The Krazy House: High Times In Liverpool's Madhouse

Liverpool's Krazy House was a sticky floored mecca for young men keen to cover their shyness with the opposite sex with a can of Fosters and a fascination for old Kevin Keegan highlights.
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Liverpool's Krazy House was a sticky floored mecca for young men keen to cover their shyness with the opposite sex with a can of Fosters and a fascination for old Kevin Keegan highlights.

Starting from the age of 17 me and my mate who I’ll call Lally would go to town every week and get smashed. The reason being so we could muster up the courage to talk to girls. Was it successful? Usually not. Occasionally. But mainly we’d be reduced to propping up the bar ordering endless rounds of warm shite beer and occasionally acridly sweet alcopops when the mood arose.

Me and Lally weren’t the worst looking shmucks on the dance floor however we weren’t the most outgoing either. Lally in particular would usually stand back-to-the-wall, arms folded not uttering a single word for the duration of the night.

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We’d usually end up in the Krazy House (in Liverpool). You’ll probably know the type of place; smelly, cheap, full of the usual outcasts and miscreants, playing the same tripe every week. Beth Ditto’s warbling of ‘Standing in The Way of Control’ for some reason stands out along with Arctic Monkeys’ first album. The floor had a mysterious black tar which would over the course of the night attach itself to your clothes and shoes. Overall it was a nasty place but a necessary one. It was like an apprenticeship in shit nights out.

The Krazy House was open Thursday (2for1 night) Friday and Saturday (usually the busiest) and on a Saturday if you were “lucky” they would project onto the wall Match of the Day of the 70s. Without any sound. I never found out why a night club in the year 2005 showed MOTD 70s and sometimes Thundercats. However this would almost always put paid to what little inclination we had to speak to the fairer sex. We’d stand there, slightly to the left of the dance floor where teens would swap spit and other bodily fluids, and marvel at the majesty of Bremner, Keegan et al. Occasionally (but not very often) commenting to each other  “see that?” to which the other would grunt.

If there was no TV entertainment we’d usually, in the absence of conversation, fixate on some object of lust. Usually radiant among the ultra-violet glow Fosters induces.  It never struck us to approach such a goddess, who retrospectively was probably slightly ropey, and to be honest it was probably a good thing anyway. Being from an all-boys school with only the very minimum of experience of women the only thing we’d probably have to offer after hello would be, “did you see Keegan’s volley then?” To which she’d probably make an excuse and go and stand next to the lads with the better clothes and haircuts.

I’m 22 now, me and Lally are still mates but we don’t really go the Krazy House anymore, I guess exposure to different places has changed us a little. But I still hold onto the memories that ritualistic weekly experience and wouldn’t really change it. Well, I’d probably add a few blow jobs in the bogs.