Everything that happens on a night out in Leeds

Whether you make a rare appearance at Warehouse when uni gets tough or you’re a five-day-a-week warrior, never too far from one dancefloor or another, there are some things that will inevitably happen on every night out in Leeds. Most importantly: you’ll wake up sometime mid-afternoon wearing the remnants of last night’s make-up, sharing a bed with an empty chip box, and looking forward to doing it all again.

Canal Mills

There’s likely to be glitter. In fact, there’s almost guaranteed to be glitter. And if there’s not glitter, you’ll spend the first half an hour of your night complaining to your best mate about the lack of glitter. Forget how annoying your sober self finds the stuff when two weeks later there are still flecks of it lurking in your bed; right now, you’ve had one too many swigs of lukewarm Lambrini and you’re dying to reveal your inner disco ball. The taxi definitely cost you at least seven pounds and the ticket was another ten (because someone forgot to get first release), yet at the end of the month you still won’t believe the number of card payments you’ve made to Uber, Ticketarena and the bar, all from that one night out when you lost your phone and destroyed your liver. If you’re a guy, you probably breezed in and out of the toilets twenty times throughout the night (those damn Red Stripes), but if you’re a girl, each trip took a solid twenty-five minutes of queuing, losing friends and eyeing up the empty men’s with an expression of pure jealousy. Don’t even get me started on the one-per-cubicle rule.

You rock that glitter, gal

Donuts at The Faversham

It’s a Thursday night, you’re too cool for Mission, and your flatmate swears they once saw the elusive free doughnuts. (I have spent nine sweet evenings at Donuts this year, and I have never experienced this phenomenon.) In actual fact, the only doughnuts you’ll probably ever see at Donuts are the cardboard and inflatable ones that signal the arrival of the photographer. No matter how sober you think you are, that photo is going to prove otherwise; blame the one fifty sambuca shots and the two fifty vodka mixers. If all that wasn’t inspiring enough, the Fav is situated perfectly so that the prospect of pulling someone who lives in Charles Morris becomes exponentially more enticing than ever before. Sure, the walk of shame through campus on a busy Friday morning isn’t exactly ideal, but you wore jeans and a t-shirt out, and save for the cider stain on your collar and your suspicious lack of a bag, nobody can actually tell what you’ve been up to. Spend minimal time in the toilet/smoking area corridor and you’ve probably got yourself a decent night out.

Inedible, but still technically a doughnut

Space

You go to Beckett. Or, alternatively, you fancy boys that do.

Wire

What’s that I hear calling? Oh yeah, it’s 2009, reminding you that your emo phase is over. There is no limit to the amount of times you can hear Mr Brightside, apparently, and you’ll scream along to it shamelessly whether you’re drunk or not. They play every Kerrang! and MTV Rocks hit of the noughties on repeat, and before Christmas they intersperse the occasional Mariah Carey banger to further your identity crisis. Should you bring your scene fringe back? No, please no. Will MCR ever get back together? Maybe, but you’re twenty now, and you really don’t need to see them live… again. There’s a wonderful atmosphere of camaraderie surrounding the place, because you’ve all carefully altered your Facebook privacy settings to remove evidence that you were ever fourteen, but you’ll still show people the pictures to prove you’ve always been edgy. Sadly, you’ll never be able to find Wire sober unless you’re a Geography student, because it’s a six-mile trek past the train station in that weird no man’s land that isn’t Hyde Park, campus or the clubs half a street away from the Trinity centre. On a cold weekday evening, however, it might as well be right outside your door, Bowie blaring and alcoves beckoning: enjoy.

Black and white like my soul

Quids-In at Pryzm

You like the comfort of having a McDonald’s two doors down from you at all times; by two AM you can no longer stand the sound of Ignition and are dying for a Big Mac. We won’t delve too deep into why you’re out on a Monday – you’re either a fresher, a non-fresher trying to cling onto the last threads of first year, or you do a BA, because we all know Bsc students are the only ones with actual contact hours – but you’re up for a good time as long as you’re in bed by half two. The drinks are a pound, entry’s a pound, the Maccies saver menu is a pound, but with the number of beers you’re capable of putting away, you’ll have gained half a stone by the end of the year. It’ll be fine, though. You can burn it off by shivering under a bus stop, fighting the eighteen people around you for one of the two surge priced Ubers that are available.

Fruity at the Student Union

Nobody ever makes a conscious decision to go to Fruity. Unless it’s one of their rare special occasions – an anniversary, a discount night – you’re guaranteed to buy your ticket the day before when you realise you have nothing better to do than “Fruity?” Drinks are dangerously cheap considering the dance floor is down a flight of stairs, but at least with a vodka-Red Bull in each hand you can’t drunk text your ex or punch that girl you’re not keen on. And, because you do go to this university occasionally, finding your way home from the Union shouldn’t be too difficult, three AM and seeing double or not. If all else fails, you can always have a two-day nap at the bottom of that strange wavy statue near the Great Hall. You’ll stroll into your Monday nine AM feeling perfectly refreshed, and the only excuse you’ll need is “Fruity” for your poor hygiene and terrible life choices.

Photos by: Justin Gardner Photography, Donuts photo from the Taking Liberties Facebook page, PLAYGROUND photo from the PRYZM Leeds Facebook page