Wahoo!

3 06 2013

Wahoo

One of the major problems with getting older is that you still share head space with your inner 18 year old self. This moronic hitchhiker lodged in the darkest corners of your brain, simply refuses to acknowledge the passing years and the changes that they have brought with them. However, as I discovered last week, the illusion that nothing has changed can be shattered in one night out.

I recently discovered that a night out in student town Brighton is no place for four 30-somethings. There quite simply was no place for us. But the egos of our inner 18 year took a massive hit.

The shocking realisation that our tastes have changed started with lunch at “Wahoo”. It was difficult for me to identify what exactly there was to “Wahoo” about. It was apparently a sports bar/nightclub. During the day it was empty, which makes me question the decision to open; there was the faint spell of cigarettes despite the fact that you can no longer smoke inside and we had the dubious pleasure of visiting during daylight hours enabling us to see it in its full splendour. Tired décor, graffiti inspired artwork – on the inside of each toilet cubicle, I might add – barman wearing the appropriate company dress of baggy jeans, dreadlocks and multiple tattoos. Perhaps a night out in this venue would have been entirely different or 10 years ago we would all have fitted in completely. But sad as it is we have grown up.

I should add that the service was excellent, the barman was delightful and the food surpassed expectations.

The illusion of our eternal youth was further shattered when we attempted a night out. There were literally no bars that could accommodate four people in their 30’s. One bar boasted a meal deal that seemed to include three shots vaguely masquerading for a starter, main and desert and ever worse a family pack that included a selection of different beers, wines and liquors – what kind of families tend to visit???

The highlight of my evening was in the ladies perched precariously over the loo holding the door shut only to have an 18 year old force the door open to check whether I was a member of staff or not and having established that I obviously did not present a risk to her proceeded to tell me in detail about her plans to roll a joint in the next cubicle without drawing attention.

I loved visiting night clubs “back in the day”.

I loved the grimy, seedy atmosphere and the alcohol infused sweat dripping from my body as I stomped across the dance floor to loud music featuring screaming men and epic guitar solos.

But now, I am ready for something different. I am not quite ready to join to 6 o’clock club who religiously frequent their local buy the same drink every evening en route home from a day’s grind at the office. But my days of tolerating alco-pops and the inability to communicate with the people I came out with has definitely passed me by…thank the lord!

 

 

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