Mariscos, Woolacombe
I've been to some shit clubs in my time (think Fab Cafe, Leeds) but this shit hole in the seaside townlet of Woolacombe where we had gone surfing put an end to them all.

The first warning sign should have come when some seedy fella sidles up to a friend of ours (who was not single) and sniffs her quite deeply from boobs to head before commenting "You smell nice". She laughed in his horrible features.

Another thing that I saw which should have warned me as to the quality of the establishment was the Fritzl-a-like who eyed up a particularly trampy looking girl across the dance floor, poured Becks into his hand, used it to slick back his already greasy hair and moved in for the kill.

I think he might even have pulled.
(vibrating tuna, Sat 11 Apr 2009, 12:44, Reply)