MooMoos in Tunbridge Wells is the most tragic club in the UK, not just Kent

It’s a given that pretty much everyone you meet at uni is either from Kent or Surrey. And if they are from the former then it is likely they will at some point in their life have visited MooMoos.

MooMoos is one of those weird and sad clubs that seem to exist only in affluent towns that hover just outside of London, and in this case it is Tunbridge Wells.

It is literally only busy when the uni kids are back, and any other time, the club is frequented by your dad’s golfing mates drinking a Becks and awkwardly jigging along to Justin Timberlake. But enough about it when no one’s home, here’s what it is like during the holidays.

Said club photo taken at Christmas

The queue to the club stretches around the corner to the smoking area of Wetherspoons, where bouncers patrol the queue checking if anyone has snuck out a pitcher of diluted sex on the beach. When you are queueing, it's common to have an existential crisis where you think to yourself “WHY THE FUCK AM I QUEUEING FOR FUCKING MOOMOOS?!” But you stay in the queue, pay the £3, and next thing you know you’re inside.

Fancy dress is recommended if you really want to hate yourself

MooMoos spoils the people of Kent by offering the choice of three floors to dance on. The top floor is your cheesy pop floor which makes you yearn for simpler times when it was acceptable to think Toploader were cool and S Club 7 could legit win a Brit award. It goes without saying that this floor in particular is exceptionally sweaty. Those who know this floor all too well will know the locals who frequent it on a regular basis. There’s the creepy bearded bloke who stands by the toilet and there's also the bald one who wears the same blue polo every week as he sits in his booth sipping a Hooch. HOOCH?!

The bottom floor plays your favourite grime bangers where it’s okay to get your gun fingers out for Shutdown and wear your cap extra low because you’re a damn right rude boy from Tunny Wells mate. This floor is definitely the worst because it fancies itself as some sort of dingy, underground hangout that would (maybe?) be acceptable if the club was located somewhere with a hint of danger but not in (Royal) Tunbridge Wells.

The ting goes skrrrrr

Furthermore, the smoking area is essentially a suffocating cage more appropriate for illegal boxing bouts than a space for sweaty teenagers to ask around for a spare filter whilst discussing why they’re so pumped to be going to Exeter in September.

You always end up leaving when one of your mates can’t feel his legs and is unceremoniously dumped outside the club (usually by the bouncer who looks about twelve) with a small bottle of mineral water for your troubles. That’s your cue to round up the boys and head to the nearest Subway.

As a proud Tunbridge Wells resident, I end up walking home and kindly open my doors to my friends who, tragically for them, live in far-away lands such as Sevenoaks or Maidstone. Hahaha.

Whilst I love to knock MooMoos and claim that I WOULD NEVER GO THERE AGAIN it is literally the only place to go on a Thursday night when everyone is home for a couple of weeks. Maybe we could be a little more sophisticated and don some fake loafers and go to the Pitcher and Piano on Church Road? No chance, my friends and I are not bellends.

Pitcher and Piano? No chance mate