Clubbing in the Highlands versus Glasgow
It’s a close competition
Leaving uni for summer and being subjected to nights out in the Highlands again can make you feel like you’re still 17.
Parents eye your clinking bag with suspicion as you skip out the door on your way to pres where there’s a lot of old acquaintances just waiting to be awkwardly bumped into.
But just which is the better night out: Glasgow or the Highlands?
Although part of you misses the edgier music you’ve grown used to in the big city, nothing is better than actually knowing the words to every chart remix the DJ in your local plays – brilliant.
Either that or the music will be live, because if we’re being honest, you’re more likely to end up at the local ceilidh or gala dance than an actual club. Ah well, nothing wrong with a Proclaimers cover and some heel-toe heel-toe.
If there’s one thing Glasgow does right, it’s alcohol. But forget more fancy shots from Tingle or buckets from Jelly – cider and watered-down vodka are as exciting as it gets up north.
Not to mention how horrified you’ll be when you’re charged any more than five pounds at the bar.
Nothing is £1.
The Drunken Feast
Although most of us have grown tired of waking up in a cramped halls stinking of pakora or discovering the remnants of a subway tucked under our pillow, your heart still sinks when you realise every takeaway joint in the Highlands is long-closed by the end of the night.
Alas, you must make your way home for some tea and toast. Admittedly this option is both healthier and cheaper, but as you sit in bed munching unsatisfactory burnt bread part of you lusts for some greasy chips and cheese from Blue Lagoon.
No need to scrape the pound coins out from the bottom of your purse for a taxi home like you would at uni, because the lift back is on your parents.
Unless you’re giving petrol money to that guy who’s always offering lifts on Twitter (but he should always be the last resort).
The day after
This is when you miss your uni friends the most. No longer can you and your equally-ruined flatmates meet in the kitchen to chug down water, relive the evening and fester in your onesies watching Netflix for the rest of the day.
Instead you send a meek “Who’s alive?” to the group chat and find yourself spooning your dog on the floor for moral support in a house of judging family members.
As well as this, there’s no classy club photography to look forward to appearing on Facebook. Any evidence you have of your social life back home turns out to be blurry and tragic iPhone photos unworthy of your uni mates’ timelines.
The hangover cure
In Glasgow there is a world of wonderful hangover cures: Nando’s, McDonald’s Di Maggio’s and the speedy delivery of a Domino’s all at your finger-tips. You couldn’t ask for any more.
But then again, back home you have your mum’s Sunday roast to look forward to all day. Yeah, it’s a tough choice, but this one goes to your mum’s roast potatoes.
Really, both places have their perks and it becomes ever-harder to choose between the rural village and the big city. I’ll just have to enjoy ceilidh dancing and earlier nights over the summer, and look forward to WNB, Shimmy and cheesy chips in September.