Bunker Sport’s Night

The undercover cynic is back. After observing the snowsports and the Netball teams, he is taking no prisoners.


A remarkably homogenous cohort of people, the Snowsports teams won’t fail to repetitiously tell you how much better it was going out in Val d’Isere than in Bristol. Shut the fuck up. They clearly aren’t imaginative enough to break the status quo of going to Bunker every Wednesday; I don’t place any value on their opinions of what constitutes fun, and their continual derogatory comparisons between Bristol and what they perceive as the social and cultural utopia of an overpriced bar up a mountain. Yawn.

Cultural Apocalypse

Cultural Apocalypse

No one tells them to their face because they tend to be fairly well-intentioned but we don’t want to constantly reminisce about the ski holidays of old. It’s painfully dull. The exclusivity of this incredibly expensive hobby is made even more infuriating by the insistence that they cannot understand why anyone would holiday any different. The sanctimonious pity they bestow upon those of us who spend our holidays being as inactive as possible is tiresome. I am comfortable enough with the company of those around me to not constantly be in need of an activity, especially when I’m on holiday. In Bunker, fortunately their gap ‘yah’ stories are drowned out by the hordes and the music.

I would rather be here.


High Culture


This lot’s ability to drink shames most other sports teams, coupled with their predictable behaviour that shames themselves and anyone who contributed to their upbringing. No one needs to get that drunk. Maybe it’s the fairly boring nature of their sport that makes them so determined to go wild and carnal every Wednesday, leaving no chance of them waking up in the morning with any of self-respect.


Imagine if this was your daughter

The hordes of Netballers travel in packs. They are always incredibly tactile with their teammates, hanging off them in fear of being left behind, probably a rational concern when they are so hammered they can barely put one foot in front of the other and are surrounded by violent, predatory males. Caked in sticky drinks instead of makeup as they are often forbidden from wearing it on sports night, their giddy and exhausting hyperactivity means that by about 1 o’clock few are to be seen.


Is Britain in decline?

Next week: football and sailing