Why Proud should be ashamed

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Proud Galleries is one of the most unique venues in London.

Located within Camden’s Stables, Proud (it’s not a gay bar) is a photograph gallery, club, bar, and outdoor terrace all jumbled into one cobble-floored stretchy space of three adjoining rooms. Formerly a horse hospital, one room contains actual stables (of various themes) that you can hire out as a cosy little cubby-hole for you and your mates. And this August you can hire out any stable for free between Sunday and Thursday (beware of painful weekend charges).

The people are staggeringly good looking (perhaps attracted by the full-on Burlesque shows?), the music, live bands and DJ sets are usually awesome (in a haphazard kind of way), and the place screams “Hello, I’m different”. It’s little wonder that trendy Camden kids slink to the place in their droves.

Now, I wouldn’t care to label myself in the afore-mentioned category, but I’ve been a fan of Proud nights for a while. I usually politely email for ‘guest list’ status (free entry, no queues), and the events guys are always happy to oblige.

So why oh why was my night tainted last Saturday? Crowds. Insane crowds. Heaving throngs of people. Queues for the bar and loos. Sweaty pits. Elbows in ears. Fear of knocking photo exhibit off the wall and having to pay for it.

They were easily one-hundred people over capacity. Come on Proud – you used to be perfect! Stop selling out to the man and just sell out…until you reach capacity. Then close your doors. Let your bouncers put their feet up. Everyone’s happy.

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