Review: BLACKOUT

The name is rather too accurate – various people have come up saying, “WHAT happened?”, “I did WHAT? With WHOM?” But I suppose that is precisely the point – scandal lines the path of champagne-fuelled excess. And the benefits of an event unashamedly professing alcoholic amnesia is that it serves as a very convenient excuse for all sins, especially when standing the scrutiny of the morning. And for those truly devoid of a clue, pictures are unfortunately worth a thousand words.

Tickets were stratified into Classic, VIP, and Executive tickets, reflecting typical St Andrews’ taste for exclusivity. I confess, I did not see a single ‘Classic’ person. Clearly everyone was a thoroughly Important Person. The champagne reception at the Scores Hotel was a heavy one – I was introduced to the concept of ‘double-fisting’, which I understood to be holding two glasses at the same time. Some were even balancing a third – oversupply, while not intentional, did us well.

Admittedly some of the best moments were on the rather long double-decker bus trip there and back (a good half-hour) – raucous singing, spicy conversations, and a overflowingly jolly mood. The biggest snobs had the pleasure of cruising down in a limousine, the VIPs on double-decker busses, and I’m not entirely sure as to the Classics – perhaps on foot?
The trouble of hefty drinking beforehand is a very strained bladder, an ailment for which the bus offered no relief – but perhaps my own weak constitution is to blame.

However it is this lengthy trip which allows Blackout to stand out in the St Andrews events line-up, for choosing a very different venue to all other St Andrean parties – none other than Grundee, the much-feared town across the Tay – a town which boasts an actual nightlife. The club itself, ‘Liquid’, was a large, self-contained building. The VIPs and Executives were shepherded up to what had the feel of a large airport control tower (in a good way) with views down on other parts of the club. Here, large quantities of Moët were served until courtesy supplies ran out, after which attendees had no qualms in ordering many more. Committee members circulated, pouring vodka into the mouths of bewildered guests, tickling the embers into a full-blown fire.

Blackout kept its promise of delivering complete alcoholic paralysis – a combination of grimy nightclub coupled with decadence and suits. A roaring night of debauchery: recommended, unless you face a 9 AM tutorial.

Photos courtesy of LightBox