Thursday Nights at the Winkerdrome

30 09 2010

Regular followers of this blog may have noticed that, since the match report, there hasn’t been too much on football. The main reason for that is that a) we don’t have a match this weekend and b) I have a real football related treat coming up tomorrow.

So it got me thinking about what topic should we discuss today. Yesterday I met up with Goldfingers FC member 810, @theHod, who told me about his mates on Saturday night. Basically, they ended up at the local nightclub in Windsor, Havanas, after a few in the pub. When they got there, they were informed lads only got in with their tops off. They duly whipped them off and went in. These “lads” are 33 years old.

Today, I saw a post on the Football365 Forum about provincial nightclubs and it got me thinking about just how terrible, yet hilarious these are. For me, my local “nightspot” was the fantastically named Winkers (short for Winkers Farm and Country Club). Apparently, it used to be a really luxury spa and my mum and dad know people (rich people) that had their honeymoon there. It’s fair to say that it’s not the case any more. Back in the day, and still today, it’s pretty much a barn in the middle of the field. The sort of place where, for the first three hours, the dancefloor is deserted, apart from one complete goon dancing on his own to “Castles in the Sky”, having informed us all that this will “pack the dancefloor with gagging foof”. There was never any “foof”.

I thought it was best to share a few memories with the followers and invite anyone to comment on a) the names of their local nightclubs (always hilarious) and b) any fond memories of their own.

12 years ago, a typical Saturday night used to be playing rugby at Amersham and Chiltern RFC, a few beers in the bar, down to the old town for a few more and then on to the Winkerdrome. I asked my mate, who still lives round there what him and his brother got up to last week. “Well mate,” came the reply, “we played rugby, then stayed up the club for a few beers….” You get where this is going, right? These guys are also in their 30s and would probably enjoy a “tops-off” night in Havanas, if they didn’t feel they were being unfaithful.

The fact that it is a Thursday also struck a chord with me and the Drome. Thursday Night, like so many of these remote “clubs” around the country, was Student Night. None more so than in August on A-Level Reuslts Night and shamedly, GCSE Results night. We used to drive to the carpark at about 6.30/7pm (it didn’t open til 9), open the boot and start drinking there. Why we thought this was a good idea, we will never know. A friend of mine still texts me every A-level and GCSE results day asking if I want to meet him there…. One day…

Just another Thursday night at the Winkerdrome...

I must give a nod however to their web design team, who have made it look massively luxurious on their website. It reminds me of a flyer I saw for it once. It said it was one of London’s top nightclubs and only 15 minutes from the city centre. It is only 15 minutes from the city centre… in a jet. I can just imagine some tourists, or worse, Northerners being given a glossy flyer, then spending a good hour or so in a £100 taxi to find this place. The look on their face would be priceless. But then that’s the charm of the place – there is nothing wrong with punching above your weight.

Northerners however, tend to have a pretty good success rate in these type of Southern clubs. There are often a load of tipsy girls in little skirts who probably should be older, who are just wooed by the Northern accent. Years ago, a Geordie friend of mine (Sunderland fan though) came down and was soon charming the ladies. With a typical Southern sub-conscious arrogance, they were soon asking him if he knew Ant & Dec, because Newcastle is so tiny. He replied by letting them know that Ant & Dec were his cousins. And Sting is his dad. And Jimmy Nail was his uncle. And Alan Shearer was his coach. He was soon in the field out the back of the club, swimming in clunge…

Uncle Jimmy Nail

It’s not often that you look back on such bizarre corners of the earth with such affection. For example, I went to Stoke once and, believe me, there is no way i have even a fraction of affection for there as I do for the Winkerdrome.

Would love to hear tales of local nightclub debauchery and hedonism. Share your tales below.





2 responses

30 09 2010

Batchwood Hall, St Albans – AKA ‘Snatchwood’, or simply ‘The Snatch’.

30 09 2010
B0 Selecta

Those lazy, crazy, hazy days….
The greatest irony of these local nightclubs is their door-policies; “No trainers, no footballs shirts and no caps”; the very fact that they had to make this explicit speaks volumes for the clientele they were predicting to come through the door.
They also employ the most ridiculously lairy bouncers who are there primarily to let off some steam because they’re bored of kicking the sh*t out of their wives. I went to a tremendously posh wedding in the countryside last year and got properly hooned at the reception and post dinner. So much so that by the time we all got kicked out this Stately Home, we were all warmed up and ready to kick on through. Over-excited and not thinking, we ordered taxis to ….wait for it….Loughborough Town Centre!! This is not just the armpit of England, this is the armpit of England which hasn’t seen a bath for 20 years let alone a can of deodorant. Anyway, we ended up in “Angels”, a god forsaken nightclub in town, with sticky floors, WKD on offer and R Kelly on repeat. 10 public school boys and girls (one of whom was me) turn up in full wedding regalia, morning suits, stiff collars and shiny black shoes and of course we get a whole bunch of gold teeth and rings staring back at us. We got stuck in and threw ourselves onto the dancefloor knowing that the only way to fight pikey is to dance pikey. Not long later, we were surrounded by a bunch of shazzas who were dancing near us but staring as like children do at a zoo. We reciprocated their interest and pulled out “Golf Swing”, “Rowing”, “ButterFly” and a whole bunch of other classic moves. They loved it. All was going swimmingly……until……from nowhere and FOR ABSOLUTELY NO REASON….three bouncers haul my mate out of the dancefloor, push him through the emergency exit doors and then start beating the crap out of him in a side alley…I chased after him and then try and calm the bouncers down but I’m too late…my mate’s got a broken nose and fractured jaw….the bouncers said they thought we were starting on the girls….that …..or did they just want to beat the crap out some poshos…..f’ing local nightclubs.

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