...apart from the pungent perfumery of the upper levels.
Now, you'd expect nightclubs to smell of stale cider stagnating on the floor, of lads and ladettes doused in bathtubs of poundland perfume, of topless fatbloke's sweaty pits and his belching bot from imbibing bubbly beer.
The last scent you would expect to find assailing your nostrils upon the top floor of a dancehall would be the heady fug of mackerel.
How exactly one gets a room pervaded by a piscine pong is a mystery. Was it hired out for the annual fishmongers ball? Mayhap they had a fetish night, and upstairs was the 'dungeon room', leaving no trace but the waft of lady lubricant and playing up to it's name of The Watercunt?
I think I have the answer!
At first, I thought it was because a certain Derek W. Dick is coming to the WhatACunt, and they decided to honour his stage name through guppy joss stones.
It's all down to 'setting the mood', and as I passed though, they were playing some of that Cagney and Lacey 80's soft rock music!
Aha! Clearly Management misinterpreted Mullet Rock Night! Oh the confusion betwixt a popular 80s Poncey Rocker haircut* and the mugilidæ family of aquabiology!
And so, Management believing it to be a night of devotion to the tasty Mediterranean dish, ordered in the offecting olfactory menace to set the marine mood!
It certainly puts you off boogie-ing to the Welsh Warbler's "Totally Pissed As A Fart", I can tell you!
Then again, so does playing it in a nightclub...
Or playing it at all even...
In fact, there's no reason to put you on to such ballady boogiement bollocks...
Turn around
every now and then I get a little bit terrified
and then I see the look in your eyes
Turn around Bright Eyes
Burning like fire
...and fly into the firmament to flee the fishy fumes...
* THAT ONLY SLIGHTLY RESEMBLES MINE, FOR MINE IS NOT A MOULET AT ALL!
OH, WHO AM I KIDDING! I SPORT A MOULET AND I AM PROUD!!!
