4 October 2009

Dad's Old Dance hit's the big One Oh.

Happy birthday Alex. So, old dad’s old dance was old? One year old. Alex was 40. Wow. Happy birthday you old buggers. A&T made everyone feel very special and welcome with the VIP passes but no one could take the manky, stinking stench away from JG’s fetid cash cow cattle market with its filthy, over priced, Whitstable ale, surly, slow and shit attitude bar staff, ineffectual door staff and a sound system that was so overdriven the hurt in my ears hurt. Although, to be frank, even tVc's system was being a tad overdriven itself later on. Some wag was later to comment that you could hear the sub bass right over at the Neppy at 11pm.

I’m paraphrasing the dissent about the Brewery Bar because no one will say it out loud in print but someone has to say it and it’s this; what the fuck are you doing with that place? There’s more to creating a good business than maximising the making of money by treating your customers like they are pieces of shit who need to be relieved of their money as nastily as possible. You can relieve them of their money as nicely as possible surely?

Dad’s old wotsit, gorgeous, gorgeous, and funny, all the way, try their best within the narrow parameters they are given. We all love T&A to death and would support them even if they put something on in the shittest venue in Whitstable. They don’t ask for door supervisors who, if there is even one tiny sniff of an arsewipe kicking off, shut the fucking main door and snivel inside till it’s over.The punters are not protected from anything. Poor T was assaulted outside the club that night and where were the bouncers? Nowhere.

Mind you they don’t give a toss about the safety of customers’ but if you are a customer who was part of the biggest fucking bar take that cow shed has ever taken and just happened to park your car in their car park overnight because you were so pissed from all the beer you bought then you might find that you were slapped with a £125 parking ticket, £75 if paid with 24 hours. They have, rightly so, had their wrists slapped by the council and the scouts for charging parking fees they had no right to. They might whinge on that it cost £30K to tarmac the road and they want their money back but hang on a minute, more people now come to their business premises than ever before. It’s a joy to see all the women in their high heels walking down the monstrous cement path that now snakes across our beautiful beach. They couldn’t do that before. Them bloody pebbles on the beach. They get in the way of going to the club don’t they?

The complaints go on; you’ve got to smoke out the back in a flood lit, fenced off cattle pen; the toilets are terrible, everything is so expensive, there’s nowhere to sit down or to chill out. Can I just get one welcoming smile? One feeling that anyone, anywhere is glad to see me there? That I am thanked for spending shit loads of money when I leave? That I can have a glass of water when I ask for it? That I don’t have to queue up at the bar for 40 minutes? Why is there no eye contact in this place?

The DJ’s valiantly fight the good fight and maintain a decent dance floor vibe. I was on the dance floor most of the night because that’s the only space there is to be. It’s tiled, it’s hard and it’s awash with beer spilled from flimsy plastic glasses.

tVC high jacked and piggybacked the end of the party. We were out on the beach by 2am setting up. Andy T sorted a table out and by 3am, thanks Brummy Jon, we were up and running and the clubbers were being ejected from the club and warmly welcomed into the tVC bosom. Geoff sorted a raring fire out and an even bigger ‘dance floor’ than the last time we did something like this.

On the decks it was house music all the way till sunrise and beyond from Andy T, oz, Si and Rosie. What a great feeling it is to hear our music outdoors with some lovely people who feel a similar way. It was all over by 9am and we all tottled off to our various after party thingys or to enjoy a few hours kip before the social onslaught of a Sunday afternoon in Whitstable town. Luckily for me and others none of us got a parking ticket so, for that, we thank you. Don’t worry we won’t be back to ‘our spot’ – the spot where we’ve been doing little summer gatherings for over 20 years, well before the Brewery Bar even existed – till next summer. See you then. Oh no, I’ll actually be down the Brewery Bar next weekend. Any chance I can get on the guest list? ;-)


more reviews of this bar
Staff are less than competent and indifference is often the best you can hope for.
shock horror probe - "the whitstable brewery" actually in maidstone

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