An ode to my university nightclub
Sticky floors, cold queues, and regretful kebabs... I miss it
If you saw my most recent post, you’ll have read my pessimistic and rather disparaging forecast of the UK nighttime economy. Aka, where have all the nightclubs gone? According to data from trade body The Night Time Industries Association, the number of nightclubs in the UK dropped from 1,240 in March 2020 to 835 in November 2024. Sad times.
Many factors have contributed to the shifts we’ve seen in clubbing culture over the years, but amidst them all, I still believe that a night out is often what you make it and who you spend it with. And I think the perfect example of this is my university nightclub.
Now, I say nightclub singular because it was essentially the only nightclub in town. If you choose to attend a university in a town rather than a city, I suppose what do you expect? I went to Loughborough (Loogabarooga to some) and I want to make it clear that I’m in no way throwing shade. I wouldn’t change my university experience for anything, and although I missed being in a city sometimes, I just absolutely loved it.
The very middle of the midlands was a very fun place indeed.
Loughborough is small, with parts of the town reminiscent of a quaint seaside resort – despite being about as close to the middle of the UK as possible. There is little in the way of shops, and I was, quite frankly, devastated when the tiny Topshop shut down, leaving behind just a sad-looking Primark on the high street.
There were the town’s peculiar yet familiar staples. The man who coated himself in bird food to summon the pigeons, which he would then parade around as if wearing a grey feathered gown. The iconic ‘sock man’ statue, which many a student posed with, pretending to feed him their post-Echos kebab. The charming little Odeon that probably looked exactly the same as when it was originally built, and where tickets were always £4 for students. Those were the days.
Ah, Echos Nightclub. What fun we had there. Other than the Students’ Union, which doubled up as a nightclub on a Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday night, there were essentially three clubbing options in town (if you include Vodka Revs, which I’m not sure many people would).
Grimy yet glorious, Echos lives in a shadowy corner of Loughborough behind a long row of wheelie bins. Blink and you’ll miss it. Which I did several times navigating my way there from pre-drinks.
After queuing for what always felt like hours, you would reach security for a bag and ID check before being ceremoniously stamped with the Echos emblem (which would cling to your skin for days afterwards despite multiple showers). Then, it would probably be straight to the bar with your new best mates from the queue – having bonded over being cold and needing a wee – for a round of VK’s (alcopops for the uninitiated).
From what I remember, there were two main rooms, one playing pop music and singalong hits, and the other drum and bass vibes. Everything was dark (I swear even the floors were painted black) and sticky. Most people had what they called a pair of ‘Echos shoes’. God forbid you had to head straight to the club from another event in any other pair of shoes. Come the end of the night, they would never look the same again.
Another thing I remember was the surplus of toilets. For a relatively small club, there were so many. You could get lost in there – it was like Narnia. I would always tell my boyfriend I’d be back in a jiffy, only to emerge 45 minutes later with five new friends, a misplaced phone, and a random fancy dress item. It was absolute carnage. One time, we discovered that a toilet had somehow been ripped out of the ground in one cubicle. To this day, I have no idea – and would probably rather not know – how that happened.
But toilet antics aside, more often than not, an Echos night out was always a lot of fun. It wasn’t Instagram perfect, and there certainly wasn’t a dress code (Thank God – wearing heels in there would have required an unbelievable amount of physical and mental toughness), but that was part of its appeal.
Nights in Echos were the kinds of nights where you’re dancing with your mates in a circle, arms thrown around each other and roaring the lyrics of songs that would usually be incredibly cheesy but hit differently in the moment. Sweaty and flagging but happy and content as you gaze around at all the great friends you’ve made in this new stage of life. You’re all older and more independent but far from being a fully grown adult yet.
Another great thing about Echos? The fact there was a McDonald's conveniently situated about 30 seconds away. You had to time your visit with precision, though. It would shut for two or three hours to prepare for the morning shift, and the poor souls who had just missed the cut-off would try to persuade staff to let them in, their hands sliding melodramatically down the glass doors, while the Lucky Ones smugly brandished their Wraps of the Day.
Those who departed the club at closing often camped out until the Golden Arches reopened for breakfast. You cannot knock a Loughborough student’s resilience.
You only need to scan the 2.9-average Google reviews for Echos to build up a visual picture of the place. But you know when something may be objectively quite questionable, but you don’t care – and even get protective about it – because it is yours, and you associate it with good times, memories, and friends. Yeah, that’s Echos.
So, while the UK might be experiencing a Great Clubbing Decline, remember that we managed just fine with our clubbing shortage.
More often than not, the nights are about what you make them and who you choose to spend them with.
Loughborough – and Echos – I miss you!