Chaos Theory

Chaos is dead. Long live Chaos.

Kaput.
Over.
Done.

Not the Jeff Goldblum-associated-chaos I hasten to add. This is the club of my youth. The setting for hook-ups, heartbreak, sweaty dancing, busted ankles, sticky floors and a soundtrack that, if you went often enough (as I, at one time, did), you knew exactly what songs would follow what songs. Every single week a strict musical formula was followed that ensured ska preceded metal which lead into garage rock which bled into indie and always ending with a blast of hair metal or something of a similar ilk just as the lights came up to encourage the patrons to exit the premises. All this and it was located at the end of a faded white pier in Southsea.

As far as club venues go, I think it's unparalleled in it's uniqueness - especially given the low-key wedding reception/school disco vibe it always gave off. Mis-matched chairs, scuffed carpet, dark wooden tables dotted about the place, red velvet curtains that reached from the ceiling to the floor to block out the sight of people getting blow jobs and dealing drugs on the pier outside. Even when I was going every week, even when I was going through my post-irony stage (where you do things that you claim are lame because it's ironic), even when I'd stopped going regularly and would just find myself there on Saturday nights because no-one could think of anything better to do and wanted to relive a bit of our youth, I'd always get a strange thrill walking along the seafront, seeing the steps that lead up to an amusement arcade (which have some pretty kick-ass graffiti in the ladies toilets if you're into that sort of thing. Which I am) and going all the way to pier's end. Walking past the shuttered ice-cream and fish and chip booths, the familiar booming of 'Killing In The Name Of' struggling against the sound of the tide to make itself heard, striding past goths, hipsters, white-boys with dreadlocks who would always seem to be hanging around on the benches that lined the pier's railings to reach the door and try and make it past the bouncers without getting ID-ed. Roger the door guy who dressed like an Asian extra from The Matrix (whatever time of day and whatever the weather he is always always always in long black coat and heavy bovver boots Even when spotted shopping in Woolworths on a Saturday afternoon. Always with The Matrix attire) nodding slightly to let you know that he recognised you and handing you a lolly if you happened to be there early enough.

The lolly's were one thing but I loved Chaos for a myriad of complex and hauntingly beautiful reasons. For one thing I was pretty much always guaranteed of getting to at least first base with at least one willing participant. Without ever having to do anything. Just standing around or dancing in the middle of the floor. No effort required. My friend Lisa and I would even occasionally have snogging competitions such was the classiness that Chaos inspired. I loved dancing in a crowd of people who's own dance styles varied wildly from pogo-ing, headbanging, to the robot (the last one inevitably being me). I loved the sticky floors, the one River Island shirted man who'd been turned away from the R'n'B club opposite for being too drunk as he wondered around with a look of dawning realisation on his face that he maybe should have gone home after all because here was not a friendly place for the likes of he, I loved always striking up bizarre conversations in the line for the ladies and wondering whether I had a freak magnet or was just lucky to always be stood next to the nutbar when awaiting a wee. I loved it all.

In hindsight at any rate.

And now it's dead. Of course, they're selling it as merely moving to a more central Southsea location and yes, I haven't been for at least a year but it still smarts. Chaos was an institution. A much derided institution but an institution nonetheless. My friends don't get why I'm so gutted, particularly given the fact that I didn't actually go to the final night (we had to get tickets, TICKETS IN ADVANCE! Screw that. It's Chaos!) and went to Babylons so I could dance to 5ive and Hanson instead. But still, in memorium, Chaos we knew ye well, we took the piss out of you constantly, we owe you at least three eventual boyfriends (although you probably could have kept all of those to be honest, turns out we didn't really want them in the first place), we neglected you for many-a-year since we went to university (mostly because you made us a bit depressed and feeling quite old once we had hit 21), but ye shall be sadly missed.

Chaos is dead. Long live Chaos.