A love letter to East Slope Bar

O East Slope, wherefore art thou East Slope Bar?

It’s 11am, you’re in a lecture, struggling to keep your eyes open whilst browsing Facebook and your group chat pops up with the tempting ‘East Slope??’ It’s the relationship you just can’t let go, it enraptures you, it excites you, and you can’t get enough.

At first you hesitate. You consider what body part you’re going to have to sell to even go out, hell you would probably sell your East Slope ruptured kidneys in a cruel ironic feat.

But, ignoring everything else, you dive straight back into visiting your one and only bae. East Slope Bar is the the big spoon, and you will always nestle back into being the little spoon.


It would be rude not to

It’s now 8pm. You’ve told your flatmates that you’re going to make it out for once, scraping the last remaining pennies you saved up for laundry. Alas, it is Tuesday and Skint night means that your £5 goes a hell of a long way.

You start pre-drinking with half a bottle of Aldi white rum and whilst this is happening, there’s something humming in the back of your head “East Slope, East Slope, East Slope”.


You start to think perhaps you should lay off East Slope for a bit, after all this is the fifth night in a row you have been there. But the humming of “East Slope, East Slope, East Slope” in the back of your head gets louder and louder. It’s become contagious. You love it, it’s becoming your favourite venue, and you must feed this addiction.

You’ve told Mum and Dad that you’ve been to the seafront a million times, but it was all a huge and rewarding lie, you were in East Slope the whole time.

Lets be honest, there’s something about downing seven cheap vodka mixers on a Skint night, having a chin wag with that acquaintance in your seminar, and grabbing some food from The Hatch. No one’s going to tell you off, you’re free to throw as much Monopoly money as you want on the bar without eating rice for the next week.

It isn’t just the student bar atmosphere, you can’t have the same experience in Falmer bar which is more like a middle-class work retreat. No, East Slope has style and charm that will leave you coming back for more and more.


But like all good things they must come to a end. Closing time dawns on you, you’re being hauled away by your friends at closing time, holding onto the pillar, and trying to dance your way back in. The cries of euphoria seem all to much. But you did it again. You went to East Slope, and you absolutely loved it. Just how on earth can I get over this sad feeling of leaving?

Well, I guess… East Slope??