What your favourite night out says about you

The city of Cardiff and intoxicating beverages go together hand in hand. Walk down Mill Lane on game day, I dare you. But with such a wide variety of watering holes comes in depth psycho-analysis. Are you a rugby playing Lash local with a micropenis? Or do you enjoy a little bump and grind with a side order of daddy issues? We’ve sussed out your whole personality just by knowing where you go to boogie.

Live, love, lash

The Lash:

You are the ultimate lad/lass. There’s nothing you look forward to more than a fancy dress social and a trip to the SU. £1 shots and free entry before 11pm. You can delete all the pints and it won’t cost you more than a tenner. Without fail you bellow a weekly rendition of “Mr Brightside” as you collar the scrum-half and pull his body tight against yours – you whisper in his ear “I’ve always thought you were alright”. You wake up the next day in Cathays covered in stale piss and beer, a kebab by your side, and you fucking love it.

Look at that shine

C-Y-N-T at Ladybird:

You don’t like tech and deep house, but ever since you realised there were clothing shops other than Jack Wills and Hollister Ladybird was the place for you. Typically found wearing a pair of Nikes, a sweater wrapped round the waist, fresh garms from the local RSPCA charity shop and a snapback for good measure – the deepest irony of your effort at counter-culture is the remarkable similarity you have to the other 250 people trying to pick their jaws up off the floor.

Gals on tour

Sync at Revs:

Hey babe. Everyone loves Revs because it’s a bit more “dressy” than other nights in the city. Getting all dolled up with your bandeau dresses and skyscraper heels makes you feel like you are untouchable, but really you’re just preparing for a string of selfies with the gals in the toilets downstairs. After charming your way into the VIP area and a few Jagerbombs your classy attire loses its efficacy, and you’ll next be seen getting thrown into a taxi by the bouncers at 2am.

Showing off your Charleston dance moves

Itchy Feet:

You were born in the wrong decade, fed up of all of the mainstream nights scattered around our glorious city. When this diamond in the rough comes along  get your braces and bows all set. You are far too rock ‘n’ roll for a Monday night at Glam.

Przym locals

Friday nights at Pryzm:

You like routine, regimen, like Patrick Bateman. Each week you find yourself stumbling between the main floor and the cheese room to keep an equilibrium between tasteless shit and tasteless shit. Your wedding will be set against a soundtrack of Fuse ODJ and S Club 7.

My mind’s telling me nooooooooo

Bump And Grind:

You are cultural appropriation royalty. And you have found your calling in a Monday night at Buffalo. Taking gin and juice over a pint any day, getting down to R Kelly and emphatically stating that noone, past or present, can match Biggie’s flow.

Where the hell are the VKs?

Flux:

Tom, Dick or Harry started a group WhatsApp, they want you to go out with them on Saturday. Splitting a 4-for-10 VK deal with your best friend. Occasionally doing a Sambucca. You might go crazy and spend half your evening in the smoking area, despite the fact you don’t even smoke, with people who were once in your seminar. Just like everyone else, you’re going to get cheesy chips from T&As.

Too drunk to realise where they are

Walkabout TNT:

What the fuck is wrong with you? Did you take too much acid and find yourself in Grangetown? Yeah you did, and when you turned on your fresher homing beacon it led you here. Only acceptable to attend as a night before you have any knowledge of what’s classy, fun, or acceptable. Answer: TNT is not acceptable. Finish your Thursday night off with a rendition of a Robbie Williams track and a slice of toast in your hand. Then cry.