0 Anyone who has headed to Fever this year will no doubt have walked past the empty husk that was once the destination for many of us every Monday and Thursday. Staff from Rosie’s lurch out of the darkness, blocking your pathway and try to lure you inside with promises of free drinks, no queue, and even the chance to win a TV. But we look past them to the queues of students headed into Fever and know deep in our hearts that no amount of free drinks will make us accept their offer, and so we brush them aside and walk right past.
In my opinion, the best thing about Rosies’ was that it was right next to the kebab shop, and thanks to the position of Fever, I don’t feel like I have been robbed of much. With a dancefloor roughly the size of my first-year bedroom, Rosie’s quickly became established as a club for socialising, with the smoking area constantly full of people having a catch up. Of course, bumping into people you knew was most of the fun of Rosie’s, and this did mean that your night was only really fun if you knew lots of people who were there.
if you lose your friend at Fever you probably have to resign yourself to the fact that you’re not going to see them until tomorrow
If you knew lots of the people there on a certain night out, you went there with the intention of socialising and maybe meeting some new people, but you ended up getting spangled and making a fool of yourself in front of half the people you know. But Fever is basically one big dancefloor; you go there to have a good time. It’s big, colourful, and fun. True, if you lose your friend at Fever the lack of signal and layout of the club means you probably have to resign yourself to the fact that you’re not going to see them until tomorrow. Even though Fever is not a club you go to for socialising, the smoking area is at least twice the size of that of Rosie’s, so if you wanted to you can still get away from the loud music for a while.
And then there was the queueing, first to get into the club and then to get upstairs. You had to get there at an obscene time to make sure you skipped the queue, which usually ended up being an out of control scrum where everyone pushed as hard as they could against an increasingly angry bouncer who pushed you through the gap one by one.
I personally remember being genuinely surprised if I woke up after a good night at Rosie’s
In all honesty, I know some people who lived for Rosie’s and others who would never get dragged there in a million years. I personally remember being genuinely surprised if I woke up after a good night at Rosie’s, whereas this year I really look forward to a night out at Fever.
Will Fever ever replace Timepiece in my heart? Probably not, but I know that I am far more likely to head out on a Thursday night this year. I heard that a friend of a friend once saw the owner of Rosie’s crying into his hands as he sat on the empty front steps; true or not, it’s an excellent representation of what we have done: we have singlehandedly killed Rosie’s. And I am not sorry.
Roses for Rosies
Anyone who has headed to Fever this year will no doubt have walked past the empty husk that was once the destination for many of us every Monday and Thursday. Staff from Rosie’s lurch out of the darkness, blocking your pathway and try to lure you inside with promises of free drinks, no queue, and even the chance to win a TV. But we look past them to the queues of students headed into Fever and know deep in our hearts that no amount of free drinks will make us accept their offer, and so we brush them aside and walk right past.
In my opinion, the best thing about Rosies’ was that it was right next to the kebab shop, and thanks to the position of Fever, I don’t feel like I have been robbed of much. With a dancefloor roughly the size of my first-year bedroom, Rosie’s quickly became established as a club for socialising, with the smoking area constantly full of people having a catch up. Of course, bumping into people you knew was most of the fun of Rosie’s, and this did mean that your night was only really fun if you knew lots of people who were there.
If you knew lots of the people there on a certain night out, you went there with the intention of socialising and maybe meeting some new people, but you ended up getting spangled and making a fool of yourself in front of half the people you know. But Fever is basically one big dancefloor; you go there to have a good time. It’s big, colourful, and fun. True, if you lose your friend at Fever the lack of signal and layout of the club means you probably have to resign yourself to the fact that you’re not going to see them until tomorrow. Even though Fever is not a club you go to for socialising, the smoking area is at least twice the size of that of Rosie’s, so if you wanted to you can still get away from the loud music for a while.
And then there was the queueing, first to get into the club and then to get upstairs. You had to get there at an obscene time to make sure you skipped the queue, which usually ended up being an out of control scrum where everyone pushed as hard as they could against an increasingly angry bouncer who pushed you through the gap one by one.
In all honesty, I know some people who lived for Rosie’s and others who would never get dragged there in a million years. I personally remember being genuinely surprised if I woke up after a good night at Rosie’s, whereas this year I really look forward to a night out at Fever.
Will Fever ever replace Timepiece in my heart? Probably not, but I know that I am far more likely to head out on a Thursday night this year. I heard that a friend of a friend once saw the owner of Rosie’s crying into his hands as he sat on the empty front steps; true or not, it’s an excellent representation of what we have done: we have singlehandedly killed Rosie’s. And I am not sorry.
Beth Lindsay
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