Popworld = Flopworld

Perhaps no other student hotspot divides opinion as much as Popworld. Indifference towards the club seemingly does not exist; or at least it is extremely hard to find.

For some a visit to Popworld takes them on a trip back to the giddy heights of early adolescence like a time machine steered by the producers of ‘NOW That’s What I Call Music’, while for others just the thought of stepping foot into the place is the stuff of nightmares.

I happen to align with the latter.

The Music.

The phrase “everything in moderation” could not be more relevant and correct than when discussing Popworld. It is not so much the genre of music that is the issue, more so the active refusal of the DJ to provide even a second of relief from the night-long barrage of school disco classics.

I just wish someone would tell the extremist in question that there is much more to pop music than the cheesiest of the cheese section. Spread your wings disc jockey.

Please stop enjoying yourself. You’re encouraging the DJ.

Formations.

More pressing than the issue of music itself is the hypnotic-like influence it has over the behaviour of the Popworld ultras.

Yes, I am talking about the circles.

For one reason or another, as soon the dancefloor fills up it becomes a place of ritual. Like sheep the ultras flock into circular formations; from there you are pressured to mimic the dance moves of those within your circle or risk temporary outcast status.

There’s also a pole.

There is nothing even remotely fun or friendly about these circles. They are cold, brutal places. You are expected to conform or be labelled a miserablist.

In times of such despair the likes of DJ Casper and Las Ketchup provide a welcome opportunity to integrate into new, more liberating formations.

The cost of drinks.

This place may be cheerful, but it certainly is not cheap.

While momentarily distracted by the basic mathematical problems found in the lyrics of Busted’s Year 3000 your mind is elsewhere; you are vulnerable.

Hmm… Something isn’t adding up here.

It is in such moments that you do not realise just how much money you are spending on the drinks you are buying.

If, like me, you rely on the effects of liquid confidence to carry you through the evening this becomes even more of a dilemma.

The crisis of generations.

Perhaps the most troubling aspect of a Popworld night out is the composition of those you encounter. It is an absolute melting pot of age brackets.

Normally such diversity is something I would celebrate, but in this case it leaves asking yourself a number of pressing questions. Examples being:

“Who is the odd one out here? Me or the middle-aged man half way up the pole?”

“Hold on… is that one of my lecturers?”

“Are hen nights always this raunchy?”

Of course I am not suggesting that the older clubber is not allowed to step foot in Popworld. The point I make is descriptive, not prescriptive;  the distinct lack of a dominant age group is rather unsettling.

Popworld – Home to the sassiest bouncers in town.

Maybe the real issue here is my social inteptitude and innate inability to have fun outside my very small comfort zone…

Nope. I’ve thought about it. Popworld is still absolutely awful.

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