Brighton’s leading after-hours events company since 2005.

Our brands are all based on our love of music and are created for people who want to party against Brighton’s ever increasing, generic style of commercial club nights. We challenge the ordinary and dare to be different, while still retaining the sentiments that build busy club events for predominantly student revellers.

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Careers

If you fancy getting in touch we would love to hear from you, equally, if you’re interested in working for us please attach your CV to the form below. We are always looking for city managers, Promoters, DJ’s, Photographers, Reps, VIP hosts and Franchise partners to join our team!

Full-Time Positions:

Full-Time Sales and Events Manager: £17 to £20k p/a

Part Time Opportunities:

DJ: £50 to £100 p/event
Part-Time Promotors: up to £7.50 p/h
Reception staff: up to £7.50 p/h

Freelance Roles:

Ticket Sellers: up to £100 p/event

A Fat Pops Insight To A Brighton Clubber

We’ve all been there. The night before is very hazy and you’re pretty sure you’ve pissed a few of your friends off. But just think, there’s also a load of sober people from bouncers, to till staff, Fat Pops staff and photographers in the nightclubs who you don’t know but they know exactly what you did last night…

Below we’ve listed five types of people that we at Fat Poppadaddys have to deal with every night we open…

The Cheater.

You’ve cheated on your partner. Not ideal. All your friends saw it. Also, not ideal. But to your horror, you’re tagged in a photo on the Fat Poppadaddys fb page absolutely necking the said “cheatee”. Disaster. Quick, get someone who knows someone from Fat Pops to take the picture down. Failing that, message Fat Poppadaddys directly begging to take it down. Tag it as abuse on Facebook. Otherwise, face up to the fact you’re a cheating mother fucker that deserves what’s coming to them.

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The DJ’s Best Mate.

DJs are a strange breed. They are working in (mostly) busy nightclubs entertaining the masses with their wild mixes from Frozen to Foals. But what you don’t realise is that they are often loners (5 hours on their own playing the same songs…) and aren’t really that interested in anything anyone else has to say. Yes, they’ll play requests but on the whole, they just want to be left alone. Then, a “muso” pops into the DJ booth and hangs out while giving various bits of drunk advice. “ah mate, that mix of such and such that nobody’s heard of would smash it now” or “come on, play something we can dance to” or “how can get a gig here”.

Cue the DJ beckoning to a bouncer to get rid.

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My Daddy Could Buy You.

We’ve all been chucked out of clubs. You’re normally too drunk or you’ve just said the wrong thing to the wrong person. You might have even punched someone or you were giving a hand job in the toilets. Either way, you’re outside the front door of the club and you’re about to turn on your heels when the alcohol starts talking. The injustice of being kicked out is burning your soul and the Jeremy Corbyn inside of you needs come out. First, you argue with the bouncers which is pointless. They never change their mind and now they remember your face. Then you ask for the manager who checks the CCTV and confirms your disbarment is correct. In fact, you’ve now just got a lifetime ban. Then, you pretend to be a Law Student and you start threatening legal action when you finally graduate in 7 years (or more likely you’re not but are going with that story anyway). And then you resort to the only thing you can think of before staggering to Buddies. “Well, I’m going to ring daddy and he’ll shut you down…”

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The Foyer Hanger-On.

The normal process for people entering a nightclub is this: You queue, you pay, you may pop your coat in the cloakroom, you enter the club and dance. But for a select few this is not at all what happens. They queue, they pay, and then they just hang out in the foyer for hours on end. There’s normally a disaster outside the venue that they need to deal with, but there is no re-entry so they just teeter on the doorstep getting in the way. One might think, why would anyone pay to get in and then just lurk around the reception area? The answer is, fuck knows.

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I know Louise/Lawrance.

The queue at Fat Poppadaddys Mondays, Secret Discotheque Thursdays or Friday, I’m In Love is down the road. Fuck. How do I get in? Well, someone I know says they sell tickets on behalf of another person they know and apparently its Louise who supplies them or, I spoke to a guy named Lawrance three months ago about taking down an incriminating photo of myself that ended my relationship. This then ends up turning into a very confident stride to the front of the queue where you ask everyone for one of them. You demand free entry for you plus 20 immediately. One of them comes out, says they’ve never met you before and points to the end of the queue, with the usual ‘its only ten minutes from the back’ bollocks. You’re left wondering why you didn’t sign up to be a Fat Pops Rep. It would have been worth it even for just that one moment alone.

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So there you have it, our five most notorious types of clubber at a Fat Poppadaddys event, next time you think you are on a moral crusade, or the temptation of the cheeky snog is too great, just remember we are watching & we know what you did last night.

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