal of whom have never ventured further than Runcorn and never will. It means they are narrow minded, insular and more often than not moronic bordering on mental retardation! They also seem to be happy to show off the fact that they cannot form a constructive sentence without the F or C word as punctuation! And on a Tuesday night they all come out in force (because hey, the unemployed think nothing of going out on a school night).
Case in point: when the DJ in Flares asked if any students were going back to Uni soon, me and my mates were the only ones who put our hands up and said “hell yes”, so it turns out we are the only ones lucky enough to have escaped. I’m sure had he said “Is there anyone here who cannot read or write?” he would have got a bigger response!
Another problem is the music choice; whereas students will dance to anything no matter how cheesy or uncool (the number of times I have got down to the 5ive megamix in our union!), the general public won’t unless is a big fat dance choooooon with no words to speak of! I was actually appalled that no one even recognised the Rolling Stones ‘Brown Sugar’ in Flares!
I guess when you are used to being in a student town, it comes as a shock to see the Burberry Massive surround you in a club. To have them look down on you for requesting the Baywatch theme tune and to see them even think they have a chance with you! I also died a little inside when I heard the chav haven of Mr Smiths was open until 3 in the morning now because it means that they loiter around in my favourite club (McCauley’s) for a lot longer – thus meaning I cannot enjoy rock night.
A night out here always involves a big Catch-22 dilemma. In order to enjoy yourself you must be shit-faced, however if you are shit-faced you always end up making life miserable for the most sober person or you end up going too far and getting past ‘fun drunk’ into ‘everything sucks drunk’. And as I found out last night, being depressive drunk in Warrington just makes all the other piddling crap in your life a million times worse.
So in short, if you live here you have my sympathy (I suppose I can extend that to all the other towns in the wasteland between Manc and Scouse territory). But I wouldn’t worry; if you are intelligent enough to read this rant then you will already be planning where you want to live after you graduate.