Long live the Lash, the jewel in the Cardiff nightlife crown
Everything from VKs to vomit, what’s not to love?
Everybody knows that on a Wednesday there is only one place to be – The Lash. They can call it YOLO all they want, but nobody has got the sufficient gag reflex for that to ever catch on.
The Lash is a magical place. If you were to describe it you would never believe so, effectively The Lash is an ill designed hall, with a smell you just can’t quite place. But really, The Lash is a place where dreams come true.
After pulling on your designated Lash shoes and sprinting through Cathays with a can of Strongbow Dark Fruits in one hand and student ID in the other, you must now endure 10 minutes in an environment characterised by an extreme lack of personal space, a liquid splashing on your feet that you hope is cider, and at least one group of “best friends” who refuse to release each others hands despite being four feet apart. But its all worth it for the wondrous place beyond, a land of the heaven sent VK and glorious Nickleback anthems. And so it begins…
The absolute bangers
Serious question: why alternate the playlist when you can listen to exactly the same music week, after week, after week? There isn’t a single Lasher who doesn’t know that as soon as the DJ drops ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’ that means the Snack Shack is ready for business. When they chuck in a cheeky Lion King it’s time to lob the lightest person you know high into the air. And no one can say they haven’t shed a 3am tear when Robbie Williams brings us all home.
The beauty of the bar. Why dance your night away when you can spend 45 minutes unwillingly inhaling a sickly mixture of sweat, tears and Lynx Africa, whilst passive aggressively elbowing a six foot five rugby player in an attempt to hold your own? This is also the time to study the back of someone’s neck in full HD, because despite being average height you will always be the smallest in this sardine tin. But this Bushtucker Trail is more than worth it for the renowned bliss of that first sip of your tropical VK.
Although the Lash may seem a pit of mayhem, there is in fact a strict social structure that maintains this beautiful place. Everybody has their spot and by god do you protect it. Ladies Football dominate CULF Corner under the stairs, Optometry infest the VK varnished table tops, History shuttle run between the bar and the balcony, the edgy people do angular things in the Lodge and Rugby, well, they’ve usually pulled by 12.
The dark, mysterious booths hold the key to every Lash hook up. Littered with the discarded coats of those too cheap for the cloak room, the booths are the one place you can drunkenly engage in unimaginable activities without your friends (or worse your sports team) spotting your feral ways. And just to ensure you leave with absolutely none of your dignity, it will only be when you come up for air that you notice there are four other people having a DMC just inches away. Who needs boundaries anyway?
The upstairs is almost a parallel university to the shit show occurring beneath you. It’s the place you hide when you arrive just a little too early, and the bar that you convince yourself will serve you quicker than the brawl below. But mostly, it’s where you come to engage in a real life where’s Wally to find that one friend who’s only location description was a useless “I’m on the dance floor”.
The smoking area
Despite being called the smoking area, far more occurs out on this balcony than just begging for baccy. This concrete jungle will not only be the one place you will drunkenly bump into all your course mates who’s names you still don’t know, it will also be the place that holds every person you’ve ever hooked up with. The smoking area is the stage for every heartfelt DMC and every beautiful bitch fight, even Shakespeare couldn’t create the level of drama that goes down in this red brick arena.
No Lash is complete without the £2.60 VK making an appearance. Designed perfectly so you can hold four bottles at any one time with exceptional ease, there is no doubt that this is the drink of the people. Overcome by the array of flavours you will find yourself, more than once, begging for change because that extra 10p has fucked you over once again. And it’s no secret that other than a shit ton of sugar, nobody really knows what’s in one of these bad boys – but like that even matters.
When the power of the pre-drinks finally hits home there is only one place you want to be – the toilets. You will spend about 50 per cent of your night standing single file, bouncing around in desperation as the queue does not move. But when else will you spend half an hour sharing your deepest darkest secrets with a girl dressed as a penguin, to then start a fight with someone pushing past because “they just want to use the mirror”.
Is there really anywhere else can you enter a club dressed as Donald Trump, buy a drink for a lad who looks like a chicken, pull a girl disguised as an alien and leave with a pirate hat – if that’s not something to love, then I don’t know what is.
Overall it may be a little rough around the edges, but deep down the Lash has the power to show you what unconditional love really means.