Your Edinburgh night out, in starter pack form – obviously

Starter pack culture is at its zenith, no one is safe

Is there anything more comforting than receiving a message with tentative plans of how you’re going to end up off of your face tonight? Not really.

Are you more casual pints or 3-day bender? Rascals or a Bongos kinda gal? Big Cheese or big sweaty flat party? Don’t even tell me, let the starter packs answer for you.

“Casual pints” at Tron 

Ah, Tron. Once a 2-pound pint haven, now akin to a Pinterest wedding board. If you’re lucky enough to find yourself here for some Tuesday night karaoke you’re either 50 or 18 – starting a mosh pit in the middle of the pub while a group of five girls try and simultaneously scream ABBA into one microphone.

The night will inevitably end in Sneakys where the jaeger bombs will hit you all at once and then you’ll have to take yourself home in a taxi and tell yourself that you’re never ever gonna try and do a semi-burlesque performance to Spice Girls again. I’ll see you next Tuesday.

Creme Soda

It’s Wednesday night. You’ve successfully made it halfway through the week by doing the bare minimum and decided to treat yourself and the squad to a cheeky Creme Soda, a George Street staple. By the fifth shot of bubblemint flavoured vodka and third hour of dodging unwanted advances from the Rugby seconds you try and catch some fresh air in the “smoking area” (which is way to small to hold such a large amount of puffer jackets) and your baccy gets knocked out of your hand. Defeated, you go back to the table your fittest mate finagled to see two first years getting it on right over your jacket. After stealing the entire cup of Haribo starmix at the bar, it’s time to call it a night. You’ll go back next week anyways of course, viva Creme.


It’s Thursdaaaaayyy – could only call for one thing, Rascals? You try and fail to skip the queue – but comfortably padded in your Goose you huddle along with everyone else until you get to the front and start shouting abuse at the bouncer because you’re on guestlist or something. Once you get in you try and navigate the sea of flawless contours until you find your mate-of-a-mate’s table and start downing tequila shots.

After running into your “course mate” you haven’t spoken to since first year in the bathroom and telling them that they look absolutely incredible and that you should totally meet up you order pizza at the bar (GENIUS) and continue slurring the words to One Dance. After pestering the photographer to make sure you and your mates look positively peng you remember you have like a 9am tomorrow or something and head home. Bellissimo.

Your mate’s DJ night at Mash House/Bongos 

All your mates are buzzing  – the gyals have got the biggest hoops and the waviest garms. Your obsession with horses in primary schools has now evolved into a love affair with ket. Disposable cameras at the ready, you’re peaking, this is it. Until it’s 6am and you’re at afters stuck in a semi-comprehensive conversation with your mate’s mate from home about how everyone’s parents fuck everyone up no matter how hard they tried. Enjoy the comedown tomorrow hon, it’ll be over soon.


Speaks for itself really.