No. 54 Off the Wall

Visited on 2/6/11. Oh Lordy, what a friggin’ din ! As you walk from the door to the bar in this ‘yoof orientated’ city centre pub, you pass through a series of standing bass waves which create the impression that your chest cavity is about to collapse. Conversation is impossible, even with the bar staff, but after a while, a combination of grunting, grimacing and pointing resulted in us ordering up a round of luke cold ‘brownkeg’. Obviously, there’s no real ale, but at £1.50 a pint, you might think that at least this isn’t too big a sacrifice in order to tick the pub off the list. You’d be wrong. It was undrinkable. And it was in a plastic glass. Should’ve gone with the flow and ordered ‘Blue Wicked over Redbull’ or summat. Anyhow, looking around the place, I think we were the only punters present older than nineteen and also the only punters present not on a stag or hen night. We watched for a bit as pimply steroid munchers in ludicrously tight t-shirts attempted to cavort with barely dressed and barely conscious poppets to the beat of the hippety-hop. It wasn’t all that entertaining though and we left after about ten minutes. I guess this is a great pub if you’re a late teen/twentysomething after a shag. If you aren’t and you’re not, it’s rubbish. Be careful as you’re heading towards the exit an’ all - the carpet in here is as sticky as a ‘hen nighter’s’ drawers.