Reflex

There are very few good things to have come out of the 80s. Yes, I do wear black leggings thank you very much, and perhaps I have succumbed to the odd 80s ‘party classics’ CD but hey, who hasn’t?
To me, Reflex is the place where the 80s went to die and like a phoenix, rose triumphantly from the ashes into a cheesy nightclub. I’m obviously no fan so you can imagine my surprise when I was told that this is actually a chain of clubs and not just a one hit wonder on Baldwin Street!
On the very few occasions I have been here there have been nothing but hen parties and small groups of old men wearing shirts that hasn’t seen in twenty years. I have nothing against these to groups of people but when one lot is watching the other lot dance provocatively round a pole to George Michael it is something of a turn off. I’ll leave it to your imagination which group enjoyed the pole more…

There’s something quite dark about Reflex. My heart always sinks when friends announce their hen do is ending up here or this is where the evening is wending. Cue me leaving in a taxi asap. I think if you are annihilated, wearing pink chaps and happy to have your boobs and bum fondled by old, ugly and desperate men then it’s probably quite a good crack. But I have been all too sober when I have been here before. I think what happened to Henry is really awful but not unbelievable.
Nearly everybody inside here is on a mission to pull, get drunk or fall over it seems and there’s always an array of bizarre costumes, from inflatable turtles to women who probably haven’t been schoolgirls for the best part of 30 years dressed as sexy pupils. There is of course a pole, which most punters inevitably end up grinding around. My friend Sarah is actually really good at it, so she is excused, but usually it’s a rather overweight woman dressed as a policewoman or a sweaty man with his shirt undone.
The last time I went here I couldn’t believe how long it took to queue for a drink (the only way of actually enduring the hell) and somebody tried to grab my crotch in the crush. Nice. And some old men who were obviously coked up were being really sleazy with a friend of mine. It’s a shame that this is the overarching atmosphere as I do really love 80s music. But then the DJ was a total jerk and kept shouting into the mike, only playing 30 second blasts of some songs and his mixing was dreadful. Still, I suppose it doesn’t pretend to be anything else and it’s probably my bad for going there when I know how it totally is not my scene!

— Do not go alone, you are much safer in groups!!! This is just one lesson I have learnt coming here. Lesson two is not to speak or even glance at any man perving the dancefloor (he will become your clinging limpet the rest of the night). Lesson number three is not to go expecting an eclectic playlist. Each song is played twice and there is no variety in the choice of eighties songs. Yawn. If you are completely trashed and are in a large group of friends, then Reflex can be good fun — especially with the cheap drinks flowing. Be prepared with these rules and you will have an enjoyable time.

Poor Henry! I’m glad something like that’s never happened to me.
If it weren’t for Blondie and the Smiths being catergorised in that 80s era, I’d probably give this place a one star too. I’m always partial to a bit of Heart of Glass though…
That said, Reflex is a pretty hideous place to go on a night out, it’s trashy and chavvy. It certainly doesn;t do the 80s justice at all.

I’ve been into this place twice in my life and I never want to go back ever again. It’s terrible.
I’m not a big fan of 80’s music and never have been, but on a night out it can be alright as it’s easy to dance to and doesn’t take itself too seriously. The overriding problem I have with Reflex is how schizophrenic the DJ seems to be with regards how long he will leave a track playing for. On the rare occasion a song comes on that I actually enjoy, you only get about 30 seconds of it before the fickle headed DJ flicks to another. If I actually enjoyed this music it would drive me up the wall.
The reason nobody seems to mind its because essentially this is a chav hot spot and the feckless crowd are too dim to know what’s going. They simply dance, drink and fight their way through the night.

This place used to be a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine. I’m not exactly a fan of rammed city centre chav holes, but as I’m partial to a bit of 80s music, I’d occasionally pop in there for a boogie and a cheap drink if I was feeling tipsy on a random week night.
This changed after I made a rare appearance there on a Saturday night on a football night out. After falling asleep worse for wear, a bouncer woke me up and told me to leave. When I couldn’t find my coat ticket quickly enough, I was picked up by four bouncers and carried to a spot away from the security cameras where a fifth bouncer punched me repeatedly in the face. I tried complaining to the management the next day but sadly they really didn’t give a shit.