Okay, I neither go to bars, nor clubs or pubs often. But lately have been doing more of it, mainly because I moved closer into London and it appears to be part of the experience.
Friday after work it’s usually a pub, then maybe a bar. I’ve been to clubs twice last year and not this year. I am just not a fan of it. I love to dance (or what constitutes for dancing in my mind) and music, but clubs are full of bodies, drinks, no personal space whatsoever and the music is so loud that it makes my bones vibrate. Also, it’s not necessarily the kind of music I like. Sometimes, but at least half the songs played I don’t want to dance to.
And clubs tend to be meat markets. Well, my meat is not on the market, thank you very much. Not to mention that I abhor any kind of peer pressure and it is usually that, which is responsible for me ending up in a club. I pressure myself, because I think I should get myself out there more.
Out where and for what is debatable, however.
Then again, I suppose, it’s all part of the experience and at least I’d like to know why I hate it so much and defend my dislike with conviction not responding or caving to peer pressure. No, sir.
I will give it a try every so often just to see how I feel about things, if anything has changed or how much I need to drink this time in order to enjoy myself. But I find, I can’t drink enough to let go.
It is a little aggravating in that regard. Because I do think sometimes that I should just let myself let go a little more and not hold onto this wretched control so much. But then I figure this would be a stupid move and I don’t want to pretend to be someone else other than myself.
I will go a lot of places and try a lot of things, but if I feel out of place and there’s nothing I can do and no amount of alcohol that could make me feel at home then maybe I shouldn’t be there. I trust my instincts; they don’t usually let me down.
I have to put myself out there for at least one reason: to write, maybe to write about it, just as I am doing right now.
What prompted me to start this was the bar we went to last Saturday night. I hadn’t wanted to go in there to begin with. Once I was in, I didn’t like it at all. An obvious reason for that would’ve been quite a few of the other dwellers at that bar: A most eclectic selection of people covering a wide age range and probably a surprising amount of different walks of life. I didn’t quiz them on the latter so that is just a guess.
More than that, though, I didn’t like the atmosphere. It didn’t want me to stay for a while, have a few drinks and just enjoy myself. I felt tense and, you guessed it, out of place.
I’ve been to my share of bars, even here in London, and for the most part they seem to be overrated. I much rather go to a pub, but they don’t usually have the drinks that I like unless I stick to Bailey’s. I don’t think I can stomach a lot of cider and I definitely can’t stomach beer. Wine just gets me drunk too quickly.
What have I learnt from this? Nothing that I didn’t know before: if I don’t like it somewhere, I will leave. And I will continue to make an effort to get myself out there and make new experiences.
Also, I’m definitely not a club kind of person.