An ode to Concert Square: We miss you

I would do anything to eat cheese, chips and gravy waiting for a taxi rn

Clubbing is just so bloody missed. The freedom of turning up wherever you want, queuing for a bit, and mixing with other households covered in sweat – how foreign does that sound? Gone are the days where you text a mate asking what they’re wearing to an event that night, or planning how much work to do today so you can afford to write-off tomorrow thanks to a crappy hangover.

With hopes of a vaccine and Liverpool moving down do Tier 2, I know I’m not the one getting my hopes up here. Will us final years get a graduation? Will we have one final piss-up which ends up with one of us vomiting by the Bombed Out Church? The uncertainty is driving me insane but there really isn’t anything we can do about that, sigh.

Without further ado, here’s what we’re missing the most about our beloved dignity-losing hotspot:

Club hopping

The amount of money I would pay right now to be able to have the drunken argument with your mates about which club to go to first – “We’ll just get McCooley’s stamp and then we can come back later.”

Concert Square was literally the hub of a cheesy night out. You were and will be again hopefully, guaranteed a boss night out if you were going there with your mates.

I’m not saying all the clubs are good clubs but the freedom to hop between them all is a luxury that has been sorely missed. Oh, how I miss slipping down stairs and waking up with bruises.

I even miss getting those bloody free shot vouchers (has anyone ever used those?) and finding them the next day as evidence of where you were last night.

Chatting shit in the toilets

Sorry, this one is for the female toilet users. The gossip. Jeez, I need to hear another girl scream “JUST FUCK OFF” whilst pulling off her lashes to really know normality has returned.

The friendships and the gassing up those bathroom mirrors have seen are unparalleled. Concert Square also has the luxury of being a haven for hen-do’s so let me tell you when a 40-year-old woman tells you how gorgeous you look, you take that compliment and run.

Cocktails in some tacky plastic cup

Does anyone else remember those tiny cocktails you get in town that come in shit plastic cups? They literally taste like watered-down fruit squash and definitely don’t have alcohol in them, but damn didn’t you feel like a baller when you ordered a round of them?

Sitting under those heaters and waiting 40 minutes for them to arrive – I would trade my degree for that.

Bumping into everyone you’ve ever met at Liverpool

Remember that feeling when you’re walking through Concert Square, there’s a whole crowd of people you’re battling through, and then out of nowhere, you hear someone shout your name like you’re a long-lost lover returning from war? Is this too specific?

Nothing would make the night better when you had that excited, jabbering conversation with the mates you didn’t go into town with. Now the only time you bump into your friends is in Asda and you have to awkwardly stand opposite one and other and wave.

Kebab shop chips

Last but certainly not least, the greasy, cheesy Styrofoam box of food you bought from one of the kebab shops in town. Oh. My. God. You cannot beat it. Do I even need to go on? That feeling of basically just eating salt at 3am when you can barely see straight is the best. Late-night snacks have been downgraded to cereal.

So, Concert Square, old buddy, old pal, we miss you very dearly. I speak for the entirety of the student population when I say: We can’t wait to be back.

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