Saturday night has become a cliché: with such pressure to have fun, you rarely do. It’s a bit like New Year’s Eve, only every bloody week. I am therefore deeply relieved to have found the answer – yet for a solution, it is problematic. Riddled with controversy, it contains all the stigma of a long and bitter enmity. But in spite of this, the Trent SU offers something which the likes of the Venue could sadly never rival.
Like every Trent virgin before me, I had sworn my allegiance firmly to Nottingham, our Nottingham. Loyalties aside, I wasn’t exactly comfortable with the thought of being outnumbered on enemy territory. Yes, I feared for my own safety. After some pre-lash, though, I was more easily persuaded; we boldly queued before the (unattractive) box that is Trent SU and, luckily, our presence seemed to pass unnoticed. Needless to say, chanting “Give me a C… D… E, what do you get? Trent grades” soon rectified the situation, but even this provoked nothing more than a few glares. They showed us. Entrance was free (before 10:30pm), and once inside I began to understand the hype. This was no ordinary union, but a fully-fledged night club. Multiple rooms, professional lighting, and different music zones, playing a wide variety from Five to Punjabi MC. There was nothing lacking but the usual Ocean-esque sleaze and grime, the rough security of Gatecrasher, and the difficult bouncers (Oceana *ahem*). Best of all though, the atmosphere was electric; the crowd was an equal mix of the two universities, and somehow the combination worked. The infamous Trent/Nottingham divide was no longer, and it was impossible to differentiate one student from the next. This was, indeed, a ‘students’ union’.
I therefore encourage Nottingham students everywhere to surrender themselves to Trent SU. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you look like, this is an all-accepting kind of place. Just one word of warning: girls, wear flats – with drinks this cheap, you won’t suffer heels for long.