Mosh in Leicester is the best worst night out in the UK

Everyone has that best worst hometown nightclub that when sober you swear you will never go to again but when drunk can't get enough of it. Mosh in Leicester is a great example of this and is the best worst night out in the country. It's a tag to be immensely proud of, to be the king of uncomplicated general good times.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t know anyone who preached a Mosh Tuesday and stayed faithful to its existence since their first attendance at 18. Mosh is a religion and the sweaty club their place of worship (see its fake stained-glass windows).

Embracing its underlying indie vibes, just throw on a pair of Vans and you’ll fit right in. The girls who turn up in five inch heels and their next day delivery dresses are clueless, they’ll be tottering about in the toilets and fixing their faces as a sweaty stranger shoves her hair up in the adjacent mirror and decides "it’ll do".

The guys who don their crisp white shirts, soon to bear alcoholic tie-dye at the bar, for a night on the pull, will soon learn. At Mosh, the real effort should go into your time on the dancefloor and the necking of £1 Cactus Jacks and £3 double voddy mixers.

I can honestly say you will have never experienced pure drunken focus until you face the many staircases of Mosh. The night sees endless ascents and descents as your friend decides she actually does prefer Oasis over the repetitive Drake she fancied five minutes earlier.

wishing you a merry Christmosh

Off you go again, stumbling up the stairs into a stranger – nope, into the person you sat next to in year 11 History class. You haven’t spoken since but it’s SO good to catch up: “We were so lucky with the seating plan!” and “omg, do you remember that supply teacher we once had?” You catch the photographer’s attention and steal a cheeky club pic to celebrate your reunion. If anything, there is a 100 percent guarantee you will bump into someone you know in Mosh, which is clear evidence that this is where you should be.

Now it’s 2am and you’re suffocating in the sticky, BO infused atmosphere when the DJ suffers a "blip" and Gangnam Style comes on. You escape to the caged smoking area with neither room to relax in nor fresh air to breathe. If you aren’t there to smoke or entertain a 'private' conversation with the other half of your "it’s complicated" relationship then it’s as a break from the cheesy music inside. Give it 20 minutes and it's safe to return.

It's at this point, pushed up against the cold, iron mesh that you spot the crowds heading towards the next destination of your night. But are we feeling a 5am finish at Basement? Or are we drawn to the green glow and warmth of Subway, an easy two minute walk away? I say food first, plans later.

The disastrous queue for the cloakroom is forming and the top floor echoes the moans of 'Mosh-ers' who have lost or damaged their flimsy £1 raffle ticket – the key to their belongings. They'll be waiting until the end for a lucky dip of what's left.

So once you look past the Victorian-esque public restroom tiling, the peeling music posters, and heartbreak as £2 entry exists only before a dead 11:30pm, Mosh is THE place for a spontaneous and guaranteed good night.

Deny your true feelings but, to all of us you just look silly if you deny your Mosh love.