It was Saturday night. The clock had just struck eleven pm and already half the city of Swansea was being carried to a taxi by their friends, or very embarrassed other halves.
As for me, I was standing in the middle of the smoking area sitting down in an uncomfy chair making my way through a pack of cigarettes, taking in my surroundings. Drunk people were dancing, shouting, taking selfies for Instagram and gossiping about their ex partner who had just entered the room.
I couldn’t help but remember that that was me once upon a time. A Saturday night was the one night a week I’d mark down on my calendar, eagerly awaiting the day I’d get to jump on the train from Llanelli and head in to the place I then considered ‘The Magical City’ full of foam parties, raves and hardcore hippy lesbians who led an army of neon coated followers into the dancefloor where the night would fly by song after song.
These days a Saturday night usually consists of a bunch of friends, a DVD box set and copious amounts of junk food and cigarettes. I’m not exactly living life on the edge, and for that I’m now known as something I’ve dreaded since I picked up my first cocktail. And that word, ladies and gentlemen, is BORING.
But as I asked more and more people, I’ve realised that I’m not the only one making this choice on the weekends. From my research I’ve learned that ‘Sofa’ is the new ‘Wind St’, and ‘Tea’ is the new ‘Tequila’!
Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy a night out when there’s a good reason for it. Birthdays, new jobs, exam results, new home. All of these come around months apart in the space of 12 months, and returning to the ‘club scene’ can be enjoyed once in a while. I’m only 22, and I know a lot of other people my age still enjoy going out every weekend. Nothing wrong with it, of course, but give me a cup of tea any day!
But is it me that’s got boring, or is it the environment in which I’ve chosen to ‘party’ in? Once upon a time this town hosted club after club, and when I’d just turned 18 there was plenty to choose from. My personal favourite was Le Caprice, but these days I’m hearing about people ending their night in one of the most exclusive, VIP clubs you can find. Bar Luna.
For those of you who didn’t know, I’m being sarcastic. I’ve never been to Bar Luna. I haven’t felt the need to. But I wake up every Sunday morning to see that place being mentioned on the internet in pure regret. But if people don’t like going there, then why do they? Are they afraid that catching a 12am taxi home would make them like me? Boring? Are they worried that one bad night out would turn into a string of nights in?
Either way, I’m writing this to admit something to myself. I’m growing up. The big lights of the city no longer tempt me. The booming bass of a club song no longer kicks my heart into overdrive, and those hardcore lesbians I mentioned? I don’t think I even have them on Facebook anymore.
Instead, I’m off to watch old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, instagram pictures of my food and curl up with a good old cup of ‘Tea-quila’!
Boring? Maybe. Content? Definitely.
Until next time.
Can YOU Help?… we have a small favour to ask. More people are reading the West Wales Chronicle than ever but advertising revenues across the media are falling fast. And unlike many news organisations, we haven’t put up a paywall – we want to keep our journalism as open as we can. So you can see why we need to ask for your help. The West Wales Chronicle’s independent, investigative journalism takes a lot of time, money and hard work to produce. But we do it because we believe our perspective matters – because it might well be your perspective, too.
If everyone who reads our reporting, who likes it, helps fund it, our future would be much more secure. For as little as £1, you can support the Chronicle – and it only takes a minute. Thank you.