Blu Bambu or Tiger Tiger?

Blu Bambu or Tiger Tiger: which do you prefer for an epic Wednesday social? The relocation of sports nights from the modest nightclub on Bigg Market to the superclub chain has inevitably caused a stir amongst students and sports teams. I’ve heard mixed reviews: “Tiger’s too big”, “Bambu was too crowded”, “It’s too expensive in Tiger”. Yes, the move has certainly divided the student nation. Tiger is maybe a refreshing upgrade for socials, especially after its grand makeover. The White Room is definitely a much classier venue than Bambu’s dingy dance floor, with the neon lights proving to be a much more tasteful light than, well, none at all. The central podium is a stylish feature, although the poles do become increasingly inviting after one too many VKs, resulting in many an incriminating photo on Facebook the morning after. Bambu avoided this problem, with only unsteady tables to throw yourselves about on, although some plastered Freshers did attempt to venture up to the platform in front of the DJ box, before being escorted away by the bouncers. Thank God for overeager doormen.
However, a quick wave from the balcony prior to scuttling away before you could get caught and manhandled was an effective way of reuniting your crew. Not so in Tiger, for the I-can’t-count-how-many rooms act like a labyrinth, with no hope of ever finding a familiar face again. If you get lost, you might as well just get a taxi and call it a night. Saves the humiliation of wandering around alone with army paint and a bewildered look smeared across your face. The selection of downstairs, upstairs, White Room, Groovy Wonderland and who knows where else always manages to separate me from the group or force me to text throughout the night trying to describe my exact location: “Main room back bar, to the left of the lanky guy with a rubber ring around his neck”. I guess one advantage is guaranteed avoidance of the rower you got inappropriately intimate with in the corner of the 90s room on the previous social: a definite bonus on all counts.
It’s sad, but I was quite excited at the prospect of the secret entrance from Sam Jacks to Tiger Tiger. I felt quite special using the special entrance for special people, expecting a steel staircase with mirrors and secret doors and everything else you see backstage at gigs. Erm no, bubble burst. In fact I’m sure it’s the same way my first year flatmate was escorted out of Tiger after a massive bust up last year. Not so glamorous after all. And, after you’ve drunk enough to kill a small elephant (which most of us have done by the time we are venturing to Tiger) there is not a chance in Hell that you will remember where the “secret entrance” is, so I always end up queuing outside Tiger in the cold anyway.
Tiger Tiger may be an upgrade and look so much better, but give me an old school social in Bambu with its sticky dance floor but miles more atmosphere and I’m there.