The best bit of Kushion is the smoking area

‘The walk down the flight of stairs is comparable to the descent into hell’


If you’re one of Glasgow’s high roller’s then at some point you’ll have found yourself at the wonderland that is Kushion.

But I’d rather stand outside. In the cold. Alone.

Kushion's like marmite. You either love it or you hate it.

Kushion’s like marmite. You either love it or you hate it.

For those of us who don’t enjoy chinos and copious amounts of fake tan, the walk down the flight of stairs to Kushion is comparable to the descent into hell.

Vodka in hand, you hit the dancefloor, ready to shake the night away.

But after twenty minutes of being crushed between strangers violently grinding to chart songs, you feel the need to escape. Except your friends who dragged you there aren’t ready to leave yet.

Ride Thursday @ Kushion

Ride Thursday @ Kushion

The smell of lynx and sweat soon becomes overwhelming.

It’s time to battle on through the writhing bodies to the smoking area.

The smoking area is the only safe-haven in Kushion. If you ignore the clusters of rahs and creepers loitering outside in between jägerbombs then the smoking area is pleasant enough, making Kushion seem almost bearable.

in the puff-suit of happiness

in the puff-suit of happiness

The smoking area makes it almost possible to forget about the plethora of groping hands and gaggles of girls enthusiastically shrieking and taking selfies inside.

The fairy lights and plentiful seating outside is far, far preferable to the sweaty masses twerking on the dancefloor and is a good enough place to loiter till your friends are finally shitfaced enough to drag into a taxi home.