Features

Gardies:
Touchy subject. Over the years, Gardies has proven a haven for both first- and second-years, especially those on ‘the Castle Street buzz’. Come the end of every exam period, Gardies finds itself packed to the rafters with all sorts of sop, eager to get loose, and erm … do telephones and shit. 
 
Baa:
A veritable who’s who of human sop. The Baa provides a combination of uni boys heading down to catch the code, young Dunedinites (read: bogans) heading out to cut loose, and, of course, good, honest, working-class blokes looking to whittle away their cash on horses, dogs, and beers. 
 
Cook:
Critic is pretty sure that the only time someone older than a first-year heads to the Cook is purely due to nostalgia over graduation, or to prey on a first-year. Downstairs is full of young yahoo-ers sculling jugs and stealing wedges. Upstairs provides an opportunity for young pups to try on some sleaze. 
 
South:
South provides a breeding ground for most Scarfies within the first- to third-year bracket. A real melting pot. ‘Classy’ jocks will enjoy the banter with beers, pizzas, and ‘classic’ acoustic in the front bar. Hopeless trainwrecks bop to God knows what in the main bar, exchanging saliva and vodka lemonades. Finally, Dunedin’s best DJs such as super skax Jordan Higham and that Snoop Dogg lookalike fuel the lounge bar with dope beats so peeps can dance, and shit. Was better as Two Bears. 
 
Copa:
Why Copa has an indoor area (aside from serving drinks) is beyond us. Pre-Bathies third-year-plus scenesters mill about outside smoking (scabbing) darts and spinning yarns. Great place to hook some seaze as you move towards Baheez and the Octagon.
 
Monkey Bar:
Where to start? Wieners, ‘ironic wacky cunts’, and ethnic minorities. Apparently Monkey Bar has cheap drinks, but Critic safely assumes that this is purely to save itself from going out of business. There is no other reason to put up with this melting pot, and even we suggest ignoring every hooky bone in your body and forking out elsewhere. Highlights include those crack-ups (read: losers) and sluts dancing on the ledge surrounding the d-floor. 
 
Bathies:
Peaks, jibbers and d’n’b. Nothing more needs to be said. Peeps getting their wob on, meow. Check Bathies (pronounced Barheez) fo’ the beats, stay for the cheap pints.
 
Metro:
Perhaps Dunedin’s most disgusting bar. A combination of South Dunedin trash, student trash, and general trash. Any bar that plays the Lion King soundtrack is questionable in our minds. Critic recommends taking in the baggy jeans and skate shoes over a nice bourbon and coke.
 
The Break:
Young Dunedin scumbags. Never have there been three more fitting words in the English language. This is where Dickies pants and DC shoes come to die. Talk of skylines and purple goanna orders permeate throughout the bar. This is a nightmare. Steer. The. Fuck. Clear. 
 
Carousel:
What once started out as an attempt at class in Dunedin has (successfully) managed to transform itself into a gay bar. It makes for an interesting amalgamation of characters, especially for those still slowly coming to the realisation of the bar’s new orientation. Classic. Still, who knows what’ll happen after a few cocktails, after all it’s the 21st century … Gay, straight, it’s all the same.
 
Pop:
Despite all the rumours regarding the dominant sexual orientation of patrons, Pop is like, cool and shit. Keep an eye out for scene kids, swilling cocktails and doing their thang. Older Copa crowd. So tiyyte. 
 
Alibi:
The same shitty place where every sop ends up. Decidedly full of jocks and done-up rotters, Alibi is a logistical nightmare. Electro-bop hits ensure the miniscule d-floor fills to the point that it blocks the bar. Getting people into a bar with music only to find they can’t actually get to the bar? Decidedly ironic. 
 
Pequeno:
The skuxest dive in town. Generally brimming with an older, more astute crowd than found elsewhere. Jazz nights and expensive drinks be meaning yo’ better be packing that cash. 
 
Brimstone:
Another Dunedinite haven. A similar idea to the likes of the Outback: take a rustic setting, fill it with bumpkins, serve them piss, and observe ensuing havoc. At Brimstone you’re likely to find an older crowd, looking for a dance, and maybe a nice young lad/lass to take home. Dangerous.