There was a time when I couldn’t understand why people got so excited when the DJ dropped Chesney Hawkes,

I know what you’re thinking: ‘he’s one of those miserable twats who thinks he’s too cool to dance to some fun pop.’ I’m sure that’s true.  Having said that, I’m consistently excellent at making a tit out of myself on dance floors across London, and if you’ve seen some of the things I’ve done to my hair over the past few years, you’ll know that I have no qualms when it comes to looking ridiculous (I’m thinking particularly of the time when I was going for the whole Messiah look).

When I found out that I was off to the Roxy for a friend’s birthday, I wasn’t that excited.  I’d heard that it was properly cheesy (I’m talking stilton to the power of camembert) and that the DJs were not really DJs so much as random fat blokes pressing pause and play. The club was busy (Friday) without being like a sardine can, and you could get served without too much queuing.

The DJs had the anticipated level of skill, but the track selection was quality.  It was crowd-pleasing stuff with the odd gem chucked in and the vibe in the club was fun fun fun. It’s a pretty nice space, with a long bar and fewer of the sticky floors and sodden carpets of say, Cheapskates. The bouncers don’t give you any hassle unless you deserve it. The queue can be quite slow so get there early on busy nights (Friday, Saturday, Monday) and enjoy the Roxy for what it is: a fun, friendly, surprisingly satisfying night out.

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