I know the name of this place makes it sound like some sort of Sunday School Church Hall they’ve put some bunting and banners up for a youth club disco. One red, blue, green, and yellow block light box, and a papered foldable table topped with bottles of panda pop, lined up awaiting collection by a bucket of 10p’s spell a good time in my (and I assume therefore anyone’s) book. But as I found out, after I’d been invited for a friend of a friend’s birthday, it was sadly nothing even close to that.

It was very possibly in fact, the exact opposite to that. For 5 seconds after breaching the bouncer laden entry system (two sets of doors), I shouted at the top of my already gravely voice, “Why is the music so loud?” This must be a sign of age. Had I been just one year older, I’d likely have referred to it as ‘noise’ instead of ‘music’.

It’s an absolutely huge space. You walk into a room with a relatively small, square central bar. I wouldn’t use this description as a guideline to find it though, you can barely see the bar unless you’re on top of it. Just know that if the concentration of people is getting denser, you’re probably getting closer to the bar (or the toilets – either way you can get a drink).

When/if you do manage to find the bar, you’ll need to bring a cheque book with you. A round of three drinks (a bottle of cider, glass of wine, and cranberry juice will see you despairingly stumble away with only coinage from a twenty, like you’ve just been team fucked in the Chelsea F.C. locker room. When the bar is this deep, and the drinks are this pricey, at least no one can get so drunk they sick up all over your shoes... Oh... it doesn’t?

Whilst walking around, avoiding the laser security system style projectile vomit streams like Catherine Zeta-Jones in a black leather catsuit you might notice how unbearably cool everyone is (barring those running to the toilets, holding out a solitary open palm in front of them with all the force of the New England Patriots’ [American Football] entire front line). In fact, unless you’re the Cheetos tiger, you’ll be surprised you’ve been allowed entry. This is a place not for people to dance, to listen to music, to talk to their friends, or even to make more friends. It only seems to be a place for snobby Hoxton types to strut about, enjoying everyone knowing just how cool they are. 80% of the guys are wearing either that short sleeve, red check shirt from Topman, or that short sleeve, red check shirt from Topman, in blue.

In truth, at any age, I struggled to understand the point of it. There’s no room at the bar, all the tables are taken by bookings, it’s too loud to comfortably say ‘Hold my drink’ to the guy next to you (a guy I saw had his drink taken away because he left it on the bar when his friend couldn’t hear him). The dance floor is relatively clear, but you can see why when you hear the music. It’s all techno versions of a beat. Terrible. Is it all just a big trend I’ve not been made aware of? Doesn’t seem like it, there’s enough people on the dance floor, they’re not dancing though. They just mill about trying not to look embarrassed because they don’t actually like the music.

My advice? Are you the kind of person who will pay £100 for a plain white shirt with loose stitching just to feel cool, and ‘fit in’? if so, then this is place to wear that shirt.

BEER SELECTION: Minimal club drinks. Cocktails and a pretty tasty cider option get it two stars at least. **

COST OF A ROUND: I seriously don’t want to look back at my debit card receipts from that night. *

STAFF: If nothing else, staff should remember which way they’re serving the crowd. But they look too concerned with their hair. At least he was quite quick at not serving me. *

FOOD: Even though it’s called a bar, and acts like a bar, it is to all intents and purposes, a club. Therefore, no food whatsoever. *

SKIRT RATIO: If you leave here with a phone number, you shouldn’t wait the obligatory 2-15 days to call. There is no time to spare, you should instantly burn it. *

Overall: Shit, noisy music. A millennia’s wait for overpriced drinks served by grumpy wankers. Plebs sicking up over your shoes. Brilliant. *

Bar Music Hall - Shoreditch - Brought to you by James Wormald -