There’s no place in the world quite like Klute
Yet you keep going back
Klute was recently crowned the UK’s best worst nightclub in the UK: a reason to go, yet also a reason to avoid it like the plague. Whenever you tell someone you go to Durham the automatic reply is “Oh yeah, I’ve been to that really grotty club”. That would be the beloved Klute. No one night there is quite the same, yet some things will never change, as many alumni will tell you.
Your shoes are ruined
Unsurprisingly, this is not the place for Kurt Giegers or white Nikes. This is where you whack out those pumps you bought for £3 in Primark when you were 16 and found at the back of your cupboard whilst packing for Freshers.
Klute destroys your footwear. In fact, it is not uncommon for people to actually lose their shoes due to them quite literally sticking the ground and being kicked amongst couple hundred other over excited first years.
You will get covered in booze
Drinks get spilt everywhere. A third of that quaddie is on the floor, with the vast majority of the rest of it in some poor girl’s hair and some other guy’s eyes. Your white shirt is now pink and your fake tan makes it look like you’ve had an horrendous accident during formal. However, by the end of first year, you’ve learnt not to bother trying to drink once on the main floor.
If you can bear it until the end, you will link hands with something sticky next to you, and belt out this absolute corker. It’s been going at Klute for years, but you’ll be unbelievably excited and weirdly surprised every time it comes on. Let’s be honest though, you still don’t know all the words.
You’ll run into a questionable social
Some social, of some obscure nature, will be out the same night as you. This could be anything from a Harry Potter Appreciation Soc to some excessively large Bailey College Rugby Team.
Either way, they’ve been drinking for a solid three hours longer than you, can’t stand, are chanting, and are wearing something bizarre and quite possibly offensive. They will inevitably fall into you, and if you are anything less than 5 foot 7 you will be squashed, or picked up.
You will sweat
Let’s admit it, the place is overcrowded. It’s less dancing, and more swaying en masse like a giant pack. In return, you are drenched in not just your own sweat, but most probably that of another human. This, mixed with the double vodka and coke syrup that Nick next to you has just thrown over your head, will go unnoticed until the next morning, unless of course you have dared to do a sober Klute.
You will wake up with something you regret
This could be that guy from the year below you promised yourself you wouldn’t go near, or it could be a foot long sub with extra cheese. Either way, it will be smelly, you’ll be snuggling it, and it will be something you will stressfully have to deal with in the morning.
One time, you just won’t be drunk enough
There’s always that time when you won’t quite have had enough at pre’s, and dangerously yet bravely still venture out. You will last maybe 20 mins, realise it’s just too late to catch up and go home. The place is too wild and animalistic for the t-total you. Either this, or you will catch up too quickly and have a dramatic turn only to be taken home by 11pm.
You’ll make so many friends in the toilets
This is mainly applicable to girls who, after flying off the toilet and landing in something wet after realising the seat isn’t attached, will make a new bestie. You’ll share makeup, clean up a stranger’s cut knee and tell a sweat ridden girl with mascara down her cheek that she just.looks.FAB. A few days later, you’ll awkwardly brush past your new bestie in Flat White, forgetting the deep bond you once had.
Someone will cry in the smoking area
At some point during the night, someone will cry. You’ll dish out the usual words of comfort such as “Well, she’s obviously not your real friend, I am” and “He’s just such a dick”, then take her to the toilets to find strangers who agree. Either this, or the person crying will have absolutely no idea why they are upset but will have to be cuddled, bought an Urban Oven and taken home anyway.
You’ll leg it from formal, desperate to get that free entry before 11pm, only to arrive at 10:55 to find a bloody massive queue.
Does anyone actually enjoy these? They’re sickly, unnecessarily strong after a boozy formal, and are increasingly expensive every time we return. But still we sentimentally continue to order them with complete disregard for the consequences.
The Bar Downstairs
Did you even know there was a third floor in the basement? This hidden bar is rarely opened, despite the insufferable overcrowding upstairs. But it is there, to be discovered when some random alumni who left 5 years ago tells you about it on one of their numerous returns to the bubble.