This
is going to be relatively short, but I have received terrible news.
Actually, tragic. Slak
Bar in
Cheltenham town is closing. Forever. After 14 years of being, and not
many less of helping me fog the misery of existence, on Sunday 26th
of August 2012, Slak will open it’s doors for the last time. I
don’t know why it’s happening, but it would appear that it
definitely is. I found this out only an hour or so ago, through the
Facebook channel, as tens of fellow patrons voiced their dismay via
status updates. Boo
to Slak closing, booooo. Slak’s closing…. WHAT!?!!! NOOOOOOO!
Slak!!!!That
sort of thing, and I have to say I’m a little sad myself. Not the
usual, constant, clinging sadness – that’s still there,
whispering away – but now theres an extra duct, weeping 80 proof
tears of bereavement.
It’s
sad when any little independent bar closes down, because of the
choice it takes away from the customer. Me. Every time a smaller
place shuts down for good, a few more customers mooch their way
towards a Wetherspoons, which has competitive prices on it’s side
but little else. Though far from being evil, the chain pubs and clubs
offer a completely different atmosphere, a different type of
clientele, and a different type of horrible feeling. To me at least.
I have of course been to many a high street pub in my time, and will
again, but that’s kind of the point. I can go to them whenever,
they’ll always be there. And whichever doesn’t really come into
it as each of them offer a very similar experience. You know what
you’re getting, sure, but what you’re getting is, for the most
part, awfully dull.
Like
all smaller venues, Slak offered a break from all that. The music was
more eclectic, some soul, some funk, some 60s, some 80s, and so on.
The staff were excellent, the space well used – small, dark and
increasingly warm – but well used, and the entry price was very
reasonable. I never encountered the slightest hint of trouble
whenever I went there. No fights, no screaming, no nothing. Just
happy people having a dance, a drink and a laugh. I’ve had some
good times in that tiny, tiny room, sweating like a human waterfall,
‘dancing’ around like some sort of rum filled prick. Good stuff.
It stayed open nice and late (or early, depending on how you look at
it) as well, things not really kicking off until midnight and keeping
the fun going into the smaller hours, but making sure they never felt
so small they were worth ignoring.
I
like alcohol. You must have picked up on that by now. So it saddens
me on that base level. But more so because of the lack of another
place to go to, to choose to go to, to meet friends and like minded
people in, to get incredibly drunk and warm in, to not have to listen
to Radio One-Top 20-Fuck Me This Is Nakedly Dull-Remixed chart
bollocks ALL BLOODY NIGHT in. To get phone numbers in. To throw up in
the toilet, order some more drinks, have a dance, wander off, get a
bit lost and forget what you were doing in. Y’know, to have great
times and be totally relaxed in. Like it was your house. Helped by
the fact it is only a few times bigger than my front room.
Anyway,
you get the picture. Sad face. The only positive that can be gleaned
from this, is that there is a bank holiday weekend of drinking to be
done, and they shall be open for that. Friday, Saturday, Sunday. And
it would be rude, no, stupid, no, strudepid, to not give the old
place a bloody good send off. One that won’t be remembered for
years to come. One that, one day, you’ll turn to your children’s
children to recount, smile with gentle terror and say, “no, I have
absolutely no idea what I did over the August bank holiday weekend of
2012, but whatever it was must have been exceptional because I still
can’t feel my face”. Who’s up for that? See you there.
0 Comments