Thursday, 10 September 2009

Revolution/Metros: One of Those Nights...

[Another post about a night out (albeit this one being written whilst sober and contemplative, and therefore less likely to be inflammatory/interesting).]

Worth mentioning the queue outside Revolution (Revs to the affectionate locals); it can be fairly impressive. You'd think we were a massive congregation eager to gain entry to hallowed grounds, instead of the young and reckless 18-24 demographic that exists purely to drink and pull. That said, Revs is probably the Mecca of Cardiff students on Wednesdays; everyone goes there, and everyone loves it. Apparently.

Thing is, once we got in (including a queue jump that put me roughly 80% closer to the door than if I'd gone to the back of the line like a good boy, it still took the better part of two, cold, sober-as-a-cadaver hours), all that awaited was another torrent of standard club music, a dash of cut-price drinks, and a critical mass of the drunk-n'-loving-it crowd. "What a party," you might say; "what great times you must have had," you might think. Nah. Average as it gets, just busier. Why Revs is so beloved is beyond me, but that's probably because I'm imbalanced, or something. Clearly.

Although seeing some of the old Howell's gang was nice, especially some whom I hadn't seen in a damn long time. Revs isn't great for catching up and chatting, but it'll do, I s'pose.

Mike and I got fed up fast, and ditched the happy-go-lucky revellers in Revs (and Nick, suffering from various ailments, elected to go home, I believe). After a short, impromptu sprint down St. Mary's Street (the rectum of Cardiff), we found ourselves outside Metros, which is very loveit/hateit.

If Revolution is the Cardiff student's Temple of Solomon, Metros is its Golgotha. It's a stinky, stuffy, sweaty, nasty dive of a place, and I wouldn't have it any other way. My kinda joint, where the music's good, the bar staff are plentiful and friendly, and the conversation is worthwhile. Met a host of people, told a host of jokes, and Mikey did his thing with the girls whilst I indulged in some third wheel scoffing over cigarettes. Met Sam Newman again, too, which was nice (she even remembered me, my short-lived band, and our enigmatic/awful first-and-last performance).

Ended up in/near Roath, at the house of a group of charming ladies who befriended Mikey and I; the rest of the night dissolving into funny anecdotes, exchanging of music/TV show/movie preferences, and the ever-present sounds of other housemates having social discourse of an entirely unsavoury manner.

Then Mikey disappeared in the middle of the night, and I scared a returning tenant as she encountered me asleep in her bed. Fun times, lads n' lasses.

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