Everything that will happen to you in the LCR

You hate to admit it, but it’s Damn Good

club freshers lcr nightlife party uea uni unio

If you’ve never been to the LCR, then what are you doing with your life?

As ever, we’re on hand to help you prepare for what will undoubtedly be the stickiest, ugliest, most glorious night of your existence.

You’ll be spending the whole day prior to the LCR either a) being persuaded to go out or b) persuading others to go out because everyone’s going out tonight.

Before you know it, it’s the evening. Put that seminar reading down – it’s time to get your LCR outfit on. This will consist or your pretty dirty, one-more-wear-before-wash jeans and a going out top (because, come on, you’re looking to pull).

You’ll finish up with those LCR essentials, your most trusted trainers – these beauties have gotta last the night on that floor, for God’s sake.

Staple outfits

Time to predrink. Hard. Everyone’s gathered in the kitchen and out comes the lambrini, Tesco Value vodka, Aldi own brand beer and 20p mixers. On comes the Skepta, Bieber, Disclosure and a group singalong of Hotline Bling.

Bevved up and raring to go, you get to the LCR to find a long queue and make a mental note that next time you’ll come 10 minutes earlier, knowing full well that you won’t. Prime LCR time on Tuesdays is a solid 11pm, while on a Saturday you should aim for midnight.

You’re in. You’ve made it. Your feet are already stuck as if the floor’s quicksand and you decide to take a quick pee to get it out the way for the rest of the night, unknowingly breaking the seal. You’ll be coming back every 15 minutes from now.

Looking at the bar, you decide you need one more shot to do you for the night. Game face on, you join the horde at the bar and begin the battle to the front. Anyone who tries to push in front of you is getting the death stare. This is a warzone, goddammit. Eventually at the front, every bartender is getting intense eye contact until someone gives in and you get served. Might as well get a double while you’re at it.

Shots down, drink in hand, it’s time to dance. Everyone knows the middle of the dance floor is the place to be. OK squad, into formation. Single line, holding hands, elbows out. You fight your way in past some unwilling shoulders and dirty stares. Who cares, the gang is looking fierce tonight and your song just came on.

You happen to lock eyes with the cutie in the next group as Reach for the Stars comes on. Unsure, you look away and take a glance back to see they’re still looking (the club sign for a possible hook-up). The best dance moves come out and the flirty eyes are on as you continue your club courtship, when their friend starts walking round to you with the same flirty smile. Shit, the flirting ricocheted. Now you’ve got to make the decision: original hottie or hotter friend?

Turning to your group, you grab your mate and do the quick twizzle so you’ve got a buffer. Wingman game on point. A few washing machine snogs later, and you’ve decided you made the wrong choice with original hottie. See ya.

It’s hot, like seriously sticky, Amazon rainforest hot. Beckoning your mates, a few of you work your way to the smokers’ area for some air, whilst a core group hold the prime position for the few minutes you’ll be away for.

Feeling cooler, and a little choked, you leave the cage and go into Blue Bar. The thought crosses your mind – you might as well get another sambuca shot while you’re there. Oh, and two more cheeky VKs while you’re at it.

Drinks in hand, Blue Bar music is buzzing. You’ll stay for just one song.

40 minutes later you’re working it on the dance floor and have somehow accumulated two more to the squad (those mates you know from your lecture/flat party/ friend’s friend).

Shit, you probably should go back up. Two average songs in a row and it’s decided- blue bar’s lost its charm. Back up you move past the never-ending stairs, swaying into everyone as you focus on the top step.

Blue bar vibes

Looking out from across the steps you can’t see your crew and it’s gotten hella busy but you’re sure you’ll find them once you’re there. In you plunge. Feeling proud, you and your blue bar mates make it to the middle – and you should feel proud as it got dirty back there, the claws came out and scratches were made – but you realise you can’t find the original gang.

However there’s no way you can get out now, and there’s no way in hell you’re giving up this place. You check your phone to see there’s only 20 minutes left, and at the same time find all those messages from an hour and a half ago: Where are you? We’re still in the middle. You okay, you still here? Coming down to smokers to find you. Shit, okay, a simple message back: in middddle upstwrs. That’ll do. Phone away, 20 minutes to go, dance moves reach the next level.

Last song comes on, the arms go round the shoulders and you look at your somewhat changed group: the core few, the blue bar huns, and those ones you met at the steps by the toilet. It’s changed a bit but with Champagne Supernova in the background you’re loving life and EVERYONE IS YOUR FAVOURITE PERSON. You’re so glad you came to UEA and you think everyone should love it as much as you do.

Lights on. Immediate scurry for the doors.

Regroup in kitchen. Toast on. Rehashing the night – That was the best LCR since Freshers omg didn’t you love it omg can I have some of your toast too, yeah?

Unable to hold your head up, it’s time to go to bed. Alarm is set for your 9am tomorrow. You’re going to have so many regrets in the morning but right now you just don’t care.

Post-LCR sleep in the Hive

And you know you’ll do it all again next week, too.