Can someone please explain to me why Northerners do all these things on a night out?
Why am I still drinking and why am I covered in gravy
The North of England is a paradise, a magical place where Greggs and gravy reign supreme and the frosty countenances of London and the Home Counties are replaced by smile and “y’alright loves” and saying thank you to bus drivers.
Yes, there are things which take place north of the Watford Gap which just don’t make sense to people anywhere else – and never more so than when we’re on a big, messy Northern sesh.
And guess what? Here they are.
REFUSING TO WEAR A COAT, EVEN IF THE WEATHER OUTSIDE IS SUB-ARCTIC
Coats ruin outfits and coats cost money in the cloakroom. Coats are for the weak and if you’re not willing to risk getting pneumonia you need to have long, hard word with yourself about your life choices.
TURNING UP TO PRE-DRINKS WITH YOUR STANDARD BOTTLE OF ROSÉ, PROSECCO OR SAUVVY B
No night out has truly begun until you’ve stopped by to the offy to pick up a few bottles. Obviously it’s either Blossom Hill, Echo Falls, or Barefoot if it’s on offer. Every. Single. Time.
SPENDING MINIMUM OF ONE HOUR PRE-DRINKING TIME METICIOUSLY PLANNING AND EXECUTING YOUR NIGHT-OUT PHOTOSHOOT
Everywhere else in the world, the “teapot” photo pose was abandoned after the teenage years ended. Up North, however, it’s alive and well.
The obligatory pre-drinks photoshoot will be conducted with military precision, in which the troop of girls will line up to have their photo taken one-by-one against the unattractive backdrop of a bathroom door/bookcase/sliding patio window/staircase. They will then have photos taken in random pairs, and eventually all together.
Someone’s mum or someone’s mum’s friend will inevitably be taking the picture, and they’ll say something like “ooo girls you all look lovely.” Damn right we do.
THROWING UP, BUT SOLDIERING ON
Even though you spent the latter part of predrinks slumped next to the toilet, crying, with your hair stuck to your face, you’ll inevitably get a second wind and end up joining the rest of the group at the club.
Only Northerners could do this with such elegancy and grace.
WEARING HEELS ON EVERY NIGHT OUT WITHOUT QUESTION
Why would you ruin a perfectly good outfit with a pair of trainers? Blistered toes and tripping over is the price we pay to look this damn good.
HIRING A MINIBUS AND ACTING LIKE YOU’RE CINDERELLA IN HER GOLDEN CARRIAGE
Some say pre-drinks are the wildest part of a night out. They clearly have not witnessed 10 very drunk Northerners wailing to ‘Show Me Love’ (it’s always this song), at everyone in the queue next to them at the traffic lights. Pre-booked mini-buses are carnage.
USING THE BUS THERE AS AN EXCUSE TO BE LAIRIER THAN YOU’VE EVER BEEN IN YOUR LIFE
Only Northern people understand the cultural significance of piling to the back seats of the bus on the way out. In fact, this rich tradition is so much a part of every night out, it’s almost as good as the club (injuries aside).
All it takes is one person to shout “There were two on the backseat of the bus…” and the rest will follow. Oh and one person will always smoke because why the hell would you wait ten minutes until you get off?! It’s just not an option.
ONLY TAKING A TENNER OUT
Down South you’d need at least £30 or £40 for a decent night out. Here, you can spend £3 on the taxi, £2 on entry and the remaining fiver on all your booze for the rest of the night. You wouldn’t have it any other way.
DOING PHOTOSHOOTS WITH NICE POLICEMEN
They’ll pretend to cuff you, they’ll let you wear their uniform – everyone’s so friendly in the North that they’d probably let you piss about with their guns if they were allowed to have them.
In contrast, try getting a photo with a London policeman any time other than Notting Hill Carnival and you’re looking at 25 years to life.
MAKING FRIENDS FOR LIFE IN THE QUEUE
You’ll be chatting away to the lasses in front and the lads behind about your sex life and your lost loves like you’ve known each other since birth. You’ll tearily decide you’re now BFFs.
Once you cross the threshold of the club, you wouldn’t even be able to pick them out of a crowd.
GETTING A TABLE, AND THUS ACTING LIKE YOU’RE MORE IMPORTANT THAN ANYONE WHO HAS EVER ENTERED ANY CLUB
You booked it last week, and if anyone even looks at one of the chairs we will flip. We might look like we’re having a great time, but if some random guy tries to get involved we will turn to stone until he walks away.
GOING TO GREAT PAINS TO ENSURE YOU ARE DRINKING AT EVERY SINGLE POSSIBLE MOMENT
At pre-drinks, you held a wine glass in your hand at all times – even when you were using the toilet. On the ride here, a half-drunk wine bottle was nestled firmly between your legs.
In the queue you downed the last vestiges of whatever you and your mates still had and wouldn’t be able to get in with; since you’ve been in the club you’ve either been drinking, in the process of buying a drink or queueing for another drink.
SPENDING EVERY TRIP TO THE LOO COMPLIMENTING EVERYONE IN YOUR VICINITY
DRINKING SAMBUCA, NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU ABSOLUTELY FUCKING HATE IT
Why do we do this to ourselves?
THROWING UP AGAIN, BUT STILL SOLDIERING ON
Same as before, but this time you’ll be being sick in the club toilets/club toilet sinks/corner of the dancefloor as your friend holds your hair back.
And yet you still won’t need to be taken home. Is there such a thing as a third wind?
CHANTING LIKE YOU’RE IN THE AWAY END AT A FOOTBALL MATCH
YOUR DEFENSE IS TERRIFIED, WILL GRIGG’S ON FIRE. NA NA NA NA NA NAA NA NA NAA NA NA NA.
PULLING, AT SOME POINT, WITH SOMEONE, BECAUSE IT’S NOT A REAL NIGHT OUT IF YOU DON’T
Yeah they’ll do.
REFUSING TO LEAVE THE CLUB UNTIL THE LIGHTS COME ON
Only when Angels by Robbie Williams or the Baywatch theme has been played will you considered dragging your feet off the sticky dancefloor and wandering through the sweaty, choking smog into the Baltic air outside.
EMERGING FROM THE CLUB INTO A PEDESTRIANISED STREET WHICH LOOKS LIKE WORLD WAR III
Either that, or a Hieronymous Bosch painting. Come on, tell me this doesn’t look like Liverpool city centre on a Saturday night.
FIGHTING WITH THE BOUNCERS (OR WITH EACH OTHER)
Someone will get punched in the face. Someone else will take their top off for no reason.
There’ll be one girl in the background whining Liiiaam, Liiiiaaam as one of the guys gets wrestled to the floor by several doormen.
GOING BAREFOOT ON YOUR WALK TO THE CHIPPY
You’ve tottered around in your heels all night like a sturdy mountain goat, so you’ll be damned if you have to keep them on in your desperate search for scran.
GETTING BEHIND THE COUNTER FOR THE LOLS
Laura! Laura! Take a picture of me and the boss man!
CHEESY CHIPS AND GRAVY
Nowhere else in the world (except maybe Canada) would you get such a sloppy, gloopy, gloriously beige mess of the three best foods in existence. Chips. Melted cheese. Thick gravy.
Separately they’re excellent; together, they’re heaven on earth.
LOSING ALL SENSE OF CLASS WHEN YOUR FOOD IS READY
As soon as that warm styrofoam box enters your hands, any sense of pride you have left goes out the window. Your worries and fears melt away in this precious moment where your only priority is demolishing every last drop.
You’ve got mayo on your cheeks, ketchup down your new dress and there’s nothing wrong with taking a seat on the floor to make sure you get the job done right.
WAKING UP IN BRADFORD
Or Widnes. Or Huddersfield. Basically just waking up the next day, in bed with someone you don’t know, in a location so bumout and rural and far from where you live that you’ll need to get two buses and a train in a bodycon dress and full face of makeup to eventually get home at 2pm.
And still you’ll do exactly the same thing next time you go out.
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