When did the pre-drink spot become the place you actually stayed all night?
At first, you were young maybe even underage. The bouncers would look at your ID then your face several times whilst you simultaneously -hopefully metaphorically- shit yourself. If the ID was fake your mate was probably calling you by your ID name – to look super legit. But little did you know, these times are soon to be missed and actually being recognised and nodded through, no ID needed is far far worse. You have become a regular.
But before that, Regal was the meeting point, the pre-drink place so you didn’t have to take out a loan to buy a drink at a club. But as time went on you realise, I’m kind of enjoying myself in here, it’s always free entry and I’m already drunk. This is the moment you thought to spend your whole night in this one place, revolutionary – maybe backwards but who cares.
Once you’re done talking in a crowded booth upstairs, you get another drink, after presumably quite some time because the queues are horrendous. However, if you have the correct conversation and slide in the gaps technique you’re good to go. You probably claim the tequila or sambuca shot offers to get the job done quickly. Or you may opt for a pitcher, the only place where people think you’re a fool for using glasses and not straws.
Once that’s done you rightfully claim a spot on that dance floor. After making your way past the two old guys, annoying girl with a massive bag and the ‘dude’ wearing sunglasses inside. But make sure you down your drink because even if Rihanna is cheers-ing to the freakin’ weekend, The Regal thinks this is incredibly dangerous and you will not drink to that because there are NO DRINKS ALLOWED ON THE DANCE FLOOR.
At some point you head to the toilets, stare at the cleaner cleaning up sick in a cubicle then stare at yourself in the mirror trying not to be sick from the awful lighting – or it’s just your face, no one really knows. And at some point tried to get a picture in the full length mirror because that’s just what you do.
After dancing to absolutely every song you know there’s always one random song which edges you out for a breather. Ahhh the smoking area. There tends to be someone desperately trying to roll a cigarette, loud conversations, people awkwardly standing not knowing what to do, a strange old man who wants to show you a magic trick – not a euphemism genuinely some weird coin trick- and then those who randomly spark up a conversation, best friends for five minutes, who they may of got a selfie with. I recommend standing on the stairs watching this mix of hilarity, social awkwardness unfold.
BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY…a craze has begun, dance-offs have been taking place in this odd place recently and it really is wonderful, especially amongst the very year six disco aesthetic. Step-Up has finally met the Cambridge Wetherspoons:
So the journey continues, you now spend a whole night in the Regal, constantly dismiss the fact Cambridge is the only city not to call it Spoons and continue to laugh at the friend who manages to get themselves kicked out every bloody time.