Some things, like a fine wine, get better with age. Others, don’t. Specifically these bars that serve anything but fine wine, and that you really shouldn’t be in after you cross the maturity milestone that is your 30th birthday. Consider yourself barred from the following spots...
You may remember gigs at The Borderline, from various up-and-coming bands (or bands trying to make a comeback), but you probably made the wise move of getting the hell out of there before it turned into a club night -- especially since Wednesdays have been taken over by Cheap$kates (from the now defunct Moonlighting), known for their staggeringly cheap £1 drinks of some kind of stagger-inducing Eastern European paint thinner masquerading as booze.
Tucked away off Regent St, the Moons like to put on a good show of running a guest list and being exclusive. But actions speak louder than words and the sheer number of hen/bday parties that descend the stairs, dressed to the... twos... in sashes, flashing light,s and massive badges speak volumes. Sure you might not be the oldest one in the room, but at least you’re not in denial about your age, right? Right?!
Remember when every night out involved blackout making out with someone while your friends drank the leftover bits of other people's drinks and called it a “classy night out”? Yeah, neither can we.
Oh Rumba. Your ridiculously cheap happy hours once lulled us into a false sense of wonder in a land where being hassled by security, losing hearing to screeching woo girls, and being sweated on simply by standing anywhere were all normal and welcome. Thankfully, should you mistakenly find yourself repeating this experience, you can mutter “I’m too old for this sh*t,” and leave.
We know you appreciate getting bang for your buck, but a martini glass the size of a mixing bowl is not the way to do it. Sure, you you could put away several of them in an evening and wake up feeling proud, but you know what's great? Waking up and not feeling like a bear crapped in your skull.
Live rock karaoke. Flair bartending competitions. All-you-can-eat BBQ. And all the kids who look about 12. Okay, sure they’re actually 18, but when you start doing the math, the numbers still just don’t work out. You worry about where to go for brunch, they worry about which vlog to look at.
Infernos is like a tractor beam for terrible decisions. Once the idea of going there has been mentioned, it becomes a crushing inevitability. With five rooms of hypnotically terrible mayhem, that makes it five times more likely that those Claphamites will lose their mates and latch on to you because you look “sensible” and “friendly.”
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