Casa de Brujas

Taking up the shell of a grand, but crumbling, old building on Duke Street is the bizarre world of Casa de Brujas, a place I’m certain just materialised out of nowhere when everybody was looking the other way.
Loitering smokers and music spilling out into the street was all I needed to detour off from the beaten track and explore. Inside, people milled about the place or slumped trendily on staircases like characters advertising the classiest of Russian vodkas. A band were filling the air with noise as I found a table that qualified as the bar. Here I could have any drink I wanted so long as it was Witches Brew, a clear, mint-​leaved cocktail served with a ladle from a big cauldron. I liked that.
Deciding to be nosey little parkers, we headed upstairs and found your sixth form’s art room. Yes, yours specifically. Tatty scrapbooks filled with Rorschach-​like doodles and half-​finished masterpieces lay scattered around the place but just before we could run round signing our names at the bottom of everything an Argentinian woman caught us. She told us everything about the place but none of it stayed in my memory vault so the Casa de Brujas remains a mystery to this day. Wooooo.