Every stage of your tragic night out in Eastbourne
Getting pissed and emotionally reminiscing that Year two trip to Priscilla’s with your BFF
While Eastbourne is viewed by many to be simply a geriatric seaside resort, the younger population of the town (those not alive in WW2) will be able to tell you that a great night out, is in fact, possible. Though we may not have the fancy clubs and trendy bars of our friendly neighbour, Brighton (and to a lesser extent, Hastings), at least we don’t have to pay nine pounds for a double Malibu and coke, leading to paralytic behaviour, hangovers and some great memories.
You will pre drink. Oh my goodness how you will pre drink. Armed with cheap booze from Kass’ convinience store on ‘mate’s rates’ you will head to one of three of Eastbourne’s free prinking locations.
Someone’s house – for all weathers
Pros: Inside, classy, grown-up.
Cons: You run the risk of ruining your friend’s mum’s pristine white Laura Ashley sofa.
The Beach- Scenic and central to town
Pros: The gentle lulling of waves and a beautiful view of the charred remains of the pier.
Cons: Will almost definitely be attacked by rabid seagulls the size of cats and/or have pebbles thrown at you by miffed locals jealous of your lack of Oxygen tank.
Gilly Park – for the loose crowd
If sitting in inky darkness to the sound of people taking drugs and getting it off is your thing, this is your perfect location.
Warning: Someone from Chavendish may throw flash bombs in your general direction.
No matter where you prink, there will always be that one person who goes too hard too fast at the drinking games and ends up as the nights liability and ends up chundering in the club/taxi/on you.
The sacred trail from Spoons to V bar to the cocktail club and onwards
Once everyone is suitably drunk, it’s time to head out into town. First stop is the classic, Spoons. The social hub of adolescents this is a place to see people, and to be seen. Be careful to wander into the ‘nice’ Spoons, as there are several in town that are less than satisfactory with their health and safety levels/general hygiene.
After a few G and T’s, some people watching and admiring the fancy sinks, it’s off to V bar for one pound shots and jugs of cocktails. You will become best friends with the drunk girl you meet at the bar, but treasure the moment because you will never see her again in your life. There will probably a fight, there will certainly be crying girls. Depending on the level of drunk, some may choose to go to the Eastbourne Cocktail Club and spend ten pounds on teeny tiny cocktails, though personally I have never gotten THAT drunk on a night out. Then its off to one of our three clubs, Atlantis (on a burnt pier), TJ’s (just dead), or Cameo.
Cameo is our Mecca
While Cameo can be considered the ‘Sharknado’ of clubbing, once past the dodgy geezers with walking sticks, it can be a right laugh. The line is never very long, and Terry the bouncer is a top notch chap. You will have to wait for one of your friends as they decide to get a garlic kebab BEFORE going in (note: possibly the same one who can’t handle their predrinks).
For a sweaty mix of hormones and obscure rap songs head downstairs, where you can watch your mate get off with five guys in a row, beg the DJ for a special request and perhaps if you’re really lucky get your neck licked by the Italian guy grinding on you. For those who prefer not to be continually groped or stared at by men old enough to be your father, there is the upper floor, which granted is more quiet, but plays those belters (white girl trash) that everyone secretly knows the words to.
You will see people throwing up, pathetic attempts at moshing, and quite likely one of your teachers, which just makes Monday unbelievably awkward. If breathing isn’t your thing, make sure to check out the smoking room, but make sure you can “lend us a fag mate?”
The McDonald’s afterparty
So, the last song had played and you have managed to prise your feet off of the sticky floors. Now what? Time to get some grub. Skipping the massive lines of the Kebab shop next door, you think yourself a real smart ass by walking to the one by the train station. Only to discover that it shuts as Three. One of your friends may cry at this point; “I just want my cheesy chiiiiips” – Vicky, but it is essential to regale and hit up Maccie D’s.
While there you may also be pleasantly surprised to find a private school girl buying everyone burgers. Then its off to the taxi rank to deafen Steve’s ears with your moving rendition of Robbie William’s “Angels”, before popping off to bed.