Ipswich clubbing
Here we are, one foot into the first Saturday in Ipswich since my return some five days ago, here we are on the verge of tasting Ipswich weekend life.
Luckily, the county council is still providing us with top notch entertainment at the Corn Exchange (the local independent film venue) where the Beer festival is winding up to a glamourous end.
While some of the bunch, led by beer-addicted Mark (from Holland, aka Small Mark although he's no midget - at least by my 172cm standards), wreak havoc in the Beer festival, Laurine and I go for a movie at the UGC, recently redubbed Cineworld. Tonight's pick is a movie taking place in the Australian outback: "Wolf Creek". It turns out to be rather interesting and the intrigue is not as easy as one could think.
After wandering off to the other side of the world, we emerge out of the cinema at about 11:30, by which time all the local pubs are shutting their doors, pushing unwilling customers to the local clubs, not that there are such a great variety of discotecas in Ipswich.
Clubbing is truly a phenomenon, specially in England, even more so in little Ipswich. I barely ever went clubbing in Lyon (France) but here it seems quite an experience. For starters, people walk in a loudly conspicuous fashion in the streets. It seems, for instance, every Saturday night is Carnival night. All the lasses from the surrounding neighborhoods come pouring down the old Cattle Market to Pals, Ollies, and Fire & Ice (it took a while to figure out it was Fire & Ice and not Fire Nice... Both sentences sound similar) dressed as Wonder Women (which I'm sure they are) Cat Women, and above all police officers, bobbies and cops... This is by far the most popular theme, and it's hard not to spot a Blonde wearing but a simple black short - very short - skirt with a black & white checker belt, a white blouse and a police officer's cap. As a matter of fact we actually own two of those fabulous caps in this house.
It is amidst this festive ambience that Laurine and I decide we should join the others for some clubbing fun, and of course we decide to hit Pals where the other are allegedly (don't ever try calling anyone on a clubbing night. Either they have forgotten their phones, can't hear you because of the music, or have run out of batteries. Yes clubbing has a tendancy to drain your cellphone battery. After queuing for a couple minutes outside Pals, we walk to a bouncer who requires to check my ID. You see, this a no-under-21s- club, and although I'm well over 23 I still need to prove I'm not 16. Unfortunately, Laurine being only 19, we get bounced off and redirected to the kiddie club, Fire & Ice.
The latter may sound much more exciting than the first one but it is by far much duller as we soon find out. As we go in, we have to show our Ids to prove we're indeed over 18. Once in the club, Laurine and I head for a drink at the bar. The music - if it can be called as such - is rather horrid and, nodding to each other accordingly, Laurine and I drink up our beverages before heading home 30 minutes barely after we arrived at the club.
Once home, cosily installed in the "sunroom", we start up a game of chess only interrupted an hour or so later by Alex's return home, somewhat tipsy after a night out at Pals. Before long, Laurine heads back home and I drift off to sleep.
Luckily, the county council is still providing us with top notch entertainment at the Corn Exchange (the local independent film venue) where the Beer festival is winding up to a glamourous end.
While some of the bunch, led by beer-addicted Mark (from Holland, aka Small Mark although he's no midget - at least by my 172cm standards), wreak havoc in the Beer festival, Laurine and I go for a movie at the UGC, recently redubbed Cineworld. Tonight's pick is a movie taking place in the Australian outback: "Wolf Creek". It turns out to be rather interesting and the intrigue is not as easy as one could think.
After wandering off to the other side of the world, we emerge out of the cinema at about 11:30, by which time all the local pubs are shutting their doors, pushing unwilling customers to the local clubs, not that there are such a great variety of discotecas in Ipswich.
Clubbing is truly a phenomenon, specially in England, even more so in little Ipswich. I barely ever went clubbing in Lyon (France) but here it seems quite an experience. For starters, people walk in a loudly conspicuous fashion in the streets. It seems, for instance, every Saturday night is Carnival night. All the lasses from the surrounding neighborhoods come pouring down the old Cattle Market to Pals, Ollies, and Fire & Ice (it took a while to figure out it was Fire & Ice and not Fire Nice... Both sentences sound similar) dressed as Wonder Women (which I'm sure they are) Cat Women, and above all police officers, bobbies and cops... This is by far the most popular theme, and it's hard not to spot a Blonde wearing but a simple black short - very short - skirt with a black & white checker belt, a white blouse and a police officer's cap. As a matter of fact we actually own two of those fabulous caps in this house.
It is amidst this festive ambience that Laurine and I decide we should join the others for some clubbing fun, and of course we decide to hit Pals where the other are allegedly (don't ever try calling anyone on a clubbing night. Either they have forgotten their phones, can't hear you because of the music, or have run out of batteries. Yes clubbing has a tendancy to drain your cellphone battery. After queuing for a couple minutes outside Pals, we walk to a bouncer who requires to check my ID. You see, this a no-under-21s- club, and although I'm well over 23 I still need to prove I'm not 16. Unfortunately, Laurine being only 19, we get bounced off and redirected to the kiddie club, Fire & Ice.
The latter may sound much more exciting than the first one but it is by far much duller as we soon find out. As we go in, we have to show our Ids to prove we're indeed over 18. Once in the club, Laurine and I head for a drink at the bar. The music - if it can be called as such - is rather horrid and, nodding to each other accordingly, Laurine and I drink up our beverages before heading home 30 minutes barely after we arrived at the club.
Once home, cosily installed in the "sunroom", we start up a game of chess only interrupted an hour or so later by Alex's return home, somewhat tipsy after a night out at Pals. Before long, Laurine heads back home and I drift off to sleep.
