beginnings

I've been meaning to start a blog for a long time, and this is a good a time as any. I'll be writing about science, clubbing, books, and probably politics. In no particular order. Also, I'll be graduating, and trying to find a job, so exploring the difficulties involved in deciding what to do with my life.

Gentlemen, keep your shirts on.

This is a piece I wrote just under a year ago, while writing a column for a publication during the Fringe festival.

Gentlemen, keep your shirts on. Please.

When first entering, the Bongo Club looks like a darkened church hall, filled with sweaty twenty-somethings in a collective trance. Jungledub is a Wednesday night treat; midweek hedonism for Trustafarians and Festival performers alike.  There are no distinctions here.  There's not enough light.  Every so often, blinding strobes light the room, as if to remind the dancing masses that there are other people sharing the space with them.  As the name suggests, Jungledub caters mostly to jungle and dubstep lovers, the ever-increasing section of society for whom electronic music is nothing without at least some wobble in the bass.

The beats go on and on.  The room heats up swiftly, but the spacious smoking area outside provides welcome respite.  Inside, the heat still seems too much for a number of gentlemen, who are spotted sans t-shirt.  I do not approve.  As previously stated, there’s space provided for cooling off.  And if an equal number of people are perfectly happy to continue in their dancing wearing jackets, then, really, what’s your excuse?  Or is it just that you’re keen to show off your astonishing physique?  On behalf of the fairer sex, please don’t.  We don’t like being forced to be close to sweaty dancing torsos. Unless they’re particularly beautiful.  And yours aren’t.  Suprisingly, drinks are not overpriced, entry is free, and atmosphere promises to continue until 5am, when a trip up Arthur’s Seat to watch the sunrise is the greatest way to start a Thursday during the festival.