“Allow me to clarify my position,” said Aaron Porter, NUS prez and future Labour minister. “While I do, in principle, agree with the proposals, there is at the same time a vital balance to be struck between what is on the one hand a totally necessary course of action, with which I think everyone here would agree, and, on the other, the need to maintain an open dialogue and not to rule out the pursuit of other, perhaps, no less important channels and activities; maintaining all the while, of course, that the most direct and effective route is the one we must take, yet not forgetting the alternatives, such as staying completely still, taking a side road, or, indeed, going backwards. Put quite simply, I am totally in favour of what everyone is calling out that we should do, however, I am not totally in favour of it.”
“Do you want to go to fucking Kukui or not?” Asked one of the students. After his talk, Aaron Porter had found himself cornered by a tiny minority of determined individuals who had set out with the sole intention of causing anarchic mayhem on the dance floor.
“Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely, one hundred percent, want to go to Kukui. Let there be no doubt on this; no misunderstanding; no confusion. It is my expressed position on Clubbing that it is the just and proper action to take when other possible routes for enjoying the evening have been exhausted.”
“Great then. Let’s get going.” The other students made general noises of assent.
Porter led the march to Kukui. He later hailed this part of the night as a complete success. Seeing the size of the queue outside the club, he remarked: “Tonight students have come out in their hundreds to demonstrate their support for clubbing. This is a clear sign to those in authority that we stand united and in total solidarity. We have made our voices clear. We have conclusively expressed our opposition to staying in.”
“That’ll be five pounds please.” One of the small group of hardcore ravers had reached the front of the queue. She looked in her purse.
“I’ve only got four.”
The girl at the till began to serve the next person in line. This did not go down well. “What about my human rights?” She turned to the NUS President. “Aaron, do you think you should have to pay to get into a student club night?”
“Erm, I would be more in favour of a club night tax.”
“What the fuck?”
“You know, those who get the most fun out of the evening, it stands to reason, should have to pay a contribution to the club the next day. It’s progressive.”
“But won’t that discourage the most talented party animals from going out?”
“We need to ask ourselves what constitutes the fairest system for funding club nights. Clearly those who benefit more from clubbing should be expected to pay a higher proportion. Some people move on from clubbing to achieve hugely rewarding one night stands; it is not fair that the majority who go back to bed unsatisfied should end up twenty pounds out of pocket with nothing to show for it.”
At this point one of the group tried to shove his way into Kukui. He was stopped by a pair of bouncers.
“Me kyan stan’ dem fuckin’ pigs man. Come we merk dem rarsclarts. You get me?” Said the classicist from New College, adjusting his hood.
“Now now,” said Porter, nervously. “I believe we’ve made our point here. Look at all the people queueing peacefully; if a small minority take things too far our important message will be overshadowed by violence.”
“Hush your mout’, pussio.” In the commotion, Aaron Porter was struck on the head by a stray fire extinguisher. The culprit has yet to be identified.
