It’s official: Casino is the second most tragic nightclub in the UK

In news that will surprise no-one with a GU postcode, Casino has been voted the second most tragic hometown nightclub in the UK.

In The Tab’s poll, which was voted on over 32,000 times, Casino was pipped to the top spot by Bucks shithole Winkers in Chalfont St. Peters.

The Onslow street institution received a respectable 2,368 votes beating out stiff competition from Liquid in Windsor and Batchwood in St. Albans.

The club, which is famous around the Home Counties for it’s bang average celeb appearances and six pound Jagerbombs, shot to fame in 2003 for being the home of Cheryl Tweedy’s assault on a toilet attendant.

Going through several name changes and redesigns has not stopped the club’s continued success and it continues to be known by sixth formers in Guildford as “the home of MNG”.

Guildford resident and former MNG fan Mike Hooper said: “It’s no surprise that Casino has placed second in this, the amount of nights I’ve had and wasted in there don’t even bear thinking about.”

The original entry for Casino that won it the coveted second place  can be found below:

Everyone who lived anywhere near Guildford knew about Casino. From hearing your parents tut at Michel Harper’s latest antics in the Surrey Ad  to being weirdly proud that it made the news (even if it was because Cheryl punched a toilet attendant) it was something to fantasise over. The torches over the doorway, like glistening beacons of debauchery, beckoned all who walked out of the back of the Friary.

Then you grew up. You realised that paying £8 to see Dappy make a half-arsed public appearance while you spent all your Saturday job money on those weird J bombs they served in a glass that looked like a timeturner from Harry Potter. Sure, in year 13 you may have had a few good MNGs that ended in Tuesdays in the common room smelling of cheap house vodka but now, when you’re back from uni, you see it for what it truly is: a grotesque caricature of regional clubbing.

The dancefloor is stickier than you remember, the VIP sections less glamorous and even the palm-tree’d smoking area has lost its shine. There’s some youths in bench jumpers and money jeans. The guys you went to uni to avoid are there, and while there may be an occasional banger played downstairs, at the end of the day it’s the shittest thing about Guildford and you’ll never understand why every beauty therapist from Fleet to Carshalton pays £40 for a cab just to try and charm their way into a place to stay so they don’t have to do the 20 mile trek home.