talkmagic.co.uk

Ok so I first started to worry when I realised that he'd rather sit in a pub playing darts with some horrible warm flat beer in his hand than come out clubbing.

It got worse when he started buying his clothes from Marks and Spencers, then he started spending more time on the crosswords than on the sport pages or page 3.

All that is nothing compared to last night, I get in his car and what's he listening to???? Radio 2!!!!!

How long before the tweed jacket and flat cap?

Natural, mon cherie!

Mrs Seige is still up for crazy nights out in nightclubs—whereas I'm quite happy to sit in with a glass of wine, a deck of cards, and Heroes on the TV.

Sad.

LOL

My missis is exactly the same. I'm 6 years older and I'd rather sit in watching Heroes or Arrested Development.
I sused to go clubbing all the time but it's far too loud, too late for me and its full of kids these days....also why do some pubs play the music so loud when I want to reminiese with strangers

On another side line, season 2 of Heroes is all going rather well

Perhaps me Mrs Greedo and Mrs Seige should go for a night on the town and leave you boring old farts to your cards and beer

Lady of Mystery, this may come as a shock to you, but guys don't like to go clubbing! We go there to get girls. You should take it as a compliment! It means he's more interested in you than in other women.

women like clubbing because of the bright flashy lights and the excuse to go and buy something...that's all lomster...

i congratulate dave on his choices...good man if you're reading this sir...

radio 2 has some mighty good music on it sometimes...

my idea would be fine conversation, some magic, a cigar or two, and some booze...finish on some food, and more booze...

keep yer trendy music and shouting across the room...

OK, let's talk pros and cons...

Nightclub, or local booozah...
Mrs S. favours nightclub, I favour boozah.

Nightclub = loud, crud music, makes me feel practically ancient as most patrons look like primary school kids. Thumping beats so hard that it's difficult sometimes to breathe, let alone speak or hear. Feet stick to the floor in puddles of stale beer, old vomit and sweat.
Used to be the stale aroma of fag smoke—but now, it's just body odour (did you know... nightclubs are now using air freshners—because in the olden days of smoking, the rotten ciggy smell masked out the body odour?)
Rubbish, pricey beer and 'fast-drunkish' drinks like "MonkeyVomit Vodka Shots". And a 'snack' in a nightclub consists of something deepfried in yesteryear's oil which costs an arm and a leg. No wonder some have cashpoints in the entrance.
Not only that, but it costs a fortune to get a taxi home after midnight...
Also, there's always that one a***hole who has too many sherbets who offers you out for a fight. Kids these days can't hold their beer—but like to think they can.

Local = quiet, homely, warm fire crackling. Familiar faces, the smell of wet dog. Reasonable priced beer from a reasonably gentile host.
Scampi fries or pork scratchings to keep your energy and salt levels up, and the chance to play pool without worrying about winning.
Usually something dimly flickering away on the TV if you get lonely, but that's not usually the case because you can reliably count on the arrival times of most associates.
Perhaps play a few games of cards—do a trick or two—before deciding to go home... or will the gaffer leave the locals in for a few friendly 'afters?
A nice, brisk walk home at the end of the night with enough change in yer pocket to afford the morning paper. Brill.

I dont think its an age thing.

Im 26 now and i never take my fiance to clubs, Il go with mates or if there is a group of us we may end up in one,

Monker is bang on the money, Even though im taken, My eye may still wander in the precense of scantily clab woman, And my fiance althought petit packs a punch!!

Cinema, fine dining, bars are all places i love taking my fiance, clubs are generally meat markets!

You lot are all wet blankets, going out having a few drinks and a dance is great fun.

it's because my dear lady, that us gentlemen enjoy a cultured conversation and exchange of view i'll have you know...

not full of kittens and Hello! magazine...now, get along with you...it must be time for you to prepare supper for David...

Lady of Mystery wrote:You lot are all wet blankets, going out having a few drinks and a dance is great fun.

LOMzey...

Consider, if you will, and validate whether the below statements are TRUE or FALSE...

1. Generally speaking, hetrosexual lads are renowned for their inability to dance (I have two gay friends who can dance like John Travolta and Wayne Sleep, and yes—I am envious!)

2. Again, generally, hetro lads are renowned for being RELUCTANT to dance...

3. Lads LIKE having a few drinks...

4. Most lads would prefer a night out with their mates talking rubbish and drinking heavily than going out for a 'boogie round the handbags' with their friends...


OK... so, if you answered YES to all three of the above, then your statement is utter rubbish

(seige prepares his shins for a reet proppa smarting...)

The only problem now for us apparently old farts, is that the good old local is a dying breed. I had the best local ever, spit and sawdust bar, lounge with bog log fire, darts, pool room, old man in the corner with a banjo, musicians popping in and jamming along, a cavern like basements for local bands etc. Now its been made into trendy apartments. Its a disgrace I tell yer!!!

Dont get me started on trendy bars. London is full of the buggers. Also most barstaff down south dont have the foggiest idea how to hand pull a pint properly.
Luckily I know a few really good old fashioned british pubs! I actually used to live down the road from the Dog and Bell which was voted London pub of the year 2004 by CAMRA. Boy I miss that place...

Lady of Mystery wrote:You lot are all wet blankets, going out having a few drinks and a dance is great fun.

Hello All,

No offense boys, but, well, I'll have to agree with Lady of Mystery. I think she and I need to go clubbing and leave you lads to your disappearing act. I do so want to go to some fun British pubs.

Love,

Amanda Angeli

Well there seems to be a pattern building up here.
I am beginning to hate clubs. Allow me to illustrate why.

Newcastle, where I live, has a reputation for being a 'party city'. This is not the case.
This is what they tell people so that the other cities can avoid the gangs of hen- and stag parties that maraud through the town on a weekend.

The most memorable part of a night out in Newcastle undoubtedly the spectacle of the citizens themselves.
There are several of those ‘last chance saloon’ places that ageing corned beef monsters go to exchange whatever body fluids they have left.
It is not recommended for a smart young gentleman to enter one of these places in Newcastle without adequate means for his safe escape.

You see in Newcastle, age is inversely proportional to shame, and in these places normal social niceties such as ‘talking to one another’ tend to go out the window. I suppose the clientele have little time to waste.

I remember one visit to such a place, and as I recall the bouncer had tried to stop me going in.
I had barely set foot inside before I was set upon. As my life flashed before me, my mind settled on an old but pleasant memory of the nice old woman that was our local lollipop lady. Perhaps I was seven or eight. Grey haired, I would see her every day as I walked up the road to my infant school. She was gentle and kind and often used to buy me 10 pence mix ups if I’d been good.

But now she was ancient and fat and real and in front of me and shrink-wrapped. And well up for it. I didn’t know what to do. She knew though, and had already swung one of those horrid, fluid filled bags she called legs around mine and was shimmying. Very closely. So close it turned out, that the end of my ****, like an intrepid finger, could feel all of the fatty, hill-like undulations in her leg as she went up and down. She leant over to my ear and said “Eeh, eh? I’m old enough to be your grandmother”. Then, after a pause long enough for comedy effect, added “But I’m not your grandmother, am I?”

I now know what a meat pasty feels like after it has been tossed into a piranha tank. A very cold one, a one that makes your ***** want to shrink up to hide in your body.

Perhaps the bouncer was genuinely thinking of me.

My point? Nice, local, friendly pub every time.

Mark.

EDIT: Actually, Let's put it to the vote and see for sure who is right. I've put a poll above this thread.