Club Review: Ziggy’s, York

When it comes to historical importance this magnificent arena of intoxication is akin to the city’s grand Minster, and as such the people of York have come to depend on Ziggy’s, and to love it as one might love a child – if that child were ugly, and incredibly clammy.

People travel from far and wide to marvel at its sweat-encrusted walls, to rub themselves unashamedly against strangers in budget fancy dress outfits and to congratulate each other on not breaking any bones as they tumble down the narrowest staircase in the north of England. In the DARK.

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So, What’s It Like?

Like hell. The University of Hell. A hell inhabited exclusively by bright young things, studying for very expensive yet ultimately pointless degrees in fire and brimstone, whilst simultaneously thrusting their bodies into unusual shapes to the beat of some of the worst pop songs ever to come out of the pit of eternal damnation.

Don’t Miss:

The incredible walls, which are actually constructed of millions upon millions of tiny droplets of perspiration, bound together with the unrealised dreams of students whose career prospects have just vanished into thin air, leaving only debt and despair in their wake.

Touch these walls and you too will experience the graduates’ dejection. Rub them and you may be granted a wish. Taste them and you will automatically be appointed Mayor. This is how they do things in York.

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Will I Find Love?

Yes! You will. The beautiful, simple love which can only be created after an entire evening of flaming sambuca shots, one after the other until all you can see is blurred, bright lights and all you can hear is the distant thudding of an indiscernible Katy Perry song and all you can taste is sweat.

The kind of love that sees you waking up the next morning, your head pounding, your body covered in mysterious cuts and bruises, to find a complete stranger staring back at you, grinning maniacally as they present you with a pile of love letters that they’ve spend the entire night writing in their own BLOOD. That kind of love.

Should I Go? 

No, you shouldn’t, and everyone who ever does go knows this. And that’s why, before you shut your eyes and throw yourself through the doors of this pit you will have visited several nearby pubs to consume three or four glasses of triple vodka and VIMTO which isn’t even a real DRINK in any usual pub but it is tonight because YOU’RE GOING TO NEED IT.

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