Cathouse

What a weekend.

The past few days have thrown up a lot of things that warrant a bit of consideration. I’ll almost be glad to see the back of them and roll into a week of 8.30-5 work action. I’m all for symbolic, metaphysical finger-prodding, but there’s only so much you can take in one go.

Friday was a particularly good night at the Cathouse. Being the ‘pay day weekend’, it was fairly busy, and a lot of people were out who haven’t been around in months. A healthy mix of old and new, as well as my consumption of a fair amount of Hendrick’s gin before I got to work helped contribute to the overall atmosphere.

As things go, for whatever reason, myself and Kaylie ended up having an argument on the way home after the club shut. One thing led to the next, and after her shouting at me a bit, I got pissed off and shouted back at her to get her to shut up till we got back to the flat; painfully aware of where we were and what it made us appear like: yet another idiot couple of people who couldn’t deal with their private lives privately.

This led to some young ‘chaps’ who were further down the street to intervene. Taking the moral high ground, they proceeded to punch me in the face for ‘shouting at a burd’. I’m not going to comment here on the twisted morality that renders it acceptable to assault a stranger, but not to get angry with your other half.

The whole thing was a bit of a shock, and by the time I’d shaken the stars and birds from my eyes (and removed my glasses!), the two of them had ran away, leaving me to call the police. I expressed my frustration at the lack of their presence on a major street in the city, whilst devoting substantial resources to stopping me needlessy whilst driving just a few days ago. They weren’t too impressed.

The whole ordeal has a bigger effect than is immediately obvious. The guilt about creating a situation like that, to the shattering of your feeling of safety where you live, to the problems with the whole masculine identity of fight-or-flight. If you don’t respond by grabbing an attacker and retaliating even more violently, you can be left feeling like you’re a bit of a wimp, irrespective of the possible consequences. I’d stick by the principle that an escalation of aggression can never be a good thing.

Inevitably it made me think about Glasgow as a whole, and how we have this situation where such a situation is not only possible, but frequent. Whilst I’ve had relatively little hassle going about day-to-day life, I’ve questioned the ‘hard city’ reputation that we’re often attributed with. I’m not sure whether being ‘hard’ is simply reacting with violence to situations, or whether it’s really about knowing how to effectively deal with that sort of irrational attitude; being aware of it. I’m convinced there’s more to being ‘tough’ than randomly hitting somebody for little reason.

It was my friend’s birthday night out tonight, and I wasn’t feeling up to it as a result of all the drama (and partly the hangover) from the night before. I’m glad I did though. It was partly an answer to what I’ve been feeling for a while – the general disconnect from all of the partying that I’ve been more of an observer to than a participant in. It’s easy to get lost amongst the whole routine and role of living and not let yourself just be yourself with people that you’re comfortable with and have known for years. A while ago I could think of nothing worse than being around people that knew every fault and flaw from when you were growing up; who had preconceptions and an image of you burned into their consciousness forever. However, that doesn’t need to be the way that things work, and if people are still friends despite all of that knowledge and experience, then something must be right somewhere.

In just the few hours that we were out, it was unbelievable the things that we saw. People jumping taxis without paying; people fighting in Subway over broken down card machines, and then being told that they couldn’t satisfy their girlfriend by the so-called professional security guard; some guy taking the piss out of our mate maliciously and spoiling for a fight before being thrown out of the club we were in. It’s easy to lose what little faith you might have in the human race with such experiences. The thing that stands out amongst it all though? Your real pals. It kind of brings home the value of it all.

All photos are of hot people in the Cathouse.

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