Saturday, 26 May 2007

friday night out

So basically from early May through to September each year most of Rome's clubs relocate out to the beach at Ostia. Plus various bars open up along the beach, which in the daytime operate as private beaches with a bar/restaurant. The theory is great cos it means there's the beach there & it's all out of doors and that but still with decent facilities not like some kind of disorganised beach party. Unfortunately on someone's mistaken advice we ended up in a place which was frankly beyond hideous. Arriving at about 1 we got in fairly quickly (cleavage-flaunting usually works like that) and quickly wished we hadn't.


So, you don't pay to get in but you have to buy at least one drink in order to get an 'exit' token, without which you can't get out again. So you can't take a look around and decide what you think, obviously. Four drinks: €55. €15 for blokes €10 for girls. I fucking object to that as well. Pointless, old-fashioned, belittling, ridiculous. You buy a drink voucher, for this set price, irrespective of what drink you want. So a cocktail costs the same as a beer. On the other hand the cocktails had fuck all alcohol in them anyway, mostly just lemon juice.

The crowd was… young. Mostly underage. And REALLY badly dressed. Bleach blonde hair, layered strapless tops over normal bras, pointy stilettos with leggings. And the men were worse. Plenty of ultras from both teams, recognisable by their tattoos, even saw one guy I recognised from the Sud (he looked about 12 without his regular baseball cap, I only recognised the Roma tattoo.) There were 3 main areas, the open entrance area with seating, sun umbrellas, flowers and shrubs etc; a bar which was essentially an open sided marquee, with low white sofas, trendy fixtures and an awful DJ playing slightly speeded up 80s classics over a poorly mixed in heavy bassline; and the main outdoor dancefloor which opens onto the beach - which was, however, shut over, more or less negating the point of the exercise.


Turns out that the awful DJ inside couldn't hold a candle to the true awfulness of the DJ outside. A few things, if you're reading this DJ Mauriiiiiiiiizio: you are allowed to play things more recent than 2002. Repeating your records within a 15 minute period looks pretty shabby. But not as shabby as fluffing the drop. Twice. In a row. Also, don't abruptly switch track midway through the vocals, it tends to be a bit odd. Especially if you do it through something as well known as Music is the Answer ffs. But above all my top tip from the top would be STAB THAT FUCKING MC TO DEATH PRONTO. The hideous MC Francesca screeched, warbled, caterwauled and wittered absolutely without cease or pause for the entire fucking night. She sang the wrong words, out of time and out of tune with the vocals. She bellowed incessant inanities in pidgin English. She shouted 'Cha-cha-cha' at random intervals. She interrupted without any regard for the music whatsoever. She shouted over the vocals then sang bits back when there weren't any. Of different tracks. She urged us to put our hands in the air until I was ready to wrap mine around her fucking throat.
ARRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH.


Anyway we all, er, had a lovely time. hehe. As we left the guy gave us a flyer promoting next Friday's night and urged us to return. Manco se mi paghi, I may have said a bit too loud.

2 comments:

ginkers said...

Sounds like a fun night. Maybe you should try staying in and stabbing yourself with chopsticks in future?

MC Francesca said...

You don't know what you're on about.