Don’t be pressured into going to Pier

We’re treated to not one, but two clubs.  And if we’re honest, they’re both a bit shit. But between the two, there are a few reasons why Pier Pressure is just not the one.

You have to pay to get in every single night, and once you’re in we hope you won’t want to leave and come back, because you can’t… without coughing up more cash. Unless you give a good enough reason why you have to leave, you’ll have to pay to get in again.

This proves difficult once you’ve chugged your drink and just finished throwing some serious shapes to outdated tunes, as you probably want a bit of fresh air. Good luck finding any. You can get some air in the smokers’ cage, but it is always, ALWAYS packed.  Mmm, “fresh” air.

But this smoking cage can get a bit weird at times. There’s someone throwing up in the corner, a couple getting cheeky in the other corner and some guy telling you he’s just got out of prison.  If you’re a non-smoker and brave the smoking cage to try to get some air, we salute you for your bravery.

Maybe a nice cold beverage will freshen you up.  You grab a drink and dash to dance… only to be stopped by a bouncer. Guess what? You’re not allowed to drink on the dancefloor. So, why not take it out with you to the smoking area, then? Because the bouncer stops you there too.

Your only option is to awkwardly stand around the edge of the dancefloor with your inconvenient vodka and coke.  Or you can sit down and drink your drink quietly on one of the many sticky sofas Pier has to offer. On the plus side, you get front row seats to the drunken couple getting a bit too handsy up against the wall. Ugh.

And don’t forget the creeps. They surround the dance floor, skulking their way around the outskirts… waiting.  You might not notice them, but they are there. You know who we mean: the guys and girls who just can’t stop staring into the groups of people waiting to make their move.  Before you know it, you’re being pulled away by someone you don’t know, attempting to grind all up in your grill.

We’ve all been there: we all hope to never be there again.

But this smoking cage can get a bit weird at times. There’s someone throwing up in the corner, a couple getting cheeky in the other corner and some guy telling you he’s just got out of prison.  If you’re a non-smoker and brave the smoking cage to try to get some air, we salute you for your bravery.

Being recognised by a bartender as a person is next to impossible. You’ll watch them drift to one end of the bar, then the other.  You start considering setting up camp, maybe starting a small fire and roasting marshmallows, then – finally – contact. You shout your order, hand over some money, then move on, only to become trapped in the viscous cycle: no drinks on the dance floor, no smoking cage, just sticky seats.  Shit.

Did you know the lads’ toilets have a door?  We didn’t either, since it always seems to be open, letting the enticing smell of piss and vomit drift out – not that the ladies is much better. Someone crying over something ridiculous? Check.  Someone chundering because they got the dirty pint at prinks? Check.  No way of getting to the sinks to wash your hands because everyone’s preening? Check.

Finally it’s 3am and the end of the night is here.  You find yourself being herded to the door in a wave of sweaty party-goers. You catch sight of yourself in one of the many mirrors, you wonder who let you leave the house looking this much of a mess.

It’s in this moment you have a drunken revelation.  Pier is shit.  But at least you’re pissed.