What you’ll experience on a regular night at 151

No one goes to 151 sober. The club, on the King’s Road is renowned for having a boozy clientele. Everyone in the queue is plastered, some unashamedly chugging from plastic bottles filled with vodka and a dash of coke.

For some reason, you always know at least 70 per cent of the people in the queue. You start to question why all your friends have such bad taste in clubs until you remember you’re in the exact same queue. Christ you’re drunk.

As the bouncer draws closer, everyone fumbles around nervously for their ID, not wanting to spend any more time than necessary in the poisonous cloud of bad B.O that inexplicably surrounds the entrance.

I’ll have you know I’m bloody fabulous actually

Once inside, you’re immediately hit by the sickening stench of poor decision making. You observe with horror the 40-something men in suits being viciously dry-humped by scantily clad 19-year-olds who seemed determined to leave with far less self respect than what they came in with.

You’re not quite prepared for this. You hurry back upstairs to the smoking area for a restorative tobacco product, but are beaten to the top by someone in a Gilet who launches himself through the door, trips up over the rope, and lands on all fours before violently throwing up upon the pavement. “Classic Charlie”, someone cackles from the queue.

As you puff away on your roll-up, you overhear two young men arguing over which one of their daddy’s Ferrari has more horsepower.

This night could not get worse. Or so you thought. You run back down to the bar to find your mates and realise why this place gained the nickname “One-Five-Slum”.

As you begin to cry about the damage done to your bank account, insult is added to injury as you overhear two more red-trousered Sloanes arguing over who has the bigger trust fund.

As you begin to heavily perspire, you notice the small fan in the corner and decide that this fan is your only true friend in this place.

You’ve had enough of this place. Luke Skywalker had a more jolly time hung upside down in the ice cave on Hoth than you’ve had in 151. You stumble outside and immediately trip over the rope, landing facedown in the aforementioned puddle of puke. Dragging yourself upright, you skulk back to bed to rethink your life choices.