“On a Typical Saturday Night”

The first of a two-part narrative into the Irish drink culture, “On a Typical Saturday Night” describes the many scenarios encountered by people on a Saturday night out. This and its sequel, “The Sunday After the Saturday Before”, are written to be read as one cohesive piece.


All the pubs and clubs,
Are busy preparing for,
A typical Saturday night,
Everyone getting ready,
Ensuring that they look,
More, than just alright.


But before the main event,
Comes the carry out, of course,
Throwing back their drinks,
Like they could not give a damn,
And after about an hour,
All, are good to go –
Time for the group pics,
That’ll be put on Instagram.


The teens try their luck,
Swapping ID’s with those,
They think, look like them,
The bouncers, unimpressed,
Turn most of them away,
Why’d they even bother?


A second group then try,
Who do exactly the same,
But like the ones before,
It was all, just in vain.


Then you get those few people,
Already off their heads,
Who burst through everyone,
In their attempt to get in,
They’re always turned away,
They plead with the bouncers,
But no matter what they try,
They simply cannot win.


The nightclub’s in full flow,
The scene’s beautifully set,
And as the saying goes,
“It’s only early yet!”
And all around the nightclub,
No matter where you go,
Every night, without fail,
It’ll be the same people, that you’ll know.


There will always be those,
Who love the single life,
Looking only for the shift,
They go in for the kill,
To them, it’s another one,
Crossed off the aul list.


One lad’s words in a chat,
Have been taken out of context,
And it all just escalates,
From something rather small,
Punches are being thrown,
With drinks flying everywhere,
A friendly chat has turned,
Into a full-scale brawl,
The bouncers intervene,
And throws them all out,
Their night has prematurely,
Reached its curtain call.


Don’t forget the spirit lovers,
A barrage of drinks, they’ll withstand,
They call the barman for more,
With a wad of cash in hand,
Their hands are now so sticky,
From the alcohol on their palms,
And their breath begins to stink,
Of shots and Jägerbombs.


You also get the “creeps”,
Who try some awkward flirting,
The only thing it achieves,
Is that their pride, will be hurting,
And why is there that guy,
Who acts like Jack the Prat?
“Good luck to you my friend,
‘Cause you’re going straight on Snapchat!”


And what about those guys,
With all their incredible moves?
It crazy how they can get,
So into the groove,
No one can even fault,
Their skills, or their flow,
And they just end up,
Stealing the entire show.


And then, there are the smokers,
Who are outside having,
A little bit of banter,
They’re out there,
For most of the night,
Engaging in nothing but laughter.


And finally, there are those,
Who go out, on their own,
They’re only out of the house,
So that they don’t feel alone.


And now, it’s half past two,
It’s time to leave the floor,
You try find your friends,
And as you’re walking out the door,
You see the so-called “couples”,
Who’ve met and kissed on the floor,
They’re now, on their way home,
To engage in a little bit more.


You’ll always get that one lad,
Who has had, one too many,
Falling all over the place,
With his stomach likely churning,
The poor lad, though he tries,
Struggles to stay standing,
With passers-by remarking,
“I’d hate to be him in the morning!”


The squads flock to the chipper,
And by the time they get there,
Lord behold – there’s a fight,
In the middle of the square,
The Gardaí break it up,
With the lads now in cuffs,
They are off to the station,
And have to suck it up.


The struggle is unreal,
When getting something to eat,
And it’s nothing short of a nightmare,
To try and find a seat.


Before we all go home,
Goodbyes, are a must,
And then, it is time,
To go and catch the bus,
The night is at an end,
And the Sun’s about to rise,
Now we’re off to bed,
With extremely weary eyes.


For that one night at least,
Life can feel alright,
Though it was only just,
A typical Saturday night.