Clapham’s inexplicably popular club Inferno’s takes its name from the seventh circle of hell, which summarises quite perfectly the horror which unfolds within it.
So, What’s It Like?
At Inferno’s an atmosphere of consummate despair is achieved with great success. This is complemented by interior design which takes its inspiration from decaying 18th Century brothels, the feeling of regret and the palpable taste of grief.
The club’s psychedelic carpet. It has never been cleaned, giving it a treacly, glutinous feel beneath one’s feet. Its fibres are strong with misremembered hen nights, puddles of vodka-laced vomit and the tears of spurned lovers.
Will I Find Love?
Yes. Many a child has been conceived within this popular nightspot’s toilets, and many a fairytale romance begun at its neon-bars, where extortionately priced drinks enable the very worst of London’s banking types to impress girls in dresses so tight that they risk permanent nerve damage with each passing moment.
Should I Go?
No, you shouldn’t. Despite this, of a saturday evening Clapham’s discotheque of eternal damnation is full to the brim with grown adults who have paid TEN POUNDS of their own money to enter it.
Well, if you do find yourself in Inferno’s you are:
- On a hen night which will end with one of you crying in a toilet because your love life’s a mess, before valiantly trotting off to the dance floor to mate with a steroid-fuelled cretin who probably uses the word ‘banter’ in real life.
- On a stag night which will end with one or all of you being ejected from the club head-first for fighting with strangers over who would be first to secure their icy cold WKD from the barmaid who is quite clearly dead behind the eyes but who you have all tried it on with regardless.
- Celebrating the birthday of a person who has chosen to celebrate their birthday at Inferno’s. This is a friendship you should terminate immediately.
- A twat.
“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”