TabTries: The Fighting Cocks

We walk into town past Studio, past Loft, past even the warm delights of Greggs; for tonight we aren’t going to any normal establishment, nay, tonight we brave the Fighting Cocks.

It’s the looming bastion of localness that stands intimidatingly between North Road and the Bailey, but does it deserve its reputation?  We thought we’d find out.

I’d heard all the horror stories: ‘I once ordered an appletini and got verbally abused’, ‘I hear a student once got stabbed in there’, ‘they don’t even serve prosecco.’

Claim

Regardless, we got a few pints to calm our nerves before heading over to the dance floor.

Cutting all the shapes

The music was undoubtedly Klutesque, and with an exceptional mix of 70s tunes and a Papa Americano that seemed to last forever, we got our groove on.

It was bad.

Having been outdanced by a flamboyant local that got just a little too close, we decided to move on.

This guy got way too into it

With two WKDs in hand, we walked over to the first patron we saw and challenged him to a strawpedo race.  He agreed, but not before his mum came over and sniffed the bottle to make sure I hadn’t spiked it.

The competition was fierce but I came out on top, and the gracious loser even offered to buy me a drink later.

He bottled it.

And with that, it was over.

We strolled out into the crisp Durham evening realising that the Fighting Cocks really isn’t that bad.  I mean, yes, it’s bad – the décor makes you feel like you’re on a Thomson cruise to Benidorm – but you’re not going to die.