Things that cheese me off, or at least have been noticed, in the clubbing (high street & rave) world:
People wearing rucksacks and puffer jackets (why?)
arrogant bouncers
rugger/rugby types herded together in scrums with their matching jerseys, sleeves pulled up the forearms, collars turned up, waistband too tight and body odour too rampant
people attempting to push in at the bar
predatory males in leather jackets or over produced hair styles who encircle girls and then just stare at them
high street DJ's who play the obscure 12 minute Italian piano remix of a pop song to highlight their cool
overblown back stretches or on dancefloor body massages for those who have hardly moved a muscle all night
ghost farters who cut the cheese in your immediate locale and then vanish
people who pay for drinks using credit cards which almost trebles the waiting time for everyone else
bags, coats or jumpers heaped on the floor to fell passing pundits
the fact that wherever I stand I'm always on the invisible path that everyone seems compelled to use to cross the nightclub
people who barge past without the merest hint of courtesy or 'excuse me'
having to say 'no thank you' at least 15 times to a multitude of over-zealous non-licensed cabs when you leave
guys who still believe that excessive dirty male sweat is attractive to women and then choose to stand close to you. Oh for the days of cigarette smoke to drown out the human body odour.
people that are unwilling to move when you DO politely ask to get past
glasses or bottles just dropped on the dancefloor leading to dancing instability and/or broken limbs
idiots who either just completely stop for no reason when you are walking behind them or push their way onto the dancefloor to then stand motionless right infront of you
slipping down or tripping up the over worn and almost threadbare carpeted stairs
door latches in toilets that simply do not work
wet, sticky bars that give you nowhere to lean your arm/hands while you wait an eternity to be served
prats who confuse their cheap bottle of lager with an F1 drivers champagne bottle when Madness comes on and they soak everyone in a five metre radius
morons who were never made aware of the boundaries of personal body space at school and are able to position themselves an inch from your face and remain oblivious to your presence
the fact that the club is full of honeys yet the only thing rubbing past is some gurning, sweating, shirtless chav
and the fact that almost every time I leave a club I always do so empty handed!