The Tab Tries…A Night With Northern Soc

For those of you who’ve seen some Bruce Parry’s brilliant documentaries for the BBC, where he ventures into the hostile depths of the South American rain forest to live with far flung tribes isolated from the ways of the modern world, the gravity of a night out with Northern Society might be quite apparent.

Traditionally Exeter had been protected from the baying hordes of Northerners by the great wall in which it is encased. They can in fact still be spied today clambering over the parapets at dusk in search of our deck shoes and percolators. But the University has proved quite permeable to them.

The Duke of York was the meeting place, a pub readily avoided by the average Exonian but seen as apt in this case. I managed to spy the society by guessing they were probably the ones under 45 wearing t-shirts with slogans like ‘It’s all gravy’ on the back. I was greeted warmly by the chieftain / society president who introduced me to some of the key members and reminded me of the deals on vodka shots (it was roughly 9 o’clock).

Circulating the group it seemed that the Northern Society members not only had a good grasp of Radio 4 English but they were in fact quite affable and even managed to give off the impression of being fairly normal. They took to the karaoke stage with brilliant gusto and courage, many weren’t even drunk but seemed to actually enjoy it. One admirable member scuttled off early in the session to drop a cool rendition of Tom Jones’ ‘Delilah’ to an audience of absolutely nobody, only to casually return to his pint, making no particular fuss.

There was a distinct absence of frothy bitter and chat about hard days working at the lathe, and despite my best efforts nobody wanted to play darts with me. Despite all these obvious failings everyone was ‘Northern in spirit’ by being pretty sociable. I managed to have a good conversation about the assets of Bisto with one bloke and the convenience of those really big Yorkshire puddings with another, whilst a different guy told me he was actually from Cornwall and wasn’t really a member but just tagged along for the socials.

After a storming performance of ‘Wannabe’ by the Spice Girls the president called time and everyone flocked to Arena. The club has a mystic ability to suck the personality out of the most effervescent so the spirit of the north was somewhat quashed by the dank stink of beer-soaked carpet and sweat. A couple of members decided to engage in some traditional sparring before entering the club, there wasn’t much conviction behind it so I gathered this was just a pre-club ritual.

I didn’t last long in Arena because it’s not for me, but on leaving I saw a loyal school of Northerners
pumping away on the dance floor. As they thrust and flailed amidst the banks of rigid Southerners it seemed quite evident that a strong dose of Northern charm in our bastion of Southern culture might well be a good thing after all.