Down and Out in the Purple Pussycat

‘Look at ‘em, ordinary fuckin people, I hate ‘em.’
-Bud (Harry Dean Stanton), Repo Man

Another broken scene in what passes for my life occurred last night in an utter shithole called Purple Pussycat, a weird club near Granada TV on the outskirts of Manchester City Centre.

Before we even got in there it occurred to me I needed the dump of all dumps. Ironically, that’s one way of describing the club itself. Upon entry I made a beeline past the faux-eighties décor, through the mostly male crowd and past a fish tank full of piranhas, trying to retain my composure.

I found the cubicles behind the urinals that were shaped like open female mouths with giant red lips. The toilets were horrendous- paper everywhere, piss on the seat, puddles on the floor. I shut the door and found the lock had been ripped off. Let’s get this over with, I thought. I held the door shut with one outstretched hand, hovered, and got on with it. Unfortunately it’s not easy to push in both directions (if you get me) and, due to the ridiculous overcrowding of the toilet block, it wasn’t long before somebody barged in and I inadvertently head-butted the door. He apologised and wandered off. The sinks had no soap.

Agreeing between the three of us that the club was shit, we only stayed for the one drink. The women were nondescript.

I arrived home to find that Stephen Gately of Boyzone fame had died of a suspected drug overdose. Maybe he thought it was time for a New Beginning. Boom boom.

Regardless. I looked the club up online. The official site was badly designed and misspelled the word ‘piranha’.

I always judge a venue by its toilet. It’s going to be the first place to get messed up, so if they can keep that clean you can guarantee that the rest of the bar is going to be appropriately hygienic as well. Hence, The Purple Pussycat is on the Black List.