Spiders, Sticky Floors and Thirty Quid a Night

Forty-six years of Hull nightlife, a few memories from the other side of the door, and the possibility of another dance.

There are certain places that become woven into the fabric of a city. They might not be particularly pretty, architecturally significant or even somewhere you’d necessarily recommend taking your maiden aunt for afternoon tea, but they become institutions all the same. They are places where generations pass through the same doors, make memories, meet people, fall in love, fall out again and occasionally discover that the evening has taken a rather different direction from the one originally intended.

Spiders in Hull was one of those places.

After 46 years, the club has announced its closure, bringing to an end a remarkable chapter in the city’s nightlife. I say closure, although the circumstances appear rather different from the familiar story of another independent business succumbing to financial pressures. My understanding is that the owners have simply reached the point where they want to step away from the industry, having given a considerable portion of their lives to keeping the place going. The business is being offered for sale as a financially sound proposition, which leaves the rather tantalising possibility that this might not be the final chapter after all.

I rather hope it isn’t.

You see, I have a little history with Spiders, and not all of it involved paying to get through the door.

Like plenty of people, I knew the place as a customer first. A night out, music, people, the usual ingredients of a British nightclub. There was something about the atmosphere of those places that is difficult to explain to anyone whose experience of nightlife begins and ends with ordering an overpriced cocktail in a venue where the lighting is carefully arranged to make everybody look as though they have just returned from a particularly expensive spa treatment.

Nightclubs were different then. They could be rough around the edges, sometimes wonderfully chaotic, and occasionally required the intervention of someone with a little common sense and a reasonably firm grasp of human behaviour.

Which brings me to the other side of the entrance.

At the time, I was working as Security Manager at Hammonds in Hull, part of the House of Fraser retail chain. Security management was my principal occupation, and I had the background and experience to go with it. Working the doors at Spiders provided an opportunity to earn a little additional money, and I was quite happy to take advantage of it.

I had a house deposit to think about.

Thirty quid a gig might not sound particularly exciting today, but at the time it was useful money. It went into the savings pot, and every little helped towards getting myself onto the property ladder. There were no grand ambitions attached to it, no aspirations to become the next great figure in the nightclub security business. It was simply an opportunity to earn a few extra pounds while doing something I was reasonably well equipped to do.

Besides, thirty quid was thirty quid. I wasn’t about to complain, although I suspect there were occasions when the people I encountered might have considered the payment somewhat inadequate compensation for the evening’s entertainment.

These were the days before SIA licensing, when the modern framework for regulating private security simply didn’t exist. The Security Industry Authority came much later, bringing with it a formal licensing structure and a rather more regulated approach to an industry that had historically operated with considerably less bureaucracy.

That isn’t to say everything was better in those days. Far from it. There were good operators and bad operators, experienced people and those who perhaps regarded a black jacket and a broad pair of shoulders as sufficient professional qualification. The industry had its share of characters, and I imagine anyone who spent enough time working nightclub doors could write a book about them.

Some situations required patience, others required a firm word, and occasionally someone needed to be persuaded that their evening had reached a natural conclusion. Alcohol has a curious effect on some people. It can make an otherwise perfectly reasonable individual believe that they are considerably more charming, more intelligent and more physically capable than the evidence suggests.

The door staff generally had a different assessment.

Working security in a retail environment and working nightclub doors were, of course, different propositions, but there were common principles. Observation, communication, judgement and, above all, knowing when not to make a situation worse. Anyone can stand in a doorway looking intimidating. The real skill is recognising trouble before it develops and dealing with it without turning a minor disagreement into the main event of the evening.

I suspect that principle remains just as relevant today, although I imagine the paperwork has increased somewhat.

Looking back, what strikes me most about Spiders is not simply its longevity, but the number of lives it must have intersected along the way. Forty-six years is an extraordinary run for any independent nightlife business. Think about the number of people who have walked through those doors since it first opened. Teenagers who are now grandparents. Couples who met on the dance floor and perhaps still argue about whose idea it was to go there in the first place. Friends who lost touch, friends who remained friends, and people who have probably spent the intervening decades trying to forget what they thought was a perfectly sensible haircut at the time.

Every generation has its own soundtrack, its own fashions and its own definition of a good night out. The music changes, the clothes change, the technology changes, and the prices certainly change. But the basic human ingredients remain remarkably consistent. People still want somewhere to go, somewhere to meet, somewhere to dance, laugh, flirt and temporarily forget about the responsibilities waiting for them on Monday morning.

And somebody still has to keep an eye on the entrance.

I wonder how many people who visited Spiders over those 46 years ever gave a thought to the people working behind the scenes. The door staff, bar staff, cleaners, managers and all those others whose efforts made the evening possible. A nightclub might be remembered for its music and atmosphere, but keeping one operating night after night is a considerable undertaking. It is a business, after all, not simply a room with a sound system and a licence to sell alcohol.

The owners must have accumulated an extraordinary collection of memories themselves. Forty-six years in the nightlife industry is a substantial commitment. It takes a particular sort of determination to keep a business like that going through changing fashions, economic difficulties, shifting customer expectations and the occasional crisis that nobody could possibly have anticipated.

Perhaps there comes a point when enough is enough. When the alarm clock becomes more appealing than the closing time, when the prospect of a quiet evening becomes rather more attractive than another weekend surrounded by noise, crowds and the occasional individual who has apparently misplaced both his wallet and his ability to behave like a civilised human being.

I can understand that.

Nevertheless, I hope somebody sees the potential in taking Spiders forward. If the business is financially sound, there is surely something worth considering. An established name, a history stretching back nearly half a century and a place in the collective memory of Hull are not things that can be manufactured overnight. A new owner might bring fresh ideas, a different approach and perhaps a little investment while retaining something of the character that made the place what it is.

Of course, that is easier said than done. The nightlife business has changed considerably, and the economics of running a venue are not necessarily what they were when I was collecting thirty quid for a night’s work and putting it towards a house deposit. But perhaps there is still room for an independent club with an established identity and a loyal following.

We live in hope.

If Spiders does return, I imagine there will be plenty of people ready to walk through those doors again. Some might even recognise a few familiar faces, although time has a habit of making that slightly more difficult. The music might be different, the clientele younger and the drinks considerably more expensive, but the memories would still belong to the people who were there.

And if it doesn’t return, well, it has certainly earned its place in Hull’s history.

For my part, I shall remember it as a place I experienced from both sides of the door. A little bit of nightlife, a little bit of extra income and another chapter in a life that has taken me through some rather varied occupations and circumstances.

Thirty quid a night helped towards a house deposit. Not a bad return for a few evenings standing outside a nightclub, keeping an eye on proceedings and occasionally explaining to someone that the answer was still no, regardless of how many times they asked.

Perhaps Spiders will rise again like a Phoenix.

Or perhaps a rather large arachnid will eventually decide that it has unfinished business in Hull.

Either way, I wish the owners well. Forty-six years is quite a shift, and they’ve earned the opportunity to put their feet up.

Although, knowing the nightlife industry, I wouldn’t entirely rule out one last sticky-floor, broken-glass evening before everybody finally calls it a night.

Until Next Time