The Four Types Of Boys In Every Irish Nightclub

Having more freckles than sense, a haircut that makes me look like I'm unable to read, and a face that says my Father and Aunty were in the same bed the night I was conceived, I don't get in to nightclubs all that often. But the rare occasions that those tough but intelligent men we call "bouncers" have granted me access to their establishments have allowed me to make a few observations about the types of boys that you find in Irish clubs.

These boys throw on their dad's best pair of jeans and a Le Coq Sportif T-shirt and go and tear it up on the dance floor. They always dance really awkwardly about two feet away from girls. For ninety five percent of the night they only have one dance move- the "half fist pump half move my arms up in the air like I'm choking on the packed lunch I brought" approach to dancing. However, when a rap song comes on, these boys who religiously wet the bed transform into the Wu Tang Clan. They start walking around with so much swagger and fluidity that it looks like they have no bones. They begin to make ground and venture closer towards the girls as the two foot gap becomes smaller and smaller until they're right beside them. They then start spanking them with one hand in beat with whatever song is playing while fist pumping with the other hand. When the song ends they revert back to their old selves and regress two feet away from the raw-arsed ladies. When the night is over they go to Burger King and in the midst of all the other youths eating their Whoppers or Chicken Royales, take their packed lunches out of their jacket pocket and begin devouring Muller Crunch corners until the security guard kicks them out. With nowhere to go to, they return home, unaccomplished but full of yogurt, ready to put in another solid night of bed wetting.

Every club I've struggled to get in to has had droves of Indian men bumping and grinding and getting physical with the other patrons. They throw on their baggy white "Pull and Bear" T-shirts, go to the local night club and begin to scope out the dance floor. They slink around it with some pretty edgy dance moves, building up a collection of sweat patches as they do so. They wait until "Wild Ones" by Flo Rida comes on to make their move and grab the nearest girl's hips and begin to grind on them from behind. They get lucky sometimes but more often than not they are about as lucky as I am and the girls get slightly offended and consider ringing the Samaritans' support hotline on 1850 60 90 90.

Ah, the big boys. The brahs who stand around the bar in their eighty euro Superdry T-Shirts. They don't dance, they don't laugh, they don't like fun. They like buying blonde girls in tight dresses drinks with their dad's money and talking to them about their new cars or Brian O'Driscoll's retirement. They drink a total of three bottles of Cobra or Tiger or some other beer that's named after an animal all night, and think their famous because they know the fella who works in the cloakroom. When the club is closing and they return from getting their jackets, they see the girl who they were buying drinks for all night leaving with some other complete idiot.

Some of the worst boys around. They get their sister's jeans, their eight year old brother's T-Shirt and a pair of Air Max and go and "smash it" on their big night out. They dance very consciously, every movement designed to flex their arms in a different way. They try to smoke fags. They don't really know quite how to do it but every so often they go out to the smoking area to attempt to do it. It's the thought that counts. They spend the majority of their night taking pictures with their mates that they haven't seen in two weeks to give them something to put on Instagram the next morning. Every picture is the same, with each person pointing to the bro next to them. This is probably the most embarrassing pose in Ireland and needs to be stopped. If St.Patrick wasn't Welsh, or was able to understand the concept of a photograph, or hadn't been dead for four hundred years, he'd be ashamed of having these type of boys in our country.