You Really Shoulda Gone Home

As a counterpoint to the recent "Great Bender Bars" thread that I have been running, this week I would like to introduce the "You Really Shoulda Gone Home" posts. This topic is dedicated to the bars, clubs and houses you only end up in when properly wankered, and end up the next morning skint, in jail or bruised and battered. The place that, even as you are paying to enter, a little voice in the back of your bonce cries "NNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!". My inaugural selection is one of the smallest, dingiest dung holes on the face of the planet. It has had several incarnations down the years, but is known to all and sundry as simply Porkys, just off the main street in Bingley, and once voted seventh worst nightclub in England. If you manage to circumnavigate the perpetually miserable bouncers, of which there seems to be a never ending supply, you will find yourself in a cellar that has been painted blck, with a purple fluorescent or two illuminating a ten foot square dance floor. Surly punks are the main clientele, the numerous occasions I and other members of the Squad have had to scrap our way out tells a tale on it's own. My most recent ejection was when a light fitting landed on my head. The best ever throw out and subsequent ban though belongs to Mallcy, who was caught red handed letting half of Bingley in through the fire exit. The place has never been so busy. So remember the next time you are in Bingley and find yourself being drawn towards this shithole, stop. If the Porky's experience is what you are after, go home, climb into your wardrobe with a ghetto blaster on full belt and wait for your missus to come and turf you out. Bingo! Porkys on the cheap!