Here’s how your Bunker Mondays will change during first year
Ah Bunker Monday, that time-honoured Bristol tradition. What was once the finest establishment in the west; the gift that kept on giving; the place that kicked off your week with a bang and a hangover; is now the night which is just a little bit shit. But why?
Well, it unfortunately seems to be a case of “it’s not you Bunker, it’s me”. While you’ve remained the same, we’ve expanded our horizons beyond those 00’s D-floor bangers and £2.50 Jägerbombs.
But, with the club now being taken over by new owners (again…), it seems only fitting to give them a helping hand, a bit of constructive criticism. So here is a step by step guide into the mind of Bunker Monday devotee, before and after having discovered it’s just terrible.
THEN: At first sourcing that all important ticket required skill and finesse. As you tracked down the local BNOC to snub yourself a golden ticket, you felt like a hero among men as you walked away with your physical, glistening in the early evening sun.
NOW: Your entire flat is a seller so it’s a case of who you can wangle the most free beers from that decides where you get your ticket. Alliances are challenged and bargains are to be made, but in the end no one’s a winner, because you’re all going to Bunker Monday.
THEN: You whip out those freshly cleaned trousers from your Sunday wash. Slip into a bold branded t-shirt, so the ladies know that Briz boys have taste. You’ve showered and spritzed on a bit of CK One Shock unisex edition, to let em know you swing both ways. There’s no chance you won’t pull tonight looking this freakin’ fresh.
NOW: You remembered to put on a bra, and have a bit of sick in your hair leftover from the weekend’s antics. You’ve run out of deodorant but luckily someone’s got some Febreeze in their room to hopefully mask the fact you not showered in five days. You look terrible, but no one’s coming near you because they’re all in relationships now anyway.
THEN: Drinking on a Monday felt ever-so-cheeky. “God I hope mother doesn’t find out what kind of horseplay I’m really spending my maintenance loan on!” you thought to yourself, as you strawpedod the last of your £6 yellow tail shiraz.
NOW: Drinking in the toilet because your rooms are too small is no longer a novelty, it’s grim. As you stare at the piss stained pack of cards that once were the source of some top quality drinking banter, you wonder why you sacrificed the last of your food allowance for a bottle of Frosty Jacks.
THEN: As you banter with the bouncer, you’re certain you’re going to be best mates by the end of the year. It’s a pain in the ass when Ollie realises he’s left his ID back at the ranch, (classic Ollie) but he’s bounced back on the 16 and will meet you inside (absolute Legend). The night must go on after all.
NOW: You’re freezing and half a bottle of gin hasn’t made you nearly drunk enough to withstand the cold. The queue hasn’t moved for 35 minutes and you’re worried that the Bunker mafia (alleged Bunker Mafia) are going beat you up and start a riot. The bouncers hate you because you chundered on their shoe last week, and you sigh in jealousy as Ollie gets to go home because he “forgot” his ID.
THEN: All the classic hits are getting you mother-loving turn’t! The music is like blood through your veins as you dance your ass off trying to impress that Busty Badock chick who’s definitely giving you “fuck me” eyes.
NOW: After hearing DJ Khaled’s “all I do is win” for a fifth week in a row, you can’t help but wonder who is really winning here. And having been to Blue Mountain that one time, you discovered that the only music that actually matters is drum and bass, a fact you proceed to mention to absolutely everyone.
THEN: Carly’s feeling generous so its VK’s all round (bloody love Carly) and you down it in one because you’ve got balls of steel. Later, you lean over the bar as far as possible in the hope of getting a freebie. They won’t budge tonight, but you’re certain an unbreakable bond will be formed by the end of the year and they’ll be pouring tequila down your throat.
NOW: Ordering a drink is like the crystal maze as you frantically dodge the barman that you shagged last week. They didn’t text back. You were invested.
It’s safe to say that Bunker Monday is an acquired taste. A taste which unlike wine and cheese, doesn’t improve with time. But alas there is hope! As the sun sets on one group of disillusioned freshers, more will come in September to relish in all of Bunker Monday’s temporary form and glory.