We hate to love it: the stages of a night out in Level

This is so you

Everyone knows every Level Wednesday always begins and ends in the same way. Reluctance, too many vodka mixers and so many regrets.

“Fuck it, Level tonight?” 

After missing your Thursday 9am for the past three weeks, you’ve convinced yourself you’re staying in tonight. A small part of you actually believes it. You’ve muted the group chat, opened a Word document in the hope of starting your 3000 word essay and even checked whats on TV tonight just for decoration.

But then the persistent texts and aggressive phonecalls come rolling in. You find yourself succumbing to the peer pressure as the £2.50 vodka mixers call your name.

Now, you’re late. 

All this should I/should I not shit means you’ve actually had no time to get ready. Your housemates already look like 10’s and you’ve not even got both eyelashes on yet. All of this means you’ve got to play catch up at pre drinks. The thought of Level sober isn’t worth thinking about, so the only option is to down your bottle of Aldi wine, before having a few shots in the taxi for good measure.


Selfie or it didn’t happen

Then, you queue. 

There’s nothing as soul-destroying as the Level queue. An experience that’ll leave you with so many questions. Why do the Cool It boys have such an attitude? Why won’t they let me in guestlist? Why are they carrying umbrellas… it’s not raining? Who are those girls in the window? Is this a strip club? Will this queue ever end? How am I now sober?

After an hour (literally, an hour) you’re at the front. Only for the bouncers to ask for your student card which you’ve left at home, classic. After offering to pay off their mortgage, getting up last years exam results on Blackboard and eventually just crying… you’re finally in.


One of you will get lost 

Where the fuck is Holly?


You buy two drinks at a time, every time 

You forget about Holly. She’ll be fine. You stagger your way to the very crowded bar, where the queue is a mile long. Usually you might be prepared to linger around, but you can hear a mediocre Chris Brown remix on level two and you’re just not in any mood to be a good human or make any friends. As you push yourself and your mates to the bartender, it looks like the two girls in front are just gonna have to wait. Sorry huns.


Every time

For all your time and effort getting to the front, the only option is to all order two drinks. (Bonus: you can’t text your ex with two hands full).

You’ll reach level two

Chris Brown soon turns to Skepta and Skepta soon turns into well… you’ve got no idea what the fuck this is. It’s what you’d imagine an underground grime night would be like in the ‘ends’, but a really shit private school version. The vibe is aiming for North Weezy, but really all we’re getting is North Chelsea. Trying not to spill their blue VK, hungry for a record deal with JME, the AU teams are spitting “bars”.  In the words of Chip, don’t try and knock their hustle cause they’ll be knocking yours. Realist.


Tell my man shut up

And then before you know it, you’re on the stage 

As half the dance society are up on the stage, performing like they’re in the fucking West End, you obviously think you can do one better. You and your mates ask the bouncer to help you up and before you know it you’re slut dropping in front of the entirety of the club. It’s all fun and games until you clock eyes with a drunken one night stand from second year.

You’ll end up on level three

You’ve avoided level one because theres not a single lyric and everyone’s dancing like they’re at a school disco, but on crack. Yet by 2am you’ve somehow found yourself stumbling up the stairway to hell that is level three. There’s more characters than Disneyland and predictably they’re playing C’est La Vie by Bewitched. We’ll say no more.

Cheesy chips

As the lights come on and your real face is exposed, there’s nowhere you want to be more then that takeaway on Bold Street. The intention is just to get a portion of chips, but theres more deals than your local ASDA so you end up coming home with a bargain bucket for two with a side of cheesy garlic bread. Diet starts Monday.


You ok hun?

You’ll miss your 9am 

Here you are again. You’ve lost your bank card, your dignity and your heads spinning. You’ve already missed your alarm, the thought of running for the 86 makes you feel sick, so it looks like you’ll be catching up on Blackboard for the fourth time this semester.

And then, you’ll do it all again next Wednesday…