Something For The Weekend

If you say "Beer-Can" it sounds like a Jamaican guy saying "Bacon"

At what point of the night do ashtrays disappear and tins of Tennents take their place?

It's a subtle and almost imperceptible process but it does happen, as I would gladly tell you as I pick the fag douts out of my sink on just about every Saturday and Sunday morning. It's with regularity that I am taken by surprise, having being decanting the amber nectar from its vessel into the sink on a post-party clean-up mission, a naked fag dout (having had his wee orange jacket soaked off) pops out the tin and into the plughole like a tabbaco stowaway on a cheap beer submarine.

In fact, it's not just beer tins that make this mysterious transformation; candles, bottle caps, glasses, other fag packets and some people even just tap the fag ash into their cradled hand.

What.the.fuck.

I think the equation for turning something from "just a thing on a table" to "ashtray" is like this:

laziness+(proximity of actual ashtray+need for nicotine)/creativity=

your girlfriends handbag is now an ashtray

The Metro is fucking shite.

So every weekend punters from all across the Shire flock to The Metro.

It's filthy inside.

The music is muck.

It's full of plastic gangsters and giro-babies.

What is the big attraction? Why the overwhelming compulsion to subject yourself to this drivel?

I say we boycott it until somebody builds a new nightclub with DJ's who can play something that isn't in the UK Top 40.